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THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. 0., NOVEMBER. 26, 1881.
Yes, I'm Koing to burn it. Tier picture,
"Which held in a dainty gilt frame
Has been on my mantel a fixture,
Goes under it, into the flame,
And one last' farewell look I am lakinff.
Tf ever I loved her. 'tis o'er,
And yet, at my heart is an aching,
To 'think I "hall sec this no more,
in this picture, how well T behold her,
Her bright eyes and pretty, sweet face,
Her white bust and one dimpled shoulder
Half lost in a soft cloud of lace.
The other plump "boulder jut glancing
Through rich chestnut tres.-es is seen,
Ey Jove, 'tis a vision entrancing!
No wonder they nail her " the queen."
And all the young fellows adore her
And some not so young, too, maybe
And he who has not knelt, before her,
Is thought an eccentric. Ah, mo I
Jt really seems wicked and cruel,
To make of this rare gem of ait,
That once 1 so prized, merely fuel.
I turn the card o'er and my heart
Is steeled. There is written : " Thi no ever,
"Villi love, your own D.ishie." That line
Seals the doom of the picture. It never
JIu-t meet any eye, now, but mine,
So here goes the picture with sorrow.
So ends one sweet dream of my life,
For I'm going to be married to-morrow,
And that picture, if kept, might make strife.
GERALD HYRTLEMORE'S ESCAPE
The whole community was in a ferment, and,
as in all such cases, the most absurd and exag
gerated stories were afloat about Ashdale. About
the two main facts, however, of the crime and
the arrest, I sorrowfully found not the shadow of
a doubt. Captain Trail ton had come down to
Pedbury by the night express of the 19th, and
bad arrived in the village the next morning. At
eleven that evening he was a corpse. The chain
of evidence upon which Gerald Myrtlemore had
"been first suspected, and then imprisoned, was
apparently a strong one. It had few links, but
those were ugly ones. The young man, I knew
myself, had expressed his determination to lose
no available time in the prosecution of his suit;
indeed he did not himself deny that at half-past
ten that night he had been closeted with the
doomed man in the very apartment of the mur
der. He had gone away agitated ; that was sworn
to on good authority. It was probable, thought
I, that he had been refused and was agitated. A
pistol of a very peculiar pattern had been picked
up not many yards from the house, and had been
since identified as Gerald Myrtlem ore's property,
a fact that I confess staggered me not a little, and
"very certainly looked dark. On these premises
Inspector Roberts had thought it good policy to
make sure of his prisoner.
Hollies Hall stood about a mile out of the vil
lage, on the high road to Flinchester. It was a
1 ..T 1 .. n n .-- ri 4t-lr-k w A .?t - I rf-k 4 l r 1 - 1 t - !" i
lOlieiy uuum., aim iiicic ae uiiij a ic iauici
cottages anywhere near. I went up there at once,
and iound everything m disorder and under
the surveillance of the police. The widow
and the bereaved daughter had been mer-
cifullv taken away by the rector. The body lay
for the present on a couch in the chamber of the
crime. I sought the police inspector. Annoyed !
as I was at the charge against my friend, I had J
at this moment not the least doubt either of his
innocence, or of his being able thoroughly to clear
liimself. Roberts was sympathizing and fairly
communicative, but it was easy to see that be
jieath his civil sentences lurked the conviction
that he had arrested the right man.
"You see, sir," he said, "Mr. Myrtlemore was
observed on his way down from the Hall by the
keeper who lives at the chalk-pits. Brown saj's
lie was out in the garden, smoking, and, dark as
the night was, noticed Mr. Mj'rtleinore particu
larly. Mr. Myrtlemore passed quite close and
was in a tremendous hurry, groaning, and, Brown
says, swearing to himself all the way, things
"which, when put together, seem very odd, be
cause that gentleman is a quiet one very. And
then, there's the pistol!"
""What did Ger Mr. Myrtlemore say when you
went down to Ashdale Lodge?"
".lie was in bed, sir; and when I saw him he
looked as pale as death ; but all he said was, 'I ;
am very sorry, Roberts. I'm perfectly innocent, j jusl what you can guess, just what you knew
but of course I'll go with you at oncej" j would. I went up to! lollies Hall about ten, as
"And innocent I am sure he is," I answered I fixe(i i,y an answer to a note soliciting an inter
warmly: "but somebody has committed a foul , vicw I made my proposals, asked for Milly, put
crime and must be detected. You have made a ! ,ny ense as well as 1 knew how, and received a
thorough search, of course, indoors as well as out, ' ' Xo ! ' given in a passion and with insults. Poor
and have examined the servants?" j fellow! I am sorry for the Captain now, and I
"Every one, sir, without exception ; but they ' liever wished him any harm, but he got my own
are all accounted for right enough. And, what . temper up, and our parting Avoids were warm
makes it darker, Mr. Parke, harder to make out, j
. i . . , '11 y itn
is, that it clearly wasn't done for robbery."
"Unless the thief thought to find the room j
empty, and, to save himself, shot Capt. Tranton." i
"No, sir, no! There's not the least sign of.
breaking in. Beside, the pistol !' j
Red-tape was bringing me mercilessly back to
his fixed idea: it was horrible! A business-like
thought seized me.
1 am the family solicitor, as you doubtless
know,"! said. "You will allow me to go into
that room, and make the investigation for my
self?" " Certainly, Mr. Parke: a man is on guard there
all the while, of course."
Divided by several unused rooms and the whole
width of the hall from the rest of the house, this
chamber was very lonely. Fitted up as a libra
ry, with heavy oak appurtenances, it wore always
a sombre appearance; I had been in it many
times, and knew it well. With the blinds drawn,
and so ghastly an occupant, the gloom was ten
fold more oppressive. Only the faint hope of
stumbling on some clew, overlooked by the rest,
could have induced me to spend the next half
hour as I did spend it. Disordered as the place
liad been by the events of the nighi, method still
reigned on Capt. Tranton's table and desk. There
was a thin case of documents, bills and receipts,
evidently brought home the day before from
Scotland; probably the issue of my own latest
advice was hidden there; but I had no heart to
look. There were filed letters, answered and un
answered. There was a mixed pile of pamphlets,
political and legal. There was a county court:
handbook and the little red -backed book in
which the unfortunate gentleman had made notes
of our last meeting. I opened this, and found
it to be a record of engagements and important
memoranda. Brevity was its chief feature. A
full half of the entries were quite unintelligible
to any but the writer. Letters did duty for
words, and numbers had apparently a mysterious
and hurried meaning. Money was, from the first
page to the last, its great burden. If I had been
looking for evidences of the Captain's secret
money-lending business instead of for the eluci
dation of a life and death mystery, my search
would have been amply rewarded; as it was,
there was very little to interest me. Stay ! "What
followed the memorandum of the visit to my
office? Only this:
"C. on R. 1L 198 10.30, 20th. Imp. Qnrr."
Only a line that seemed as inscrutable as any
of the others. I ran my eye hastily down the
remainder of the leaf there were a few, a very
few, more entries and closed the book, baffled.
As the inspector had said, the room bore no
trace of any violence preliminary to the one great
crime. Xeither had there been a struggle. An
altercation with Gerald Myrtlemore a death
wound. In any unprejudiced case I was bound
to confess to my own judgment that, like the po
liceman, I should have linked the two facts to
gether. Gerald was imprisoned in the inspector's own
part of the village jail, and thither I went to seek
On the road I met Mr. Markham, popularly
known as "the Squire." All the old man's pom
posity was shaken out of him, and he reined up
his steed, with a face as grave and bewildered as
"A terrible affair ! a sad business, Mr. Parke ! "
"Very. Mysterious to a degree."
" I really would not have believed it of young
"I don't!" dryly, an with an accent of indig
nation. "Xo more does Bronne, nor I nor I thor
oughly. "We shall have to get a London detec
tive down. I do not believe these police will un
"Roberts thinks it's plain."
"Yes; that's just the reason. Possessed by
that insane idea, they will allow the real crim
inal to escape.
"Ah ! Have you seen Myrtlemore ?"
" Xo; I am just going there: to a jail, indeed!"
Even from so friendly an encounter as this, it
was plain that the tide of suspicion was running
heavily against my friend: among strangers it
would be ten times worse. Sick and sad at heart,
I held on my path.
Gerald was sitting bowed down at the little
deal table as I entered the room. He rose to his
feet and looked me fully in the face a look that
went through me like a knife, and yet had no
enmity in it. I met his gaze as firmly, as sadly,
and as decisively. If my features had worn the
least shadow of the surr0uildillg Suspicion I be
ieye the oM bou(ls WQuld have jeen broken je.
! tween us forever. It was otherwise; mid in
silence he griped my hand with a strong con
vulsive grip. Then he spoke.
"I thought you would come," he said.
"You were sure of it. Gerald."
"How does Milly take it?"
"I have not seen her. She was very self-pos-
i sessed, they said, for so young a girl and under
l so great a shock."
"And they suspect nay, charge me with
murdering Milly's father! They are a wise folk,
these police, and Markham's like the rest."
i The irony was hard and grating: it tol
told of a
; chaos within.
" Personally, I have no doubt whatever, Gerald,
I of your innocence, and I have told them so: but
there are circumstances capable of speedy ex-
j planation. of course which, on the face of it,
! look black ; and, after ail, the duty of the police
i is duty."
! "Exactly, exactly; I should remember! But it
is an awful ordeal, my friend," and his voice
broke, as only the voice of rare, overpowering
emotion can break.
Gerald shuddered before he could repress the
"Will you tell me what actually took place
last niKlt so filr as you arc concerned?"
ones. j ,.!lffie away hy the roa(i past lhe culik-
ints, crossed the fields, came home, and sat think
ing until two in the morning."
"And that is all! Pardon me, Gerald; do you
know anything about a pistol?"
" Yes and no. That is a strong point against
me, and my explanation must naturally seem
weak. Roberts showed it to me that pistol
and I cannot deny that I bought it at Tilman's
ale last spring, and I had possession of it for
long: but a month ago I lost it."
"I believe it was stolen, and I had a suspicion
that I knew by whom : but it was only a suspic
ion, and I never accused the man."
"Who was he?"
"A very insignificant person, a marine-store
dealer I'd had a quarrel with years ago. The
pistol was placed in my store-room during some
alterations at the Lodge, and he was the most
frequent and likely visitor."
"You can prove this? Your housekeeper
"No. I did not say anything to her, except io
ask who had been in. The good old soul is as f
honest as the day, and would have worried for
Thoughtful as ever ! the last person to make a
criminal, a man-slayer! But all the same, a sto
ry like this made me still more grave. To a jury
such a defense would seem sadly halt ing. I went
home and pondered all day bootlessly, pondered
Avell-nigh all night with equal success, so far as
any connected theory went.
The inquest and the magisterial investigation
; l- hild, aiffl she verdict of each was one
' .1 mur K r against Gerald Myrtlemore.
r.'d ji.jp.i-il we had a couple of the clev
LoAiiou d : "ves down, and gave them
'i'lft't -H iheii search. But nothing came
In hi" heart nl hearts each one of them, I
belie v" si;-d , ith the local force and with the
villa iv o&t:p. think i.ig that he was on the wild
goos '. t, and tKb the walls of Flinchester
prisor nlfcady L""Died about the criminal.
Neit.i'n uu I Kanu' them. No further light had
conii .ji-'l ivit the At si igc of a suspicion seemed
to cl.iv t luybody ii the wide world but Gerald
Myr1 ti ir
Thi iu iid-'t-ster -.izes drew near, and on my
shouMera the biu.l-n lay heavily. Gerald's
motl.r: ri'ned bv :he blow, had hurried home
from ', ." . utineii. b it his brother could not be
reacts , the new.s
I "u( be-n to 1 onion to retain the ablest ad
vocct" ! knew, and n as coming down by rail to
Fedti.M. .-"L-dd.inlv, as I sat back in the dark
con; " .-f fheirriug thinking always thinking
w'.at to-day 1 can call an inspiration flashed
ivpo . iiu- Sjdft by 'de with the fact the terri
ble raft - " tL.tr -to! i pistol I read the mysteri
ous in in Cipt. Tra.-ton's pocket-book. In let
ters ulnixst i blood it stood before me:
" . o . H. W -10.30, 20th, Imp. Qurr."
In lhai?vrwfc I hA grasped a clew.
eott for December.
other young men and
atter I was once badly
s scribendi. Of course
ve befallen me; I might
a passion for whisky or
; cacoetJies scribendi was
g my college days the
aselves plainly ; but the
isume its true and awful'
had taken my degree.
' ;d upon me like a leech,
5 elapsed it overmastered
rdance with my mother's
, ostensibly to read law
was a mere pretense of
rnings that I ought to
Due were devoted to the
..nd the afternoons to the
-ins. Uncle Dick shook
; lonstrated, sometimes in
me c 1
u not ' i!
us i in ti I tU
-'oti, i la'.
: many r !!'
1 iv uncle, 'i't
have -p u
his h nd
1 never amount to any-
me. a: ..
- ly ;, temptuously. This was
uv I fty aspirations sustained
tar lief of ultimate success,
' L'u'i.and bombarded all the
I scri Mw! on ai
es in the 1 in y with my manuscripts.
The 10a j. iMsd' no pen their columns to me,
audi ! T bs k : upou the weekly news-papei-.
and pe .ill;. poni the Boston Weekly
Palla ' '. Tiaf ru.L..l printed my essays, and
a ceitit1 a5tj ii; ed or, whose initials were
"F. ,"'& e p.'"ite notes from time to
time. !' wa8jDnethut; to see my productions
inprirr; ' vah.. h- e been more had these
prodr. ;"o:i oUj si" . bile brought in a cheel
But !('' 'JgLluiri: 'they elicited only polite
JHk . --
notes;' 1 I" '" f. .ally, I wrote a letter to
the a t'1 r ton the subject, and by
retun - -. 1 reply. It was sent to
my p: a ., tl post-office, but, to my
great amusement, was directed to "Jane Bell,"
instead of "John." My handwriting was not
rery distinct, and perhaps a trifle feminine, and
the signature, upon which I ratner prided my
self, certainly left it an open question whether
John or Jane was meant. The note, too, began :
"Miss Bell: In reply to your question, I
would say that this journal pays only its regular
corps of writers. We are glad to receive your
articles, and perhaps later may make adequate
compensation therefor; but, as a young writer,
it would be wiser for you to' think at present
only of securing a foothold. You have an ex
cellent chance of success in the end; but much
jatiencc is necessary at the outset.
"Please say whether I shall direct future com
munications to -John Bell, Miss Bell, or Mrs. Bell.
At present I do not venture to give you any title.
"Very truly yours, F. B. Sceevkx."
This letter auonce amused and piqued me. It
was pleasant and rather encouraging; but it was
plain the writer set me down as an impecunious
young woman, whereas the truth was I had a
very fair income of my own, and was a six-foot,
moustached specimen of masculinity. The idea
of playing the role of Miss Jane Bell tickled my
fancy, and therefore, giving my imagination free
rein, upon the spur of the moment I sat down
and wrote as follows:
"F. B. Scuevkx : At present I also am in a
quandary, for I do not know whether I ought to
address you as Madame, Monsieur, or Made
moiselle. The last title is mine just now, al
though of course I feel at liberty to change it
when I choose, or rather when the proper oppor
tunity oilers itself. Perhaps matrimony would
be a more profitable speculation than literature.
Do not, however, suppose that I Jim dependent
upon my pen for my bread and butter. In that
case, I fear, the butter wonld be very thin in
deed. No ; the fates have given me most of the
luxuries of life; but these, of course, do not
satisfy me. The reason why 1 wrote as I did
about payment for my articles was simply be
cause 1 thought if they were good enough to
print they were good enough to be paid for. It
seems I was mistaken; but, to show you that I
take your advice. I send you another essay. I
will at least try to secure a foothold, and pray
that greater success may follow.
"I am, dear Madame, Monsieur, or Made
moiselle Screven, sincerely yours,
Laughing in my sleeve, I sent this communi
cation off, and planned that, if the assistant
editor sent me a friendly reply, 1 would open a
correspondence ii the role of Miss Jane Bell and
fool F. B. Screven as never man had been fooled
before. Judge, then, of my dismay when I re
received a letter in wluit I knew was Screven's
writing, but not written on office paper, and
signed Francs Bertram Screven. "A woman, by
Jove!" 1 exclaimed there and then in the post
office, whereat a small boy, who was standing
nigh, nearly swallowed in astonishment the
postage-stamp he was carefully licking. I thrust
the letter in my pocket ami did not read it until
I was safely at home. Thus the missive ran :
"Deaf. Miss Bell: Your piquant letter
prompts me to write you a reply, not as an as
sistant editor, but as a woman like yourself, who
is toiling up the steep path that leads to Par
nassus. I might have known you were a woman,
and a young one at that, because, although there
is a touch of masculine strength in your essays
and poems, still there is, too, a sweetness that is
only feminine. I think that women more often
have this flavor of masculinity than men have
anything of that tenderness which is essentially
and purely feminine. Were I in a position of
authority, I should very soon dismiss the cut-and-dried
hack-writers whose contributions, al
though smooth and polished, lack the freshness,
the spontaneity, which is characteristic, of the
contributions we sometimes receive from un
known writers, and notably from you. But, you
see, I am merely an assistant editor, and a per
son of no consequence at all, except as I am use
ful to do the work, all the glory of which goes
to the distinguished individuals whose names
are emblazoned at the head of the paper There !
that sounds bitter, I am afraid; but, my dear
Miss Bell, the fates have not been so kind to me
as to you, and it is not for fame I write, but for
the wherewithal to keep me fed and clothed.
What makes it perhaps harder is that I have
known what it is to have my bread and butter
fresh and sweet, ay, and honey with it, too,
and therefore the thin slices that are doled out
to me now taste the dryer by comparison.
"Forgive me for boring you with so much
about myself. Pray write to me again. Your
luxurious stationery, with the faint, delicate per
fume pervading it, is in itself a delight.
" Sincerely yours,
"Mrss Fkaxces Berth am Screven."
As I read this letter I felt mvself a scoundrel.
My first impulse was to write a letter of con
fession to Miss Screven ; but the desire to keep
up the correspondence and try my hand at com
posing letters that shou : ly feminine
overcame my scruples, a' I 5 the follow
ing reply : "
"Deak Miss Screvex : mbtcvi .'boring me,
the glimpse you gave me of your life interested
me more than I can tell ; but, at the same time,
the contrast between your life and mine made me
curious. Perhaps your lot is a hard one, but it
is at least brave and independent. ITere am I,
an only daughter, petted and spoiled to a shame
ful degree, and bound by fetters of luxury. Yes,
I envy you. Sitting here this morning in my
silly pink-curtained boudoir, with a Dresden
shepherdess simpering at me from the top of my
escritoire, I feel my idle, luxurious life hemming
me in and overpowering me, as the perfume of
tuberoses makes heavy and sickening the at
mosphere of a room that should be liung open
to the fresh air and sunshine. I would change
places with you to-day if I could."
Yv hen I reached this point of my letter, I read
over approvingly what I had written. Arrived
at the lines descriptive of my imaginary boudoir,
J I smileel as rny gjiiuce fell upon a boot-jack in
one corner and. the, shaving apparatus in another.
Glancing at the place where the Dresden shep
herdess ought to have been, my eye fell instead
upon a pipe, which I took down and filled, and
then resumed my writing with considerable
"This may sound to you rather school-girlish,
and I may as well confess that it is not many
years perhaps months would be more accu
rate since I left the precincts of a finishing
school. Finishing-school, indeed! Much I
learned there besides the art of doing up my
hair! However, the defects of nvy education I
must remedy myself, and I try every day to de
vote a few hours to serious study. But it is very
hard to seclude myself long enough to accom
plish anything. People call; I must go to garden-parties
; I must drive out with my mother ;
I must hold solemn conclave with the milliner
and dress-maker; in short, I have constant de
mauds of a most frivolous nature upon my time.
"All this you will probably laugh at: and,
lest I write yet more foolishly, I will bring this
letter to a close. If you are not quite disgusted
v.'ith me, do write again soon.
"Faithfully yours, Jaxe Bell."
I may as well confess that I thought this letter
a successful imitation of some of the epistles
that 1 had myself received from feminine hands.
It sounded enthusiastic and very "niissish," and
I sent it off that afternoon with a bold heart.
"Jack," quoth my uncle, who met me as I
came from the post-office, "I verily believe you
are making an ass of yourself over some girl. I
don't believe it is the muses you are courting;
it is no muse; it is a miss." And with this he
rnissed on, chuckling at his own wit.
As the days went on, however, my uncle's
words seemed in a fair way to prove true. I
thought only of Miss Screven. My novel I left
untouched, and my rhyming dictionary accumu
lated dust slowly, but surely. Fled vere my
visions of astonishing the worlel with my genius.
I lived only for the mail from Boston.
As I re-read the letters 1 received from Miss
Screven, I can make some excuse for my infatua
tion. They were frank and outspoken, aud some
times, indeed, tinged with cynicism ; but through
them there breathed a sympathy, a tenderness,
that touches me even now as I read them over.
Finalljvit my solicitation, she sent me her photo
graph, which showed her to bcaregular-featuretl,
large-eyed woman, of rather a serious cast of
countenance indeed, but with a lurking smile in
the mouth that I could but confess was a lame
one. She was not a beauty, I saw that, but she
had an earnest, interesting face, that grew upon
me every day.
Little by little I gave myself up to thoughts
of her by day and dreams of her by night. Her
letters I awaited with a feverish impatience, and
if one were delayed I was in a torment. 1 make
no excuse for my folly, dear sir or madam ; but
pray do not forget that I was only one-and-twenfy
then, and had fed myself plentifully
villi novels and poetry. And this was my first
love! Coventry Patmore sa's in one of his
Well, heaven be thanked, hiy first love failed,
As, heaven be thanked, all first loves do!
This was a sentiment I could not echo, for at
that time it seemed to me that if I were sep
arated from my fair unseen sweetheart life would
be stale, flat and unprofitable.
The correspondence was kept up all the sum
mer and autumn ; but in December there befell
what was to me an awful calamity. Miss
Screven did not write. T sent imploring letter
after letter, but no response gladdened me.
"Has she jilted you?" said Uncle Dick heart
lessly, when he noted my pale face, in truth,
I could not sleep nor eat; I was consumed with
fear and anxiety. What could have befallen
I endured it for just ten days, and then I
packed my satchel and went to" Boston. Bah!
what a day it was when I arrived there! It
had snowed a little, and then a thin, cold rain
began 1 0 d rizzle down despairingly. The weather
suited me better than the garish splendor of the
hotel, and I wandered forth that'evenin"- half
unconsciously wending my -way toward the
street in which Miss Screven boarded. I found
myself opposite the house. From an upper win
dow a light struggled faintly between the
closed shutters and thrilled me through aud
through. Perhaps she was there, ill and alone,
uncared for. save bv the mercenary landlady, or.
worse still, by a slatternly servant. I went up
the steps and rang the bell. A slip of a girl
opened the door to me, and I handed her my
card, saying mechanically, "Ask Miss Screven
if she will see me."
I trusted that the name John Bell would per
haps lead her to suppose that I was a cousin
or the father of her friend.
The slip of a servant-maid looked at the card
and then looked at me. "Frances Screven?"
she said interrogatively.
"Yes," I replied. Then I took the card, ran
my pencil through the engraved name, and
scrawled my illegible signature below it. The
servant took the card again and skurried away,
leaA'ing me standing there in the cold, dark entry.
It Avas seAreral minutes before she reappeared,
and then it Avas only to say in a sing-song tone,
" Three flights up ; first door to the right."
I Avent up the three flights and rapped at the
first door to the right.
A A-oice called out, "Come in."
I entered a medium-sized, plainly-furnished
room that Avas redolent of tobacco. Avith Avhich.
Avas mingled a faint smell of whisky. There
Avere two arm-chairs, a large table, coArered Avith.
a faded cloth, and an old-fasliioned horse-hair
lounge, from which, as I entered, a young man
rose. He Avas thin and hollow-eyed, and a beard
of several days' groAvth made him look, to say
the least, uukenrpt. "Mr. Bell, I presume," he
said, offering me his hand and then drawing up
a chair for me.
"I have called to see Miss Screven," said I.
"HaA-e you, indeed?" he replied in a nasty,,
It flashed through me at once. ItA-as her
husband ! She had deeeied me !
"May I ask if 3011. are any relation to Miss
Jane Bell, of Dundas, Washington county, New
York, post-office box 482?"' he continued, in the
same sneering Avay.
I stuttered and stammered, tried to lie, and
nearly choked myself to death. I wanted to be
diplomatic; I Avanted to shield her from his
"Who the deA-il are you, anyAvay?" he ex
claimed. " I I am John Bell," I answered ; and I have
called to see your sister. Is she ill?"
"I haA-en't any sister," said he nonchalantly r
"that is, I am my own sister, and she has jusfe
The truth flashed upon me. Yon are an im
postor, sir!" I exclaimed.
Your sister doesn't think so," said he compla
centl3'. "I haA-en't any sister," said I, in my turn.
He Avheeled sharply about : "Who is Miss Bell,,
" I am all the Miss Bell that exists," I an
"What!" he exclaimed; "you are the petted
darling Avho Avanted to be a poet and an essayist
and Lord only knows Avhat all? You are the
only child of Avealthy parents? Yon are the
lovely creature avIio sits in a pink boudoir and
Avrites verses with a gold pen and on perfumed
"Yes," said I desperately.
Screven dropped into a chair and roared. "A
sell all round!" said he. And then he laughed
until he cried, Avhile I quietly stole aAvay back
to the hotel, a sadder but a Aviser man.
A SEVERE REPARTEE.
A severe repartee is recorded of Foote, the
comediau, avIio, in traveling theAvcst of England,
dined one day at an inn. Yhen the cloth was
removed the landlord asked him how he liked
" I have dined as Avell as any man in England.-""
"Except the mayor," cried the landlord.
"I do not except anybody, whatever, said he.
" But you must ! " bawled the host.
" You must ! "
At length the strife ended by the landlord
(who was a petty magistrate) taking Foote he
fore the mayor, avIio observed it had been cus
tomary in the town for a great number of years
always to " except the mayor," and accordingly
fined him a shilling for not conforming to the
ancient custom. Upon this decision Foote paid
the shilling, at the same time observing that he
thought the landlord the greatest fool in Christ
endom except the niaj'or.
Many men look as if butter would not melt in
their mouths, and yet can spit fire when it suits
There are thousands in this Avorld avIio fi- like
vultures to feed on a tradesman or merchant as
soon as ever he gets into trouble.
A little trade Avith profit is better than a great
concern at a loss; a small fire that Avarms you is
better than a large fire that burns you.
I don't think that fortune haz got any lHvorftes;
she was born blind; and I notis them who
Avin the oftcnist go it blind, too.