New York dispatch. [volume], September 20, 1885, Page 2, Image 2

About New York dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1863-1899

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2
“ Was it your gun?” she asked. ‘‘You young
uen are always so rash, Wilmot.”
“No, it was not mine. It may be only a
ilight wound.”
“ I don’t like those slight wounds,” she re
turned ; “ a similar accident happened to my
cousin Percy, and, just when we thought he
was recovering, inflammation set in, and he
died.”
Lady Warrington shivered, and the other
lady turned to her with her usual common
sense.
“The dinner had bettor be put back half an
hour, Emily, perhaps. I suppose they will do
it without being told, won’t they?”
And she swept majestically back to her dress
ing-room.
The others remained looking at one another
mutely, until the door opened again and Sir
Charles appeared, looking much relieved.
“You are like a party of ghosts,” he said.
“ There is nothing to be alarmed about. Doc
tor Carr says it is not serious—a little weak
ness through loss of blood, and our patient
must be kept quiet for a few days. Come, run
away, and be thankful that it is not worse.”
They obeyed, greatly relieved. Oswald, who
had hold the door for the ladies, remained be
hind.
“ How did it all happen, Sir Charles ?”
“ I can scarcely tell you, Oswald; it was done
so suddenly. We met Mainwaring; I somehow
divined who he was, so spoke to him, and was
asking about Randal Dering, when Muldail
tripped or stumbled, or something. I really
believe I should have had the contents of his
gun but for Mainwaring; ho jerked me aside,
and, in so doing, saved me and was injured
himseP’. He showed splendid pluck, and didn’t
even wince; I believe, if loss of blood had not
made him faint, ho would have held out he
wasn’t hurt at ail. Of course I was not going
to let ii m be dragged up to that Castle Dismal,
poor fellow 1”
“ Is Doctor Carr with him?” asked Oswald.
“ Yes; he seems to think lightly of it. I sup
pose the only tear is the setting in of fever or
inil am mation.”
Then f ir Charles went off to his dressing
room. and began a vigorous assault on his hair.
“There is no danger, Charles, is there?”
asked Lady Warrington, who was still pale and
nervous.
“ I don’t think ro, my dear. By-the-way, you
have not forgotten the existence of the squire’s
other son ?”
“No. Didn’t they say that Randal was tak
ing care 01 him, or something?’’
“Yes, that is quite true, and this young man
is that young man.”
“Which young man is what young man?”
asked her ladyship, with a helplessly bewilder
ed air.
“This Mainwaring, as he calls himself—and
X suppose he has as good a right to that name
ns to any—is Randal Daring’s illegitimate
brother.”'
“Did he say so, Charles ?”
“ Hay so 1” echoed the baronet, staring. “ Not
likely, my dear! But he is as like the old
squire as he can be. The likeness is positively
painful. 1 suppose Randal is doing all ho can
tor'him, but 1 certainly think he has made a
mistake in sending the young fellow here.”
. “ How very sad ! Ho seems such a fine
•young man,” said her ladyship, who had be
held only the soles of Mr. Mainwaring’s boots
is ho was carried in.
“He is, very, which makes it all the more
lad. Don’t t-ell Wil or any ono, my dear; we
shall treat him as it we knew nothing. I should
be sorry to think he was taunted with that
through me, and ho is not responsible for his
father’s sins, poor fellow !”
Dinner was ended, and they wero in the
drawing-room, discussing the accident, when
Sir Charles wont back to the chamber where
Francis Mainwaring lay, rather pale and lan
guid, and under orders not to move or excite
himself.
“I am thoroughly ashamed of myself, Sir
Charles,” he said, as the old baronet drew a
chair to the bedside. “ I feel very small, com
ing down on you like this.”
“ You were" to come here in any case,” re
turned Sir Charles; “ I am only sorry that you
do so in such circumstances.”
“I’m afaid you will find me a troublesome
invalid,” said the young man apologetically.
“ Mr. Dering tells me that it is my nature to
give trouble.”
“He certainly does not say so in his letter to
me. By the way, shall I write for you to him
and tell him what has occurred ?”
“I would rather you did not, Sir Charles.
He need not know about this till I am all right
again.”
“Very well. Is there anything else I can do
for you—any messages you wish delivered?
1 have already sent a message to the Hights.”
“ Thank you. I was staying at the Dering
Arms.”
“ Very well; 1 will send there, also. And I
am very much offended by your going to an
inn. By the way, the large dog down stairs is
yours, he not?”
“Yes,” replied Frank, with some anxiety;
•‘he is a perfect gentleman, Sir Charles, but I
am afraid be will not be easy in his mind until
Lie sees me.”
! Sir Charles retired, smiling ; there was some
thing about Mainwaring which attracted him,
and ho had resolved to forget the bar-sinister
as far as possible.
i The next morning Doctor Carr gave a favor
able report of the patient, and Sir Charles was
-going up stairs to visit him when Wilmot ap
proached. *
“Might not we see Mr. Mainwaring ?” he
asked. “He must be awfully dull, I think, and
we might cheer him.”
! “We! How many of you? Do you think
he wants to hold a levee ?”
; “Only Oswald and myself.”
■ “On condition that you leave your flute be
hind, and that Oswald does not take his poems,
l you may go to Mainwaring.”
i Sir Charles then went away to find his invalid
Rooking rather impatient.
h “Do you think, Sir Charles, that if I cut my
linger Doctor Carr would prescribe bed un
j limited ?”
k “I don’t know; try it, if you like. If it will
fin any way relieve your mind, if there are any
| arrangements you wish to make send for Mr.
KPering’s steward.”
» “I dismissed him yesterday,” Mainwaring
{responded. “He had shamefully abused the
(confidence placed in him, so I sent him about
pffs business. I would not have an untrustworthy
{person about me a moment longer than I could
lelp. Mr. Dering gave me carte blanche, and I
intend to use my power.”
, “Evidently. I must not forget to tell you
that some one has been inquiring for you at the
Dering Arms.”
i “For me ! Who could it possibly be ?”
I “They did not know. He had asked your
lame, and having been told it, went away.”
“Ah, I know now. So he has got it at last.
Much good may it do him. Sir Charles, do you
wink I might get up ?”
( “Certainly not. It is dull for you and pain
ful, no doubt, but if you attempt to get up until
Doctor Carr gives you permission we shall
quarrel.”
■ In the afternoon Wilmot and Oswestre made
their appearance, by special grace and favor.
j “ You see I did come, Mr. Warrington,” Frank
Remarked, with a smile.
I “No, you didn’t; you were brought. How
jdo you feel ?”
“ Too well to be lying here; and much
Rshamed of so much trouble through a trifle.”
g “In life there are no trifles; all things are
gpart of a great whole,” put in Lord Oswestre,
Fwith the air of wisdom he always assumed
rwhen uttering platitudes or incomprehensi-
Hrilities.
I Wilmot had perched himself on the bedside,
tand was nursing his knee and racking his brain
pfor something of interest to talk about.
“We are to have Lord Muldail’s son down
piere about Christmas,” he said at length.
| Mainwaring reddened from brow to chin.
I “Lord Ploughshares, I think?” he asked, in
ia somewhat constrained voice.
j “Yes. Do you know him?”
» “ I have met him,” answered Frank uneasily,
f “Oh! I remember going through the Acad
l tmy with him once, and we halted before a view
K)f a Dutch wharf. He pronounced it very fine,
Fbut thought too much had been left to imagina
tion. ‘ What has been left?’ I asked. ‘ There’s
water and the ships and the houses; what
tanore would you have?’ After a moment, he
f replied, ‘ Beg pardon; I had the wrong number
|in the catalogue; thought it was the “ Israelites
[Crossing the Red Sea,” don’t you know.’ That’s
The good-natured pair remained, cheering
[the invalid, until Sir Charles, in the interests of
turned them out, and they ran down
ptairs, to find Lady Muldail looking preternat-
MiraUy grave and Lady Warrington equally so.
A “ ‘Why so very, very merry?
ijs it- purity of conscience, or the one-and-seven
sherry?’ ”
Wilmot, sotto voce; and Lady Muldail
’explained that she was wondering if, in the
isvent of Mainwaring’s death, her husband
Would be brought in guiltj r of manslaughter.
“ He is not going to die, though,” said Wil,
, “Ah, who knows? By-the-way, who is he?”
“ I don’t know—l didn’t ask him; he must be
a gentleman, because of Randal Dering’s ask
ing father to look after him.”
“Randal Dering was always very eccentric.
Ko one knows who this Mainwaring may be.”
She was rather inclined to resent his getting
shot as something of an insult to Muldail,
whose position was rather delicate. Lord Os
westro, with his usual tact, turned the conver
sation.
Frank Mainwaring did not die, so Lady Mul
dail’s anxiety went for nothing; possessing a
sound constitution, he recovered rapidly,
cheered and encouraged by Wilmot and Os
wald, and at length he was told by the doctor
that be might leave his room for an hour or two
in the evening of a certain day.
But his spirit was of the restless kind, which
brooks not delay, and he rose in the afternoon
dressing himself with much difficulty, because
el giddiness and faintness.
“If this room choose 3 to valse, it is no con
cern of mine,’ he said to himself—“l bave
aiothing to do with it. Fireplaces and doors ddn’t
dance reels in ordinary houses, I know: but
probably they have so much freedom allowed
here.”
Ignoring his own weakness as far as he could,
he scrambled out, holding by ’chairs and the
walls; he got down a flight of stairs by slow de
grees, and at the foot halted, white and trein-
I>ling.
There was a soft rustle, and he met a pair of
gray, compassionate eyes.
i, “‘Why did you come down stairs alone?”
ksked the girl reproachfully. «Borne one
Would have helped you very gladly, if you had
“ I wanted to assert my independence,” he
replied, with a smile, “ and I have proved my
folly. Thank you, Miss Warrington.”
For he divined that she was Miss Warrington,
though he could not guess that the room into
which he was taken was named the “growlery.”
He thought it the pleasantest room he had
ever seen, contemplating it from the depths of
a chair Miss Warrington had indicated for him;
another young lady looked round from the
piano as he entered, with some words of kindly
sympathy.
“Excepting yourself, Mr. Mainwaring, we are
the only ones in the house,” said Miss War
rington, resuming her seat and some fancy
work; “ they did not expect your debut to take
place so early, and you must excuse them.”
“ The apology should come from me. But I
felt so useless and so discontented lying
there ”
“Naturally; illness is always worse for a
man to bear than for a woman. Thus far, lam
afraid, you are not very favorably impressed by
Rylworth, Mr. Mainwaring.”
“ The first night was the worst; the first night
generally is the worst anywhere,” he said med
itatively, watching Miss Warrington’s needle.
A woman never looks more womanly than
when she is sewing. This young man, who was
sisterless as well as brotherless, who remem
bered nothing of his mother, found an indescrib
able fascination in watching the long trail of
bright silk drawn in and out by small gemmed
hands.
“ It is against the rule for you to speak very
much just yet,” said Maud, “and we must
amuse you in some way. If Lady Muldail were
here, she would read for you.”
“ That would be very kind, I am sure.
Theo Warrington rose from her music, laugh
ing.
“Possibly you might tire of an afternoon
with Martin Tupper, though,” she remarked.
“ Give me my Tennyson, Maud.”
“ Not ‘ Locksley Hall,’ Theo? It is too grand
ly egotistical for Lie.”
“Then it shall be the ‘Fire Worshippers,’”
said Theo, drawing the volume from its stand.
“Can you bear the adventures of ‘ Hafed,’ Mr.
Mainwaring?”
Theo had a sweet voice, and knew how to use
it; she read the finest passages of the poem as
if she loved it, as indeed she did.
“I think Hafed was at his best and highest
when he chose between love and duty,” she
observed thoughtfully; “ how much more noble
his end so, than if he had married and lived
happy ever after !”
“ ‘ Now, Freedom’s God, I come to thee 1*
The youth exclaims, and, with a smile
Of triumph, vaulting on the pile.
In that last effort, ere the fires
Have harmed one glorious limb, expires 1’ *’
“ Hafed could not have ended bis life in a
commonplace way,” agreed Frank; “ we may
believe that he chose the better part.”
“ Undoubtedly,” said Maud. “I, for one,
do not believe in the world well lost for love.”
“ Nor I. It is not the one thing in life, nor
the end for which we were created; and, if a
man wished to conquer it, he could, for duty's
sake or honor’s.”
Did Frank think how one day these words
would return with a bitter lesson for him? Did
he foresee the time when he would recall the
charm of that afternoon with pained regret—the
quaintly pleasant room, with the long wide
window, giving a view of the green world be
yond, the glow of crimson roses drooping from
a tall vase, the music of that unequalled poem,
the grace ol pure and perfect womanhood. How
could he know that one day he would think of
them all, only to say—“ Would that I had not
known them, that I had remained at the
Hights, for there are worse things to bear
than solitude 1”
He spoke in his ignorance, not knowing that
perfect love is invincible, because it is not of
time, but of eternity.
CHAPTER 111.
“ MAN IS MAN, AND MASTER OF HIS FATE.
Francis Mainwaring continued to improve in
health, and to increase in favor with the War
ringtons, who, indeed, had been predisposed to
like him, partly through Wilmot’s account of
him and partly through his acting as shield for
Sir Charles when Lord Muldail’s gun went off.
Entering fully into the humors of Wilmot and
Oswestre, he was by them presented with the
freedom of the poet’s room, in an especially
choice cabana, and entertained there by a per
formance of “Ye banks and braes,” his recovery
being retarded three days through it, according
to Theo.
At length he was well enough to resume his
duties and return to Dering Hights, where
workmen were reigning supreme.
“ I can only thank you, Sir Charles,” he
said, strolling with the amiable Baronet up and
down the terrace. “ And, if I say little, believe
me, I feel the more.”
“ Do you expect Mr. Dering to return, if I
may ask ?”
“ Yes; I think he will return, sooner or later.
I very much wish him to do so.”
“ I may echo the wish,” said Sir Charles. “ I
think his duties lie here among his own people,
and they have reasonable ground of complaint,
as you will find.”
“So I fear; but he is really not to blame, Sir
Charles. Consider the melancholy associations
he has with the place; he has always
blamed himself for his father’s death, it is a
morbid idea, but it clings to him.”
“ And that, I suppose, is why he has stayed
away so long ?”
“ Yes, partly. I can’t tell you, Sir Charles,
how sorry I am to find that the people dislike
him so bitterly—it is most unreasonable.”
“ I am not sure that I agree with you there.
Look at rhe condition of the land ”
“ The fault of a man he trusted. I only wish
every one knew Randal Dering as I do; stern he
may be, but to me he has been the most gener
ous of men.”
High was Frank’s head held as he spoke, as
though he glorified in the good qualities oi Ran
dal; 'truly he had reason to be grateiul to his
halt-brother though, thought Sir Charles.
“But that dislike shall be rooted out,” went
on Mainwaring; “ I mean to do that, and sow
respect and gratitude in its place.”
“For him to reap ?”
“Of course. I have set myself that task, and
I shall accomplish it.”
“I hope sincerely it will not be a difficult
one,” said Sir Charles, “ and I assure you that I
will help you to the best oi my ability.”
“That Ido not doubt. You see, to some ex
tent, I hold his good name in my hands. Per
haps! did not realize that until I heard some
one at the Hights say, ‘lf this be man, what
’ll master be like ?’ You are very good to me,
Sir Charles.” he added, with a smite; “ you lis
ten to my plans and advise me so kindly; if I
were likely to fail lor want of encouragement, I
should come to you to ask it.”
“And you should have it. But I don’t think
you will fail—you are decided enough, some
times arbitrary.”
“Ami?” asked Frank, laughing. “ You see
it’s in the blood, Sir Charles. My father ”
And then his face turned suddenly scarlet,
and he stammered and stopped. Sir Charles,
ignoring the slip of the tongue, called to Wil
mot; and thus the conversation seemed rather
to turn of itselt than be turned.
“ Are we to have Mr. Randal Dering among
ue again, Mr. Mainwaring ?” asked Lady Mul
dail of the young gentleman the same evening.
“I hope so. Yes, if I have any influence
with him.”
“I think it will be rather a pity, if you do
bring him back,” she responded, with her
usual candor; “ people are prejudiced against
him here.”
“He is not likely to overcome that prejudice
by remaining away, Lady Muldail.”
“ Is he likely to do so by returning ?”
“He is,” replied Frank emphatically; “to
know Mr. Dering is to like him—at least, that
is my experience.”
“Never mind her ladyship,” murmured Wil
mot; “it is only her little way to say disagree
able things. She asked me to-day where I
bought my complexion.”
“ You will find the Hights lonely, Mr. Main
waring, will you not ?” asked Maud. “Do not,
however, forget your opposite neighbors. You
will rejoice, I suppose, when Mr. Bering re
turns ?”
“ Indeed I shall 1”
And he went off into a eulogy on Randal Der
ing, which caused Maud to aiterward remark
to her sister:
“ I think it is a case of Oswestre and Wilmot
with Mr. Mainwaring and Randal Dering. How
1 like to hear one man praise another ! He
does it with such unstinted generosity, with
none of the ‘ reserved respect’ and qualifica
tions we women use in speaking oi each other. ”
“I like, Mr. Mainwaring,” said Theo—“l
think he is so straightforward. Papa says that
he will not hear a word against Randal Der
ing.”
“ Well, I am very sorry for him,” Maud re
marked; “ according to Mr. Mainwaring, his fa
ther’s dreath blighted his life. They parted in
anger and never were reconciled—a source of
life-long grief to the son. It is very sad to
think oi, too. Perhaps, but for that, he might
have macle his name glorious, instead of letting
it sink as it has done.”
And then she resumed her letter-writing,
while Theo, with hands clasped on her for
gotten book, dreamed of that “ broken hero ”
Randal Dering.
Mainwaring returned to rhe Hights, to super
intend the improvements and make himself
generally obnoxious to the workmen and the
ladies in charge. Finding the stable as he had
first seen it and his horse in anything but in
good condition, he sumufoned the groom to his
presence.
“Now, look here, my man,” he said, decisive
ly—“ you have taken advantage of my illness
and a person who will do that is not trustwor
thy. There is the money due to you, and for a
month over. Now go 1”
And the groom went, Mainwaring’s laws be
ing fixed as those of the Medes and Persians.
But, though firm, he was just and generous—
and so the much-injured Dering tenantry
found. He was ready to hear their complaints
and redress their grievances; quick with sym
thy, open of hand, but not by any means to be
imposed on; for the former they liked him, for
the latter they respected him. He had just the
qualities that make a man popular, and, though
the hatred of the Dering name was strong, they
were not disposed to punish the new man for
the old master's sins, and they rather hoped
that the squire would stay away altogether,
leaving Mainwaring his regent.
The woods were brown in October, and con
sequently Frank had been in office some weeks.
One morning, as ho sat bending his dark bro’Ws
over architectural plans, a blond heal ap
peared, and a musical voice said;
NEW YORK DISPATCH, SEPTEMBER 20, 1885.
“If you please, we are coming in.”
Wilmot Warrington foilowed his voice', and
Oswestre likewise; so Frank swept aside his
papers.
“-jPon’t da that,”said Wilmot, “because we
are only making a flying visit—and don’t be in
terrupted by any one. We are going over to
the island on Thursday, and if you will join us
we shall be very glad.”
The island was a tiny spot of land lying in
the curve of a bay, like a star in the crescent
of the moon, and of that little isle Sir Charles
Warrington was part lord. Frank expressed
pleased willingness to join the party, duty and
weather permitting, and his visitors went away
rejoicing.
“I suppose, after Thursday, the Muldails
will leave us,” said Wilmot on the homeward
way, “and then Ploughshares will turn up.
What brings him I don’t know, unless Maud
or Theo ”
“ Maud or Theo 1” cried Oswestre, stopping
suddenly.
“He doesn’t come for my sweet sake, I am
sure, and, unless my understanding is at fault,
he considers my sisters good form, don’t you
know.”
“Look hero, Wilmot; I should be desperately
sorry to see either Maud or Theo married to
Ploughshares.”
“So should I; but there’s no account!ng for
girls’ tastes—nor for men’s humors,” he added
a little later, when Oswald from an angelical
calm turned gloomy and as nearly morose as
he could bo, a mood which lasted even until the
expected Thursday, and only vanished when he
was on the white deck of Sir Charles’s Ripple.
Frank Mainwaring kept his promise, and they
were a merry party, the yacht skimming
through cool water to the foam-fringed shores
oi the island; the day was fine, though the sky
was heavy, and weather-wise people predicted
a storm.
Landing on a shingly beach, they formed a
solemn procession to a plantation where they
were to partake of a lunch alfresco. Frank led
the* way with a gypsy-kettle, and Lady Muldail
brought up the rear*with a vascula destined to
hold her botanical collections.
The three young gentlemen devoted their
energies to the kindling of the fire, and their
exertions were rewarded by smoky tea, such
as only gypsy fires produce. Nevertheless they
were/merry enough, and Frank Mainwaring,
leaning on his eldow while Wilmot used Bruno
as a pillow, introduced songs and stories be
tween the sandwiches. The refreshments being
disposed of, they were free to amuse themselves
and each other as best they co aid till the sun
set hour.
Sir Charles and Lord Muldail strolled to and
fro, smoking and discussing the last Parlia
mentary utterances; their ladies began botani
cal researches; Maud, Theo, Frank, Wilmot,
and his fidus Achates began a pilgrimage along
a shady road.
“I think it is much nicer in the wood,” said
Theo to Oswald, by whose side she was walk
ing.
“So do I. Suppose we go back?” suggested
Oswald, with some eagerness. “Let us turn
off hero. By-the-way, Wil, do you mind taking
my penknife to Lady Warrington ? I dare say
she will need it to cut some of those green
things.”
“Don’t mind in the least, dear boy; though I
don’t suppose I shall ever find them.”
And the amiable young gentleman vanished.
“ When does Lord Ploughshares make his ap
pearance?” Oswestre asked, with some gloom.
“I cannot tell. He is like the Ancient Mari
ner, passing ‘like night from land to land.’ ”
“It is something to look forward to, isn’t
it ?”
“ What—the Ancient Mariner, or night?”
“Lord Ploughshares’s visit.”
“ Have you anything on your mind, Oswald?
Because you look preternaturally solemn.”
“I wish Ploughshares would stay away.”
“ Why ? Is he not very uice ?”
“ Yes, for those who like a man without man
liness.”
“ So Lord Ploughshares’s superior graces are
crushing you to earth. You must be jealous oi
him.”
“Jealous of him !” repeated Oswestre, stop
ping. I believe you are right, Theo—right to a
letter.”
“I am sorry for you, for Wilmot is decidedly
fickle.”
“ Wilmot! I don’t mean him at all. I don’t
know why I should be afraid of telling you; but
I am. Do you remember what ailed Benedick
when he took to brushing his hat o’ morn
ings ?”
Theo looked up at Oswald questioningly. He
was smiling, but not with his eyes; in them was
a mute wisttulnoss almost pathetic.
“ Because that is what is the matter with me,
Theo. lam in love. I had it all planned out
how 1 was to tell you and all that I would say;
but it’s all gone. I know only that I love you,
and that is the best and the worst of it, Theo.”
In those brown eyes oi hers was nothing save
the most unfeigned amazement.
“Oh, Oswald, I can’t think that you mean
this 1”
“But I do mean it 1 I have meant it long
enough—so long that it is as much a part of me
as my very breath. I have said over and over
to myself,"‘lf Theo refuses me, I shall never
marry,’ for, in my eyes, there is no one like
you.”
There was dead silence for some moments,
Lord Oswestre gazing straight at Theo’s down
cast face, and evidently waiting for her answer.
“ Oswald,” she said at last, “ we are such old
friends, we have known each other so long,
that I can only be frank with you, and I think
you are making a mistake. You fancy your
friendship for me is the love you will one day
give to some one who has not been for years as
a sister.”
“Do you judge me by yourself ? Am I only
as a brother ?”
“ Only that, Oswald. I never thought of any
thing else. You have been a second Wilmot to
us.”
“ I used to be so proud, Theo, of all the priv
ileges my long intimacy gave me. But 1 see
that it has its disadvantages. If you had not
always known me, if I had come later on into
your life, and you had not learned to think of
me as a brother, I might have won your love.”
“ Are you angry with me, Oswestre ?”
“Angry ! What for ? If I have any right to
ask you, you have an equal right to refuse me.
Is this answer final, Theo ? Can you give me
no word of hope ?”
“No, Oswald; I cannot. It is final. Andi
am so sorry, so very sorry 1”
“Bo am I, Theo,” he replied quietly.
She was glad to see how calmly he took it,
glad to think that their old friendship would go
on unruifled and undisturbed; she could as
easily have quarrelled with Wilmot as with Os
wald.
“lam going baek*to Oswestre, or to some
where. 1 have led a very idle life, Theo. lam
a nice kind of fellow to talk of others lacking
manliness, and yet I know there’s pluck in me
somewhere, if I could only get at it. ’
Now round them came curling a cold sudden
wind, the leaves sbegan to rustle strangely, and
she shivered.
“I think we shall have a storm,” Oswestre
said, looking skywards. “We had better re
turn to the others perhaps; clouds are gather
ing.”
Mainwaring and Miss Warrington had con
tinued their walk along the road, which at
length, white, hot, and shadeless, wound by
straggling groups of small cottages; over all lay
a strange metallic lustre. They passed by a
quaint little church, the walls of its graveyard
crumbling into dusk; here generation after gen
eration of islanders had been interred.
“ It reminds me of Gray’s ‘ Elegy,’ ” observed
Maud, as through a gap in the wall they saw
the stones, the wooden crosses, the nameless
mounds.
“Do you believe in mute inglorious Mil tons?”
“ No. I think genius will make itself heard,
despite all obstacles, if it be genius really. Man
is man, and master of his fate, you know.”
“The fate sometimes masters the man, I
fear.”
As they moved along the road, there came
suddenly the sharp rattle of thunder, and
Frank looked round anxiously.
“ 1 am sorry we have come so far,” he si id,
putting his hand before his eyes as a blinding
flash ot light crossed them. “We shall have
heavy rain soon. Is there any chance of that
church being open ?”
“No; it is almost always closed.”
“Then we had better make lor that house
down there. I suppose there is a house, be
cause 1 see chimneys. Are you afraid of light
ning ?”
“ Horribly afraid ! I can preach courage; but
I certainly cannot practice it.” There came an
other vivid flash, followed by a long peal, and
Mauel’s face confirmed her words. “I am worse
than a child,” she added, forcing a smile; “but
don’t quite despise my cowardice, Mr. Main
waring. One ot my companions at school was
killed by.lightning—and I saw her.”
“ Will you take my arm ?” Frank asked, as
she shuddered at the memory, and her great
eyes looked from a colorless face. “You will
get along better perhaps. Thank you”—as she
put her hand on his 'arm. “4 few moments,
and we shall be under a roof.”
They went on some few yards farther, and then
the very heavens seemed to onen that flame
might come out, seeming to fold about them
in blue blinding sheets. The hand laid on
Frank’s arm suddenly slipped away, and, if he
had not been sjvift in movement, she would
have fallen to the ground. She was quite un
conscious; her half-open £ray eyes were dull
and lightless, her parted lips colorless as those
of the dead.
The dead ! A horrible fear gripped Frank’s
heart as he stared at her, and with it came a
strange memory of the bright little room where
in he had Qrst seen her, of her father’s face, of
words she had spoken to him, of Theo’s music;
then he tore off the many-buttoned glove she
wore to find the pulse beating still in the white
warm wrist.
“ Such as she don’t die so,” he muttered,
carrying her in those strong young arms of his
through the storm, toward where, half-covered
by trees, he beheld a house. Before he could
reach it, the rain had come, first in great drops,
then in lines of slanting light that seemed* to
rebound from the earth as they struck it.
It was a red-brick, grim-looking building,
with a sodden garden before it, and Frank eyed
it distrustfully.
“ I should prefer the rain, if I were alone,”
he said, pushing open the’ gate with his foot.
A woman standing at one of the rain-spotted
windows saw him, and opened the door with an
expression ot curiosity.
“ Will you allow us to shelter here ? asked
Mr. Mainwaring. “ The storm has very much
alarmed this lady, as you may see.”
Fo'lowing his leader into a small dark room,
he la.d his burthen upon a couch, bending over
the girl anxiously.
“ I don’t know what to do,” he said, address
ing the woman. “ Will' you have the kindness
either to help mo or toll me what is to be
done ?”
He spoke imperatively and impatiently, and
watched with a gloomy brow the woman take
off Maud’t hat and splash about with a tea-cup of
water, but his face brightened when the heavy
lids unclosed; it broke into a smile when Maud
raised herself.
“Are you all right again? The storm is
quite over now, and you need not be afraid.”
“ 1 am ashamed of myself, though.”
“ The shame is on my side, Miss Warrington.
I had no right to bring you so far, with signs of
a coming storm all about.”
“ I hope the others are safe,” she said
anxiously.
“ Yes. And, as they will be anxious about
you, the sooner we return the better. This rain
cannot last long, fortunately.”
You have got dreadfully wet.”
“ Only my coat. I wonder if one could get,
for love or money, anything short of a coal
waggon to take us home ? I’ll try, for the roads
will be impassable. When I say"home, I mean
to the shore. Do you mind remaining here for
a few moments ? Bruno will take every care of
you.”
The rain had now reduced itself to infrequent
drops, and Maud watched him splashing
through the pools until his long vigorous strides
b.jre him out of sight, and she was left with
Bruno as guard.
The woman had gone away in silence, and the
whole house was still, save for a mouse in the
wainscot, until the door of the chamber opened,
and a man entered, a man with a dark beard
and a sallow fa e; he muttered something un
intelligible and retired, and Maud divinod that
he was “ the master.”
Frank Mainwaring found that Sir Charles’s
name was a power in the land; the ruddy old
farmer to whom he unfolded his tale was only too
pleased to place his trap at Miss Warrington’s
service, and also lent Mr. Mainwaring a dry
coat, the waist thereof almost reaching to the
young gentleman’s knees.
“if I were not cons ions that my appearance
is dignified in the extreme, I should think you
were laughing at me,” he said, entering the
room where Maud waited. “Shall we go, Miss
Warrington? Have you everything?”
“I have lost one of my gloves—not that it
matters a*great deal.”
“ Oh, the gentleman has that, miss !” volun
teered the woman.
Was it a reflection from the ugly red paper on
the wall or a glow from his face that brought
the sudden rose into Maud’s pale cheek ?
Frank produced the glove slowly and con
fusedly.
“There it is ! I don’t think, though, that you
will be able to'wear it again, because, in get
ting it off, I was clumsy enough to tear it;” and
he displayed a rent about tbe eighth of inch in
size. “1 am very sorry,” he added, looking
anything but penitent.
“It does not matter,” returned Maud,
gazing through the window. “ Shall we go
now ?”
They went, having for driver the farmer’s
son, and ho splashed them through the mire
bravely, down to the beach, where burst upon
them tbe sudden glory of the sea, with the little
yacht getting up steam in the distance.
They had alighted, and were walking down
the shore, when Wilmot turned a corner
sharp.
“ There you are !” he cried triumphantly. “ I
said you would shelter somewhere. Lady Mul
dail declared that, if you were not drowned
nor had fallen from crags, you had been struck
by lightning. As usual I ain right. And then —
“ ‘ Upon my vision there arose
A subtle sense of Sunday clothes.’
Will you give me your tailor’s address, my dear
Mainwaring ?”
“ Where are all the others ? * asked Maud.
“On board. The gig is waiting for us. What
a splendid day it has been-deadly-lively, don t
you know!”
On reaching tbe Towers, Mainwaring pro
posed to return to the Hights; but this Bir
Charles decidedly negatived.
“Dine with us,” he urged. “ Or, if you in
sist, we will allow you a little grace; but come
as soon as vou can; we shall wait dinner.”
While thanking his kindly host, Frank
glanced at Maud ; but she did not second the
invitation by a glance ; she was looking at Lady
Muldail s botanical specimens.
“ I dare say she has had enough of me, for
one day,” he said, as ho climbed the rocks of
Dering. “ I wish now that I had declined. How
ever, I will inflict myself upon her as little as
possible to-night. An afternoon of me is
enough, evidently !”
There was a rush to the dressing-rooms to re
move ravages, as Wilmot put it; he was down
first, having hurried that he might receive
Mainwaring, and carried his bright head and
fair face into a room where a gentleman lay
reading, but, on Wil's entrance, turned his head
and laid down his paper.
“ By George and all the dragons,” cried young
Warrington, with lifted brows, “it’s Plough
shares !”
(To bp Continued.)
HUMOR OFTIIE HOUR.
BY THE DETROIT FitEfl PBES3 FIEND.
NO INSULT.
“ I was looking for "ths Health Office yester
day,” he said, as he halted a patrolman, “ to
ask the doctors what I should do to keep the
cholera off, when I met a man who said he had
a boss remedy. Ho advised me to lie in a
warm bran-mash for twenty-four hours, and
then to hire two men to sandpaper and scrub
me for half a day. I didn’t know whether to
construe it as an insult or not. Would you ?”
The officer looked at his long hair, greasy
face, dirty hands and ragged clothes, and an
swered:
“ I think he meant it for your good.”
“Did, eh? That relieves my mind more
than I can tell. I can’t carry out his sugges
tion, owing to a lack of funds, but I’ll go as far
as I can. I’ll borrow your handkerchief for a
towel and go down to the market and wash my
lace in cold water.”
SURE OE ONE THING.
There was a case of assault and battery be
fore one of the justices the other day, and a
witness with a black eye, several strips of court
plaster across his nose and one ear badly lop
ped over, was asked by the defendant’s lawyer
if he saw Brown strike White.
“ Can’t say as I did,” he replied.
“ Did you see the whole affair 1”
“ Mostly.”
“ Well, how was it?”
“ Well, Smith and ma sot on the reaper talk
in’ evolution. Jones and Green sot on the
grass talkin’ religion. Brown and White sot by
the edge ot the straw-stack disputin’ on poli
tics. Three or lour boys was in the barn gittin’
up a dog fight.”
“Yes—go on.”
“Fust I know’d, somebody called somebody
else a liar. Next I know d evolution, religion,
politics and fighting dogs was a-rollmg over
each other on the grass, and every man kick
ing and biting and hitting away for all ho wus
wuth.”
“ But did you see Brown strike White ?”
“ Can’t say as I did.”
“ Did you see White strike Brown ?”
“ Can’t be sure of it. The only thing I’m
sure of, mister lawyer, is that my old woman
came out with a pail of hot water and licked the
hull crowd and had over two quarts left fur next
time.”
GETTING EVEN WITH A DEAD MAN.
“ Some folks regard the negro as childish and
simple-minded,” said the South Carolina under
taker, as he borrowed another match to re-light
his cigar, “but it doesn’t always do to look
upon 'em that way. It was only last week one
of ’em beat me out of $lO as slick us grease.”
“ How ?”
“Well, I was sitting in my office, growling
about hard times and the dislike of people to
fall into my sympathetic care, when in walked a
negro. He was the picture of health and a jolly
fellow.
“ ‘ How’s times ?’ says he.
“ ‘ Poor,’ says I. ■>
“ 1 How much for a coffin for me ?’ says he.
“ ‘ When ?’
“ ‘To-day.’
“ ‘ I’ll give you that coffin over there and see
you put under ground this afternoon for sls,
and that’s $lO off the Tegular price.’
“ ‘ Dun,’ says he, and he put down his ‘ 15,’ ”
“ Well ? ”
“ Well, I’ll be kicked to death by rabbits if he
didn’t hang himself within two hours, and be
fore night I had to bury him I”
“ No I”
“Sure’s you’re born. He had planned to
suicide before he came in. I got even, though.”
“ How ?”
“ Resurrected the stiff and sold it for $4, and
put tfie coffin back in stock.”
SMITH HAD MISJUDGED HER.
There wore half a dozen of them holding
down as many chairs in a suburban drug store
the other evening, when the talk changed to
tramps, thieves and burglars, and Smith said:
“ Well, now; bnt I’d like to try an experiment.
I am a little skittish about these desperadoes,
and Mrs. Smith knows it and takes advantage
to brag about her own courage. She says she’d
just like to find a tramp on the door-s'tep who
refused to dust when she ordered him to.
“ Weil?" ksked one.
’ “Well, suppose one of you rig up and go to
the front door and demand something to eat,
and be mighty impudent about it. It will give
her a scare and stop her bragging.”
The crowd fell in with the idea and one of the
men donned an old hat and coat and fixed up
as a tramp. Ten minutes later he was knocking
at the side door, while Smith and his friends
were posted across the street.
It wasn’t over two minutes after the tramn’s
first knock before he came out ot the yard. He
came over the fence. He was in such a hurry
that he ran thirty rods before he could bring
up. When Smith and the others reached him he
had his hat off and was feeling of his head and
gritting his teeth to keep back a groan.
“ Well,” said Smith, “what did you do?”
“ Told her I wanted a hot supper p. d. q.”
“And what did she say?"
“She asked whether I would have boned
turkey or fricasseed chicken, and while I was
trying to make up my mind she kicked me on
the shin, struck me on the head with a club,
and pushed me off the steps all at the same
time.”
And every one of the group looked back and
saw Mrs. Smith on the walk in front of the
house, apparently waiting for somebody’s ro«
turn, and each man gasped out:
“ Well, I’ll be kazooedl”
AS ACTOR’S BREAM.
BY FLORENCE REVERE PENDAR.
“If over I marry, I shall not choose a wife
from out the profession, I can assure you,
Tom,” emphatically asserted, Harry Garratt, as
he knocked the ashes oft’ a fifty-cent cigar and
indolently reclined his handsome head upon a
gorgeous tidy, elaborate in satin bows, etc., the
gift of one of his many lady admirers—for Har
ry was a very popular actor, and much sought
after by the fair sex.
To his intimates he was always the best of
good fellows, showing none: of the vanity that
might well have been his, by reason of his pos
sessing unusual gifts of person and mind, and
being literally surfeited with adulation.
“Well, Harry,” answered Tom, “it’s my
opinion a man should consider well before he
takes the final leap. It is a great deal easier to
get into the noose than it is to get out of it.”
.“ God forbid that I should ever figure in a
divorce suit 1” exclaimed the young actor, earn
estly, then smiling halt cynically, half amused
ly. he continued: “ I often envy Bill, our prop
erty-man. You know him? A good, honest
fellow—nothing much to look at, and not likely
to set New York agog with his wits —but that
little wife of his just worships him. Ah, that is
the kind of a woman for a wife I A plain little
homebody, who is satisfied with the applause
of her husband, and does not long to seek it in
the crowded ball-room or the glare of the foot
lights. As things stand, however, just at pres
ent, I fear me I am doomed to live and die a
bachelor.”
“ Is that true ?” laughingly replied his com
panion, and then the conversation drifted to
other matters.
* * ♦ * »
The sun’s hot rays were pouring down upon
the broad, dusty road of a little country village,
along which a rather antiquated vehicle was
transporting a gentleman and his rustic driver;
but iu the low-ceiled, old-fashioned parlor of
Miss Jane Litton’s cottage home, whither that
vehicle was bound, a delicious coolness
reigned.
Seated on one of Miss Jane’s quaint high
back chairs was a slight, daintily-rounded girl
ish figure. The blue of her simple cambric
dress was the exact shade of her eyes, and cer
tainly if she had chosen the dress with that de
sign, she could not have procured anything
more becoming to her fair skin and golden
tresses. But Nelsie Litton had not given her
appearanco a thought that afternoon, her mind
being concerned with weightier matters.
“It is too bad,” she was saying, “just as you
and I were having such a nice, cosy time to
gether, away from everybody.”
“Well, my dear,” spoke her companion, “I
am just as sorry- as you, but, of course, for the
sake of his mother, he is very welcome; only 1
wish his visit could have happened any other
time but now; although dear I must say you
will be a great help to me in entertaining him.
You see it all came about through his reading
some old letters of mine to his mother. Poor
Lucy, to think she is dead and gone. He writes
such a nice friendly letter, saying how pleased
he should be to know the once dear friend of
his mother, and that with my permission he
would run down to see me during his holidays.
I’ve no doubt, poor boy, that a sight of the
country will be a real treat to him after being
hived up in the city all the time.”
“At any rate, auntie, you know our compact,
and it is not to be broken on any account.”
“Of course not, if you wish it, dear, there’s
no occasion,” replied Miss Jane, arranging her
cap strings before a little oval mirror that had
reflected some four generations of the Littons.
At that moment the sound of wheels fell
upon their ears and jumping up, Nelsie ex
claimed:
“Auntie! 1 verily believe it is he I” then,
peering through the binds she examined criti
cally the tall, gentlemanly figure descending
from the conveyance. As the gentleman turned
toward the house a faint cry escaped Nelsie,
and she asked hurriedly:
“What did you say his name was, auntie?”
“Harry Garratt, my dear; is my cap all
right? Deary me, I’m all in a flutter, and Miss
Jane bustled out to welcome her guest, while
Nelsie ran up to her room where half laughing,
half crying, she ejaculated.
“ To think that after all my trying I am not to
escape. Who’d ever have dreamed of his com
ing here, but I’ll trust to luck. Perhaps he has
never heard of me.”
Much to Nelsie’s relief Mr. Garratt appeared
to have no recollection of her, for he bowed
quite formally on her being introduced to him,
although his eyes rested with a decided look of
approval upon Nelsie’s neat fitting cambric,
that amused that young lady considerably, for
she had heard many tales concerning this
popular theatrical star’s aversion to society
belles, and footlight favorites and the “fuss and
feathers ” that oftaner than not accompanies
such. Perhaps some one had whispered to her
about his dream of a plain little home body to
whom he was to be the alpha and omega of her
life. Be that as it may, Harry Garratt was
blindly unconscious of Nelsie’s knowledge of
him. and as the days slipped into weeks he en
joyed with a zest, that to him had long been a
stranger, the pleasant home life of Miss Jane’s
little cottage. And that worthy soul blissfully
unaware of the drama that was being enacted
under her very nose, smiled complacently upon
the two young folk and did everything in her
power to make the time pass happily for them.
Harry Garratt congratulated himself upon
his escape from the noise and glare of his usual
life. What a happy find those old letters had
been, suggesting to him the hunting up of his
mother’s old friend. For was not Nelsie his
ideal of a woman and if possible he m’eant to
win her for his wife.
“ Never again,” he thought proudly, “ need
her little hands work for a living if she wou’d
but consent to be the mistress of the beautl u
home I can give her.”
That Nelsie had to work to earn her daily
bread, he had gathered from one or two little
things.
It was nearing the time for Harry Garratt’s
return to town, when one evening being alone
with Nelsie, Miss Jane having stepped down to
the village, he resolved to learn his fate. Gently
arresting Nelsie as she was about to leave the
room on some pretext, he exclaimed somewhat
unsteadily:
“ Miss Litton—Nelsie- -I have something to
sav to you. The fact—the truth is,” then ris
ing he held out his arms, adding passionately:
“My darling! I love you. Can I claim my
wife ?”
For an instant she rested unresisting in his
arms, then freeing herself she said hurriedly:
“It cannot be. If you knew all, you would
not wish it. You would thank me for refusing
you,” and drawing her hand from his clasp she
fled from the room.
The next morning Nelsie’s place was vacant
at the breakfast table, and almost dumbfound
ed Harry listened to Miss Jane’s announce
ment of her neice’s sudden departure early that
morning.
“ Gone without a word ?” he cried.
“ No, she left a letter for you,” answered
Aunt Jane, whose eyes showed signs of recent
weeping. Hastily grasping the letter, he made
straight for the little Summer house where
they had spent so many happy hours. Tearing
open the envelope he read:
“Dear Mu. Garratt—Will you forgive me
for the poor little part I have played in your
life. I knew you for the actor, Harry Garratt,
from the first, and haying heard certain reports
concerning you, I made up my mind that I
would give you a lesson, little dream
ing how bitterly it would recoil upon
myself. I am not the poor, little hard
working girl you think me, although my
duties are no sinecure. I feel that you will
hate me when I tell you that I deliberately let
you fall in love with me; in fact that I made up
my mind that you should do so, and last but
not least, 1 am one of those women that you
have often averred you would never marry—
an actress. In justice to myself I must say that
the moment I learned that you were so differ
ent from what I had believed you, I did all in
my power to stop you from liking me. Well,
there is no longer any need, now you know the
truth concerning me.
“Trusting that you may soon meet with that
‘ little home body,’ and forgot that I ever
crossed your path is the sincere wish of
“Yours truly, NelsieLitton.”
******
Nelsie was feeling very lonesome, as she sat
awaiting the arrival of her train iu the little
wayside station, some ten miles below the vil
lage where her aunt dwelt, when the express
from an adjacent town came thundering in. At
the sight of the only passenger that alighted,
Nelsie shrank back in her corner, uttering a
little cry of—was it relief and pleasure ?
Straight for the ladies’ waiting-room made
the gentleman, after a few words with a por
ter. Nelsie was its sole occupant, and as the
well-known tread came nearer and nearer she
covered her face with her hands, and deliber
ately turned her back on the advancing figure.
Gently Nelsie’s little hands were made prison
ers by a firm, masculine clasp, as Harry ex
claimed: - >-■
“ Nelsie! my darling ! Did you think my love
was such a weakling that so small a matter
could kill it?”
“ But—but you said you would never marry
an actress,” stammered Nelsie.
“Said—yes, but then Nelsie |I had yet to see
you,” was the quick reply, as Harry, seeing
jfis advantage, deftly slipped his arm about
Nelsie’s waist, then bending low he whispered:
“Inav's found my little home body, and if
she will deign to be my wife, I shall be more
than content.” . ...
“But what would people say if you married
me after always declaring that you would never
wed an actress?” questioned Nelsie, smiling
saucily.
“I give them carte blanche to say what they
please so long as I am sure of your love, Nel
sie,” he answered, drawing her a little nearer
to him.
“ And you won’t mind my acting? I am so
fond of my profession,” pleaded Nelsie, with a
shy glance at her lover’s face.
“ No, my darling—l can trust my wife.”
Some three weeks’ later there was a very
quiet little wedding over which Aunt Jane pre
sided. in the role of an April shower, and, be
ing relieved from her promise to her niece not
to speak of her occupation, she related to her
heart’s content of how Nelsie had strove and
risen in her profession until she was able to
command a handsome salary and of the many
kindnesses she had done to her, her only living
relative. Among theatrical circles there was
considerable surprise at Harry Garratt’s mar
riage, but as time wore on all those who came
to know Mr. and Mrs. Garratt in their pretty
home, were fain to confess that they were a
model couple, genuinely in love with each
other and their little ones. Often a trio of little
Garratts may be seen accompanied by a white
haired old lady, occupying a box at the matinee
performances of the theatre where their papa
and mama are playing. And a right pretty
sight it is to witness the nods and smiles of
these little folks, directed toward the stage, as
they join with rare enjoyment in the applause
lavished upon that theatre’s two favorite artists.
TRAIN TALK.
VERY AMUSING INCIDENTS.
(From the Laramie Weekly Boomerang.)
“ Funny things occurred up near our place
the other day,” said a passenger from Galena.
“Out in the country a little ways lives a minis
ter who has a small farm, given him by one of
his parishioners. It is a measly farm, all cov
ered with underbrush or stumps. If it hadn’t
been a measly piece of ground the minister
never would have got it without buying it. But
ho kept at work cutting away and clearing up,
and is likely to make a farm of it yet. A few
weeks ago he started off to attend a camp meet
ing, and before going he called his son to him
and says:
“ ‘ Jim, I’ll be away three weeks, and I don’t
want you to be lazy. The horse won’t have
anything else to do, and you can get him out
and borrow a chain and go to pulling stumps.
If I come back and find that you haven’t been
at work, 111 flog you.’
“ Jim was as lazy a mortal as ever lived, and
despised work, but he was afraid of his father,
and so he borrowed a chain and went at it. The
horse—a big, spirited animal, named Samson
had had no education at that sort of work, and
he and Jim had an awful time of it. The horse
broke chain alter chain, ran away, and busted
his harness all to pieces and played smash gen
erally. The result of the three weeks’ work
was a large bill tor blacksmithing, harness and
new chains, and three or four stumps pulled
out. Just as the horse was steadying down and
learning how to make the pull elective, the
minister returned.
“Jim met him at the station. Two or three
of th a sisters were along, coming out to make a
visit, and they all piled into the carriage, and
filledit so full the boy had to-walk. The old
man picked up the lines, straightened them,
and exclaimed:
“ ‘Get up there, Samson !’
“ Samson hadn’t forgotten bis training out on
the clearing, and ho got up with a lunge that
seut his driver and the good sisters over back
into a promiscuous heap on the street. It was
very exasperating, and when the minister got
up he was so mad that he could hardly express
himself.
“‘What in the name of common sense,’he
shouted, ‘have you been doing with the horse?
He acts like—like ’
“ ‘ He does for a fact, dad,’ exclaimed Jim,
grinning with delight, ‘ but that’s just the way
he pulls stumps.’ ”
Three or four commercial travelers were
seated m the smoking car amusing themselves
as commercial travelers are wont to do. Their
conversation was not altogether of the price of
goods or the probabilities of orders, but occa
sional! turned to the fair sex.
“ By the way,” said one of the drummers,
“ before you boys camo aboard I was back in
the next coach, and I saw there a magnificent
girl—as pretty as a picture. I was crazy to get
acquainted with her, but she wouldn’t have
any foolishness. Bun back and take a look at
her.”
Of course, the other drummers sauntered
back, and on their return were loud in their
praises of the stranger’s beauty.
“Boys,” said the first speaker, “I’m willing
to conless it’s a clean case of love at first sight
with me, and, just to get up my courage, I’ll
wager any one of you or the whole party $5 that
before we get to Indianapolis I’ll be sitting be
side that girl and she’ll rest her head lovingly
on my shoulder.”
The other drummers were so eager for the
“ snap ” that they quarrelled as to which one
should hold the stakes. The four five dollar
bills were deposited with the fourth man as
stakeholder, and the smitten wagerer threw
away his cigar and started for the other car,
telling his companions to keep watch of him.
They watched him. As he entered the coach
the fair stranger was reading a novel. He
walked boldly to her side and spoke to her.
She looked up, fsmiled, moved to one side to
make room for him, and when he was seated
placed her pretty head upon his shoulders as it
she had a right to. In half an hour the lucky
commercial traveler drew from his pocket an
other cigar ; the beauty raised her head, and he
returned to the smoking car.
“My wife has excused me long enough for
another smoke,” be said to his amazed compan
ions. “ She didn’t want to come with me on
this trip for fear it would cost too much, but I
told her we’d make money if she would come
along. So tar we are about S4O ahead of ex
penses, and by fall expect to have enough to
buy her a sealskin sacque. Those five dollar
notes, please.” " «
“ I see in the papers,” remarked a traveler
from down East, “that Frank Jones, of New
Hampshire, has gone to Europe, as mad as a
wot hen at Cleveland. Now, I happen to know
Frank Jones. He is angry at the President be
cause he won’t let him control all the patronage
in his State. Jones was terribly disappointed
when he failed to get into the Cabinet. At one
time he was sure of going in, and it made him
the happiest man on earth. What claim did he
have for such honor? Is he a great mm?
That makes me laugh. The only claim he ever
had was that he had contributed $35,0.00 to the
campaign fund. He thought that entitled him
to a big swing, but, like all of the rich poli
ticians who thought they could buy their way
into Cleveland's good graces, he was left. That
is one thing I like Cleveland for, if I am a Re
publican.”
“By the way, did you ever hear how Frank
Jones made money ? Ho is not a self-made
man at all. He got his riches in a very queer
manner, though of course honestly. He had
an elder brother who early in life began to
brew beer. His business prospered, and he
had tact and judgment, and before long he was
very wealthy and all the time growing richer.
He gave Frank a good position and made him
one of the family. Some years ago the brother
died, and then Frank married his widow, and
became a father to his brother’s children and
the boss of his big business. He virtually
stepped in and took his brother’s place, and a
very soft place it was, too. He married his
brother’s widow.and his fortune, and is said to
be rich enough to buy bodily any city in New
Hampshire, excepting Portsmouth and Man
chester, but in succeeding his brother he didn’t
become quite enough of a great man to become
a Cabinet Minister or the boss of the State
patronage.”
“ Did you hear of the train robbery up in
Wisconsin ?” inquired a drummer of his neigh
bor in the smoking car.
“ No, when was it ? How was it done ?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so very bad. Some of the
passengers had enough left to pay their street
car rides alter they got into town.”
“ But what were the circumstances ?”
“ Well, an express train was running along
from Waukesha to Chicago. As the cars came
to a halt at a little station out in the country
two dark-faced men were seen engaged in an
animated conversation on the platform. They
soon agreed on their plan of action, and one of
the men walked away saying, ‘My gal lives in
this town and I’se goin’ to stop over.’ He was
the Pullman porter. The other man was algo
colored, and he stepped aboard muttering:
‘Dat moke has worked de cah, but though he
had de fust pick I bet ye I don’t get left.’
“The passengers offered no resistance, and
there were no arrests.”
A BRIEF NOVEL.
BY AN UNROMANTIC CUSS.
It was a cottage overlooking the sea. From
its door, over which the roses climbed, one
could look out ou the white-winged ships sail
ing to and fro, and down upon a beach on tvhieh
the waves were gently breaking.
[The only drawback was the fact that old
Smith had a mortgage on the said cottage, and
that the sewerage about the place was defec
tive.]
It was early iu the morning. The bright sun
was just rising from his bed in the blue, blue
eea; the lark .rose from the meadow and soared
toward heaven; the low of kine was heard on
every hand, and the silent watches oi night
were about to give place to the bustle of a
glorious day. One who stood arid drank in the
picture would have felt entranced.
[lt doesn't cost a cent to get that way, and it
is twenty per cent cheaper than working up an
enthusiasm by the use of lager beer.]
Suddenly the door was opened and a merry
laugh was heard. The fair Ethel had left her
couch to greet the rising sun. As she stood
amid the roses, her brown eyes sparkling with
enthusiasm—her cheeks glowing with health—
her golden hair lighted up by the beams of the
morning sun, she was the picture of a queen.
[I had forgotten to say that she had a sylph
like form. This is an oversight for which I can
never forgive myself, and, I hope the reader
will not bear down in malice.]
Even the lark paused in his flight to lookback
at the beautiful picture, and the bluebirds
which flitted from rose to rose .sang sweeter
songs, as if to honor her. For a moment the
fair Ethel stood thus, aud then she descended
the steps and glided toward the gate.
[She wasn’t on roller skates, but glided is an
expression which I hunted for half a day, and
which I am determined to use if it breaks a leg.]
At the gate she paused. Once more she sur
veyed the placid sea—the romantic beach—the
rosy eastern horizon. She was alone with Na
ture for the moment. Her bosom heaved, her
eyes grew brighter, aud it was evident that the
inspiration was on her. She was about to
speak. Just at the instant when her ruby lips
were about to.part there was a bang on the cot
tage door and a gruff voice called out:
“ What in blazes are you doing out there
when your mother is sick aud I want breakfast
in a hurry 1”
The long eye-lashes of the beautiful Ethel hid
the sparkle of her eyes; her classic chin droop
ed; a look of sorrow crossed her face, for a mo
ment she stood the picture ot despair, and the
stoniest heart must have been melted by her at
titude. Then she sweetly answered:
“ 1 stuck my hunk of gum on the gate-post
last night, aud I’ll be jugged if some slab-sided
slug of humanity hasn’t come along and: gob
bled it I”
(Tins story didn’t have any villain, in it.
Inere was no l love. There -was- no grievous
trials lor any one to paas through, and no nar
row escapes to chill the blood. The sole idea
was to make the world better. Good-by.)
THE ROMAN GHETTO.
ITS PROPOSED
(From the Boston Advertiser.)
Tho proposed demolition of the Roman ghetto
ia a matter of great interest to artists and
arch.eologists. Regarding it in a practical light,
it is certainly a step toward reform, and ia in
eniire accordance with the spirit of freedom
and humanity that ia the ideal oi present Italy.
Historically,.the ghetto is a monument to op
pression and race prejudice; its narrow and
gloomy streets have witnessed excesses of
cruelty and despair. The fresh air and clear
sunlight are powerless to illumine it or render
it wholesome. It is a part of the [Rome that is
passing out of actuality into history, and the
sooner and more effectually it is relegated to
its own place among past things the better lor
the Rome of living liomans.
The ghetto itself dates back only three cen
turies, to the time when Paul IV., in his papal
bull in 1555, designated it as the obligatory
dwelling place for the Jews. Their colonizatioa
in Borne began with the arrival oi a number ot
Jews, who followed Pompey on his return from
the first conquest of Jerusalem. They settled
in Trastevere, nearly opposite the present
ghetto, and, as their number increased,, their
settlement extended into the Valley of Egeria.
American archaeologists need not be reminded
ot the excavations made a few years since in the
Jewish cemetery near the Appian way..
It is reasonable to hope lor treasures still
richer and of greater significance to art and
history whenever the demolition of, the ghetto
shall take place. The removal of the old land
marks will undoubtedly be made with tha
greatest care and intelligence,, under the direc
tion ot some ot the devoted arch i ologists of tho
city. Much, indeed, has been lost and destroy
ed. Goths, Vandals, fire and the sword have
swept over the place. The heathens pillaged
the treasures oi koine, and, later, the Inqui
sition robbed the Jews., Yet it is almost certain
that under the floors, or buried beneath the
thresholds, of these miserable abodes, given
oyer to debay and darkness, will be found wealth
of money and jewels, some of them perhaps
pledged to Jewish money-lenders by Popes and
noblemen, whose names were upon the books
of the Hebrews*
Still dee.-er in the earth, and still more re
moved. in time and history, will be found relics
of Imperial i.ome, when, instead of the squallid
houses of the ghetto, arose upon this site the
stately porticos of Octavia and the theatres
of Balbus and Marcellus. From the historic
earth oi this site has already emerged tho
Venus of Praxiteles. Historians assure us that
many statues not less valuable had their niches
in these superb theatres; that marbles chiseled
by the foremost sculptors ot the time are
known to have adorned the scenes; and that in
the theatre of Balbus wore no loss than seventy
five equestrian images in bronze, effigies of as
many friends of Alexander the Great, and
modeled by his command by the artist Lysip
pus. When tho work of demolition shall begin,
students of art and history will be on hand to
witness the excavations. It will be an occasion
of importance, and, perhaps, of excitement;
and it is simply impossible to calculate before
hand what treasures will be revealed or what
new light will be thrown upon history by tha
clearing oway of these ancient haunts of terror,
avarice and misery.
WASTED A MOLE.
A DRUG JJLERK’S STORY.
(From the Elmira , 2Y. Y. } Gazette.)
“ What’s the news ? There isn’t any,” wag
the reply a drug clerk gave to a reporter.
“ Do you sell much ”
“ No, we don’t sell much opium,” answered
the clerk before the reporter had time to ask
the question. “That racket is played out.
When the papers get hard up for news a re
porter is s mt out to write up a harrowing tale
about tho increase in the sale of such drugs; to
tell how m iciy hundreds of people are addicted
to it; 1) w beautiful young ladies pawn their
jewelry o get it and how even the chil
dren cry ior it. It's dollars to buttons the re
porter’s imagination furnishes the facts. Oh, I
don’t know as I blame him; he’s got to write
what he is told, I suppose, if it is a slight
deviation from the truth. But, as I said, a
good deal of it is bosh. There are opium eat
ers, of course, and people, some of whom stand
well up in society, but I don’t believe there are
any more of them than there were twenty years
ago. But say, I will give you an item,” and all
of a sudden the talkative druggist was con
vulsed with laughter.
“ Well, out with it, quick,” answered the pen
cil pusher; “ what is it, funny ?”
“ Funny ? Yes. It’s just this. A young lady,
quite a society girl in Elmira, came in here tho
other day and asked mo for something to make
a mole.”
“ Mike a mole—you mean to remove one.”
“No, I don’t mean to remove one. After
some hesitation she explained to me that anoth
er certain young lady had a mole on her wrist,
‘ right on the line of life,’ as a fortune-teller
had said, aud that it indicated a sunny disposi
tion, a good wife, long life, happiness, riches,
and pretty nearly everything else on the calen
dar. I suppose her rival had been making use
of the information, and therefore the young wo«
man applied to me for something to cause a
similar lucky sign to grow on her arm.”
“ Did you accommodate her ?”
“ Why, certainly; it’s one of the tricks of the
business to always have what your customer
wants. 1 gave her a preparation’ to raise a blis
ter and I suppose she is now undergoing the or
deal. It cost her a two-dollar bill, and I hops
it will bring her riches, happiness and a hus
band,” and he turned away to wait ou a cus
tomer who liad just come in.
BUIiIED TREASURE.
A ROMANCE-FROM MISSOURI.
Fond Post Office, a small hamlet about eight
miles west of Baldwin, in St. Louis county
(Mo.), has developed a sensation. The story
has in it many of the elements of romance.
About a week ago a handsomely dressed man
appeared in Manchester. He was exceedingly
taciturn, and remained around the place only a
few days, leaving in company with one of the
residents of tho town, who is said to be a hard
working laboring man. The pair purchased a
camping outfit, and proceeded without further
delay to Pond Post Office. They were seen to
gether in earnest conversation, critically Scan
ning plats or maps. After apparently satisfying
themseves they left the settlement and walked
in a northwesterly direction about three-quar
ters of a mile and there they pitched their tent.
They once more consulted their plats, aud
then began digging in a ravine. They were un
tiring in their exertions, and dug for nearly a
week before they met with any reward. At
last, when digging about fourteen feet beneath
the surface of the earth, their pick struck some
hard substance, which was discovered to be a
stone crock or jar, and a little further digging
discovered another crock of exactly the same
size. They did not have the patience to open
the jars in the ordinary way, but broke them
with their spades and picks/when out rolled a
golden treasure.
They'did not linger in the neighborhood, the
one living in Manchester returning to his home
at that place, and the other to some point m ths
East, whence he came. Dr. Frazier, a reputa
ble merchant near Pond Post Office, thinks
there are no less than $35,000 or $40,000 recov
ered. While the men were digging the owner
of tho land appeared on the scene and asked
them what they were digging for. The better
dressed man of the two replied that ho was a
geologist, and was searching for specimens. A
good many theories have been advanced as
how the money came there. It is believed by”
the people of that neighborhood that it was the
treasure of some wealthy farmer buried fol
safe keeping during the war.
humiliating
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