os ats e———
NEVER GO BACK ON A FRIEND,
Many a friend on life's journey
Cheers us by words that are kind;
Many a one bears our burden,
While we plod weary behind;
Many a friend smiles to scatter
_ Borrow’s dark clouds that descend;
So, then, take care and remember,
Never go back on a friend.”
Many a friend has uplifted
Us from dark poverty’s ways;
Many a one has but started
Us to good fortune's bright days;
Many a friend will come to aid us,
Otten when no man will lend
Help to our struggles; be sure, then,
“Never go back on a friend.”
Many a friend gives us shelter,
Often a morsel of bread
Many s one will
3
remember
Us when we lie cold and dead;
Many a friend speak kindly,
And our sweet memory defend;
"7 .
This be the motto of friendship
“Never go back on a friend, *
will
Cherish the frie
1
Iship forever,
Joy to your life it will lend;
This be your motto, to never,
“Never go back on a friend.”
I RI a.
ISABEL'S REVENGE.
“Have any of you girls done this?"
Miss Adams said bursting into
round the fire chattering merrily. “But
Wyld.”
“Was
it, Isabel?” Julia Gray whis-
a girl stood alone reading
though the twilight had fallen,
you really do this. dear?” holding up a
caricature in colored crayons of Miss
Adams, the governess,
she kn¢
glance at the portrait—a truthful,
though by no means a flattering one.
“It’s disgraceful!” Miss Adams con-
tinued, addressing the group
the fire, **how that girl”—with an an-
gry glance toward the window —**
and annovs me. She never misses an
opportunity of being rude and disre-
spectful’’—she was going to say disobe-
dient, but t hat would not have been quite
accurate, Isabel never
however un he might consider some
of Miss Adaws’ mandates, *‘I have
long suspeted (hat she was gi
ridiculing me, and this confirms
$
ven
§ 19
it.
fll-timed.
for the summer holidays the girls usu-
ally had a picnic to Croton Abbey, a
glorious old ruin ten miles away. The
day was always looked forward to with
keen delight, and madame always invi-
ted a few friends to meet them at the
abbey, and return to the Hollies for a
late dinner, a repast to which the senior
pupils were usually invited.
That anything should occur to grieve
cursiou, or otherwise
pleasure, was a real trouble to the girls,
and that Isabel Wyld would perhaps be
kept at home, was sufficient to dampen
the spirits of at least half a dozen of the
elder girls,
Both of Isabel’s parents were abroad,
and she spent her holidays with her
nurse at a quiet farmhouse many miles
away, though when madame was at
home, she
her own guest, and once took her to the
seaside,
“I am sorry madame should be wor-
ried.” Isabel said that evening, as she
stood up from the tea table, having re-
ceived a message that she was wanted
in the drawing room, ‘If she asks me
any questions I shall tell her as much of
the truth as I can.”
**Tell her that you didn’t do it. That
will be quite enough,” Julia Gray said.
‘Madame will not doubt you!”
“I hope you won't be punished,
Beile,'’ another smiled. “Come straight
back here and tell us all about 18.’
In a few minutes Isabel
them. She was very pale and her
her best saw that she was in a passion,
But she had early learned to master a
hot temper, and her voice was steady as
she said she was not golng to the abbey
nor join them in the evening.
say good night to you all and go to my
own room--that is all.”
“But, Belle, you did not do it!"
Julia Gray said. * Surely you were not
to proud to defend yourself to madame!”
‘She did not accuse me, or ask a sin-
gle question; she simply took my guilt
for granted,” Isabel replied. ‘‘Good
night, and good bye, for perhaps I shall
not see some of you again before you
leave on Thursday. Madame said I
was not to leave my room without her
permission.”
When Isabel had gone there was a
general burst of indignation and a buzz
of angry murmers against Miss Adams,
while a few even ventured to question
madame’s justice, if Isabel did do the
caricature,
The excursion took place, but with-
out Isabel. The occasion, however,
was marred by a sad accident, Miss
Adams fell down a flight of steps and
injured herself severely, The news was
brought to Isabel next day by Jane, the
housemraid,
“And, miss,’ she continued, when
this much had been told, “her eves are
bandaged up, and she is moaning the
whole time. She can’t stir an inch, and
what she's to db to-morrow,
madame and all the young ladies and
me gone, and no one to wait on her but
that crusty Susan, who can’t bear wait-
ing on any one, is more than I know;
and she’s to be here all the holidays,
which is a thing Susan cannot endure,
I'm downright glad I'm going away
and shan’t have to wait on her. Good-
night, Miss lsabel; its very late and you
look iL."
Isabel lay awake for hours thinking
of the events of the day, and it was late
the next worning when Jane entered
the room, looking very s and cross,
“i've brought your fast miss; it
was no use waiting for you to come
down. All the young ladies are gone.”
“And madame-is she gone?! Isabel
asked
“Yes, hiss, hours ago, Aud 1 have
to stay wud take care of Miss Xdams;
and I think it’s too bad,” Jane grum-
‘I shall be here for a few days and
Pli help you all I can, Is she very ill
to-day?"
ross
“She is very cross any way, Miss Isa-
bel, and finding fault with every thing
I do for her. She didn’t let me sleep a
wink,
Just at first it seemed terrible being
alone in the honse, the stillness was so
impressive, and after wandering from
room to room, and vainly trying to read
and draw, Isabel determined to go and
see Miss Adams. She had already for-
gotten all about the caricature and pune
ishinent she had undergone, and only
i thought of the poor governess’ suffer-
ings.
Her timid knock at the door
answered by a fretful “Come in,” and
she entered quietly, Lying ona couch,
her right arm in a sling, and her head
swathed in bandages, was Miss Adams,
utterly unable to move a limb,
**1 thought you were never coming,
Jane,” she said crossly., ‘‘Here, shake
up this pillow; my head is cramped, and
I'm parched with thirst!"
I “It is not Jane, Miss Adams; it’s I.
{ 1 hope you are better to-day,”’ Isabel
| said, crossing over to the sofa, *‘I’lease
| let me arrange your cushions,’
“Thanks; but if you will kindly ring
{ for Jane, 1 needn’t trouble you,” was
| the ungracious reply. “I thought you
t had gone away."
**No; I am to remain for a few days,
until my nurse comes for me. It must
be very dull for you, Miss Adams
May I read to you?"
“Thank you, Isabel; it’
i you,
—
very Kind of
I am dull and in great pain, and
Adams said in a low voice. **Y ou see,
I have no friends to go to and none to
come here and nurse me, and the doc-
tor says it will be a month before I can
get about’ and the harsh stern govern-
{ es8 burst into a wild fit of sobbing.
For a moment Isabel felt inclined to
run away; then she sat down by the
couch and tried to comfort the enemy
she knew how. When
Adams grew calmer she took up a book
and read till Jane appeared with the
dinnerdray.
The next day passed in much
same way; Isabel spent nearly all he
time with Miss Adams, «
{ or chatting. When bidd
night the governess sighe
If 1 con go on like this, Isabel, I
should not feel my and
| friendlessness so much,’ she said sadly.
“It bas been very pleasant yesterday
| and to-day, but what shall I do when
you are gone away?"
The next day Nurse Morris arrived,
| and Isabel told her the story of the cari-
{ cature and Miss Adams’ accident
how madame had not only punished her,
but had gone away without even saying
good-bye,’
“I didn’t do it, nurse, and she might
have known I wouldn't.”
“Then who did do it, dearie?” nurse
inquired gravely.
“I'm not sure. i lent my case of
colored crayons to one of the juniors,
and she might have done it without
meaning any harm. But went
home a week ago, and II don’t like to
say anything about it in her absence.
Besides, they never asked but took it
for granted that [ was the culprit.”
“Never mind, dearie; it will come
right in the end,” nurse said, witha
{ smile.” ‘“*Now get on your things: we
{ have not much time to spare.”
Isabel looked grave for a few
ments,
**1 should like to go home with 3
dearly, nurse; but I think I ought
stay, if you will let she repli
slowly.
*If you are willing to give up your
holidays I have nothing to say; only if
{you get tired and homesick let me
know, dearie, and I'll send Ned for
you,” Nurse Morris replied.
“You're a dear old thing.” Isabel
said, “not to be cross with me for stay-
ing bere instead of going back with you
But then I think, you never were cross
with me, nurse,’’
“Maybe not,
tient,”
And the old lady turned aside that
{ Isabel mught not see how sadly disap-
| pointed she was, although she was filled
with admiration for the child’s unselfish
kindness,
When Miss Adams learned that Isa.
bel had given up her pleasant holidays
| —and she knew how joyfully she always
went to the farm and enjoyed being
there—and decided to remain at the
Hollies to keep her company, she was
dumb from sheer surprise and grat.
tude, But as the days passed by Isabel
had her reward.
At the end of three weeks Miss
{ Adams was able to leave her room, and
{ they both went to the farm for the re-
mainder of the holidays,
Every day they became closer friends,
Miss Adams felt heartily ashamed of
{ the part she had played about the cari-
| cature, though not a word was said
fas best
1
i
18
r
her reading
ig her
%
deeply.
ti
£
+441]
i
OG
i FO
ve
oneliness
loneliness,
she
moe
me.
dearie; I'm very pa-
i to the poor governness® character. Un-
der the influence of kindness and affec-
tion she could be kind and affectionate
too; and it was only her friendlessness
| that made her cross and miserable,
| Isabel felt rather nervous about
ame Linsey, but when she felt her hands
clasped and madame kissing her warm-
ly all her doubts vanished, and she
{ concluded the affair of the caricature
was forgotten.
fore the whole school, madame read a
letter from Jane Seville, confessing it
was she who drew the portrait and
| apologizing fully,
Every face grew brighter for having
the mystery cleared up, especially as
madame gave a holiday in honor of the
occasion, to make up to Isabel for the
ope she had been unjustly deprived
“Not that 1 think you bear malice,
my dear,’” Mrs, Linsey added, with a
glance from Miss Adams to Isabel,
“for 1 believe that you have had your
revenge.”
fan Sulatyruing Stage IMADAger in
ndon stage grass manu.
factured of feathers dyed and then
sewn into mats, the w haying a
most realistic effect.
~A bill introduced mn the Michigan
Legislature provides that oceupi-
tion and politics of each candidate shall
on a voting paper the
A fr Roy giving
Oas life: a little gleam of time be-
tween two etermihies, no second chance
to us forevermore.
or
Mrs. Gates’ Experiment.
From one of the trains that came
i roaring and tearing into Blithedale sev-
{ eral times a day. a lady alighted one
| November morning,
| ties were an unmistakable city air and
| a general aspect of never having been
{ in Blithedale before. She was not sure,
| did not impress her picturesquely,
| objected both to the redness of the soil
houses,
| early autumn, and “within easy access
is an unfavorable season for such
tlements, when the green, leafy glamoutn
| over the scene,
Mrs Rapson was making an experi-
i mental and unheralded wisit to
friend Mrs,
line of the New Jersey Central Rail-
place she chose Blithedale, What
was doing with herself there, and in
what way she was able to live on next
to nothing, remained to be seen.
It was not difficult to find the house,
it was something of a shock to a person
| front slanted to a point over the win.
| Some
| dwelling had got turned to the front.
| The door and windows were small and
and severely plain; there was ground on
both sides of the house, and a flagged
walk led from the low wooden gate
the steps,
A door bell was a rather unexpected
lece of civilization, and visitor's
ring was quickly answered by a neat,
smiling hand-maiden with a very Ger-
man face.
and her friend was requested to walk
into the sitting room, which appeared
entire house,
It was fairly tapestried with vines,
and in the windows were blooming
plants. An open Franklin stove, the
next best thing to a grate, had a cheer
ful fire in it, and there was a general
i look of warmth and brightness about
| the large low room that impressed the
visitor very pleasantly. Perhaps the
lounge and easy chair,
the
to cross the
i
i
purchases at great advantage, The
excitement, even at this stage, is de.
lightful,
every Jeaf that puts forth, and when
to contain myself.”
“1 am very much interested too,” re.
plied her friend, * and I have no doubt
that you will be successful, [only wish
that two or three other impecunious
women of my acquaintance had your
cournge. It must be
tal with a greenhouse attached,
ginning.”
“Very true; but I should not hesitate
knowledge; 1 would
money to do it, for two hundred dol-
pay for it. Tell the
women to try it,”
“But you used to write very clever-
ly,” pursued Mrs, Rapson; “would it
impecunious
as profitable to stick to your pen?”
wreck
“1 have a story there just
ready to mail now.” ghe said, “One
occupation does not interfere with the
other, and I think that I write all the
better for my new experience,’
“You are a wonderful woman,
“and this is a
charming lunch to which we are sitting
down.”
Everything was geod of its kind,
though simple, and the visitor ate with
an appetite, Bhe even promised
come for a week’s stay before Christ-
to
i
this; but the whole room was a study.
“Alice's flat in —— street was a perfect
poem, to be sure,’ mused the lady, ‘but
who would expect her to make a hut
like this habitable looking?"
“Alice' herself had
from some mysterious back precinct
with a warm welcome, and she was im-
mediately called upon to give an ac-
count of herself.
“There is not very
she began, smilingly.
late this year at your
tains that my flitting had to be dons
while you were away, ‘‘No, I didn’t
‘feel dreadfully’ at all at having to do
it 1 ama very fond, you know, of the
Jovs and Saunderses, who have homes
and I mean to make the best of
it. When more than half of my
capital was swept away, I felt that th
first reduction to be made was in rent,
and I get this ugly, comfortable little
house for twenty dollars a month, while
my ‘ourth-story. ‘cabinet-finished’ flat
cost me, as you know, sixty dollars, *’
“Bul are net other expenses very
much the same?”
“By no means,” was tha reply.
“Provisions are one-third cheaper than
in New York, for Blithedale has quite
a reputation in this respect: and Louisa,
my German maiden, a prize among ser-
van's, is absolutely contented with
eight dollars a month.”
“Well,” said the astonished visitor,
“this is certainly Arcadia in one way,
if not in another.”
“I must show you the house,” con-
tinued Mrs. Gates, *‘It is better than
it looks; but first you
greenhouse,”
Her friend restrained her surprise as
she was conducted through a doorway
into an unpretending ‘‘lean-to,”’ with
sloping glass roof and glass front and
sides, quite filled with callas and carna-
tions that promised abundant bloom
shortly, Every plant looked green and
glossy; and the temperature of the place
seemed perfect,
“This and the steam-pipes for heat
ing were all in readiness when 1 took
the house, having been put in by the
owner for his own use, But the doctors
ordered him South for his health, and
I fortunately appeared Just at the right
time,’
i “It 1s very nice.” murmured her per-
plexed friend, “you were always so
fond of flowers!"
“Yes, and you remember how 1 al-
| ways had something in bloom in my
| New York flat? [t was that circume
stance which made me bold enough to
venture on the greenhouse.’
to give,”
were
moun-
much
“You
bw loved
84)
Here,
little
%
i
he
.
&
#
rooms, furnished characteristically and
when she returned to the train was
quite persuaded that her friend’s move
to Blithedale was a very sensible one,
On Mrs, Rapson’s second visit
saw boxes of callas and carnation
fully packed in wet moss and d
ed by rail to the city; she saw a
encouraging check ti WAS rece ve
and she no longer doubted the
success of Mrs, Gates’ experiment,
sn AI
she
CAre-
h-
Te
ii
Shiooting Stars,
It was Christmas eve. The stars
the hea
vens, seeing so many lights on earth,
in palace, cottage and hovel, did
wish to be so niggardly, and lighted
twice as many stars as usual,
A poor little girl of eleven winters
homeward through the
Her frock was
wind was icy, but the
, for Fran Senat«
bright eight-shilling
hs and perform-
pre-
at #3
ai ie
not
ging
thin and the
child was cheer{:
had given her a
piece for sweeping pat
ing various other little services in
paration for the Christmas feast
rich man’s mansion,
And as the little one was returning
home thinking of her poor mother and
of the cold and cheeriess room which
awaited her, she suddenly n« a
shooting star, and ti another, and
remembered that had heard
that if one makes a wish at such a mo-
ment it is certain to come true. And
when another star fell she cried as
quickly as she could: “Luck and bless-
ng! Luck and blessing for my poor
mother.”
Just at this moment, while she was
looking at the stars, she ran against
something, and when she looked for-
ward she saw before her a big fat man,
who held his nands before his stomach
and cried: “*Merey on me! What be
havior for the public street!”
The gentleman had just come out
from a fine dinner at the hotel above.
He was a bachelor, and always a good
liver, but to-day he had given himself
more liberty thas usual, for it was
Christmas time. *“*Why don’t you look
out. vou dumb girl? Whydo you run
sgainst my stomach?’ said the man
crossly, and grasped her arm so tightly
that it pained her.
The poor child wept with fright, and
in broken sentences tried to explain
iced
en
Rapson, who did not quite see her way
through this greenhouse problem.
“Nothing but callas and carnations?’’
rejoined her hostess, “for both require
the same temperature and moisture,
giaiuzous returns in the way of bloom,
Within a fortnight I shall begin to cut,
and keep steadily at it all through the
winter. 1 see from your puzzled face,
that you do not understand me. You
must know, then, that my greenhouse
is altogether a commercial venture:and
the expected blossoms are to adorn the
windows of a city florist who has
to take from me all that I can raise, at
a remunerative price,”
“What ever made you think of it?”
gasped the amazed visitor, .
“Poverty, my dear,” laughed Mrs,
Gates; “it ones faculties won-
derfully, I knew that something must
be Sons to juerons the pittance Te.
mains to me, A ower-raising pre-
sented a more attractive fleld than any-
thing else that seemed practicable. So
1 consulted florists and successful gas.
ot
fault with is that they at-
tempt too much at once. It was just
the right season for my experiment, and
gtars and wishing blessings for her
mother, and had thus neglected to no-
fice her way.
9
“Nonsense! Nonsense!” sald the gen-
"
stars —they give nothing.
Just then a great meteor shot through
the sky, with a loud report and a light
which was reflected with briliancy
from the ice-covered river near which
the man and the child were standing.
“*Sapristi!" cried the frightened gen-
tleman, who had traveled and under-
stood many strange languages; “‘one
would think that that forebodes some:
Fee
thing!
pale, sweet face of the girl, and the
top of the neighboring palace,
him to see more viearly, His heart be
came moved, for the features of the
child awakened memories of his own
childhood, of merry Christmas and a
long-forgotten paradise,
In every human heart there is a spot
where hope, love and pity thrive. In
{
i
smaller, and in many it has become un-
fruitful ground. This was the case
the gentleman. But when he
looked Into the eyes of the child he be-
gan to feel some returning touches of
spot in his heart became more gre:n
than it had been for many years,
“What Is your name, little one?'’ he
asked with mild voice, “and where do
live?”
Then the child told him that she was
called Susie. and that her mother was a
washerwoman and lived beside a neigh-
boring alley where the sun never shone,
even in summer.
“Come, said the Jenticiuny “I will
take you home, and 1 that you have
told me 18 true, then shall the promise
of the shooting stars be true also;comel’
Then they went the goose
th h
hous until they
reached the narrow streets where the
poor people live, then on until they
reached an alley full of miserable
“Here is the place,” said the little
one, and sprang forward and stood be-
side a low door
which Spend fnto »
passage through which the gentleman
§
i
stooping was something which he never
“Mother isin there and
has 4 fire in the stove, continued the
And so it was, The poor woman |
She sat upon |
low stool before the little stove, |
pleased with the fire she bad kindled — |
and the stove was pleased, too, for this |
was the first fire which it had felt for a
long time. Upon the rickety table lay
a tiny sprig of evergreen, a few apples
and puts, and a little yellow wax taper |
The woman looked up in astonish |
ment when the gentlemanly stranger |
And the gentleman also seemed much
flush overspread
the little tender spot in his
heart began to bear blossoms, and the |
poor woman acted upon
their growth like a warm May shower.
They had recognized each other as |
and sister, meeting now for
the first time after a separation of many
years, He had become a rich man, but
the sister had lost everything
husband, and then lost the latter, The
brother had withheld all ad.
did she marry the knave?”
thought he, and forgot her entirely.
“Susan, sald he, “has it come to
this? But now we shall forget what
has happened. This is the holy Christ-
mas eve, and you must go with me and
live with me henceforth.” And |
kissed his little niece. *‘‘leave
rity behind you; we
into the large old house in
street, where we | togetl
all unhappy things be forg tten.
They went away witl
on his arm and chile
hand, and to the |
piest night of her littl
ed Christmas.
go
nayed
-
Hurting the Terrapin.
A late paper has an account
rapin hunt on Galapagos island, |
Pacific ocean, s« Years
party of whalemen. The f
an extract: Every harpoon,
spade was raised for the slaughter, when
“Hold! you lubbers; don’t you know a
terrapin when ye interrupted
us. The cry came from the mate in
our rear, whom we now followed round
to the other side of the rock, and there,
sure enough, was a terrapin: a monster
“male’’ chap, weighing, we judged,
nearly 3500 pounds After capturing
him, the question arose how to get him
to the beach. Bringing three oars from
the boats, we lashed these across his
back and six of us then undertook
carry him. But the ground was
rough and rocky that we found
task impracticable, and there was then
no other course left but to kill him and
cif him up, which we did.
At dark, sent one boat the
with forty termapin. Boat returned at
11:20 p m., with supper and two kegs
of walter,
Tuesday, 14th, all boats returned to
the ship taking 36 terrapin, making 7
{ weighing from 15 to 150 pounds
each, The large one welghing-—uj
conjecture, as I have said—{rom 250 tn
300 pounds,
The terrapin I speak of are not the
foundation of that much prized dish
with which they are fortunately so fa-
millar, but of the species which, though
called “elephant” tortoise, is generally
known to whale men as terrapin. On
these {siands of which I speak—the
Galapagos group, some ten or twelve
in number—they are found in great
quantities, and are in high esteem with
the sailors as an article of food. When
freshly caught they are very savory ea-
ting. but after the animal has been a
prisoner for a few months the flesh be-
comes slimy and loses its delicate flavor.
The islands of the group most proli-
fic of these terrapin are the Charles—on
which is a small Spanish settlement, and
the James and Albemarle; the two lat-
ter being uninhabited because of the
scarcity of water,
The terrapin are found in the lowest
parts of the land, and are of all sizes,
ranging from half a pound in weight up
tn bundred pounds or more.
Their chief food is the cabbage tree a
species of palm, that grows to the
height of ten or fifteen feet, The body
or stem of this tree is about as hard as
the stalk of a cabbage, very juicy as
well as refreshing and palatable, not
only to the terrapin, but to the seamen,
who make use of it as a substitue for
water,
ne
1
1 see 17
fo
80
the
$ aliivy
10 shill
1 all
in all,
WI
i “ds
three
ms
An Anecdote of Lyman Beecher,
There are many amusing anecdotes
of the late Dr. Lyman Beecher’s pecu-
liarities, One of the latest and best is
the following : Dr. Beecher was noted
ness, Mrs. Beecher once received a
sum of money, and it was the occasion
committed the money to her husband,
immediately. In the evening the doctor
returned from the city in high spirits,
He described to us a missionary meet.
had attended. ‘“‘Doetor,”
said Mra. Beecher ‘did you pav for that
carpet to-day?’ “Carpet! What car
pet?” responded the doctor. “Why,
the one I gave you the money to pay
for this morning.” “There,” said the
doctor, “that accounts for it. At the
missionary meeting they took up a con
tribution. When they came to me I
said I had no money to give theme.
et Biddy de,
in my pocket, where, my 8
found a roll of bills; so I pled out and
put it in the box, where it had
come from, but thinking the Lord had
somehow provided,”
Though make no men-
niably proven, from past
well as from present experience,
men are as fully slaves to certain whims
nd fancies as the weakest woman ever
or
A Model Grand Jary,
A history of the eriminal practice of
Arkansas would not only be a volumes
of bloody tragedy but would contribute
largely to humorous literature. Years
ago, when Colonel W; P. Grace was
prosecuting attorney of a southern cir-
cuit, he was determined, in view of the
inexcusable leniency which prevailed,
to effect a reform by enforcing on the
minds of grand jurors the necessity of
punishing criminals, On one occasion
when court met at Arkansas Post, the
Colonel was particularly desirous of
making a good record. The grand jury,
described as an “‘onery lookin’ set o* fel-
lers,” occupied a negro cabin, near the
court house, “Now, gentlemen,” said
Colonel Grace, “expediency demands
that you should organize and get to
work as soon as possible.” A man
named Jacquins was elected foreman.
““who will
act as clerk? Won't you? addressing
the most intelligent looking member,
“Kain’t read por write,” replied the
mail.
“Well, won’t you?’
other,
“Would if it wa’n’t fur one thing.”
“What's that?’’ 3
“I ken read, but I kain’t write worth
acuss,. Wush I conld, but I kain’t.”
“I am certain you will,” addressing
an old fellow.
“No, I b'leve not to-day.
spell nuthin’ nobow.”
“Oh, go on an’ sarve, Uncle Caleb,”
said the man who could not write worth
a cuss, sarve, I say, You
don’t haf to be a to spell, All you've
got todo is to 1 an’ write a little.”
Vell, gentlemen,’ remarked the
nel, “i cpedite matters, I will
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“any
itil Grace's
gentlemen.” said he, “‘you
tL several men bave
been kil is county since the last
term of One man killed
down here at a saw-mill. Do you know
anything about that?”
“Wall, drawled long, dyspeptic-
looking fellow, “*I did see a man t*uther
day what "lowed that a feller had been
laid out down thar, but I wuz sorier
busy at the time an’ didn’t ‘vestigate,
but I reckon he’s dead, fur afterwards
I seed "em diggin’ a hole out in the or-
chard whar his folks does all thar
plantin®,’
“Is that all you know about it?”
“Wall,” with another long drawl,
““*bout all 1 can thick uv right now.
Mout think of more though, if you'd
gimme time. Lemme see, Wall, I
reckon, in reason they must've killed
him, fur | seed a wagin with a long
box in it drive up to the house.an’, yes,
airterwards I seed ‘em drive to the
orchard. Reckon the feller must've
been killed?’
“I don't doubt that,” replied the
Colonel. “What we want to get at is
the manner and circumstances of the
killing. Do you know by whom and
how he was killed?"
“Wall. a short time before I seed the
x in the wagin, the man Blythe, what
ave every reason to believe wus in
box, had a ‘spute with a feller
ned Miller.”
“Did Miller kill him?”
“Wall, Miller he said, that the first
time he seed him he ‘lowed to shoot
him.”
“Miller killed him. then?”
‘Wall, I don’t know, but Miller is a
powerful truthful feller, Never heerd
nobody *spute his word, A mighty apt
hand with a fuzee, too. Miller is
Mouter not killed him, fur it ain’t fur
me to say. Blythe didn’t owe me
nuthin.”
“It is for you to find out though, for
you are here to see the law enforced.”
“Yas, that’s whut the boys was jes’
tellin’ me, an’ I reckon’ it’s so. Whar
is Miller now, boys?"
“He's left the country,’
replied.
“Wall, Colonel, 1
man what done the killin’,
know he is.”
“No, he ain't left the country,” said
some one else, ‘fur I seed him day
afore yistidy.”
“Wall, Colonel,’
ive grand juror, “I
sence 1 come to think about it. Don't
want to put the matter too strong.”
“There's another case,”’ declared the
| Colotel. ‘‘An infernal scoundrel. that
ought to be hanged, killed his brother
| over on White River the other day. Do
| any of you know anything about that?®
An old brown *‘jeansed’, fellow, who
had said nothing, arose and replied:
“Yes, an’ I'm the man that done it?
“Mr. Foreman,’ said the Colonel afd.
journ the jury until to-morrow morn.
{ ing. This is the worst crowd I ever
saw,"
That night every member of the
| grand jury, with the exception of the
foreman, were found engaged ina game
of poker. The following morning they
were marched into court and indicted,
| When Colonel Grace had completed his
business he went to the Sheriff and
| spoke to him concerning his fees,
| “What fees?"
“The fees for convictions. Don't
you understand your business?’
“I don’t know anythingabout fees.’
“Where are those men that were ar-
| rested the other day?’
| “Gone home, I reckon.”
“Why aidn’t you put them in jail?”
“Jail, they've got no business there,"
“Why?”
“I've dun rented it out to a feller
fur a livery stable. Folks in this coun
don’t want no jail,
“Well, sir, I sue you on your
bond.»
The Sheriff laughed He had never
heard of & bond. :
HWhy,
w very well the
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