6 OUT OF r HE SWIM. fflis clothes hang oh him iii hmhy a shred. He Is out of ill" swim. 'fie walks life's highway with sullen tread. He Is out of the swim. He eats the.dole .that charity gives In the wilds of nature alone he lives; He sleeps 'neath heaven's starry briin, He is out Of the jJWim. One" be had honor and friends, Lut now is out of the swim. Alen coveted then his lordly bow, fie io out of..the swim. TCiiere are none so poor as to take his hand it.. And call him brother in all the land; They quickly turn aside from him. He is out of the swim. Tie has nothing to hold him now to life. He is out of the swim. Neither friends nor fortune, child nor wife, He is out of the swim. There is nobody but himself to blame, tils heart is seared with remorse and shame; Through his own mistakes—not fortune's whim— He is out of the swim. The moonlight rests on a peaceful face, He is out of the swim. S>oar (Jod, forgive in Thy infinite grace. He is out of the swim. Out. of the temptations that so beset. Out of life's maddening roar and fret: Clod who made us will care for him. Out of the swim. Mrs. M. L. Kayne, in Chieago Record- Herald. orf tytfxy& nv'rtvy Scoundrels Co. ( ByCOULSON KERNAHAN | Author ol "Captain Shannon," "A Boole ol 9 Copyright, 1899, by Herbert S. Stone & Co. C H APT ER 111.—Co.N'TIN I- KD. It was an indiscreet answer, for my companion evidently interpreted it as meaning that 1 was not altogether un aware of the fact that steps were to have been taken by the syndicate to prevent Inspector Marten from paying bis promised visit. "Hut why should you suppose you were beinj, watched at Southend?" he .answered, suspiciously. "I didn't suppose," I answered; "I 'only wanted to guard against observa tion. But, as I was saying when you interrupted me, I swam out instead of rowing, and, being a bit cold after the iong swim, I asked our host there to give me a drink before we got to busi ness. He gave me one and was going to help himself, when suddenly, with out a word of warning, he jumped up as if to make a murderous attack upon me, and then fell dead, as you saw, hilled by his own fury. However, there it is, and it can't be helped; so now I think I will bid you good-night and get ashore." "Not without a drink, at all events," said the councillor, with a singularly mirthless smile. "This is really a most unfortunate and unhappy affair, al though I'm not. a bit surprised at the sequel, for I ve warned our friend there not once, but a dozen times, that his passion would cost him his life one clay. Hut lie was a hospitable man. and, as his friend, I stand in the place of host to you; so you must allow me to do the honors." For all hjs protested politeness there was a look in his eyes as he spoke which convinced me that he meant to do me a mischief. If he believed that 1 was in possession ol no dangerous in formation, he would surely have let mo go about my business unmolested; blit. his pressing me to drink foreboded no good, and when 1 thought of the India-rubber ball I wished heartily that 1 were safe on shore again. The honest truth is that the strain to which I had been subjected was beginning to tell upon me and that my nerve was failing. I was possessed with a great <fcsire to be done with the whole busi ness and out in the open, so with a civil ""Thank you; I won't take any more whisky to-night," I made a move to wards the door. He stepped forward hastily to inter cept me and we stood for a moment al most breast to breast, each looking the other in the face with eyes of menace. "Will you allow me to pass, please?" I said, with freezing politeness. Not till I have satislied myself about your share in this business," he protested with equal determination, pointing as he spoke to the corpse, and advancing one leg, as if to plant that limb more securely, and thus more ef- Sertually to bar the way. In so doing foe set his heavy heel right upon my »aked foot, and with such force that th« scar is there to this day. Screaming with pain and maddened beyond endurance, I struck out at him with my clenched fist, catching him fairly between the eyes, and with such force that the back of his head can noned against the door with a bang that set all the crockery on board rat tling like a house-wife's china closet After an earthquake 3hoek. To say the "fur flew" during the next half minute would be—in view of my unclothed condition—an inaccurate metaphor; but all I know is that I was for that space of time as uncer tain which of me was I and which of me was he, as if the pair of us had Taeen a ball of string in the claws of a kitten. For one moment we untangled 'Ourselves, so to speak, to get breath; .15*1 I well remember with what joy I caught sight of the livid, ugly lump between his eyes where I had struck him. The next instant we were at it rolling over and over upon th« Qoor like wild cats and striving each tn throttle the life out of the other. No one who has not fought, for his life stark naked, as I did then, would be 2ieve how much I was by tin'absence of clothing. There Is not much protection, one would think, in coat, waistcoat and trousers; yet with out them I felt as a mediaeval war rior might without his armour. The very buttons on my enemy's clothing fought for him. They were like so many claws that scored and scratched my skin; and when, while we were struggling, lie got the upper berth, and I knelt over me, with his knee pressed against my breastbone, I felt as if the chest of nie was scarce stronger than a cardboard box. I was well-nigh gone that time, for he reached over and got such a vise-like grip upon my throat that my eyes stood out on their stalks, and my tongue was lolling l'rom my head like a thirsty dog's. But if my lack of clothing disadvantaged me in i one way it advantaged me In another, for no eel could have been more slip pery to hold than I. Straining every sinew in my body in ono supreme ef fort, I managed to roll him off, and upon his hack, and wriggling from his grasp, 1 sprang to my feet on the look out for a weapon. He caught at my legs to throw me, but snatching up the heavy whisky decanter by the neck, I whirled it aloft, and dealt him a blow behind the ear that put an end both to him and to the fight. At first I thought he was only stunned, but when I found that his heart had indeed ceased to beat (and small wonder, for I had hit him with terrific force, and upon a vulnerable spot), 1 stripped him, ar.H, opening the brown bag, took out the weighted chain with which he had meant to sink the body of his victim. Then I lashed the pair of them —the man who was to have been murdered and the man who was to have mur dered him—together, and, passing th« chain around the ankles of both, I made it fast and dragged my double and ghastly burden upon deck, where I toppled it over into the water. "And now," I said, "I'll dress myself in the clothes of my late antagonist and go ashore in the dinghy, taking with me the bag containing his dis guise. In the pocket of his coat is a paper telling where and when the next meeting of the Syndicate of Scoundrels takes place. What's to hinder me from going there instead of him? He's my height, figure and complexion, and, dressed in his clcfthes and wearing the disguise which has been provided for him, there's no reason why anyone should s\ispect I am not he, especially as I know enough of his affairs to give a very good account of myself and of to-night's work. Anyhow, danger or no danger, discovery or no discovery, when the next meeting of the Syndi cate of Scoundrels takes place I shall be there." CHAPTER IV. MY REASON FOR DECIDING TO PER SONATE THE DEAD COUNCILLOR. Before relating the adventures which befell me on the occasion of my personating the dead councillor al the meeting of the syndicate, I ought, perhaps, to state the reasons which led me to decide to be present. Those who have done me the'honor of following my narrative thus far may not unnaturally conclude that I I FOUND A PAPER. ?m a professional detective. In that, however, they will be mistaken. I do not know that I am a professional anything, unless it be a professional failure. Being possessed of some pri \ate means, I am in the fortunate po sition of being able to choose my oc cupation, and, as a matter of fact, I have, as they say in America, "sam pled" several professions. As an Irish man, not, I hope, without an Irishman's versatility, I found something to in terest me in each. But my dislike to what is called "shop" made It difficult for me to settle down definitely to any one pursuit. The moody, run-in-a-circle "shop" chatter of the second-rate musician, who shambles yearnful and morose at your side; the insistent, assertive "shop" jabber of third-rate actors who stalk the Strand, their hard, lined faces and bold eyes proclaiming them mem bers of"the profession," as they ar rogantly style their art; the inconse quent cackle of literary "at hom*es;" or the shamelessntss of the self-adver tising scribbler, touting, bagmanlike, lor reviews—all this I found and find insuffer-ble. But, taking one thing with another—and since some amount of "shop" there appears to be in every profession—it seems to me that (he craft of letters has, or should have, a tolet-ably wide "look-out." The ' shop" of literature is, or ought to be, the world. It is because life is more fascinating than literature, that liter ature is so fascinating a profession. The man of letters is before all things p. student of life. Hence he is never without resource, for all life interests him. He never loses the sense of wonder. He can fold his hands de voutly, and with bowed head repeat nftcr Robert Louis Stevenson that General Thanksgiving that breathes a mor i-<ldlike spirit of true and joy- CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 17. 1903 Oils gratitude to tho God and Giver of all than any Doxology: "The world is so full of a number of things 1 think \v»* should all be as happy as kings." 1 had drifted into, rather than seri ously adopted, the profession of au thorship, but I was at all times ready to lay aside my pen for any enter prise that promised adventure; ami here was adventure ready to hand, and calling for me to majse 1 lie most, of what it afforded. To play the spy upon such sponndrols, to "confound their, knavish -tricks," and to be the means ultimately of, bringing them to justice, offered 'sport in plenty for my money, and would, moreover, give me fin opportunity of putting to the test a long-cherished theory of mine. This theory is that a story-writer who has attained some proficiency in his art is in possession of several of the qualities that goto make a good de tective. That I shall be accused by tome persons of talking the very "shop" which I profess to dislike is quite possible, but I submit that to discuss the principles of the novelist's art is very different from discussing the price per thousand words and the per sonality of the artist. I contend that the qualities of mind which aro necessary for the construc tion of a successful story are not very different from those which are re quired for the planning of a success ful crime. The novelist makes a rough draft of his story, just as the criminal maps out his lines of action, and both fill in details and fit them to gether in a similar way. The novelist has, on the first blush of it, the easier task, for he has only himself and his own characters to manage, whereas the criminal lias other people to reckon with; but I am not sure that the novel ist does not find his imaginary charac ters quite as difficult to deal with as the criminal finds his actual folks. And the novelist is no less liable to discover himself "in a corner" by rea son of some unexpected development than is his fellow artist;, and both are apt to court failure by neglecting to take probabilities into account, or by overlooking some unexpected and im portant factor. Fortunately for the welfare of so ciety, the average perpetrator of a crime is as wanting in originality as is the average perpetrator of a book; and if crimes were "reviewed" in the same way as stories, a critic might "slate" the two offenses in almost iden tical words. For the commonplace misdoer only commonplace methods of detection are necessary. But for the more unusual criminal more unu sual methods are required. And if my theory holds good, a novel ist—other things being equal—is by no means badly equipped as a crimi nal-catcher. He is, to begin with, well informed and observant, and he has—if his suc cesses have not been entirely mere tricious—considerable knowledge of character. He is a psychologist, and, given certain constitutional tendencies in conjunction with certain circum stances, can predict with tolerable precision the logical results. He has, if a capable novelist, the artist's power of entering into the lives of other peo ple, or creeping, so to speak, into the criminal's brain. He can put himself into the criminal's place, see as the criminal sees, feel as the criminal feels, think as the criminal thinks, and con sequently can determine with consider able accuracy the criminal's probable line of action. He can detect the weak point in a chain of evidence just as quickly as he can detect the weak point in the probabilities of a story; and he has the inventive and imagina tive qualities which are so necessary for the construction and the following out of a theory that may account for an otherwise unaccountable crime. In saying all this I am, of course, presupposing that the story-writer in question is a man of proved ability, and I am crediting him with capabili ties to the possession of which 1 should no more think myself of lay ing claim than I should to the laure ateship. But by dint of a peculiarly dogged determination, unwillingness to admit myself beaten, some luck, and perhaps a little natural capacity, I had been successful in one or two similar ventures; and, on the princi ple that every private soldier carries in his knapsack a possible field-mar shal's baton, I saw no reason why I should not enter the lists. CHAPTER V. I SQUIRM UNDER THE COLD KTSS THAT A REVOLVER'S UGLY LIPS PRESS TO MY FOREHEAD. In the pocket of the coat which had belonged to the newly-elected Coun cillor Number Seven I found a paper which contained instructions regard ing the next meeting of the Syndicate of Scoundrels. Here is a copy of the document in question: "Last day of month. Midnight. Gipsy wagon drawn up on waste space near first finger-post on high-road to Southend after leaving Laigh. Knock at. door, and in reply to question 'Who's there?' state your number. Make yourself acquainted with local ity beforehand, lhat you need not have to ask directions. Leave Fenchurch street by ten o'clock p. m. train and alight at Leigh. Obey instructions im plicitly, especially about leaving Lon don by ten o'clock from Fenchurch. and destroy this when read without fail." These were my "sailing orders," and plain and straightforward enough they seemed. I wondered at first why the very train by which I was to journey down was expressly stipulated, but a moment's consideration allowed me that some such arrangement was very necessary. Otherwise it was possible that the whole seven of us might elect to travel by one and the same train, in which case the ticket inspectors could hardly fail to notice that seven men all exactly alike had passed tho barrier. It was not probable that Councillor Number One would overlook the com plications ihat might arise from the fact of even two members of the coun cil choosing the same train, and, as I afterwards learned, he had taken every precaution to prevent any such dilem ma. Councillor Number Two had re ceived instructions to stay at Leigh, whither he wan to journey by the Lon don, Tilbury & Southend railway on the evening before the meeting. Coun cillor Number Three was also to start the evening before the meeting, but was to put up at Southend, whither he traveled by the Great Eastern rail way.- , Councillor Number Four was to ■{jo . to Southend by steamer on the morning of the council meeting. Coun cillor Number Five was also to start tin the morning of the meeting, but was to use the' Great Eastern line. Councillor Number Six was to wait un til the afternoon and was to travel via Tilbury; and Councillor Number Seven (represented by myself) was 10 wait till the ten o'clock down from Fenchurch street. These instructions I rigidly obeyed, and on the last day of the month I was at Fenchurch Street station in time to catch the train in question, and was so fortunate as to secure a compart ment to myself. I fully realized the risk I was run ning in thus electing to personate the dead man at the meeting of the Council of Seven, and had not come unarmed. I had put my unloaded revolver in one pocket and some cartridges in another, and did not intend to set foot inside the gipsy wagon, where the council was to meet, until I had made sure that the weapon was charged in every chamber. When we were approaching Leigh it would be quite soon enough, I decided, to slip in the cartridges, and in the meantime I would do my best to shorten the long journey by means of a nap. Like a friend of mine, who complains that no sooner has he put his head upon the pillow than some one knocks at the door and says It is time to get up, I can go to sleep at a moment's no tice; so 1 lay down at full lenghth upon one side of the carriage, and, putting my head upon the arm-rest at the end, was soon fast asleep, and,l fear, snoring. [To Be Continued.] BOY'S CUTTING~COMMENT. \\ ii.M flu* MCUIIM <>f Curing- I^or mer TOXIIM Governor of the Joking Habit. Ex-Gov. Hogg, of Texas, who has a reputation for playing a practical joke every time he gets a chance, says he has been cured of the habit. The last time he was in New York the joke he tried to perpetrate was turned back at him in great >«i'le. It happened that he wanted a shoe-shine. The boot black, a small-si;:ed Italian, began to chatter at him after he had taken his seat in the high chair. Not being in a conversational frame of mind, the portly governor thought it would be a good plan to feign that he was deaf and dumb. So he responded by signs to everything the bootblack said. This proceeding naturally caused the desired silence on the part of the Italian, and the governor was wrapped in his own thoughts, when suddenly a little newsboy ran up and asked him if he wanted a paper. Before he could reply the bootblack turned to the boy and said: "You nota talka to him. He deaf." The newsboy looked him over, says the governor, and then remarked in a loud voice: "Well, say, he's a fat old hog, ain't he?" The governor, who weighs 300 pounds, relishes telling the story, but he adds feelingly that he kept up his bluff after hearing the brutal comment of the newsboy. lu the Australian Hush. Zack Bedo was one of the tender hearted, ready-handed pioneers whom Mrs. Campbell Praed has described in her book, "My Australian Girlhood." When Ryman, the fencer's boy, got lost in the bush, it was Zack Bedo who tracked him for three days and two nights, and brought the little shoe the child had worn and a lock of his hair to the mother, and cried like a child when he gave them to her. He dug out the boy's grave with his own hands and a tomahawk, and buried him quickly, before the father could get to the place, so that the poor mother might never hear described what he, Zack Bedo, had seen. And because he could think of nothing bet ter, and could not bear to lay what the hawks had left in the ground with out a prayer, he said the only thing that came into his mind at the mo ment —the remembrance, perhaps of something his own mother had taught him—"Suffer little children to come unto Me, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven." That wa.s the excuse he made when chaffed at the huts one night for hav ing a prayer-book in his possession. "It was awful awkward," he said, "not to know any words for burying." He could recollect the Lord's prayer, he added, "but that hadn't seemed quite right, somehow." Not (irriit-Gmnilmothi'r. A story of Prince Edward of Wales shows him not in his most discreet mood, but at least a human one. The Tatler says that, when a very little boy, he was listening to his teacher, who was trying to give him some idea of Heaven. "Everybody will he happy," said she. "Everybody will share happiness equally." "Shall we all be really equal?'■ "Yes, my dear." "All of us, really?" "Yes, all of us." "Great-grandma," this being the Queen, "and all?" "Yes, even her majesty," "I am sure," said the young prince, decidedly, "that great-grandma won't like that at all. Quite sure!" WHERE PEACE REIGNS. Money I" Not Needed and .\o Ulaaipa. tion or Irregularity Permitted. The long haired young reformers were holding an iniorinal debate, and when they liad agreed tliat the world was just about UK corrupt and had a place as it well could be, a grim-faced man arose, relates London Tit-Bits. "What you seem to want, friends," he said, "is a place where everyone has to be good, by .law." 'That's it!" chorused the reformers. "Where smoking ain't allowed, and such s thing as drink is unknown' W here no one need worry about food and raiment and where money does not exist?" ' I "We do!" ! "Where everyone has togo to ch.urcfc on Sundays, and everyone keeps regular hours'/" | "That is just what we do want. Oh, to find such a place!" said a soulful young j fellow, speaking for the others, j "Well, I've just come from such a place— j "You have?" cried the soulful one. "Oh, i tell us, tell us, man of wonderful experi i ence, where it is, that we may also go!" "its a place called prison!" said the grim man. Rrlifht'H nisraae Cared. Whitehall, 111., Dec. 7.—A case has been recorded in this place recently, which up j sets the theory of many physicians that Bright's Disease in incurable. It is the case of Air. Lon Manley, whom the doc tors told that he could never recover. Mr. Manley tells the story of his case and how he was cured in this way: "I began using Dodd's Kidney Pills after the doctors had given me up. For four or five years I had Kidney, Stomach and Liver Troubles; I was a general wreck and at times I would get down with mv back so bad that I could not turn myself in bed for three or four days at a time. "I had several doctors and at last they told me I had Bright'a Diseise, and that I could never get well. I commenced to use Dodd's Kidney l'ills and I am now able to do all my work and am all right. I most heartily recommend Dodd's Kid ney Pills and am very thankful for the cure they worked in my case. They saved my life after the doctors had given me up." Inconsistent. } ni Bl a< i you chose the subject of Chinese Women,' " said Mrs. Flushly to Airs. (Jushly, who had just finished read ing her paper. "The subject is so inter esting I never tire of hearing about the poor things." "Mercy 'thought the author of the paper. 1 hope no one else stops to con gratulate me before I get home. These new shoes pinch aie so 1 can't stand it another minute! "—Detroit Free Press. To Care n Cold In One Day. Take Laxative Bromo Quinine Tablets. All druggists refund money if it fails to cure. 25c. "I his is where we part company," said the comb to the brush, as they were set out in the guest's bedroom.—Columbia Jester. Piso's Cure for Consumpti <n i an infalli ble medicine for coughs and colds.—X. W. Samuel, Ocean Grove, X. J., Feb. 17, 1900. Mrs. Ilomeleigh—"Your husband is at his club a good deal, isn't he?" Lady (i ad a bout—"} es. The poor boy hates be ing at home alone, you know."—Punch. You can do your dyeing in half an hour with Putnam Fadeless Dyes. Charity and personal force are the only investments worth anything.--Walt Whit man. i "Patience," said llncle Kben, "is what ev'ybody thinks ev'ybody ought to have, an' what nobody has much personal use for." —Washington Star. It's curious how a woman who wouldn't diverge an iota irom a receipt for mak ing cake will always try to improve on the multiplication table.—X. Y. Press. The speeding trains came together with a dull, sickening thud. A moment later the happy pair sat facing each other in the corn held far away. "Well, what are you crying for?" asked the man. The lady wept anew, "it—it is our first falling out," she sobbed. Cincinnati Commercial-Trib une. "That boy of yours has disgraced his self in school," remarked Farmer Thorp ington, as he tossed the latest letter aside. "1-aws sakes! What's he done now?" in quired his better half. "It ain't what he's done; it's what he ain't done. This here letter says he's been in five football games, an* come out without a scratch!" —Baltimore News. DlHCOuritKCiuent to Thrift. Senator Depew tells of a man in Peeks kill, X. Y., who is known thereabouts for his extremely thrifty disposition. It appears that one morning a fellow-towns man met the frugal man on his way to his business for the day.and to bis great sur prise observed that be was attired in his • cry best apparel—in fact, dressed for all the world as if he were going to au after noon tea. Seeing the ill-concealed look of astonish ment of his friend, the man of the frugal temperament said: "Haven't you heard the news?" "Xews?" stammered the other. "What news?" "Twins!" exclaimed the thrifty man, laconically. A light came into the face of the friend. "So tnat —" he began, with a glance at the resplendent attire of the man who "never overlooked anything." "So that accounts for this," interrupted the latter. "What's the use of trying to be economical?"— Philadelphia Post. ROYAL Baking Powde* Saws Health The use of Royal Baking Powder is essential to the healthfulness of the family food. Yeast ferments the food. Alum baking powders are injurious. Royal Baking Powder saves health. ROYAL BAKINfI POWDER CO., NEW YORK. 0 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAiUAAAAAAA® < : TRADE ► * rjlBK - J : Straighten Up \ < Tho main muscular supports of body weaken and let go under * 1 ► 5 Backache < z or Lumbago. To restore, strengthen ► and straighten up. use ► ! St Jacobs Oil [ < £ J Price 25c. and 50c. ► < t •VVfYVTfTVWVTVVfVVTTTTTV 50,000 Americans / Were Welcomed to Hipfi {Western Wrnki Oariada during: last Year They are settled and settling on th< 112 ••> Grmin and <;R -ar.ing IAIKJ», and are proa ' ' Jt ptroiiH and satisfied. Bhfiw - Sir Wilfred Laurler recently paid: "A new star has -if*en upon tlio horizon rand Is toward It that every iminitrran " who leav©« the land of his ancestor* t< '• c^L*•<* come am! seek a home for himself now * urnß his fc'aze"—Canada. There is t-M ROOM FOR MILLIONS FJErIEEI Ilnmt>at«*ndi prlver Sy ■ fc.j \l| i 4 wit j'• Nchnol*. < htirehes, Kail Xt) w«y«. •! iirkcln, Climate, every UiiuK to be desired. «, ' For a dcscriptlro Atla* and other in ..*» formation,apply to ist I-KRINTENPHNT 1M »V ,/ MIOHATIOK, Ottawa, Canada or autho -J rizfd Canadian Government A^cutr if. B. WILLIAMS, Law lUUdlaf, T«Ud«, Ohio. I Do you catch cold easily ? Does the cold hang on ? Try iStMlolhk's (Cosi? sumption Cure Tonic* un ° Lit cures the most stubborn kind of coughs and colds. If it doesn't cure you, your money will be refunded. Prices: S. C. WEI.LS & Co. * 3 25c. 50c. SI Leßoy, N. Y., Toronto, Can. Pj S3 !IF AHAKESSS snn,t £ KtZ&fc hi ira v\ II"' a<»l POWTIVK. H( ! 3 nf~ l. Vf( I'RKS I'll.KS. uue builUiuti. New York. A. W. K.-C 1999 JOHNSTON CO. *% f\ |»er cent, ysarly. DMdrnrin monthly. NEWPORT, It.l. fcMf Mend for their 3!000 offer. BRIEFLY DESCRIPTIVE. Kot Mmuy Word. Ile<|ufred to Tell ll.w tlie W hole Tlilns Happened. "Private" John Allen, according to tho New York Times, is responsible tor this one: Last year there were a numlier of claims for damages brought against one of the railroads in Mississippi by the farm ers in a certain county of that state. These claims arose out of the fact that n^ ari y hogs had been killed by the trains of the railroads in question. A mixed commission was formed of railroad men and others to determine the equity of these claims. Among others questioned by this commission was an old darky wiio claimed to have been an eye-witness of the annihilation of one hog. Said the chairman of the commission to Zeph: "Tell us, in as few words as possible, how this hog was killed." Old Zeph shifted a huge cud of tobacco from one cheek to the other, cleared ma throat, and then replied: "Well, sail," said lie, "as nearly as I kin make it out, it was dis way: De train tooted and den tuk him!" Bonkft She Admired Most. When Tolstoi was in the Crimea recent ly a rich American arrived in his yacht with a party of friends and asked permis sion to call on the great Russian, wr.s granted on condition that Tolstoi, who was quite weak from illness, should not be troubled with talk. Oni woman visitoi could not restrain her conversa tional propensity, but said in gushing tones: "Leo Tolstoi, all your noble writ ings have influenced my life, but the one which taught me most was—" Jiere she forgot the name of the book and Tolstoi asked, insinuatingly: "Was it 'The Dead Souls?' " "Yes, yes," was the eager reply. "Ah," observed Tolstoi, "Gogol wrot* that book, not I."
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers