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The Newberry herald. (Newberry, S.C.) 1865-1884, November 29, 1883, Image 1

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A Family Companion, Devoted to Litera re, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c. -
msIk . Vuplratia of
6a w"tOft k."
* O e3AP3ND 3U18Tlbr
.. -te itOr Ge#bs tp Cinbs.
"-" ? "h- . bgOnseez
MAAU they ,u
s~ is tuhetbt ad.h
tand I
S'Depeoeeeanhe of "Josiah
toWmy a cam 'la
*At3mbroMt7r.FIioweei *Gdpu
~0o rn-tnibortL eveytbilk.
for 3 ti _A Wi&superbz
iarieBi,ass pe
the0. abbt
oa.-"Wo tDe person l.Um
- !' - IOtlu'r Inducmeul
': aqen amt- patia, it wrten foe,
In Dry Goods, Boots, Shoes, Hats,
Carpets, Clothing, &e. &e., to be sold
at remarkably low figures at the Grand
Dry Gooda Emrm of
A few hints will not be amiss to buy
a right thing, buy where you are sure
to and the goods for sale to be correct
In style.and of the best quality: Do
not .-make your purchases until you
have seen my magnificent stock of
ds, the largest that ever was in this
The, poor crops has occas
ioned mueb eomplaint of dull times.
My sales bowever have been good and
t have no complaint to make on that
o e tj order to give additional
e 'tru I shall offer this week
Particularly in departments referred,
to in this advertisement, viz: Woman's
yest grade Bay State Shoes @ $1.25,
worth 1.50; Men's Boots 2.50 formerly
sold for 3.0);. Boys boots 1.00, sold for
1.50; Chas. Heiser's, hand made Gait
ers 6.50 fornerly sold 7.50; Ladys',
Misses, and Children's shoes in propor
tion. I defy competition in the Shoe
and Boot trade.
gest Gro Grain Silks 1.00 to 1.50, sold
for 1.50 to 2.00 per yard. My Cash
meres, -Satins, and all Dress Goods
have been reduced in price. I have
the largest stock' in this department
that has ever been exhibited In New
Of which I have.a beautiful line, and
will sell them now at amazingly low
prices. Cloaks that I sold for $4.00, I
will now sell for 3.00, and all the rest
in proportion. ~Las. Jackets (Walking)
iednced greatly in price.
:-: Cassimers & Jeans :-:
I can beat the town in, both in Price
and Quality.
Men's Suits from$5.00 to'$30, reduced
from $4.00 to $25. Boys suits in pro
The best stoek-'of Kentucky saddles
this side of Louisville Ky., also Har
nesBrldle, Whips, Saddle Blankets:
WM h .amselng lQwer than ever
Fr:a i.5c. to 9.e. per yd. Brussels
that I sold for $1. now 90c. Rubber
Rugs, &c.
To be eenvinced f iow eit-.
seas that I mead bW4ness give
me a call before purchasiag.
And no unnecessary solicitation to buy.
Very respectfully,
Important Notice.
,Buying and se.ling for
I am enabled to offer to the public
ilso theflnest and best FrenIch Brandies
he celebrated
or family use, at prices which defy
for family use, one dozen Pint Bottles
at $1.'0
All orders will receive prompt atten
tion. -With thanks for former patron
age to this house' I respectfully solicit
a continuance of' the same.
Under Newberry Opera House.
June II, S4-.?KRos.
bay an tyd
Oh I to go back in our lives,
To live them over again,
Knowing,all that now we know,
Seeing all we saw not then.
Oh ! to refrain from speaking
. Where that hasty word was said.
Oh f'but to break that silence
Which weighs on our heart like lead.
Oh ! but to tarry once more
At that point where two rcads met.
And choose as we,chose not then,
Made wise by a life's regret.
Oh ! but to set out afresh
With some who from earth are flei,
Now we've read them by the radiance
Death sheds around the dead!
Thus cry we now and again
In words of remorseful pain.
Yet deep in our heart of hearts
Thank God that the prayer is vain.
You can vead . lipan our sign
"Smith Brothers." "Smith Broth
ers" head our advertisements. We
have always been 'Smith Broth
ers" at heart, except for one brief
space. We are in the wholesale
-dry goods line, as our father was
before us. When he died he left
us his store and his business, and
"Smith Brothers" took the place of
the old sign-"Johnathan Smith."
We were not young when our
father departed his life. I, Abso
lum, was thirty-five and my brother
Abijah was thirty-three. Our mo
ther died when we were children,
and her last charge, as they say in
novels, was that we should love
each other and try to console father.
We can remember her very distinct
ly, both of us. She was a fair little
woman, with a pale face and gen
tle' eyel of a. sort-of. brownish blue.
Her voice was srery sweet and low;
and she loved us as no one will ever
love us -again. TOd this day I can
'recall her cooing, murmurous into
nations, as she called us a mother s
thousand endearing names; the
warm clasp of her soft arms; the
sweetness of her smiles; the deli
cacy of her beauty. So can Abijah.
it is not strange that after 'her
death, as our lives expanded from
boyhood to manhood, our mother,
as we remember her, became to our
~dreaming fancies the type of all
that was lovely in woman. The
future wife, of whom .we both
dreamed, was little, a fair creature,
with brownish blue eyes, sweet
oice and tender smile. We used
~to talk about her freely with each
other and the one who found his
mate first was to marry and take
his brother to live with him.
It was a queer life which we led,
all through our boyhood and young
manhood. The servants who had
lived with us at my father's death,
two staid, church going spinsters,
all lines and angles, and a grey
haired servingman who looked like
the very incarnation of family re
spectability. Besides these we had
no housekeeper. My father did not
like a stranger about the house and
~himse'lf bestowed upon the domes
tic affairs the slight amount *cf
supervision necessary, until I be
come old enough to relieve him.
We went to school until we were
shy boys, and besides each other,
made no, intimate friends.
When we were sixteen cur
father took us into his store. This
pleased us vastly better thian a
longer school life. We were con
tempative, rather than communica
tive, and we used to sit, when the
day's work was over, and look from
an upper window dowvn the harbor
and watch the ships coming home,
bearing to temperate New England
oriental musks sad spices and
essence; shawls and robes wrought
with many a strange' Eastern device;
hints of acacias and Indieu palms
and dusky women roving under
them. I'speak for us both; our
tastes were as one taste; what one
liked the other liked also. We
used to associate the gentle.woman
of our dreams with all our oriental
fancies. She should wear the bright
hued silks, fold her light figure in
the quaint, rich shawls, bear the
odor of spices inher soft hair and
the folds of her garments.
But when my father died and we
got along in our thirties we were
no nearer the dream.:wife than in
our boyhood. We saw no ciompanyf
save the people.we met in our busm
ness.~ Year in and year not E fe
nale ToggpS lighter-eIUiker
than Jane's d~plaas ever
wandered op an the stairs,
in and out of the roomsof our spae:~
lus, old-fashioned house. We
dreamed-of the dture still, with the
shy tendernessa of ou -ohod
We did not at all reaifr;eha we
-wr g.lnWbkg o mo v.ing away
from the possibilities of youth and
beauty and tenderness. Our life
had been so quiet, so barren of
events, that it seemed short, uncon
scious of the hostages time was
leaving with us in the shape of
gray hair and wrinkles.
It is a sudden shock, rather than
bitter grief, when our father died.
His heart had been buried twenty
five years ago, in the grave. of our
mother, and since that time, though
kind and just to all, there had been
no sun 'to melt for him the ice of
life's long winter. We loved him.
There was a saddening sense of loss
and absence when we looked
at his vacant chair at home, or in
.his counting room when we saw
"Smith Brothers' on the sign, in
place of the honored name which
had hung there for forty years, but
there was none of the anguish of
desolation which rends the heart
when one is taken whom we loved
-who loved us.
"It would not have been.right to
marry while father lived,' I said to
Abijah, one evening, as we sat by
the library 'fire. "It would have
pained him to bring home a wife
here where mother died. But
"Yes I think it is time, now,
brother Absalom; but of course we
must wait till our year of mourning
is over."
Our eyes met each other and we
smiled. We maae no confessions
in words, but the truth came home
to us both that we had lived so long
out of the world, it would be a work
of more magnitude that we had rea
lized to go into society and choose
the household angel we both coveted.
And so it went on for another
year-the house silent and quiet as
ever; the old servants and "Smith
Brothers" growing old together.
Our father had been dead something
over twelve months when ' there
came to us a letter superscribed in
a female band, It was a very .un
usual event and we speculated a
little as to its possible origin before
we opened it. It proved to be from
a lady of whc.n we had ofteil heard
as our mother's most intimate friend.
This was what it said :
"I write to you, gentlemen. as
surely Mary Chelmsford may feel
privileged to wrfe to the children
of Margaret Smith. Your mother
and I loved 6a4)=ther wit. a te
derness deeper than most- sisters
know. All t:at one- woman cotld
have done or ventured for another
she would have done for me or I
for her. Sinee she died I have seen
neither of you. but I remember the
promise of :our boyhood. You,
Al.salom, had your mother's smile,
and you, Al.ijah, your mother's
kindly eyes. I believe that you
both inherit your mother's tender
heart. At any rate this is my only
hope. Under heven I have no
where else to turn. I am dying in
a strange place, 'of slow decline,
going to join my husband. I have
no near friends or kindred to look
tot-only you. I am not hiarsased
by any anxieties f or myself. My
soul is at rest. for iknow in whom
I have believed. I have property
enough to make n:y last days com
fortable, and leave a provision for
my daughter Margaret, who was
named for your mother. It is in
her behalf that I appeal to you.
She is not much over twenty, for I
was not married till late in life,
some years after your mother died.
She has a gentle, loving nature,
which, save at her father's death,
has never yet b)een subjected to
any of the harsh discipline of life.
It is from this time that I beg you
to save. She will not suffer from
any bodily wants, but d.o not let her
soul starve. Don't let her feel her
self friendless, lonely and loveless
in life. But this time one or both
of you must surely have chosen
some gentle woman to bless your
home, who will not refuse a moth
er's welcome to Margaret Chelms
ford. I will not urge my entreaty.
I kno~w that to make it at all to your
mother's son will be enffcient, if
you have it in your power to- com
ply with it. I am able to w~rite no
more, but I hop? to hear from you
before I go h:-nec. Address Mary
Chelmsford, Osw&;o, New York."
We were (of one minid and one
heart in the matter, my brother and
I. If Mrs. C'ielmnsford would con
fide her to our care. the daughter to
our mother's friend should seek
no farther fo:' a home. I do not
think the prospect at first afforded
either of us mu.:h pleasure. A
young lady in our very house
would sadly disturb our wonted
quiet, especially if she were fond of
gayety and wanted to go into society.
But neither of .us :elt any hesita
tion as to what was to be done. We
geolved not.trust to the delays and
chances- of a letter. One of us
would remain at home, to- superin
tend business and make ready for
the reception of the young lady,
and her mother,'if we found lirs.
Chelmsford able to travel. The
other was to proceed at once to
Oswego. My brother insisted that
this latter duty belonged to me,
as the elder, and I began my
jonrney the next morning9
When-A reached the ~1g
among the lakes I found the ist~
more feeble- thaa ae4d
She had evidently not very many
days to live. I resolved to remain
till all was over. She welcomed me
with feverish eagerness; entrusted
to my care all the papers which
concerned her daughter's inheri
tance, leaving the settlement of her
affairs in my hands. I had some
hesitation in proposing to her that
Margaret shoul,d reside henceforth
with my brother and myself; some
doubt as to whether she would not
think us too young to receive such
a ward. I was glad that she saw
.oimpropriety in it. I suppose I
en twelve months. with interest iron
gs day of sale, by bond and mortgagt
the premises.
ed Master's Office, 8th Nov. 1883.
Samuel A. Hunter, Executor. vs. Sai
J F. Davis, Adininistratix.
By order of the Court herein da
Nov. 1883.ijj,l selL at Du
so many whom I loved have gone
before-my husband, the little boy,
my first child, who died in baby
hood, and my mother, my truest
friend. More are there than here."
It was.my place to' console Mar
garet. She grieved for her mother
at first with an intensity of anguish
which no words could portray, but
after the funeral was over she grew
calm amid her sadness and began,
with serene patience, to take up
again her burden of life. I re
mained with her at Oswego until I
had completed the settlement of
her mother's affairs. They had
been badly managed and I found
that when they were reduced to a
system there would be scarcely
enough left for Margaret to keep
gloves on her pretty hands. I was
very glad when I made this dis
covery, that I and no other had the
charge of this business. Now I
could spare her from any feeling of
dependence. Every quarter I could
give her an ample provision for her
expenses, in such a manner as she
should receive it as the income of
her own property. I would not
have her feel under a' feather's
weight of obligation to me.
V hen all our arrangements were
satisfactorily completed I wrote to
apprise my brother of our comi1,
and we starW. fpr, home. AItijai
met us at the depot.
t '-My other ~ cousin," Margaret
said, pleasantly, as she extended
her hand, removing all restraint
with her graceful womanly tact.
She had called me. "Cousin Absa
lom," from the first. -
I found that my brother had
worked wonders during my absence.
Our old home no longer looked a
gloomy sbode, even for s young
girl. Fresh, bright paper was on
the walls, carpets of warm, rich
lhues covered the floors, tasteful fur
niture was disposed about the
apartments, and a room, leading
from the . little parlor, especially
designed for our guest, bad been
transformed into a conservatory
and was already gay with flowers.
With one consent we entreated
Miss Chelmsford to assume the
office of housekeeper, as neither ot
us felt competent to regulate any
longer the affairs of a household
which- was to number such a mem
ber. She promised, with her cus
tomary sweetness, to comply with
our request, and presently our
lomestic arrangements put on an
order and beauty they hail never
before known.
When we were fairly settled at
ome I had leisure to study Mar
garetChelmsford,the first young lady
with whom I had ever been famil
iarly associated. Until then I had
not observed what affected me
strangely now, her remarkable re
semblance to my memories of my
mother; to the ideal I had so long
herished of niy future wife. Here
was the lithe, graceful figure, the
brownish blue eye, thle low, sweet
voice, the winning smile; here, and
my heart thrill'ed as sit had never
hrilled before, was the woman I
ould love. Thirty-six began to
~em very old to me. Sixteen years
between me and the young life I
onged to link in my own. I did
iiot mention these thoughts to my
brother. For the first time in our
lives Wjjjwas a shadow between
us; a fi83, th(pable ice of reserve.
thinkdec nt't on my part, not
from any~ unwillingness that he
should read my heart, but from a se
cret fear, as bitter as secret, lest he
might recognize in her the ideal we
had both so long cherishmed, and
loved her as I loved her. Besides,
had so little- hope it seemed use
ess to talk about it.
She made no distinction in the
manifestation of her regard between
my brother and me. To us both,
she was uniformly all that a young
sister. could have been; the joy and
brightness of our homes and our
lives. Perhaps she came to me
most frequently concerning her
affairs, which was biut natural, as I.
had taken thmem upon me first.
A year passed away thus. She
growing reconciled to her loss and
blessing our home with her youth
and beauty. We, alas ! I could not
ht my eyes to that now, we lov
.mhe d ie bothof us des-I
perately, secretly, almost " hope
lessly. There are flower-s that blos
sou only once in a century, but
fervid and tropical in their late un
folding. Love was slow and late in
coming to our lives, but now its
sway was absolute. And yet we
were faithful brothers, still. I do
not think either of us darad-to i:
dulge a heai..felt longing for a spc
cess overshadowed by such black
ness of desolation as it must bring
to t!he other.
A i,:ngth I resolved to speak. She
could but refuse me. Better to
row at once that the flaming sword
O arded forever against me the
te of my longed for Eden, than
C..ifait afar off in such intolerable
Spense. I would try my fate. I
nt toward her especial sitting
A,: n. In the passage I met my
ther going also in the same di
ion. In an instant it flashed
- me that his errand was iden
ah l with my own. Come what
eld no woman's love should di
us whom Heaven had made
brothers. I went up to him and
laid my hand upon his arm.
"Come with me; brother," I said,
opening the -library door. He
followed me in and stood silently
before the fire. - I went on; "I know
what your errand was brother
mine was the same. It was im
possible that we should not both
love her, you and I.. But we are
brothers still. No other tie can
sever that. Let us love each other,
whatever comes."
We -are much alik, but I think
my brother has more fire in his na
ture thai I. His eyes kindled, and
he answered with an earnestness
that was almost savage
"Brother or not; no man has a
right to force me to ' give up my
love. I will have her, if I can get
her, in spite of all the world."
"So you shall. If she loves you,
she shall marry you. I know her
well. No power would force her,
neither want nor gratitude to give
her hand where she did not love.
I only meant to pray you to let
notlng separate us. However she
may decide, one, at least of us will
have bitter need of consolation. Go
you first; I myself think your hope
is better than mine.
He would have hesitated then.
but I urged him forward. .Ii le
succeeded. she. would never know
how my wholiing~iad poured
out its adoration for her; if he fail
ed I could but try my fate also.
He was not there long. I was cool
enough in the midst of my sus
tense- to know that he had been
absent but a few moments when he
opened the library door. His face
was white with repressed suffering.
He caie to me and said hoarsely :
""Brother she does not love me.
I told her you would come next.
Shc said something in answer. I
did not hear what. Go you in
I found her weeping, but she
roused herself at the sound of my
footstep and cried passionately.
"Not- you-not you also ! Do
not give mne the pain of thinking I
must wound.my best friend. Your
brother said you were coming and
I told him it would be of no use.
You would not want mes with
out my love. Oh!I wretched girl
that I am, to have brought un
happiness to the roof that sheltered
me when I was an orphan and
I found strength to answer her.
"'D not fear dear Margaret.
You have brought us more good
than evil. We are men. We will
conquer ourselves like men. You
will be our sister, then you can
forgive us -for the paif we have
caused you."
I went out tQ Abijah, who had
waited for me.
"I have failed also," was all l'
could say. *
His arms opened and clasped
about me in an embrace, such as
those which we had comforted each
other in boyhood. I had lost Mar
garet, but I had found again my
brother. I have nothing more to
say about the sufferings that fol
loed. It is idl.e to dwell upon it.
God sent it and we bore it man
fully. I and my brother.
The next day there came to us a
little note from Margaret. It was
such an one as it was like her kind
ness and delicacy to write. She
had chosen that mode of communi
cation because she thought it
would be easier than to speak to us
of what so dearly concerned her
own heart. She wrote very ten
derly, thanking us far. more warm
ly than we deserved for our kind
ess to her, a lonely orphan, prais
ing us far beyond our poor merits,
and telling us it would have been
scarcely possible for a girl whose
heart was free to have remained in
sensible to our devotion to herself,
but hers was not free. Before she
came to us it had passed from our
keeping. She had loved an'd been
loved by the physicia--a young
man; poor, but talented-who had
attended her m6ther in her last ill
ness. She had never known his
love for her until the day befort
she left Oswego. Then he told her
all, and though, because he must
be, for a long time to ceme, too
Ipoor to mnarrywhe would not per
mit her' to bind herself by any en
gagement, she knew that be looked
upon her as his future wife. She
took great blame to herself, for not
having told us this at first. If there
had been a Mrs. Smith she was
surt she should have confided all to
her; but, as there was no actual
promise of marriage, she could not
bring herself 'to speak of it to us,
particularly as she never supposed
it' possible that she possessed any
hold upon our hearts save the gen
erous sympathy which had opened
them to her. She had hoped in
time we should both be far.happier
than she should have made either
of us. She knew us too well, alas.l
to think that we had loved.her with
a love to be at once conquered; but
time and her absence, for she must
leave us now, would. bring heal
We read the letter together, and
as we finished my brother looked
"We have much more than
enough for two solitary men; let
us make her happy with part of
He had uttered-the thought that
was in my heart also. He replied
to Margaret's letter; for nature had
made him more eloquent than I.
He begged her to remain with us,
by entreaties that could not be re
sisted; exculpating her from the
faintest shadow of blame, and for
the sake of the tender love between
oui- dead mother, for our sister, .
In the meantime I wrote to Dr.
Wentworth, at Oswego, informing 1
him that circumstances had induced
my ward to confide to me the rela
tions existing between them, .and
hinting that her dowry would be
sufficient to make their marriage
prudent at any time. In conelu
sion, I begged leave to offer him
the alvice of a man that had seen
more of life than himself, not to
delay his happiness too late.
It ended as we had foreseen and
intended. We persuaded Margaret
to -emain with us until she was
married and that was not long.
The dear- cild was very happy,
though- I could see .with that deli
cate tenderness she strove to show
us all her joy. We see her often,
and we alike think that she owes
part of her happiness to us. It is
all the sweeter .that ,he does not
know it. t - _
We live alone again in the old
house, with the old servants. The
paper on - the walls, the carpets:on
the floors, have growh dim, and time.
has softened a little the memory of
the sharpest wound our hearts ever
received. We have given up all
thoughts of love and marriage. We
shall live together till death parts
us; when that hour . comes, and
they pull down the sign "Smith
Brothers," there will be no one to
take our place.
little Norwalk boy got a sliver in
his foot, and a motion to poultice
the wound, made by his mother
and seconded by his grandmother,
was carried in spite of his object
ions. lHe kicked and screamed,
and protested that he would not
submit to any such indignity, but
the majority against,. him was two
to oj:e, and the poultice was made
ready. It was arranged that the
grandmother should apply the poul
tice while the .patient's mnother
stood over him with a stick with
authority and instrpctions to apply
that also if he made thme least show
of resistance. -
When all was ready the-youngster
was placed on the bed and opera
tions began. As the hot poultice
touched the boy's foot, he opened.
his mouth to say something, but his
mother, with the stick, awed him in
to silence. Again the boy strove
to make himself heard, and! again
the upraised stick warned hIm to
keep quiet. In a few short min
utes the poultice was firmly in
place and the boy was tucked up in
bed there to remain until the med-.
icine had done its work. As the
urchin's tormentors moved away, a
shrill, sinall voice came from under
the bed-clothes:]
"You've dot it on the wrong
foot !"-Norccalk (Cornn.) Hour.
A hittie anecdote in which the wife I
of Ge*neral t'ook played a part
went the rounds of the newspapers
wihile she was still in her school 1
days. On his way to Wheeling -
in a private car, President Ba
chanan made the usual wait'
at Oakland Station, where many
persons assemkled to be presented
to the chief magistrate. When.
Mary-s~ turn came, the, exalt-.
ed bachelor put the question to her
that had served him throuighonit1
the interview: "And what State ar,e
yon from, Miss?' "'From the same
st.ate as your excellency," she quick-j
ly replied, "the. state of single.
The reason "the boy stood on the'
burning deck"' was because it was{
nntotAwtt itomn
Doe C09-I
,on abbmej '!9!
otrespect, am rates pr,qua
$peda Notioes In ms t o L i
Advermtemwuota not
ber or ieroes wirbe kept
sad egare sol'ing
$p~sec s ug b !?
ters, with liberai dedeios a
- -:o-- k- -
I- W LL, comE a4 t -
You have a father?. Yog a
mother ? You love them. But
in a while you grow in
and the meanness of your dS
erops out; it wreaks itself oniim
sent father and: mother,
and they su1rer the pnni n
cross wdrd caled upbya
annoyance. Th6 hard -
poken. It may' -1 rer
given and forgot; it'
be recalled. Father and
will sigh and'forgive, but
- Some day it will Come heaqr
Yesterday, maybe
ran up to you smniligy,w
phe- innocent. beare o t
:ienee of childhood,
bands, - that worh not _e -
in your face. The 1
*elighted its anthr,but
vou. You were.
the liltle" one, "TWe
stood' in her great e' y
lips faltered,and he o d
rrom you. The -e
with its happ,.t
erase the unkind word, = no- "'
Some day it wil coma
A beggar stand at..
rhe rain is dashiig Int
tbrough. the.. black
Ghe night, and theshisrp i
mings only intensifyf b.
?ontrast the awfulness:
aess. The beggarsplea
is puntuated%by- ts:.ib
howls forth its ager. "ad
your brother off.
This will cone LCk
lay.. -
If you are impatient, est
limored, spiteful, maeIcwmw.
trdly and mean,* -n
will be a cbnats.
evil actions whoile.' r
xqualled byr the
eseekof the.future;a psd
past is alway .ths rod~
muore 'repteneui m~e
ueart is a- boomerang -f
whose evil conqunnes.
au the head of their
htor.; -On the of,heriia4
ieeds work in a simit*.
~he rules that gv~
i erodiAba,te
Four --oJ~s~
apon-the d a ri
lecidethe verdic t
lespair. '
Some day tlie~ wil D
'ou. - r
ArxLrtyra To THS r.az
saptain of 'police t the~
station h'a<4 i call tlhe oh
rrom g b:nker, who came to
away a suspicion's charanter
"Hlow long hav..yount
round?" asked. the atai -;
"About three days~'
"How islh4dresselr
"In a birown suit. 'o*
"Is lhe quiet or talk*itP
"And youbeligeee ~a
who should be watched?~'~ -
"I eertainl~ -.
"Whatlay;do youtMn*.
[that is, what do-;youe ct
"Why, he is~ the pre* Bat
uewly-discovered Nev4ar
nine, and her~e for the
ielling 'shares. Yes, eirehf
uave convinced mes that
e shadowed whenever he lsi'
~otel"-Detroit Free Prep.
~btained a hearing before
~f one of the. provinacisdte
He sang, but the manae
~edhim at the end of thrwor f*
totes. "Very welL" he
leave me your address and I.
hink of you.if it should hpe-Z
"What do you mean by Iti
~houki hapFen?" interrupted tha
roang tenor.
"Why, if my theatre shoe?
-"I should engage you to cryfire
Atlas upholding the world: 'Are
nto take astronomy next toru
alsie ?" inquired a clamaeo
jer young friend. "Hardly. :
ingUstus is givirig me le
Lstronomical lessons during < -
ext books gtnd . an atiaa?
aonise, my dear, hesaysri41
ro,rld to him, and when 19ea
idad on his shoel#ter hEW
A tratqgalled'his s enp
itions," beimse they no sotfas
A thorn in the bush is worth twa
a thehand
The plea .of the crow-Y eain
for my eaws.
The mule .sap to be behin
~id bnues
Takes things
isn't watched &
More il
than xeFma. -

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