Newspaper Page Text
The Jiorthern Lights.
A NORSK SUPERSTITION.
Hay, inoher,nay the pictured coal is glowing
iuli end redly on the hearthstone there
onwasno flame of caieless idlers' throwing,
orrocket flashing through the startled air
'Twas but i ihe gleaming of the Northern
Ah, there again they reddened Huntcliff
"So, let me raise you softly on the pillow
See, how the crimson lustre flares and dies,
Turning to red the long heave of the billow,
And the great arch of all the starless skies
The fisheis say such beauty bodes them sor
Tc'lmgof btorm,and wind to blow to-morrow."
"'Wo, child, the busy wife may bait her lines
And net and gear lie ready for the morning,
No presage in that wavering glory shines,
No doom in the rich hues the clouds adorning
They do but say the lingering hours are past,
The gates,the golden gates, unclose at last.
"Won, the long hill so steep and drear to
Done, be long task so bitter hard in learning
The tears are shed, and garnered up by time,
The heart beats, freed from all its lonely yearn
The bar swings back, and flooding seas and
Bm out the deathless lights of Paradise.
*Set, sea, by the great valves of pearl they
friends, children, husband see glad hands
ITor me, for me, the undiscovered land,
it3 promise in that roseate signal teaching
Aye, kiss me, child (he lips will soon be dumb
That yet in earthly words can say, 'I come'"
A.jjaia the banner of the Nothern Lights
Waved broad and bright across the face of
And the cottage on the rugged heights,
The passing radiance by their glory given,
Sliwwed a pale orphan weeping by the bed,
Vnd the calm smiling of the happy dead.
THE MAN 131 POSSESSION*
'I won't pay a farthingno that I
won'tnot if 1 have to go to prison for
jt!'" And down comes my father's clench
ed band on to the table with such a
thump that it makes the reels in my
basket jump as if suddenly attacked with
St yitus's dance.
Yesterday my father had made his
first acquaintance with the County Court
having been summoned by a tradesman
tor the balance of an account which my
father had declined to pay, as he
firmly believed it to be a gross over
charge but facts went against him, and
he was ordered to pay. My
father vowed that he would do no such
tluug. He called the judgment "iniquit
ous and one-sided," and ultimately ex
pressed his determination to emulate
dear old Mr. Pickwick, and go to prison
if necessary, rather than submit to such
"But, father," I ask, in an awe-struck
tone, "vwiatwill they do if you don't pay?
Shall we all have to go to prison?"
'No, my deart" replies my father
^aiming down "not exactly. The court
will issue what is called an 'execution,'
and try to put a man in possession but I
think I shall prove more than a match for
a County Court bailiff."
Father smiles while saying this, as if the
latter person were a very contemptible
*nd insignificant thing.
"Execution!" "Man in possessson!"
What do they mean? I am afraid to ask
my father, he looks so cross, so I go on
quietly with my work, waiting until the
trnwn shall have]left his brow.
"Mary," at last exclaims my father, "I
have to go to Bardmoor, and I was think
ing that it might de a wise thing to con
sult young: Barton he has just come from
A large office in London tohelp his uncle
I don't know much about him, but old
Barton has always been considered
g'jod lawyer, and perhaps the nephew
mat be following in his uncle's steps. At
any rate, I will make the the attemp, and
sec if he can't save ine from this atrocious
swindle. wrote yesterday, asking him
to cail here, if passing, as I wapted to
see bim about those leases but I suppose
he has been too busy, or perhaps my let
ter has not reached him."
My fathar does not volunteer more in
formation, so I wish him "good-night,"
and retire to rest, to dream of executions
AI Newgate, and that the murderers ex
piating their crimes are the "men in pos
The next morning, on coming down to
breakfast, 1 find that my father has start
d by the early train for Bardmoor, and
has left positive orders that during his
absence the gate is to be kept locked,
*ny no oneadmitted under any pretence
But tell me why, Jane?" asked our
old cook, who had been with us longer
thati I can remember, and to whom the
wders have been given.
'^To keep out the bailiffs, miss," re
plies Jane. "Not that it will be any
gcflSd, for they are ^*ts sharp as needles,
arret nothing can koep^'em out if they've
a mind to get in."
Wha* is an 'execution,' or a 'man in
possession?'" I ask. "Did you ever see
Only one, miss, and that was quite
enough. A bailiff is the man in poses
sion, and when he or his men get into
a house they sell all the furniture and
every thing they can lay their hands on
and that is what they call an execu-
But, Jaue," I argue, "if we keep the
doors locked, how can they get in?"
Lor, miss," answers Jane, "you don't
know how artful they are! If they want
to get into a house very much, they will
disguise themselves like play actors do.
I remember when my Uncle John had
the 'bailiffs in. He had kept them out
for nigh .three weeks, when one day an
old cart broke down just outside his door,
and tho driver was thrown off his seat
and fell into the*"road, where, he lay as if
he was too much hurt to move. "TJftele
had a kind heart, so he ran into the road
and helped the driver on to his feet.
groans the man. 'Come in and rest a bit,'
says uncle, 'and let's see where you are
hurt and with that he helps him to limp
into the house. Sit down and rest your
selfmake yourself at home and uncle
brings but his owh"arm-ch"air. 'Thankee,
I will,' grinned the old rascal* plumping
his ugly seuinto the chair. 4 -I'm the
man in posession,' says he, and pulls the
warrent out of hiscr-pocket 'so fork oui,
my good Samaritian, or else I sell every
blessed stick you've got.'"
And so Jane rattles on with anecdotes
of thl sharpness and scrupulomsness of men
in possession, until I begin to regard
them as something more than mortal.
After the beakfast things have been re
moved, I perform my usual household
duties -for I have been papa's house
keeper since dear mamma diedand
then, taking a book with me, I go on the
veranda to have a quiet read before
luncheon. The reading has not advanced
veiy tar when I am startled by an ag
gonized yelping and barking just outside
"I am sure that is Tiny's bark/.' I say
to myself. She must have crept under
the gate, and is now fighting with some
other dog. Naughty, quarrelSqWe little
thing! She will be killed!"
Starting from my seat, I seize the key
of the gate and a large garden broom
which happens to be standing near, and,
heedless of executions" and men in
possession," I open the gate and rush out
into the road, there to see my poor little
Tiny in the grip of a mostdisreputab le
leoking cur. My efforts to part them
are at first fruitless but at last, after one
or two vigorous pushes with the broom,
I succeed. Tiny is rescued, but at my
expense, for the angry cur directs his
warth against me. Terribly afraid, I
turn to run, but my opponent is too quick.
He seizes hold of my dress and shakes" "it
as if it were a rat. I scream to Jane fpr
assistance, but relief is at hand. A gentle
man rushes forward, and with one or two
smart raps of his stick drives the dog
away. I snatch up Tiny and make a
start for the garden before the attack is
renewed. Fate, however, is against me.
The horrid little dog has torn my dress,
and of course I must put my foot through
the hole and awkwardly stumble. A
strong arm outsretched in tim^ just saves
me from measuring my length in the
"Don't be frightened," I hear a pleasant
cheerful voice exclaim "theie is no dan
ger. The .little dog has beaten a retreat."
"Bow-wow-wow!" yelps the little
monster in contradiction as, executing a
cautious side movement, he renews the
attack. There is nothing for it but to
run and run I do, not stopping till
reach the garden gate, the little dog at
full speed after me. But my deliverer is',
equal to the occasion. He makes a rapid
plunge, and seizes the dog by the feack of
its nackwhich unexpected attack so
alarms the animal that it suffers itself,
without a snap or a bit, to be lgnomin
iously expelled from the garden and the
gate closed upon it
"O, thank you!" I hurridly exclaim.
"I hope you are not hurt?"
For the first time I ook at my preserver
and meet a pair of merry brown eyes
looking at me with an amused twinkle.
"Stupid fellow!" I say to myself. "I
wish he would not stare so. I don't know
what to say to him."
To add to my discomfort, I feel my
cheeks getting crimsonI have such "a
tiresome habit of blushingand a truant
lock of hair will keep blowing about my
forehead. I wish that he was a little
awkward or bashful. I always have
plenty of self-possession, when talking to
a shy person: their diffidence gives me
courage. I push the hair from my fore-,
head with an impatient hand, and, raising
my eyes to his as he is assuring me that
he is quite unhurt, I catch a glimpse of" a
blue, official-looking* paper which has
worked its way out of his packet. Allat
once it flashed across my jnj&dthe "man
possession!" He ntust bga bailiff, and
I have let him in, and papa will come
back to find his home devoid of furniture
everything seized. I have no doubt
that he has plenty of assistants waiting
"I am very much obliged to you"I
try to say it willingly, but fear and in
dignation drive all softness from my
voice"I won't trouble you any longer,"
I continue. "I am not at all afraid."
And I hasten to the gate to open it for
his departure but that wretched animal,
with revived courage, is waiting outside,
and as soon as my hand touches the latch,
"Bow-wow!" it yelps, springing savagely
at the gate.
I jump back with a start, the impud
ent toailiff actually smiles: I suppose I
must have looked veiy funny. Seeing
my look of annoyance, he takes no notice
of my discomfiture.
"Pardon me," he ev"-. poUtely raising
his hatand I wonder
ro myself how it
is that a bailiff can io^ and behave so
much like a gentleman- --'is not this
Holmfield, Mr. Moiton's pi-sec?"
"Yes," I reply, wirn as mucn dignity
as I can scrape together.-*^his is Holm
field, Mr. Morton's plac* but papa is
out. and I do not know when he/will be
back, so I do not think it will be any
good for you to wait. Perhaps, you had
better call again."
I wait, hoping that he will eo. But,
no he hesitates: and then slowly taking
some papers from his pocket, be says:
"I should be very sorry to jrosr seeing
him. I have come some distance. It is
about some legal business. I think he
has been expecting me and ne looks, at
me inquiringly and I make no response
so he continues: "With yojur permission
I will wait for him. I canganiuse^|nyselt
very well strolling around thes^nice
gardens, if you will allow me t&'do so
But may I hand you my cardJJ'^w-%
And he takes one from a caWcase
I persistently refuse to ste it, for" feel
certain that he must be a bailiff. His
reference to papa's expecting him and the
legal business have removed my last
doubt. Notwithstanding his politeness,
I determined not to take the card, which
I firmly believed to be what Jane de
scribed as the warrant.
"As you please," I answered, curtly,
and, With a stiff inclination of rn*%ead, I ^MSdttr^ain?''_ i^i\ I
hurrf info the housekin a great "baste of l-i-C-_ Ll .J_._#l.
tersest he shoul|iurj afteriLm^d.
jforce his way in. g
I fastened the door, and peeped out of the
side window. There 'he'" stands where I
left hin*. He is actuallylighrhjg a cigar.
What impertinence! "feel aylrifle 'soft
ened as my nose informs me that the" cjj.
gar is a good one. I like the aroma of a
good cigar about a place. It makes it so
masculine. I am obliged to admit to
myself that it this one is a specimen of
his class, bailiffs must be very handsOme
men. How well rhji3 shpotjing-suit fits
him! It is so neat in pattern-and color
a quiet gray, the pattern so small as to
be almost invisiblenot a gigantic check*
like walking window-panes. He takes
off his "dear stalker" to shade the fuzee
from the wind, ,and I notice that he has
beautiful brown hair, very thick and cur
ly. "What a pity,' I sigh to myself,
"that such a nice*-looking fellow should'
be a horrible baniff!"
But what am I t do? I-feel sure tha
the stroll about the grounds is only pre
fence. No, he must be concocting tome
rtfse by which to gain an entrance into the
house. I resolve to prevent him. "Is not
a woman a macch in wit and resorce for
any man?" I argue to myself. "A bailiff,
after all, is only a man." I commence
cogitating over all kinds of plans untill I
give myself a headache.' I am just about
to confess that I am defeated, when the
idea so long fought for comes. I see it
all in a moment. The game is my own,
if I have nerve enough to take me through
"it I think I have. "I will lure him to the
'Wilderness,' and lock him up in the ruin
till father cames home! He will most
likely bring young Mr. Barton with him,
and then we shall be all right.'" I think
that a real lawyer must prove more than
my bailiff can withstand.
The "Wilderness" is a wild, deserted
spot at one end of the grounds, and far
from the road. It has been allowed to
run wild on account of its picturesqueness.
A broad fussy stream falls over some
rocks to a depth of sex or seven feet, mak
ing a terrible noise, and widening into a
small lake, on the bank of which stands
a mock ruin covered with ivy. It consists
of a solitary tower with two or three nar
row silts for windows, and rejoices in the
Keep. I rememDer with joy that it has a
stout oak door with a very strung lock.
I creep out softly through' the conser
vatory, locking'"the door after me, and
dodge between the shrubs. uniH I have
placed a safe distance 'ojstw^en myself
and the flower-garden, where1
I hear my
victim walking. In a breathless state of
excitementM reach the Keep. I push the
door open, and enter. Ugh What a
nasty, damp, miserable place it isjust
like a dungeon in some old castle! There
is nothing inside but a spade and a rake
and an old garden-stoolthese I carefully
remove. I hesitate over the stool, but
compassion is overcome. "No," I say to
myself, "out you must g$! If he is tired
he must sit on the ground. You would
be too handy as a battering-ram"and I
throw it out alter the 'spade and rake.
My next proceeding is to carefully ex
amine the lock. This nearly foils
it is so stiff that I can hardly ,turn it. 1
am at a loss what to do, when* I"catch
sight of a small bottle of oil and a feath
er standing on a little ledge. I joyfully
seize them. "Just the thing!" I cry. The
bottle is verv dirty and sticky, but I am
too excited to heed such petty discom
forts, so I pull out the feather and begin
to oil into the"" lock*1
through the keyhole.
"O* you, nasty, tiresome thing!"
I cry, pass?6nately, stamping~%ie ground.
"Who, lor the lock?" ,And, turning
around, I beheld my victim regarding
me with a slightly astonished yet amused
look. I,am too much nonplussed to re
Can I assist youf he inquires and,
without waiting for my permission, the
bot^e and feather are taka frOm me, and
my,voluntary assistant^tjieedless of the
dirtyjnoss-eoverd step, is on his kness
busily working away at the lock as if he
had been a locksmith ^Ij^nis life. He
works onjjuietly for a little time without
I stand by confusedly
trying to think of sOme means by which
I can trap my game. Tnere is the prison,
and there is the prisoner but how is he
to be put inside it? "What a strong
lock this is! I should not .care to be be
hind if fkhljmtj jr /"crowtoar.Tni^emarks.
I answerk$tlhg/but, 1 anr readv to
cry of yexa^bttt**F'wisK"
fhat^I was -as
stiong as an elephant, so that I might
pusli him in nolens volem.
I think you will find it all right now.
Itvis still a little stiff, but you wilT be
aide to turn it."
And, rising'from his Knees, the victim
faces me with a grave face, which'afi at
once breaks into an irrepreasible smile of
amusement that he vainly stuves to .con
I flush angrly at what I* considerhia
impertinence. Afterwad, when I g$e"-my
self in the glass, my fonder is removed"--
my dressiNall torn and creased, is srrtudged
all down the front with, green moisitand
rust, while across jnyrforhead-isJ a*, gfeat
streak of dirty or!.1
have used my greasy hands^ as
promptu hair-brush, withoiftj tWktng,of
the improvement I was adding to my
beauty. My voluntary assistahStoops to
cleanJhis hands, and as tier,is wiping
theme his handkerchief, I ntftice Vvery
handsome antique ijing on, flfe little^fih
ger of his right haadv^lleei^ my 16ok,
he remarks: ^:5$&S/
"I am rather proud^WHSKs ring lfchas
been in our family for generations, Tt 3s
very iti^ch ^drnired b',ednoisseursj"
and he^pldsit ujkii*inTe
^1 decline toTook at it, coldly observing
that I was no antiquary and I smile to
myself at the idea^of a bailiff talking of
"generations," as if he had an ancestry.
t'l'W.tivTrr' in MI tin**
He turns away as if to return to the gar
"Now or never!" I say to myself, and
with a rapidly-beating heart I begin:
to so in
speak'*uv.?ari iifeinu,&,tin tine,
stupid h|art Jhumpk skjba^fc
rwondef he does Sbf helirif."
"Is it really a ruin?" he asks.
TaM'o'bTrg'sa'to 'aamit that iVW'tMj
,."Thank you all the same7' hTTays,
'ihut I think I will content myself with
an outside view I dare say it is full of
earwigs and spiders, very unpleasant
creatures to have tumbling "about one,
don't,you think so?"
"Yes," I Slowly assent, adding quickly,
as I am seized with a likely idea, "6,
yes! I am so-terribly afraid of them and
papa will ma-ke 'me keep my gardening
tools in there, so that I am always pre
vented from gardening unless William is
"here to get them for me. I wanted to do
a little gardening now," I continue,
lt but 1 suppose
I must "wait till I find William," and*I
try the effect of a little sigh.
Success! My fish nibbles! Now to
"Can't I act as William's substitue^"
And, without waiting for my permis
sion, the unfortunate bailiff braves the
earwigs and spiders and enters the trap.
"Thank you!" I cry, excitedly. "You
will find them in the recess behind the
Hastily following him, I pull the door,
turn the key with a desperate wrench,
and, covering my ears with my hands, I
fly like a hunted deer toward the house
Poor Jane's wits are nearly scared
away when I relate to her my adventures.
She declares that bailiffs always hunt in
couples/and that there is sure to be an
other lurking about the place. So, to
prevent a surprise, we carefully lock and
bolt all the doors, and, notwithstanding
that it is early in the afternoon, close and
fasten the shutters to all the windows on
the ground floor, i
How slowly the time passes' Three
o'clockfour o'clockno father! If he
does'not catch the four o'clock express
from Bardmoor, he will not reach home
Another hour before he can arrive!
try to read, but cannot settle my ideas.
It is equally useless to work, I tor
ture my&eli' with all kinds of horrible
thoughts, but at last the hands of the
cleokpointto*half-past five..- He.jnust,
be,here soon I go to my bedroom
window, and watch the road till I see him
coming, and then I rush to the door,
and, opening it on the chain, cautiously,
whisper to him:
"Be careful, father, and when I open the
door come in as quickly as you can but
look round first and see if any one is
watching, as the bailiffs are here, and
have been trying to get in."
I cautiously unhook the chain, and
open the door sogingerly that father has
to give it quite a push before he can get
"O, dad, dear," I cry, as I kiss him, I
am so glad that you are come back. IVe
had such an awful fright. The bailiff has
been here, and would have/got into the
house but that I was too clever for him,"
And I clap"tny hands and laugh glee
fully as I relate to my father the excit'
ing events of $ie day and he calls me
his "brave little girl,'' and "a heroine,"
and only laughs when I assure him that
the bailiff looked "quite like a gentle-
.Wy^Well, dear," my father begins, as wo
silts down to dinner, "I saw old Mr^, Bar
ton, and he ha advised me to pay, and
settle the matter at oncein fact, he
candidly told me that he thought I was
in the wrongso after dinner we will re
lease your friend. I dare say something
warm for his inside .^andt some golden
ointment for the palm of his hand will
soon pat matters right. Old Barton is
ageing ye$y much," my father continues,
as he reflectiv( ly sips his Wine. "He was
very pleased to see me. I had quite a
long chat with him. He says that his
nephew, whom he intends to succeed huri
is very clever. He is a fine-looking fel
low, I should say, judging from his
photograph. His uncle gave me one.
I've got it in my pocket somewhere."
And, after searching for some time, my
father pulls out from a packet of papers
a small-sized carte-de-visite, which he
hands to mc. I take it from him, and
look at it. One glance is sufficient. I
dash it from me, and, burying my face in
my hands, I cry out:
"O, dad, dad, the bailiff!"
"Where^ where, girl?" asks my father,
springing, from his seat, and upsetting hia
wine, as he'looks eagerly about the room,
as if expecting an ambuscade of county
court myrmidons. ~n
"Q4 what shall I do?" LexclaW, fSTell
me, I implore you, father, that is not Mr.
Barton's likeness! you are only jqking I
know you are!'' and I looked at him pite
ously.' rj *f 1
'.'Joking,vjnrU'' he ?rjepeal i
ou mean? Whose likeness dovouimag
it to be?"
"The bailiff'sthe man I've fodked up
"Whew!'' whistles my father, "That's
it, is it? Here's a pretty kettle of fish!
you've locked up the young lawyer from
London! Gentlemanly bailiff indeed! Ac
tionfb false imprisonmentdjaraage|l ten
thousand pounds. Well, you are a nice
young ladyquite a heroine!"
My father's eyes twinkle merr ily as he
fires off hisjokes^jat my pxpeijse. I do
not mind his chaff but I* thirfr it too
bad that he should-^ make m.e.g.0, with
bim to release my prisoner,
las he insists
on calling him.. .Xtj^t, into tiie, .dark we
go. I lingei^eb^a^pin^Jhat my
father would arrive at the run before I
do** j^^'bp^as^no sucji b^ehti$n,|cr,he
calls me to him,he places my nand under
?W A. i, \-M
his arm and makes me keep pace with
him, while he indulges in dismal fore
bodings as to the condition in which mv
prisoner will be found. He rings the
changes on suicide and melancholy mad
ness. The ruin is at last reached". Tho
delicate aroma pf a fragrant cigar' "which
salutea^ouf nostrils tends to remove our
anxiety as to the prisoner's being totally
desjitute of comfort *My father pushes
me toward* the door.
"Open it, girl!" he says, with melodra
I am trembling all over, but with great
effort I manage to turn the key and give
the door a feeble push. I felt the door
pulled open. I dare not look. My eyes
are cast to the ground, and my cheeks
are on fire, as in a scarcelv audible voice
I say, "I am so sorry, Mr.'Barton. I did
not mean toI took you for aa" It
is top much. I break down, and, ingno
miniousfy bursting into tears, run to my
father and bury my face on his shoulder.
"There, there, my giil!" cries my fath
er, soothingly. He holds me to him. and,
softly patting me with one hand, he turns
to Mr. Barton, and says, "We must ask
your forgiveness, Mr. Barton and I am
sure you will give it when I explain how
my little girl has made a great mistake.
In fact, she took you for a Country Court
bailiff!" and my father explains every
thing to him.
When he was finished, I raise my head,
and, looking snyly at Mr. Barton, say:
"I am so sorry. I do not know how I
could have made such a mistake. It was
so foolish but I was so frightened!"
It would be useless to relate the many
kind things Mr. Barton said. He made
so many excuses for me, and was so kind
and good-natured, that by the time we
had reached the house I had recovered
my self-pofsession sufficiently to be able
to laugh at an amusing anecdote he re
lated to us.
Fertunately dinner had not advanced
very far when I discovered my mistake.
We made a very merry party that night.
My father brought out some"of his cher
ished port that saw the light only on very
great occasions and as he insisted on Mr.
Barton staying all night, and the next
morning in saying "Good-by" gave him
a pressing invitation to come and see us
very often, I think I am justified in be
lieving that my prisoner had created a
very favorable impression on that ad
amantine structurea father's heart.
Three months later. A sharp winter
has set in, and the stream still. The lake
is frozen over, and I am sitting on the
bank while Mr. Barton is assisting me to
lemove mv skates I have been receiv
ing my first lesson in skating. I twas eo
pleasant! I was not at all afraid. My
teacher's arm was so strong and he held
my hands so tightly!
"Do you remember the af ternoos when
I locked you up?" I ask, as wc carry our
skates into the ruin.
"Remember?" he cries, looking me full
in the face. "I should think I do! It
was the happiest day of my life."
Stupid little goose that I am, I begin
to tremble, and my foolish cheeks flash
the tell-tale color. The skates fall to the
ground as my hands are quickly grasped
and my prisoner makes me captive. I
try to release myself, but my efforts
cease as my captor, in almost breathless
words, tells me he loves me. I do not
know whether I give any answer, but in
a moment he has drawn me to him. I
pillow my head on his breast, his arms
are around me, and I know that I am his
and that he is mine!
"Hey-day!" exclaims a voice, as my
father suddenly appears on the scene.
"What does this mean?"
"Only the man in possession!" replies
Mr. Barton, grasping my father's readily
A Trial For Murder that rJnded with
Iho Marriage hervlce,
A greater transition from stress of men
tal anxiety and possible woe to buoyant
life and happiness can hardly be imagin
ed than'was recently presented in a Cali
fornia court-room. It was a case of mur
der, but, in' tead of having to pronounce
the death sentence, the Judge performed
the much more agreeable duty of reading
the marriage service and joining the
prisoner in wedlock. It happened in
this wise: Joachim Hanks, captain of a
fine schooner lying at anchor in the San
Joaquin River, had a night's drinking
bout in the neighboring town of Antioch.
The next morning, George Mitchell, a
whisky-drinking ne'er do-well, was iouad
tumbled off the wharf in the mud, deads
Suspicion fastened, upon Hanks as his
murderer, and he was captured by officer,
after an exciting boat race towards the
schooner, which the captain sought for
refuge. Close by the captain's side
through ihe Jtxial sat Mary Raymond a
haedsbnie, elpgantly-dressed young wo
man, who watched with painful anxiety
every development. It soon became ap
parent to the court-room aud ence that
Mary Rayniont had a more then com
mon stake in the fate of captian Hanks,
who, by the way, now that he was sober
and well dressed, was as fine and gallant
a fellow to look upon as you often see.
The general atmophere of sympathy
finally became so intense that the Judge,
in making his charge, considered it his
duty to caution the.iury against allowing
it to influence their verdict. The ex
hibitfbn of devotion and affection, hje al
low&ljjwasvery touching'* & $ beautiful,
but neither he nor the|p, he remarked
with cruel judicial logic",f had any'more
to do with the woes of, these' disjtresied
lovers than they had with the loves of
Abelard and Heloise. Luckily, the
evidence was not conclusive, and the
jury, eniy too glad not to ruthlessly sever
two hearts that beat as one,1v speedily
returned a-verdict of not, guilty," and
then, so quickly-ks to take the breath
awa^ frorn the woman spectators of the
trial, ihe blissful couple stood up in the
presence of the Judge and were made
man and wife.