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THE NATIONAL TRIBUNE: WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 21, 1882,
A FANCY.
JAMES BERRY BKXSEL.
The tide goes out and the tide comes in,
And gulls hang whilcly about the shore,
Our cars grow used to the water's din,
And we heed the bird's quaint flight no more.
The roses bloom and the roses fade,
The green leaves wither and brown and fall ;
The brook from its old-time course has strayed,
And what does it matter, after all?
We gather moss from the rolling waves,
Or. pluck a rose that is red and rare ;
While their comrades Mnk into nameless graves
We lay these by with a careless care.
And so with friends that are dear and true
We love them, ay! with a love-like flame ;
But when they pass from our daily view,
'Tis near ah, me ! is it quite ? the same.
We put the thought of their love away
A picture, flower, a ring, a book ;
We breathe a prayer that they used to pray,
And shrine in our hearts a tender look.
But redder roses shall come with spring,
Sweeter and larger than these by far ;
And new, bright mosses the waves will bring,
A fresh face shines for our beacon star.
So what does it 'count that the sun goes down,
That waves roll out, and the roses fall,
That eyelids close over smile or frown?
Ay ! what does it 'count us, after all ?
Cottage Hearth.
THE TREASURE AT GRAN QUIVIRA,
CHAPTER II.
Several days, a whole week, went by, and Ger
ald Elkley, although improving steadily, was
still unable to bear his full weight upon the in
jured foot, and so limped slowly with the aiel of
a stick "hobbled around," Jose said. He had
found the Mexican not only a skillful attendant,
as had been predicted, but a very kind and at
tentive one ; while Jose was quite won over by
the young man's invariable courtesy and consid
eration when speaking to him. The Mexicans
were unfairly dealt with, and harshly used, all
through the Territory, faring as well, perhaps, in
such remote and scanty settlements as Blue Creek,
as anywhere; for at that place were no saloons,
no quarreling rowdies, no political disputes ; and
the Mexicans were there of great use. Never
theless, Senorita Annie Tate was the only person
who had ever been consistently kind to Jo:e,
until Gerald came ; and his manner had so de
lighted the Mexican, that he would doubtless
have risked his life for him readily for men did
ihat with very slight incentive in New Mexico.
Jose was sometimes very confidential in his
conversations, especially when speaking of the
dwellers at Blue Creek ; and at the close of one
beautiful day, when he had taken Gerald's arm,
and assisted him to a certain ledge, which, as it
commanded, a splendid panorama along the Creek,
was a favorite spot with the young man, the
Mexican began: "Senor Elkley, don't you show
them rolls of greenbacks that I saw to-day, to
nobody here."
"Well, I will not," returned Gerald, "if you
advise me not to do so. But why do you say this
now?"
"Because now is the right time," said Jose,
"before you have done it. After that it is too
late."
"He is right there," muttered Gerald.
"Senor Sy Tate he very bad man," continued
Jose. "You remember how he ask you if Scotch
Andy know you had come on to Blue Creek ?
"Well, if no one but the citizens had known of it,
I think he kill you somehow that night you
have such a beautiful rifle."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the other; "he
would not surely murder me for the sake of a
gun?"
"Senor Sy Tate has killed men for less than
that. You sabe, he white Indian once." Jose
dropped his voice here, and looked warily round.
"He no dare live near Denver and around there.
I hear this from old Pablo, the half-breed Apache
who come here. But Senor Sy much afraid of
Senorita Annie, and she will take care no harm
come. So will Jose. Ugh ! I not afraid of Senor
Sy Tate! Old Juanna the witch tell me one of
us kill the other some day, and I often think it
will be me kill him ; I have much good mind to.
But Senor Elkley, for all that, you no let him
see all your dollars. You say you send to Santa
Fe for more money soon. Senor Sy Tate he go
mad to get all them greenbacks, and accident
soon happen."
Gerald thanked the friendly Mexican, and re
solved to take his counsel, so long as he was com
pelled to remain at the Creek.
" But what an awful set to be thrown amongst! "
he thought, as he returned to the house. ".The
girl and this Mexican are, to a certainty, truth
ful and honest ; but never in my life did I see
such a scoundrelly gathering as are the re
mainder. I hope I shall be able to travel so as
to meet the others at the rendezvous."
On entering the house, he found that supper
as the six o'clock meal was called was ready ;
that his special seat was duly placed for him,
rendered, soft and even luxurious, by buffalo
robes and bearskins. Sy Tate was at the low
stable-door, whence he had given a sullen nod
of recognition, as lie saw Elkley enter, while
Annie was standing by the table within.
"I saw that you moved around first rate, Mr.
Elkley," she began ; " your foot seems better day
by day."
" Thanks to you and to Jose, it is. But I must
give some credit to the healthful mountain air,
I expect. This is indeed a lovely spot."
"Yes; so strangers tell us," returned the
maiden; "and they show how much they ad
mire it by hurrying away at the first opportu
nity. You also seem anxious to do the same."
"I have reason for wishing to leave soon," re
plied Elkley; "but I shall never forget Blue
Creek, or the kindness I have met here. If I am
spared, Miss, Annie, I will infallibly come and
see you again.'
The girl's color rose ajittle at even this matter-of-course
speech; ibr she was but little used to
the. conversation of handsome young, men from
down East.
"I should be ungrateful indeed, if J did not,
do so much,'' continued .Gerald ; "and you must
give me a list of all the choice, articles, especially ,
books and engravings, that I shall bring up from
Santa Fe."
"Air you going Santy Fee way, then ? " inquired
Sy Tate, who JHst then entered the room.
"Yes; I have to meet some friends there
shortly," returned Elkley. "They will let me
know when they arrive at Kansas City ; they
intend to hunt across the plains from thence to
Santa Fe."
"Then I expect it's for you that a team has
stopped below," said Tate. "I saw a man come
this way with a packet ; and here he is."
As he finished, a man clad from head to foot
in buckskin, with revolver on one hip and a
sheath-knife on the other, after the manner of
New Mexicans, presented himself at the door,
and stepped within, with the free-and-easy man
ner of his countrymen. "Say!" he began; "I
guess this is Sy Tate's ; and from what I have
heered tell, you are Sy Tate. And you, stranger,
are Squire Elkley."
"That's my name, certainly," returned the
young man.
"Then I have brought on this parcel for you
from the mail-station," continued the teamster.
"It was to have been given to Andy Macgregor;
but he had just taken a contract for freight to
Denver, so he gave it to me."
"Many thanks," said Elkley, taking the offered
packet. ""Will you tell me how much the charge
fellow a hundred years old, I' should say he
must have been, to judge from his looks an
Indian, or half-breed I should fancy. The ser
vice was slight enough on our part; but we hap
pened to save the life of his only surviving great
grandchild, or something of the kind; and he
took quite a liking to us in consequence. To
make a short story of it, we told him we should
travel in New Mexico, and had thought of going
to Gran Quivira. He seemed a little disturbed
on hearing this, as you, Mr. Tate, also appear to
be ; but on the last night of our stay in his vil
lage, he told us a secret about the place"
is'
"It is paid for," interrupted the teamster.
"Andy took a satchel up to the Eatons for my
missis, so that's balanced."
''But I should like to pay you for your trou
ble " began EBiley ; when the teamster cut him
short: "Keep your money, Squire, for them that
wants it. I'm an American citizen and a "West
ern man, that don't need no favors of you nor
nobody. No offence, Squire. "When I do work
for you, you shall pay me for it ; but this item I
did for Scotch Andy, who has paid me. . I ain't
going to take your dollars, as if I was a loafer
who wanted alms. No, sir-ree. Good-evening;"
and with that the independent teamster disap
peared. "It is as I expected," said Gerald, addressing
Annie, after glancing through his letters. " My
friends are now on their road to Santa Fe ; and
I must contrive to leave here in a day or two. I
cannot walk through the canon that is evident.
Do you think you could spare Jose and the
wagon to take me as far as Three "Waters City ?
I could buy a horse on reaching there."
"Do you reckon on riding alone from Three
Water to Santy Fee?" asked Tate, speaking in
answer to the question, which had been directed
to the girl.
"Yes," replied Gerald. "I have a good map,
and find the stations lie pretty close to each
other."
"You will be robbed and murdered before you
have traveled half your journey," continued
Tate. "I know the road, and know the people
who are on it. You must ride by the mail, if
you want to ride with a sound skin. Maybe you
won't be over-safe, even then."
" I am sorry to hear you say so," returned
Gerald, "as I had not believed that part of the
road to be dangerous. "We expected to find a
look-out necessary after leaving Santa Fe. But
we shall be a strong party."
""Where air you going after you quit Santy
Fee?" asked Sy. "Do you mean to strike for
Arizona, or Old Mexico, or air you going through
the Indian Territory ? "
" None of these," said Elkley. ""We are going
to explore Gran Quivira ; we have valuable in
formation" The sudden start of his three companions for
Jose sat at the table with them startled him in
turn, and he looked from one to the other in
perplexity.
" Gran Quivira ! " exclaimed Tate, in tones even
harsher than usual; "and what should you do
at Gran Quivira?"
""What others have done, I suppose," replied
Gerald, who had recovered himself: "scout for
the buried treasure; but with a different result.
We shall find it."
"You air like most of the others have been,"
said Tate, with a sneer he did not attempt to
conceal; "very certain you know all about it
before you go; and like them, you will crall
home disappointed ; if you don't lay your bones
there, as many better men than you have done."
"Mr. Elkley ! " exclaimed Annie, "you surely
do not propose to seek for the buried treasures at
Gran Quivira? Do you not know that many
parties have set out to find them ? None of them
have had the least success ; and many have been
entirely cut off by Indian or Mexican skirmish
ers. I trust you will not go."
"Gran Quivira's very dangerous place there's
no two ways about that," said Jose. " I have
been there, and know every foot of ruin. Every
where prospectors have dug, but never find gold ;
and no one know where to dig now. You might
dig in one place just same as another."
"Jose is right, so far as he goes," resumed Tate.
"But there is another thing. The people in this
Territory don't like strangers from the East ram
paging and cavorting around to get their gold and
silver fixins, and they are likely to show what
they think."
" That is so," added. Jose. " There are others to
be afraid of, Senor Elkley, besides Injuns and
Mexicans. Don't you go, Senor."
"At any rate," returned Gerald with a laugh,
"the treasures are as much mine, as they are the
property of any citizen now living in New Mex
ico. I am much obliged for your warnings ; but
there will be nine good rifles in our party, besides
the help we may hire ; and I fancy that ten times
our number of Indians would have had but a poor
chance of storming our camp. Again : we shall
arrange for fresh supplies of water, which has
hitherto been the weak point of all prospecting
parties. And then we have some special knowl
edge, which I think no other prospectors have
possessed "
"Indeed, Squire! And moueht I ask what
"And what was that?" interrupted Tate, who
was listening with unabated interest.
"It was, that there was a smaller chapel, an
outlying spot, attached to Gran Quivira, but ly
ing a few miles off that for fear of the troubles
which actually came, the ornaments and plate
had been removed there, and there buried. He
gave us the landmarks necessary to identify the
place."
"Ay, and what may those landmarks be?" de
manded Tate, in such ill-disguised calmness, that
Gerald was again somewhat startled.
"I have not the chart with me," he said, "so
doubt if I could tell you where the real position
is ; but I must add in candor, Mr. Tate, that I do
not think I should feel at liberty to inform you,
even if I had it."
"If you had it!" echoed Tate. "I calculate
there's no doubt about that."
"There's none, Mr. Tate," returned Gerald,
with something of sternness in his own voice.
" I have it not, and have told you so."
The conversation was kept up for some time,
the subject apparently having the greatest at
traction for both Tate and Jose.
As many of our readers have heard, doubtless,
of Gran Quivira and its buried treasures, it will
suffice to say briefly that at this place, which is
situated in Socorro county, New Mexico, lying
about ninety miles from Santa Fe or one hun
dred and twenty from the border of Old Mexico,
there was once a rich church and monastery.
When the Spaniards left Mexico, the people rose
in most districts, and slaughtered or drove out
the monks, as fellow-countrymen with those
from whom they had suffered so much. (New
Mexico Nueva Mejico was a part of Mexico
in those days, the reader will remember.) At
Gran Quivira, the monks were not unpopular, as
they had been kind to the people around them;
and as they were charitable and skillful as
doctors, the populace spared them ; but, assem
bling in vast numbers, contented themselves
with utterly destroying the buildings, allowing
the brethren to escape to the city of Mexico.
The monks left accordingly, as no better might
be done; but as they were not permitted to take
anything with them, they buried within the
church the massive plate, of which they had an
immense quantity, then repaired to Mexico, and
there deposited a record, to be used in better
times, which explained that they had concealed
ten thousand pounds, in iceight, of gold and silver
plate and ornaments.
The church was utterly destroyed and razed ;
the better times never came to allow the return
of the monks, and in the lapse of time the
springs or stream v . s Gran Quivira
found other chan I j v tstrict became
arid, and unfit for j,- t .uman beings,
or even cattle. 'jljIxo vr.i had great in
fluence in checking the search for these treasures,
the existence of which was as absolutely believed
in as in the existence of Mexico itself.
Gerald was a resolute believer in this concealed
wealth; and Tate, although he ridiculed and
sneered at almost every proof the young man
offered, was yet too acutely interested to hide
his real feelings on the matter, sullen and guarded
as he was on ordinary occasions. It was plain
he believed in it also ; and Gerald suspected him
of a desire to pick a quarrel on the subject, so
heated and insulting did he grow. Elkley,
although a young man, was yet too old a cam
paigner to play his opponent's game when ex
posed in so glaring a manner, so became more
guarded as Tate waxed loud or sarcastic. Whether
he at last saw this, or of his own accord altered
his tone, Gerald could not decide ; but after a
while Tate half muttered some contemptuous
rejoinder, and left the room abruptly, calling
Jose to accompany him to the stable.
Directly he had gone, Annie, who had latterly
been silent, now spoke. "Mr. Elkley," said the
girl with great impressiveness, "I think it would
indeed be well for you to leave as soon as pos
sible. I will arrange for Jose to drive you down
the Creek to-morrow, and shall be glad to know
you are at Three Waters City, and quite away
from here."
" It would be a hollow pretense, indeed, if I
feigned to understand that I have in some way
caused you and Mr. Tate also great uneasiness
by. speaking of my plans to-night," returned
Gerald. " You must surely see that I cannot
guess why this is so, and should be glad to
ask"
and above all the warning words of his fair hos
tess, had determined the guest to render his
stay there as short as possible, and had caused
him, indeed, to feel semewhat nervous and un
easy. At once, then, he conveyed to the Mexican his
wish that he should be with him early in the
morning, as he intended to leave the Creek next
day, and would like to get everything ready be
times. As he said this, Tate turned quickly
upon him : and although he spoke not, the ex
pression on his features told how instantly his
suspicious mind had taken the alarm.
"Bueno, Senor," asssented Jose. "I will sleep
outside your room, as I did before, so I can call
you at any time."
" You propose leaving the Creek to-morrow,
then?" said Tate; "and how do you intend to
travel?"
' Miss Annie has been good enough to promise
me the wagon," replied Elkley. " Jo3e will drive
me down."
" Oh ! I see you have settled it all among your
selves," retorted Tate bitterly. "A man ain't of
no consequence in his own house. I have noth
ing to do with it, of course."
"Nothing at all,Sy Tate," said Annie, who had
never addressed him in Gerald's hearing as
"grandfather" or by any family appellation. "It
is my business, and I have settled it." As she
spoke thus, she drew herself up, and looked
straight at the old man, with an air too defiant
to be mistaken.
Sy could never return this glance, which Ger
ald had seen ere now : so grumbling moodily, he
turned away. " There is no need for Jose to
sleep on the premises, anyhow," he continued,
after a pause. " We don't want no more stran
gers than we've got ; there's been one too many
here for some time."
' That is settled also," returned the girl. " I
have laid the buffalo robes for Jose's bed outside
Mr. Elkley's room."
It was only a momentary glance with which
Tate ventured in reply to this, but it was the
most vindictive the young man had ever encoun
tered. Something connected with this bitter look had
so preyed on his mind, that he was not surprised
to hear Jose whisper, as he bade the Mexican
good-night, at his room door: " Senor Elkley,
it's a dog-gamed good thing you thought of tell
ing me to sleep here esfa notilie to-night. Sy
Tate he in pretty ugly temper just now; but
he is much afraid of Senorita Annie, and he
shall be more afraid of me before I finish with
him. Beunos notifies good night, Senor.
To be continued.!
that is?", interposed Tate, who was evidently
listening with the keenest interest.
" Certainly! " returned Elkley, as cheerfully as
before; but glancjng around, he saw the eyes of
Annie and Jose bent upon him with no less in
terest than were Tate's an interest which seem
ed almost breathless.. A little surprised, and a
little amused . also, .at" this, he went raw ' We
were in Texas a few months back; and while
fhre, we rendered a slight service to an old
"Do not ask," interposed the girl decisively.
" I suppose that all over the world, in every
home, there are some" things which are better
not inquired into ; and this may be one of them.
So long as you do not think me unkind in thus
hurrying you away "
"Think you unkind!" exclaimed Gerald.
"The only unkindness you could be guilty.of
would be to suspect me of such a feeling." Even
if I could forget that you probably saved my
life"
"Oh, do not refer to that!" interrupted An
nie, almost pettishly." "I should have done
such a trifling act as that for anyone else, even."
Her heightened color and her vexed tone made it
difficult for Elkley to pursue the conversation.
While he was thinking how to frame his words,
the voices of Jose and Tate were heard without.
"Senor Elkley," wffiispered the girl hurriedly
she, as did most of those around her, occasion
ally fell into the Spanish mode of address " tell
Jose you wish him to be with you early in the
morning, and that he had better not go to his
shanty to-night." The door here creaked on its
, hinges, and .she ceased; but her back being to
wards those who, entered, she laid her finger on
her lip, with. a, warning glance jbo Elkley. ,
Tate appearedVtohaye .lost his fll-jhumor, and
was now unusually cheerful, even facetious, after
his manner ; but the conversation of the evening,
A REAL GHOST STORY.
We were a large party, assembled in a country
house in one of the home counties, to celebrate
the coming of age of the eldest daughter. The
family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Franks, two
sons, Harry and Lionel, and two daughters, Nora
and Bab. As many as fourteen young people
were staying in the house, and in a few days a
large ball was to be given. We were all at that
happiest time of life, between seventeen and
twenty-five ; we were all old friends, had known
one another from childhood, and were in the
wildest spirits ; many innocent flirtations were
being carried on, with much discussion" about
our partners and dresses for the forthcoming
ball, and were, indeed, a very happy party,
whilst Mr. and Mrs. Franks were kind and in
dulgent to a fault to us young people.
It was a large, rambling old house, the rooms
opening one out of the other, with unexpected
doors in the walls, concealed by being papered
leading up narrow staircases to other rooms never
inhabited, hardly ever entered. Four bed-rooms
opened one into the other in this way, large and
curiously shaped : and in these four rooms all we
girls were located seven of us. It was a narrow
wing of the house, some of the windows facing
the lawns and shrubberies, some overlooking a
'courtyard, into which opened the kitchen and
the dairy. My readers must forgive me if this
description seems tedious, but it is necessary, in
order to better understand the rest of my story.
The night of the ball arrived. As many as
two hundred members of the surrounding fami
lies, from far and near, came. The arrangements
were perfect, and dancing was kept up with much
spirit to a very late or rather to a very early
hour. I well remember that we saw the last of
the guests off in broad daylight, and that some of
us preferred having tea and a stroll in the gar
den in the lovely morning air to seeking our
beds at all. We were a very popular set of young
people, and ball succeeded ball in the neighbor
hood, all given in our honor, and our kind host
and hostess insisted upon our prolonging our visit
to participate in all these gayeties.
It was the evening preceding one on which a
ball was to be given about five miles distant. A
dressmaker was to come, in the evening to look
at our dresses, and by putting new bows and
flowers to freshen them up for the occasion. We
had just finished dinner, at about 8 o'clock, and
were chatting over dessert, when a servant came
to tell Nora and Bab that Miss Saxby was ready
to try on their dresses. They immediately went
to her, and in a few minutes I followed them up
stairs to see what they were having done. It was
a wide, handsome staircase, terminating in a
long corridor, off which opened most of the prin
cipal bed rooms. Halfway up, at the turn of the
stairs, was a high painted window.
I went up in the dark, and was surprised to
see standing by the window a man, apparently
in uniform, with a short military cloak thrown
carelessly over one shoulder. As I went on this
figure seemed to vanish, and I distinctly heard
the opening and shutting of two doors at the end
of the corridor leading into some of the vacant
rooms. I thought it might possibly be a trick
played on me by some of the young men in the
house, so I returned to see who was absent, but
they were all there in the dining room. I pro
cured a candle and again wenT up to the girls,
making no remark on what I had seen until the
dressmaker had gone, when I told Nora. She
turped quite pale, made me repeat my story, afid
then told us she had seen the same figure in the
same position and in the same place. Of course
we were laughed at, and no one would believe a
word of our story.
We went to bed early that night, having late
hours in prospect for the morrow. We girls were all
talking and laughing in the first of the four rooms
I have already described. In the midst of our mer
riment there came suddenly a crash, so loud and
fearful that we thought every plate and dish in,
the kitchen and dairy must be broken. This
was followed by the sound of heavy chains clank
ing, as if being dragged across the stone yardr
and a long piteous whine from old Leo, who was
chained up in his kennel just outside the daky
door. We all started and clung to one another.
The noise had been heard in all parts of the
house, for Mr. and Mrs. Frank came to our door
to know what wa3 the matter, and we heard the
young men and the servants moving. As no
reason could be assigned for the disturbance it
was suggested that Harry and Bab, with one of
the men-servants, should go down and see what
had caused so much noise. They were gone
some time, but could throw no light upon the
mystery when they returned. Nothing was
broken, nothing even displaced ; but Leo seemed
much terrified and reluctant to be left in his
kennel. We all tried to be brave, and separated
to our different rooms.
The next night was the ball at Yoking and we
did not return until day was breaking. We were
all too weary even to talk about the previous
night's adventure. The following night, at about
12 o'clock, we were all roused by the same mys
terious crashing sound, a still more decided drag
ging of chains, mixed with piercing shrieks, and
howl upon howl from Leo. Wc were terribly
alarmed. Nora fainted dead away. We called
loudly to the boys and servants to come, but
when we were all assembled, pale and trembling,
no one would venture upon a second visit of in
spection. It was impossible to return to our
beds and we waited impatiently for day-light.
The subject was much discussed in the morning,
and Mr. Franks determined that some means
should be taken to find out who or what was
causing so much "alarm and discomfort. It was
at last resolved that the gardener should
that night keep watch in the kitchen, that he
should have a gun ready loaded, which he was to
fire if in need of assistance; he was a strong,
powerful man, and laughed at the idea of any
mystery, but thought there might be tramps
about who for some reason were trying to alarm
the family. We were all so nervous that, when
night came, I for one flatly refused to go alone to
my room, which was the last of the four I have
mentioned : so we girls decided to sit up together
until after the hour at which we had been dis
turbed on the two previous occasions. As the
hour approched we were joined hj other members
of the family; it seemed that all were feeling
restless and uneasy, and not without reason.
Just as the clocks were pointing to midnight
the most unearthly scream rang through the air,
the same crashing, the same dragging of chains,
and the piteous howls of our poor dog. It was
too much to bear, and those who were bravest
and strongest amongst us had enough to do in
attending to those who were utterly prostrated
by alarm. We listened, and expected the agreed
on sign from the gardener; but as all was again
quiet, we imagined he had not found it necessary
to summon help.
At daylight the servant, with Mr. Franks and
Harry, at once sought the gardener to hear his
report of the night. They found in the yard, still
chained to his kennel, the dog dead ! And in
the dairy they discovered the man, mad, crouch
ing like an idiot in the corner of the room. No
wound had killed poor Leo. There was not even
the mark of a blow. The poor gardener never re
covered. We could get no coherent word from
him to explain this awful mystery. And to the
day of his death, a year from that time, he never
spoke nor had a gleam of reason. Mr. and Mrs.
Franks had him carefully tended and cared for
to the last. The whole house was searched by
men sent down from London, but n5 clue was
found. Nor from that time until the Franks left
the house was there any more cause for alarm,
although the figure on the stairs was seen several
times by many during the next few days.
The shocking incident I have related so affect
ed the health of poor Nora that Mr. and Mrs.
Franks decided upon leaving the house at once.
For years it stood empty, but a few months ago
I saw it again and it brought back to my memory
so vividly those terrible nights that I determin
ed to write down the story. London World.
HIS LAST DRUNK,
About eleven o'clock New Year's Eve there oc
curred on the Avenue, near Sixth street, an inci
dent which corroborates the sentiment "Pity
makes the world akin." A little street waif
about ten years old, attired in a very ragged dress,
but with a handsome and intelligent face, had
been industriously trying to dispose of a small
stock of lead-pencils without meeting with much
success. She pulled her shawl close about her,
and her large black eyes began to fill with tears
at her ill luck.
At this juncture she offered her wares to a well
dressed young man, considerably under the in
fluence of liquor.
"What's the matter, little one?" he said.
" Want to sell pencils to get money to bny bread
for mamma." " Well, I'll tell you," and he braced
up against a gaslight-post, " this is my very last
drunk. Mind, my very last one. I am going to
make you a present, because you are a nice little
girl."
By this time quite a crowd had congregated
around, all curiously watching the action of the
Bacchanal.
"Now, then," said he, addressing the crowd,
"this is my very last drunk. Mind, my last one,
I am going to make this little girl a present, and
I want all you fellows to chip in, for I am going
to take this plug hat and go round."
He kept his word. Taking oft his hat ne start
ed the fund with three dollars, and went through
the crowd, receiving dimes, quarters, and nickels
on every hand.
"Now," said he to the little girl, who watched
his performance with amazement, "I want you to
promise to go home and buy your mamma some
bread and keep off the streets. Here you are,"
and he deposited a double-handful of silver coin
into the little one's hat. She thanked him kind
ly, and as he replaced his hat he said to the
crowd, " Boys, this is my. last drunk ; mind, my
very T&aV-Z-Critic.
y
KS?
