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VOLUME XXII.
EBENSBUEG, PA.. FRIDAY. .TUNE 15. ISS8.
NUMBER 21.
i t.Tu must None but scalws do otherwise
Jon t a soiw-n'e is loo snort. I
WW
mi
b
CUMtS nUc All ttot tM.i.
OMtt'ooch Syrup. TitrfU Ui
to time. Hol.1 St ilrusvist".
I believe Plan's Cure
for Consumption saved
hit life. A. II. Dowkll,
Editor Kuuirer, Eden
tou, N. C, A wil 23, 18S7.
PISO
Tlie iikst Couch Mm11-
rint is Jim)'i CTRS for
CiiNsi'MFTioN. Children
Vako it without otijurtioiu
liy aii druggisUJ. "J5c
r.ilili& WnShi lL tlii t AILS.
Kcett hyrp. Tutu cwl. C(
. FOUT Z" S
NORSE AND CATTLE POWDERS
o Ho w'll dm of four. Box. or Lew F
Tia, If Ki'uif. I'nwd.r. ar. In tim.
Kotttr. r"o-ir. willrtlr. a1 .r. nt HorioTn4.
F hi tx l'nwn via prl KiPfi 1 lowu.
r.xul rmni will l.rrM lii. q.antttT at mil
-anti rmun Iw.mr r niu ana ai.K. u usmt Aria
U'l .w.t.
Krnu. KnwrtPTt wlT car. or twh! alwmrt awn ST
'P'sr. w nh Harwi nl .iu. m-. Mitot.
; ol'Tt' Po.ru. will ATiaraCTWS.
rj rwti.r.
S1VU X. roUTX. Troprt.to.
I 14LT1HOM, KU.
tor sale at DAVISON'S In-iif Star.
! ONLY 520.
ffi Style PMlaielpMa Ste
tw tt." rr "
.i-.::.?.ra.s:.
ilir.t'in'ii rliri; trmn S-10 to S'fl. -.
f.-w 'tj ntfni binont. mth miu-kni.. Al
; J .l.ii... JlnnVr. Johnson Tin ker, au4 W ol "oiir
' I1. IHIO..-.II.I IWI.T. I T1U AI.
' in tomtoo'ii hon. l f. you v ii"at. Svrry
aioliin- WAHKASi I I.il OK 3 Y EAK.
biid f"r I'iivuliAr.
! C. A. c:oMi4Jsnr,
17 orlU IOIU St.. lIiilttlelphl. Jsw
iYOU CAN FIND
THiS
PAPER
.1 tiir 111 TlTT-lir-:..!! t Ihr A.vrtimir l-nreau 01
r, .:::;v. EEHINGTOIT BROS.
l.o ojuu.ui loc aai'iii.in .it lui" rates.
YAIMTE DY ?.aS?es to
LEARN TELECRAPHY.
fcl .'K ;.r l. .!!' vm lir tint Lustucn miJ
t-torr On t n iS M rl I LLLuilHrn vU( ww
PATENTS
HEXEY W ISi: u ARN ETT, AttormeT-at-Law.
WaSHINGTON, D. C.
X-f- to si ..MlJ.,.,i r.ik. Wiuhinrtnn. D. C
-SEKD I OF. INVEMTOJL'8 CBlDE.-
IjflRGINlA FARMS FOR SALE.
I'JS i--v. .k1 mik.t. ll.al-lty cuoiaw. S'.w
it "J lil-pr..p.. w n t..r Irr-nl.r.c .ul.iai
ou
1 rii.u.oi. vwfr.. fVH t IiiHaVVA'
f lua X"l. sT4IL AhIllS,ttonsiaVs.
CatawrH
-E L" S-
SSrsfCREAM : BALM.
lraa.e. the Xaw
al rataagrs, Al
i'ldBvf w.HAD
laya Pain aad I a-
aaiiaallea,
" v or ) r 1
fes
Nswrll.
HM-i fc-K
V particle Is auplleU Into each nostrllsnd la
Streihl.. rlr. M .nt at lruTlflts : by mall
xt.'.rr.l. so ets. kL.V BK'kS, tltl)mnwik
A , Nsw York.
Xemp'sMannTfi Spreader
I Vala.Ulr lmpr.niot. for 1S.
Per Cent. Cheaper than any
other, all things considered.
' . ; ii on r v. k rk. t. I: fVrf. r 'Mia cti rr
. .. Ii '..i 1 :il"ll. r .l.-.l 1 In u ir t-i .
i.i.i.l- a ui. i;n-. i i. tu t- ru u. N. V
n. r ..... ..fi'ablo lticr.M!lerta. iu:h
i n .irti sj-kiiol - ty tno ta. li-
il '.ri.-.ion lo h'j tt, ,niw potent r'a.11
'.i i.-riko r"npil.fs i'ii-ti t. medical
i-u-e. Itrurvrs without 1 al every caao.
Chranlr Catarrh f oewnTnpl Inn,
''Tirrnl wnsi 'ryon lebillty.
puraliria. lirnnin lihenma-
tm. Hiatwlirt. Mane la th
UlmliiVr, Briirtu'it IMwsip, lr.
(s'P'.ia. l.iTr Complaint an1
lti4as ot tke Mo mark.
J If your I'niinrin I out of nrpmoh-
I ,4 i.in i,:, of Litis. or If yxiiaxe
I ""' ' um'Iit a 1tsu. n. t mentions
ft i'ili.ri:i tli.-.j a l .'rrtisrrvnta. aildres.
H i frorlet i-a, S. H ilirunu A ( ., I n-
aiubun, uliiifc (So. 4.)
iVa A HALin IXZIW.
-n...o. l i.ru and iMurrliu-o. by all
I :,. OnodHWr l- r bottle; six t.ir
9 "irw'i'insm hiiKh.h and Gormao.
El
e CI
m
k A
I
: JV JUL,
L
1
Absolutely Pure.
Tno powaer never vane. A marvel ot purity
strength and wbolesomeaess. More economical
than the ordinary kinds, and eannot do sold la
omp.titlon with th. m altitude of tbe low test.
snort w.ljtht, alum or phosphate powders. ua
only Is ciu. Kotil Hllia rowDllUo.JOS
WallSt..Naw Yon-
NATURE'S
CURE FOR
CQNSTIPATIOH.
K K LI IB LI KK1KDI
For alrk. tesarB.
lor Torpid Liver.
Billow Head ark.
1'e.tivraeae,
Tarvaafa a'ffcrveareat
Sltater Aprri.iit.
It Is certain in Its effacU
It Is n.ntlo la Its act Ira.
It Is palataable to the
taste. It can bo raltod
upon to onre. and It cores
tiy assisrtwo. not by oatraw-Ina-.
nature. IM not taka
violent porijailT.i yoor
s.lv.s or allow tout rhll-
dren to take than, always
usa this elegant phar
maceutical preparation,
which tans bean lor atoro
than forty years a public
tavorlte. Sold by irwjaittt
rvemtcktrm.
Sick-Headachy
AHD
DYSPEPSIA.
WANTED
SALESMEN
to sell Nursery
Stock. All
(lonl. Wrrunt. r irm-olAsa. hermanent,
pleonant. protlt.t.l 1 pomtlons tor the risiht men.
Oood salaries and expenses paid weekly. L4ber.
al Inducements to beKtnners. No previous ex
pcrt.nee necessary. Outfit Ireo. Wrlto l.r
terms, srlrtnif ago. CriAKI.Cd H. CHASE,
Nurseryman, Kochcstcr N. Y. Mention this
pajier.
April 6, 1SM.-SL
D. LAN CELL'S
ASTHMA
AND
CATARRH
REMEDY.
SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS.
Havtnir stmairled "A) years netweea III and
death wrtt ASIHMA or PHTHISIO. treated by
eminent physicians, and receiving no benefit. 1
was coirrpelleil durlnir the last 5 years of my Ill
ness to sit on inv chair day and ai ht ijasplna- tor
breath. Mv safleiinits were beyond description.
In ile'palr I experimented on myself compound-In-
nxiM and herbs and Inhallnw th medicine
thus nhtalned. I lortunntelv discovere-4 this
WONPFUKVL. CVKE 1'UK ASTHMA AN If
CATARKH. warranted n relieve th. most .tub
horn case of ASI HMA IN K1VE MINUTES.
'.hat tha patient can lie down to rest and sleep
comfbrtaMy. I'lease read the fo41owlna; eondena
ed extracts lroni unsolicited tenimonlale. all of re
cant date :
tillver V. IS. Holmes, San Jose. Cal.. write: "I
flml the Ketnedy all and even more than repre
sented . 1 -re.-elva Instantaneous relief.
K. M. Carson, A. M. WaiTen. Kit., writ;
" W.l treated by eminent physicians ot this coun
try andserroany : tried the climate of different
States nothing aUurded relief like year prepara
tion." L.. B. Phelps. I. M. Orlirirs, tthlo, writes ? Snf
fered with Asthma 0 years. i our medicine ia S
minutes does more for me than the moat eminent
ph jsleiaas did for m In thre years."
H. :. riimpton. Jollet III., writes: Snd Ca
tarrh Kesoedy at once. Cannot et aloast w It hoot
It. I find It the most valuable medicine I hare
ever tried."
We havo many other hearty testimonials of ear
or relief, and In order that all offerers troua Asth
ma, Catarrh. Hav rer, and kindred dtseaa.s
may hav. an oppnrtunltv of testina; tbe valuo ol
the Kemedv we will send' to any addreas TKIA1.
PAl KAt:v; FKEK t H A K( K. It your drc
prlst tails to keep It do not permit him to sell you
some worthless Imitation by his representlaa- it to
beiu.tr as Kt. bnt send directly to as. Writ
vour name and aildres. plainly.
Address. . I. ZIMMEKM AN A -O.. Props..
Whulcsa'.e Iruicl!ts, Wooter, Wayne Co.. O.
i ull size Box by mail ll.uo.
last it. l7.-ly.
B. J. LYNCH,
UNDERTAKER,
And Manufacturer Jfc Dealer In
HOME AND CITY MADE
FURNITURE!
nmw m mm sms,
LOUNGES, BEDSTEADS,
TABL.B8 CI1AIK8,
Mattresses, &c,
m ELEVENTH AVENUE,
A I -TOON A, PENN'A
"Citizens of Cambria County and all
nthra wishing to purchase liooast FL'KNl
Tl'UE. Ac. at honest rrlcs are rrapcif oily
Invited to Kive ns a call before bavin else
where, ms we are confident trat we can
meet every want and plea.se every tast.
Iri-es tbe yery lowest. 4-l6-'80-U. 1
PATENTS
Obtained and all PATFNT PI'SIXESS at
tended to for MODEkATE FKKS.
ur office ia opposite the IT. S. Patent
Ooice and we can obtain patents In leM time
than tboa remote from WASHINGTON.
Seed MODEL OK DRAYVINO. We ad
rise as to patentability f reeof charwe ard we
roaWeMiCHAUUEUNLEsa PATENT US
SECCKKI).
We retire, here, to the Postn:aster, the
Supt. of Money Order Dir.. and tc the offi
cer of the U. S. Patent Orflce. For Circu
lars advice, terme and references to actual
agetita in you' own state write to
c. a. sxow fc no-
Opp. Pateal ORiee Waiklat.a, . C.
IVKTO-rOTlTES.
I NWI.iUJ I) IN
Tons, tell, Worteatsiiin & DmMIitT.
TTT.r.IA3I RABE at. CO
5k and ? VTest Baltimore Street rirrlmnva.
Nut iu r'lfUi Aveaa. Kiw Turk.
I DURE FITS!
Wh t Ml M. I mm lu. T I. S"T
II t. .4 ... .m tli.m rluri. - I rwA',nZT',
I s... m,. 4im .f rm ur i trxv SiU-ix
SU H.M - . Illh Mdj. I rrm4 rM rmn
tu .m . iun. , ih.. a. l i r."
ia u w ri.w .m... uca
fr. a. i'l pi t..g iA-r ' r.y. 4. hsi
1 V . r. in i. iw.i. . tnl. m4 I enlrw. if.
; 'iT,iii,,.:-.,.vviu-
FATHER'S TEMPTATION. I
A Story In Two Parts.
BT EDCAli FAWTETT. '
Author of "Aa Aoilililmm Wumtn." "A flcu'le
maa of I.e. ..ire." "Tiukltoc Cyojoala, "Advra
lurea of a W ulow, etc.
I.
Any one who nhonM drift dovm by
chance to-day Into that long, broad street
which runs diagonally from the Bowery
into Oraud street, and which still bears
the rather KUKrestire name of Henry
street, would find little there to remind
him that thirty years ago it Tras a domain
U-Ioved by many of our most prosperous
:nd cultured citizens. True, the houses
are mostly wide of front and poasesa
itootis ami doorways which retain a cer
tain dignity and frruce of outline. But
ihabbiuess, neglect aud occasionally so rue
thinK worthy of a harsher name prevail
everywhere. Henry street is now but a '
liuif memento of what it originally was.
TIioum nils who nuce dwelt there with
ease, thrift, and even elegance aa well,
have giine down into narrower and final
homes. Many whose early memories con-ni-ct
them with it are domiciled iu smarter
up town localities. The tir and push of
all great cities has pathetically told npon
it, for Heart y all threat cities are remorse
less with their souvenirs of place and
habitation. A quarter that is classic from
reminiscence to-day is to-morrow steeped
in th dreary oblivion of decay said auil
u re
It is a little more than thirty years
since a Kentlcman named Camptrll Law
rence) dwelt here in Henry atreet with his
wifeand one child, a boy. Campbell I.aw
rt'iicw had been what the worldly verdict
would easily pronounce a fortunate man.
lie had left Kugtand. bis native country,
at the age of with the aim of aeekitiKa
livelihood here. I! bad been graduated
at Oxford, h;td strongly scholarly tastes,
:vnd had embarked for tbee ahores with
the ide.tof securing a position as teacher
iu some New York school. Not a lofty
ambition trnly, and yet Campbell I.aw
renre, believing that he conld earn his
bread in no other way than as an lust rue- .
tor of young people, let his hopes of the fu
ture aspire toward the ultimate proprie
torship of a school modeled upon au ideal
plan of his own.
These hopes were never fulfilled, hut
realizations of a much richer and hand
somer sort came to him with succeeding
year. A certain lawyer of considerable
wealth, named Ezra Morton, who lived in
one of the large, quiet mansions whira
then lined Henry street on either sidej
had recent ly lieen stricken with a linger
ing paralysis. Itwrence had brought a
letter to one of Morton's friends. The In
valid gentleman was just then in need of
itaei-retary. Lawrence's graceful aud at
tractive presence, alietted ly the protig
of bin Oxford training, secured hiui this
position a few weeks after his arrival. He
nctjuitted himself capably in his new ca.
I.4city; a friendship soon ripene'l between
t!ieniployer and his assistant. Old Mr
Morton's days were numbered, but his
faculties were still clear and alert, and he
bad always prided himself upon a quiet.
unerring judgment of human character.
Itrfore a year had passed, his respect for
Lawrence was no le-s thorough than the
trust which be reposed In him. The old
gentleman had a single child, Kosa, aged
about IS, who had been motherless since
she was a little girl. Kosa. Morton was
not a beauty In any florid or romantic
sense, and yet abe had a winsome, wom
anly, cultured personality that inspired
love in the young secretary's heart after a
rather brief acquaintance. He begau by
secretly smiling at what be termed her
"Americanisms" (and such national traits
at that remoter day were keener than in
theso times of swift transatlantic goings
aud comings), but he soon ended iu hon
estly loving them. Rosa was an heiress;
she would have the Henry street house
aud a certain fortune of a hundred thou
sand dollars besides. This meant ample
wealth for any New Yorker in the- ear
1355, and Kosa could easily have taken her
choice among well-to-do admirers. But
she preferred the penniless young man
from England, and soon found that her
preference was parentally sanctioned.
During the next year she and Lawrence
were married, a little while before the last
sudden stroke which terminated Mr. Mor
ton's life.
Lawrence now awoke, as it were, to a
recognition of the extraordinary kindness
of destiny. He had married where his
heart lay, and he had won a faithful, ex
ceptional wife. But be also won while
still iu early manhood, position, affluence,
the most enviable mental and physic!
comfort. No need, hereafter, to struggle
and toil for mere daily sustenance. Tbe
old ambitions died within him a natural
death, and new ones took their place. He
bad long ago despaired of ever securing;
that placid leisure which be believed in
separable from all worthy literary pro
ductiveness. But now the leisure once
believed unattainable met bim on every
side with its soft and welcome contact.
He could live bis life just as be had once
fondly dreamed of living it. And tbe
wife whose desires and purposes were only
too ready to blend their ardor with bis
own smiled the moot loving indulgence
upon the fresh future which bad opened!
before him.
A boy was bora to them in the second
year of their marriage. They named him
Gerald, after Lawrence's dead father la
England, who bad been rector in a a mall
country town, and a man whose fine intel
lect and spotless character hi American
ized sod was never tired of recalling with
filial praise. Gerald was the only child
given them and they both lavished upon
him untold love and tenderness.
Among all honors which a man of let
ters can ever le permitted to reap, that of
enrollment with the poets of bis time was
to Campbell Lawrence most satisfactory
and enticing. He had till now looked
with a sort of dubious reverence upon all
personal attempt to acbiere poetic fame.
Tbe fervor, the aspiration, perhaps even
the genuine ability, he argued, were all
within him; but would there not be the
audacity of desecration Itself in mingling
those high and fine moods of the muse
with tbe jar and worry of practical self
support It did not occur to Lawrence
that if he hail (ossessed the true voice of
thefHM'this songs would have rung out
high and dulcrt above all workaday dis- '
cords. However, his environment, as be
told himself, bad now become forcibly
stimulating. lie fitted tip a room in the
house as bis study, filled it with looks,
and made it one of those attractive re
treats in which luxury is tempered by the
nicest refinements of taste. Here be
would !end hours, writing bis Verses.
Often bis wife would enter the apart
ment, his pole admitted and nndiatnrbing
visitor during the period of his labor. He
would sometimes continue writing when
ahe appeared, aud if she chose to seat her
self near bim, he would itretch out bis
Haul aud silently press her own. Or uow
and then he would read her passages from
hU work. Phe would always praise it, for it
always seemed to berstrikingly worthy of
praise. She was far from being ignorant or
unlettered, but if her fund of critical acu
men had leen much l.irjrer than it was s ho
would no doubt have praised precisely the
same. Ixve blinds us to many misdeeds
besides those embodied la the stanzas of
oiirw ivea, husbands or sweethearts. Mrs.
Lawrence thought aiucrrsly tuot'cb. that
her husband's coming volume of poems
would be a series of masterpieces, and she
already aaw bim wreathed with the laur
els which his generation must gladly !
stow. "My collection Is now nearly complete,"
be said to her one day, abont three years
after their marriage. 'I have only to
write the dedication to yon aud then all
will be ready for a publisher."
She smiled and looked affectionately
Into his face with ber brown dove-like
eyes. "That will be no labor for you, I
am sure, Campbell," she said, "or at best
only one of love.
"True," he answered. And then as if
shaping in words what bad long lain in
bis thought, he slowly added: "But Kosa,
1 want an opinion ou the work Ijefor it
goes to press. You understand, my dear?'
"An opinion?" she questioned surpris
ed ly.
" Ye. 1 want some man of proved gen
Ins as a poet to read my lines aud tell me
frankly what he thiuks of them. And
who is there here in New York? It is,
after all, only a big overgrown commer
cial village. Of etiurse, it will intellectu
ally change during the next twenty years
or o, but at present I have scarcely an
acquaintance here who would even sym
pathize with my poetic design apart from
either understanding or appreciating it
Now in Boston it is different."
"Boston, Oh, yes," ruiirmuredhls wife,
showiug that iustant respect for what
was then truly the "Athens of America,"
which so many cultivated minds iu our
larger city had securely acquired. "But
whom do you know in Boston, dear Camp
bell, whom you could saJVIy consult"
"A pleasant correspondence, as you seem
to forget, Kosa," was Ijiwrruce's answer,
"ha of late sprung up between tbe Poet
1j and myself. L is still young in
fame, hut his accomplishments have not
merely received the approval of all impor
tant critics; they are beginning to lie
recognized as a rare and national product.
I think I. would receive me with cour
tesy if I weut to biui, and extend to me
th candid valuation of which I ataud in
need. I have already more than half
made up my mind to visit bim during the
uext month."
Lawrence soon afterward decided pos
it ivrfy to make this pilgrimage. He did
so, and L received bim v. ith all desired
gentility. But when it came to a frank
criticism upon the proffered verses, there
this Boston poet's reception underwent a
marked chill. He read all the poems at
tentively, and then did what so few men
tinder like rircumstauces will ever do: he
told the plain truth.
"What you have shown me, Mr. Law
rence," he said, with the gentlest amia
bility of manner, "has an unerring cor
rectness of metrical form. It is evidently
t he work of a scholar. But I regret to tell
you that it is no more."
"You mean that it is not poetry?" ex
claimed I jiwrence, aghast.
L, slowly nodded. "Yon have made
it easier for me to give you my honest
judgment," he answered, "by putting me
that abrupt quest iou. Yes, I do lutau that
it is not poetry."
Iawrcuce returned to New York a sad
der and wiserman. Whatever humiliating
conviction of their truth tbe Bostouiau's
words may at first have engendered began
rapidly to lessen aud vaui.-h after he had
left L 's preseuce. His wife, too, almost
angered by the unfavorable decision re
ported to ber, und certainly stung into a
loving sense of injnry Ly its presumed un
fairness, mingled her cousolation with tbe
sort of eulogy that he who heard it found
preciously grateful.
"Every poet, my dear Campbell," she
insisted, "has bis own special ideal, bis
own peculiar cult. Will you be foolish
enough to accept as infallible the dis
approval of one fellow-writer, no matter
.bow much you respect bis abilities? Seek
the more liberal acknowledgment of th
world. You have influence enough to
publish your book in England ; there is
that London publisher of whom you have
often spoken as your father's old friend.
Let the book appear on both sides of the
ocean, and then watch its effect with that
select lew whose approbation or disfavor
will alone have telling weight."
Lawrence took the easy counsel con
veyed in these words. He published bis
poems both here and in England and
waited. The liook failed to stir the least
ripple of interest- It was not assailed nor
contemned ; it was not commended nor
lauded. It was dismissed with cold ro
epect and nothing more. The influences
of Iscott, of Wordsworth, of Byron, of
Keats, were in separate reviews touched
upon, one after another. The flawless
method of prosody was repeatedly not
iced. But not a sneer of animadversion,
as not a pulse of enthusiasm, gave dis
tinctive spirit to the general reception of
the volume. It fell flat npon tbe reading
public, and was in most cases, very prob
ably, forgotten as soon as read.
Iawrence suffered keenly. The truth
bad dawned upon him at last, and it dealt
him a crushing blow. What, after all,
bad this windfall of early prosperity
meant to bim but the realization that bis
aims far transcended his powers T If he
bad fojght and striven for years against
harsh odds of poverty, be would at least
have kept the cheer within bissoul of hav
ing been born fer nobler ends. But now
the veil of illusion was ruthlessly torn.
He saw bis own weakness and shortcom
ing. Opportunity bad been given bim,
and he had failed to grasp it. He would
always thus fail. The cruel truth was
dear at last. He wept tears of blood ; it
was an actual anguish of poignant self
discovery. It was one of those noiseless
and covert tragedies of the human soul,
bitter, perhaps, as any that we know.
"I shall never write another lina of
poetry as long as I liv:" he told his wife;
and be kept his word.
But be wrote, nevertheless. Like so
many men who are fated to feel though
not to create in the largest imaginative
way, be possessed the natural gift of a
fluent and lucid prose style. A scholar of
no mean acquirement, the idea came to
bim of writing a history which should
combine rigid accuracy with picturesque
and eloquent narration. He chose Byzan
tium, from the accession of its first, em
peror to the final overthrow of the Koman
Empire, and he set to work upon bis un
dertaking, after several mouths of de
spondency, with a vigor that put gleams
of encouragement into his wife's tender
eyes, and spoke well for his own inherent
fortitude. If he could not win the golden
prize he would try far the silver snc The
crown of oak leaves would have its value,
even if he missed that of bsy.
But his wound acheI and Med, alw.tTS.
It never really healed. He strove to bide
bis chagrin, bis disappointment, and did
so to all except bis wife. She alone knew
and understood, and yet it was only at
times that the sad truth plainly rose he
fore her. She took keen interest in his
new literary plan, and when it became
necessary for bim to delve among tbe re
sources of the famous foreign libraries,
she readily sailed with her young sou and
himself for European shores. .
They remained abroad several years,
and Lawrence's great work (it had now
lsscome tacitly accepted as "a great wort"
by the two most concerned in it) was still
far from completion. When Gerald was
in his thirteenth year they returned to
New York. Their son had meanwhile
?rown to be a ccat winnicg aud Iovabls
boy. Ho had the brown eyes cf his
mother, and his hair was a rich chestnut,
shot through with golden threads. His
aptitude for all kinds of study vers re
markable. There had been some. talk, of
sending him. to Columbia College, then
a mere high school in King street, but
as his intelligence gave wider proof of its
capacity. Harvard College was Ceter
tained upon.
Gerald studied under tutors for two
years longer in New York, aud then en
tered Harvard with flying colors. His va
cations were always the bringing home of
more thsn merely creditable reports. He
had gained the highest rank in all de
partments of study. He was head of his
class, as our American term has it, in
everything, r
Lawrence toot the deepest pleasure in
his son's collegiate triumphs. As for
Mrs. Ijiwrence, she was overjoyed past
expression. Her boy's brilliaut promise
atoned for tbe disappoinlmeut wrought
by her husband's thwarted aspiration.
As a matter of course, Gerald boc-atiie ac
quainted with his father's absorbing pur
suit. He was naturally reticent, and
those who were in bis society often left
it with the impression that be was not
conversationally notable, while ut the
same time they some how admitted his
excellent endowments.
Social New York life in thoso days bad
not the modish flutter aud ostentation of
to-day. When Gerald returned home
from Harvard be was not lured into the
fashionable foilies of the assemblies, the
Patriarchs, or the F. C. D. C. Dancing
Class. All these blooms of civilization
were yet iu the bud. He went to certain
decorous aud simple entertainments and
enjoyed them. But he showed no taste
for feat iv pleasures. Always li seemed
like one who feels tbe visitant presence
of some continual brooding preoccupa
tion. Both his parent a noticed this, aud
in the last year of his sojourn at college
both communicated their solicitude one
to another. Wes Gerald ill? Had some
sentiment seized bim with its delicate,
amorous grasp off there in Cambridge?
What was really tbe matter Was any
thing really the matter, or was their pa
rental love merely at fault?
They soon learned that something ser
iously was the matter, though the anx
iety which they suffered may have sprung
from a different origin. One day, acarr-ely
a week after Gerald had returned from
Boston with credentials that certified ho
had been graduated from Harvard at the
bead of his class, he fell buck upon a sofa
in the drawing room of his parents'
Henry street bonse, while several guests
were assembled for tbe purpose of giving
Lim their congratulations, utterly uncon
scious. Before s doctor had been snmrr.nEed be
had rallied and recovered. He laughed
lightly at the attack, aud declared it
simply a result of overwork during tha
last examination at Harvard, and nothing
more. He quieted the fears of both bis
parents by soon afterward appearing in
bis usual health and spirits. But the
physician who had attended him thortly
after his swoon had spoen caudidly at
his own solicitation. Gerald, brave mid
full of self-command, bad insisted that
the physician should reveal nothing of the
real truth to his father or mother.
They both lov me dearly, Dr. Soul h
ton," he said, "and if they knew I bad a
luottal malady of the heart they would lw
in a pcriwtual state of worrimeut. You
will promise me, therefore, that you w ill
tell them nothing?"
"I promise," Dr. South ton had an
swered. !--
It is possible that Gerald's deportment
toward his father changed from that time
thenceforward. They had always beeu on
the most intimate terms together. During
Gerald's early schooling in Geneva many
had been the loving voyages paid to hiiu
from Paris by his father, absorlied in
studies at the Bihliotheque Natiouale.
Gerald kuew of the Byzantine history as
he knew of bis boyish hoops and kite.
He came, one morning, into his father's
library, and after watching tbe usual work
at the long-meditated manuscript, be
"Father, you hare never known a cer
tain fact about this boy of yours, care
fully as yeu hare watched and guarded
him."
"You have a secret frons me, mysoo?"
Lawrenees asked surprisedly.
'"Yea, father, a secret. 1 have tried ray
band at verse."
"At verso!" The words of Lawrenco
rang with a certain scoffing bitterness.
"Yes, father, at verse."
"Let me. bee what you hare done," said
Lawrence, and as he spoke the wrords a
cogent memory of his own defeat aud
surrender swept through bis soul.
Gerald sank into a chair near bis side.
He drew forth a manuscript and quietly
began to read it. He bad read for per
haps five minutes when bis father sud
denly and harshly interrupted bim. i
. "Gerald, is this yours?" ",
"Yes, father,". Gerald answered. "Do
you like it?"
"Like it?" murmured Lawrence, "why,
my dear boy, it is wonderfully fine!"
And it truly was. Youth spoke in the
Yersea, but genius spoke too. Tbe imag
ery, the feeling, the selection of epithet,
was more than merely remarkable; each
told of a nature endowed with capacity to
express in tbe sure, sweet phrase of art,
sensibility, passion and careful reflection.
Lawrence bad felt, as be read, the sense
f a new personality in literature. It had
rnahed warmly, blandly npon him like
the breeze of a summer dawn.
His son was a true poet! He bad never
been one; be had only bad the longing,
the scholarly equipment, the eager and
fervid intention. But Gerald, after no
apparent struggle, after w hat seemed to
be solely the most natural and easy im
pulse, bad attained something unique
and brilliant in poetic composition.
Lawrence put away bis son's manu
script, telling Gerald that he would retain
it for further consideration. The subject
of the poem was Cortes, tho Mexican con
queror. Its material was ev:dently taken
from Prescott's immortal history. But
Gerald had woven abont the whole tale of
that memorable rnnqnest a glamour, an
enchantment, which the real poet can
alone fre'if.
An ncoay f Jealousy nrvtv nssailed Ger
ald's father. He had always loved his
son, till now, in the most disinterested
and devote.l way. But now be was wildly,
almost fiercely, jealons of him. He strove
to conquer the new sensation, but iu rain.
He locked himself w ithin bis library for
hours and remained there, doggedly pac
ing tho floor, with licnt bead and com
pressed lis. His wife wondered at his
altered moods, but he told ber nothing.
He would rather have died than reveal
the truth to her, or to any one ou earth,
lie almost loathed himself for feeling as
he did. He hated to have Gerald ap
proach him, though he still loved the boy
as fondly as ever. And yet Qerald's very
existence now seemed a mockery, a sar
casm upon bis own!
'Campbell, his wife said to him one
T. "you are ill. You must see a doctor.
Do not attempt to deceive me. You remain
closeted for hours, but it is not your his
tory which alsorbs you. I suspect you
have scarcely touched it for weeks. .And
Gerald" .
"Well?'
he questioned. "Wtat of
"iou never notice the boy. When be
speaks to you it is seldom tnatyou ever
give him au answer. It is just as if yon
bad taken some strange dislike to bim.'
And you have grown haggard, thin you
are no longer your dear self. Oh, Camp
bell, what in your trouble?"
"Nothing," wasthc answer.
"You say this to me your wife?"
"Yes," Ijtwreuce replied with a fierce
accent. "Nothing is the matter. Pray,
Kosa, leave me alone." And he passed
cgain into bis library.
But Gerald approached his father some
duys later, ami gently insisted on his
kindly heed. "You are in some wretched
sort of trouble," he said, "and you must
not continue morbid cud uncommunica
tive like this. You must reveal your
trouble. What can it be? Mamma and I
will share with you. We are both full of
sympathy for you. Matters cannot go on
as they arc doing. Father, tell me the
truth!"
I haro nothing to tell you, Gerald,"
Lawrence nuswered. Aud then, suddenly,
he gave an alarmed cry ; for Gerald's face
had takeu an ashen pallor, and tho youth
sank backward upon the lounge near
which he had been standing. It w:u an
attack of his heart disease, aud m attack
from which be never revived. When his
father reached his siilo J-e was gasping
aud half unconscious. He lingered fir
two hours in a state of coma, axd then
quietly died.
'-"TV
Gerald's death was the mr.st dreadful of
blows to Inith his parents. Mrs. 1 jiw
rence was unable to attend the funeral. so
thoroughly had grief prostrated ber.
I jswreuce suffered tortnre for .lavs, and
finally showed himself among his ac
quaintances with hair and beard perfectly
white. Bat sorrow had not entirely
wrought this chango. He had loved Ger
ald, an 1 he had keenly suffered ou losing
him. Yet the passionate temptation to
put his uame f the poeiu Gerald had left
was now strong iu his heart. WLo could
rver know the actual fact, if be did so?
The world would surely admit him to la
a pott if ho should print "Cortes' ns his
own work. I Ic had read it over again aud
again, since his sou's death, nud each new
reading convinced him the more clearly
of its beauty aud power. Of course the
auppressiou of its true authorship would
be horrible. He recoiled before tbe crime
even while he felt tbe deadly stress of its
fascination.
He had never voluntarily committed a
sinful act before. He had never till now
known the rial mt-auiag of temptation.
Honor aud rectitude had been with him
has natural us the process of drawing his
breath. The ouly great emoliou of his
life, for years aud years, had been ambi
tion t shim as a poet nd the sharp dis
t;,;xiiiiT nient, of conceding to himself that
this wits an unattainable dream. A little
while ago, if he had heard that r.ny such
baleful desire as the preseut one could
l.ave lured him, he would have scoffed at
the prophecy as something which dealt in
the wildest improbability. As it was, the
guilty longing had sprung n;iou him with
au iusidious, ticr-like sudden ucss. He
struggled against it with secret energy,
nud silently cursed himself for having it.
All the morality of bis past life was ar
rayed agaiust it. There were moments
when be assured himself that he had laid
it aside forever, and that it would here
after revisit him only ns the gloomy
memory of some hateful nightmare, lint
then, after a few hours, the demon awoke
with added malevolence. He began to
recognize that his power of resistance was
weaker than the force of his subtle foe.
"It conquers me," he at last told him
self. "I yield to it. In my own conscience
I shall forever be a villain, a traitor. But
lefore my fellow-men I shall at least go
to my grave with unblemished repute."
His Byzantine history needed but a few
more chapters to effect its completion, but
be could not touch it. He doubted if he
could ever add to it another capable line.
Bis mind was in acute aud incessant tor
lueut notwithstanding tbe strange lurid
kiud of pleasure which his final decision
bad wrought iu him.
The extreme change In his manner, his
fits of moody silence, his groping and in
secure walk, his alstracted and tremu
lous language, wero all assigned by his
wife to but a single cause. SUe herself
was heart-broken at the loss of her son,
and sho never dreamed that the severe
alteration in her husband was occasioned
by another reason than that of poor Ger
ald's death,
"I must Iks frank with you,' she said to
him ono day. "You seem to lieon the
verge of an illness. We bad let go
abroad again, and as soon as ixwsible."
"Go abroad," he repeated; "no, no. I
have work here."
"Ah, you niean the history," Mrs. Law
rence said. "I ani glad, Campliell. that
you have had the heart, to iiuish it to
concern yourself with it."
Certain words rose to his lips, bnt an
intolerable sense of shame kept hint from
uttering them. Ho knew that his wife
was wholly ignorant of the existence of
"Cortes." Gerald, in his absolute mod
esty had told no one of the work. Aud
yet Itwrence felt what his wife's horror
would 1k if she learned the act which he
now really meditated.
"I must lie to her," he thonght after
ward, while seated in the seclusion of his
library. "I must tell her that I have com
posed this poem ia secret, and that I have
at last determined to give it to tbe world.
But how to begin? Ah, how ghastly will
such hypocrisy seem ertea employed to
ward her!"
He at lenah resolved that he would
place "Cortes" in the hauds of a pub
lisher, and not refer to it in the hearing
of bis wife until the poem was printed,
bound aad ready for the public In this
way he could rid himself of the tortnro
entailed by preliminary falsehood. She
would read his name on the title page
when the book appeared, and it would
then, perhaps, le easier for him to deceive
her concerning its origin. Meanwhile his
beall It grew feeble, he lost appetite, and
slept cither in the most wretchedly fitful
waj or else dreamed for what seemed
hours at a time the most agonizing
dreams. One night be awoke with a ter
rible start, and found that he was stand
ing in his night dress lw-side the half
faded fire of his library. He had risen in
a state of somnambulism and traveled
several chambers to the desk iu which
Gerald's poem bad lieen placed.
All through the following day this cir
cumstance caused hir.i the keenest mental
anxiety. He could ill remember the dreara
from which he bad awakened ou finding
himself a sleep walker, but he had a vague
recollection that it somehow concerned an
injury which was leing done to his dead
hoy, and which he had been swayed by the
motive of averting.
The dream haunted him, and on the
evening of the next day, while he sat
withiu the library, a:i idea, abruptly born
of it, seized upon his tormented mind.
Why should be not in a certain manner
cleause his conscience of the darker crim
inal stain which must follow this deed of
false appropriation? His Byzantine his
tory the labor of years lay in the same
desk with bis soli's extraordinary poem.
What if he deliberately destroyed the his
tory, making it thus a kind of votive, pro
pitiatory cflerius to the dead? His own
work should thus get down into oblivion,
as it were, with Gerald himself. This
would be a sacrifice that might appease
the sting of remorse licreafteratid perhaps
add to the zest cf hi triumph us the ac
credited author of "Cortes."
He brooded several days upon this ides,
nnd one night be determined to carry it
out. The weather was chilly, and a glow
ing coal fire burned in the grate of Lis lib
rary. His wife had retired to rest an hour
ago; it was now past 11 o'cloc k. He went
to the desk and took forth the manuscript
of his history. It made a solid bulk of
sheets. The tears filled his eyes as be
gazed dow n at the closely written pages,
representing so many hours of careful toil.
But what were they all in theirclaborated
rhetorial finish comiiared with the sweet,
i-pontaneons brilliancy of "Cortes"? Hun
dreds of men could have written this ele
gant, easy pros?. Hut the verses of
"Cortes" had in t'ucm the divine, unteach
able spirit. They were that rarest of rare
rhings, mnst'-rly ami exquisite jxetry.
The history of Byzantium might mean
reputat ion, but "Cortes" might lueau au
t-iiiiost everlasting fame.
Lawrence, with faltering steps, drew
near the lire. Its greeily heat devoured
the leaves as he dropped them upou the
scarlet cals. The work of destruction
was soon elided. It is always so much
easier to destroy tli!' n to create! What
years of patient work had acconi;ili.h.d a
few brief minutes annihilated.
He sank down ou his knee vrlien the.
last p'tge was consumed. He was terribly
mritated, and the uie:.;al turmoil of l.ito
weeks made bim seem like t he hantoui
of his pa.-t self. He moved bis lips ns if
iu prayer. He was, in reality, praying for
pardon to his dead son. The words were
inaudible, yet his clasped, uplifted bands
betrayed thrircharncteraud import. But
presently he rose fro-ii his knees with a
jialpabl'.' shuiMeras if cueof fear. On the
threhoM of a fearful crime, what right
bad he todeal in prayer? The sacrifice of
bis history coil id, alter all, avail not hiug.
His wrong to the dead would not be oue
shade less dark on this account !
He thought something of ret ii irg, espe
cially as it was then a little after mid
night. But uow that he bad taken the
first positive step in evil, he felt a dread
!.-st his wife might be roused from sleep
by his entering their ibamlier, and should
address to bim some question which he
would be forced to answer. "And how
could I speak to her this tiiiht," ho
thought, "without betraying my secret?
I fear it would crus'i its way through my
lips no matter how close 1 locked them !'
He sank tilKin a lounge, covering his
face wi' h hot h hands and let t ing his head
fall backward into one of t lit-soft cu.'h
ions. lie had no idea of dropping asleep,
and yet it is probable that theslunilier
which shortly fell upon hint was one iu
which exhaustion of the ltody proved deep
enough, to overcome cxciteixa-ut of the
mind.
His sleep must have lasted several i
hours, for the wiutry dawn was gleaming
spectrally iu the chain Iter, aud making
tlie still lighted gas flare thin and sickly
when he unclosed his C3'cs. And as ho
did mi it seemed to him that he saw thu
form of his son standing lieside a heap of
ashes on the hearth place. It was anew
heap of ashes, not the one his burnt his
tory had made. So real and living was
the form to JiwreUcVs sight that he ut
tered Gerald's name with a horrified cry,
as he rose insecurely to his feet.
Hut n instnnt Inter the form had
melted to nothingness. The shape law
mice saw had doubtless been no ghost
whatever, but merely the remnant of a
dream which had not yet quits floated
away with the departing mists of sleep.
Ijiwrence went to the hearth where
that new heap of ashes lay. It had some
how attracted his gaze from the moment
that (ierald's form had vanished per
haps ltccaitse the supposed apparition had
faded into air so very near that especial
Hjt.
Patches of white gleamed here and
there amid the crisp, black debris. Evi
dently, h-s in the case of the history,
sheets of paper had In-tn burned.
A sudden thought flashed through Law
rence's mind. He stooped down and ex
amiued one of the scorched fragments. It
contained writing and in his son's well
known hand. But what was the writing?
As be asked himseif this question the
sweat broke in cold lie.uls from his
brow. He peered closer over the frng
mciit which he held. Five or six words
were plainly legible there. A quivering
moan broke from iiis lips. Ho turned
and swept his eyes toward the open desk
in whicU-"Crtes" had lain. The manu
script of the poems was no longer there!
He reeled to a scat. He bad understood
now, or, rather, in the whirl and turmoil
of his f reti.icd miud Le believed th.'il Le
understood.
"It it is the vengeance of the dead:''
he gasped. "My boy l-.ns risen from his
grave to deal n.e puLu.shm-.-r.t!''
And then there, rushed through h'.r.
mind tho awful realization that both
"Cortes" and his owti history were, irre
vocably dest roved. Honor had ts-cn sn . ;!,
but that only. It seemed to him as ir t Li
ground were rocking beneath his f?..?.
He comprehended, as he had never cloi.i
before, the magnitude of his own am
bition tbe greatness of tho one Lope
which he had relinquished to secure t he
still larger promise of another. And now
both Were forever lost. An old ngt
awaited bim of goading despair, of im
measurable self-reproach.
Three or four hours later he was found
seated in the arm chair which he often oc
cupied, with head drooped sideways, quite
lifeless. He must have died from cere
bral paralysis, it was stated, a consider
able time before this discovery.
If he had been in any sort of mental
moid to reflect quietly upon the question
of Gerald's poem having met destruction,
be might have guessed at the real truth
his own recent proven habit of somnam
bulism. That would have told him
everything would have accounted for
everything, lie bad repeated in sleep the
momentous act just performed while
awake: and be bad repeated it. this sec
ond time, with tho manuscript of Lis
sou's treasured poem iubtead of his owu
history.
And yet, explain the occurrence ration
ally ns we may, do. not toe vengeance of
the wronged dead seem to have spoken,
on that fatal midnight, iu the library of
Campltell Ijiwrence?
Imagination may easily clothe with su
jernat urul dress the severe outlines of
fact. But even afier science has fully
satisfied us with her colder met hods of
survey, does there not sometimes remain,
as in the preseut tragic instance, a sense
of subtler aud more mysterious law work
iug steadily to its retributive eud, though
wrapped iu deepest shadow?
ParasrapUs New ami (tld,
A multitude of sparks do not illumin
ate. 11. t Ami' I.
Woman is a mirror of divine contradic
tions. Micltt M.
Call me nor. olir. till you see me gath
ered. (ui.i I'ii i i rl.
lit wishim? to extend her c-mpiro
woman destroys it. ' u';u .
It vvoiuau lost us Eden, she aloue can
restore it. II Ui:ur.
Women detest a serpent throu-b. a pro
feosional jealousy. I .''' H 'j
THE TOWN-LOT RUSTLER.
I.if.-Ial.c irespriritloit nt a I'lii'inc V.'entc.
iinracter.
Tli WostTn town-lot rustier i. a wei
known chain ter. A correspondent .
tin! New Votii 7'okc, writing from 4 yp
sum City, as., has s:-en him on his na
tive lic:'t.i atvl describes him thus :
"i.enl estat rustlers are, in my opin
ion, o:u' of tin; naMiral products of iln
West. Tliev resemble wlrat-tl:tnts ia
tlieir imp lious demand for vir-:n soil.
No rustler ran rustle eCertiveiy vvher
liommi;il in by costly buildings. 'Jiiev
thrive in small towns wliieli st..iui on th'
banks of insignificant streams, or O'
sandy deserts, or on sage-brush plain.
They rustle most effectively in town
which contain from three hundred to six
thousand inhabitants. Tb more drear
and uninviting the town the more oner
grtirally they rustle. I am dcepiy in
U-rcsted in these mysterious men. I
have studied their habits for many
months ami in rn.iny towns, Imt I have
le-en iinabl-; to solve the knotiy probleu.
if tin; origin of these Strang" beings.
'1 he famuli problem of tlie lijlds or ol
the biiiominai theorem ari iner. ly ii
t'dln ft:l toys wi'li which to amu:;
h kin-ii in comparison with this t wi-'t.T.
r.' is something uncanny about tin
pro ii id iippear.iiiec of a rustier iu a new
town.
'"If a pilgrim is in doubt about tlie vo
ce.', ion ol a gentleman whom l e has met
in a frontier t wn, :.n l would apply a
t-vt sure to d.-tcet the most artful and
deceptive rustier, he must utter the wor I
syndicate while talking to him. .nd
tlicn listen to him lie. His eyes brighten
at tho wor.l. He conjures up immense
suks of starke 1 gold. His voice i.uivers
with excitement ; he will talk till mid
night of syiiilier.tes. Heal estate is never
1 ought by parties or associations ot per
sons. Tlie i Vision syndicate bought lots
:i to inclusive, in "block liall's addi
tion, on wliirli to build an opi ni-ho'irv;.
The I ligli.sh s-. ndicjue. or the Wai'. s'reet
styndieat , or the I renchsyn lieate bought
so icw or so many lots on which to build
a 1 ,' k ,oci. i hotel, 'with au elevator and
electric lights.' ne young ma, whose
hair w. s red and appearance foxy, told
m" that 'a Philadelphia syndicate iK.u.ht
that corner, jointing a dirty index finger
at a ro- ky, siueliill lot in ar.incr. Idho,
'to build" a dance-house on.' And be
wondered why I laughed as I conjured
up a vioup ol obese Philadelphia i.i.nk ifs
building, arid running a dance-hall in a
Pocky ..fountain mining camp."
shopping.
In inquiring for poods nt- a shop oi
store, do not say, "I want'' so and so, l t.t
say to ti.e i-liop man, "i lea-e siio-.v pie '
such or siii li r.n article, or some othe r
po'.ile iorin of a lrets.
Jt is ::n insult, which should. 1-e re
sented by it:stant departure, fur tie- e'erk
or proprn-tor to oilensively suggest that
you can do l etter elsew here.
You must never take hold of a piece
of goods Miolher jn-rson is examining.
Wait until it is replaced upon the coun
ter, when you are at libeity to tul.o it
up.
J-'tige aside s or whispering in a stcit
are rude.
It is rude to interrupt friends yon maj
meet in the store, to ask tiieir atter.tiot
to your purchases, I eiore they have liu
isbed u..king tlieir own. It is rude tc
oiler your opinion, unasked, uj'oti thei.
judgement or tasto in selection of goo. If
Aoi J "jewing, down'' the prio s c
nrtich-s in any way. it t;.e pii'-'
does not suit, the most you can do is
say bo quietly and depart. It is geni
ally best to say nothing about it, ho
ever.
1-adies are to frequently thoughtless i
monopoh.iug the time and attention
salesmen in small talk, while oti.er c;;
lers on' business are wasting va'ua. -
hours waiting lor them to have done.
Jt is rude to sneer at and depredn' .
goo !s. You owe courtesy to salesir
as well as to any ether class. I so
deceit, but bo l'S Inuiest With the in
you wish them to he with you.
l.oud find showy behavior ia stores i
exceedingly vulgar.
M'liy Women IJuvy eten.
There are just three things for w hich f
woman envies, a man. 'ih-Mirst is a m
crel not to be told, the second is t'
ub.iity Mid lower to go out when-. v-r
feds like il .it night, and the third is 1
being able to get along without r:
to iiicci peltiiuais slapping at his he
A man s lcs always louli. so co niort.ii...
iu wet weather. He puts on In:?
Eho. s, th:i li socUs, turns up his troy--an.
1 strikes out. A woman on her n
crable clothed supporters, has thin to:
ings, tig,hl 1kki;s, and gon 1 lor-not ::
sandals. Many female gets'; event!
to while i-Uiils, which a e ,u-t so lie
paper m the lain. '1 hen nut she g
In ball a block the backs ol her legs .r.
heels to i. Dei S are .saturated. Jleiri.i
J.ro UlU-idV Klld draggled, end her le per
is ru l e i ami cot bias. If
th.tnee to step, as oi'teii ebe loes, iup
puddle, her thoughts, if not her laug i. .
gruw MLUiiy. ii we loul l m
wear llie i.ter. 1 us Well us the l'guiati .
trousers, especially on rainy days, v
might keep as sweet-tempered as the 0
poaite sex are flatteringly suppose i to.
large stud Small Mislal.es. "3
Ab a Scottish minister and an Pneli-.
lawyer wire riding together, said tl
minister t his h ieii l, ".-ir, do you evt
make inisMki-s in your pleading '.' '
-I do," sai l the lawyer.
"An' what do ye do wi' mistakes.?'
w:s the question.
"Why, sir, if large ones, I mend their,
if small out s, 1 let them go. And, pry
sir, do you ever make inistaLcs iu pieac!
ing? '
"Ay, sir, I have dune sac.'
"And what do you do with vour n,
Ukcs?'
't)ii, I dispense with (hem in thea
iiunin r as ye do yoursel'. ' 1 ixctiiee th.
large, an' let go the sma anes. .No i t;
since, as I was preachin' 1 meant to f-i
serve Unit the ilevil was the lather t -i
liars, but made a mistake, an' said 1
was the lather o' a' layers. P. tit : .
mUtal e was ro sma' that 1 let it to."
-.
l alliu; l:av.
i -.liter When shall I call for the a on
of i.i ' lull. M i . i.oi u '
I v tii. .ii .,ii,- i.u.e. What day v i;t
In M Mill Voiii rouVeila nee i
t reii.i.,1 Weil. I l...vc ler to oo . ,
1 ioiis l.ti lit. in any oilier day ot the v c: I
l'i luui i iy uvll. I lien yuti uiuy .v.
ior the .itiliiuul every Tiic.r-J.. j.
Take Care of His Do;.
Maimr..! ,'to nur-c ) 'What is ail that i
ill the uui'sny. M.oic. c"
Nor-. -.e levile clog, Madame, hai t ..
Z.!i-es I'lusMe's cately."
Mamma - 1 11, lake it irom him al
Mane. an. I i-ive it Ojck in Miss I'h
i'oor litlle l'i I ... he iiiumu t eat so c
cjudy; n
Who l.uiilis Last.
Perkins. And so yo.i 'te gnui; t
fancy jie- ball .'..What costatjo die v,
iog to wear .'
.Snniit Ahe. I thin'.; Ml bonov
suunntr tin i aiiJ go as a trauip. W.
yt eoii!:; io wear?
IVrknis. t guess I 11 put on you!
onal l'i:i.i.' A. belt an. I j-o a; 1 1 ...
1 IM.
Gerald? '