Lo
AEN THE MISTS HAVE CLEARED
—————.
‘When the mists have rolled in splendor
Atom the beauty of the hills,
d the sunshine, warm and tender,
Falls in splendor on the rills,
‘Wo may read love's shining latter
In the minbow of the spray,
‘We shall know each other better
When the mists have cleared awav.
¥ we arr in human blindness,
And forget that we are dust,
If we miss the law of kindness
‘When we struggle to be just,
aon? wings of peace shall cover
11 the pain that clouds our way,
When the weary watoh is over
And the mists have cleared away.
‘When the silvery mists have veiled us
From the faces of our own,
Oft we deem their love has failed us,
And we tread our path alone;
We should see them near and truly,
We should trust them day by day,
Neither love nor blame unduly,
If the mists were cleared away.
When the mists have risen above us,
As our Father knows his own,
Face to face with those that love us,
%. shall know as we are known.
Tiow beyond the orient meadows
Floats the golden fringe of day;
H to heart we hide the shadows,
1 the mists have cleared away.
RN RTT RC.
A LUCKY LETTER.
“Tea is ready girls,” said Saba
Thorn.
Teal
It was no luxurious repast of but- |
tered toast, fragrant Oolong, honey and |
preserves; no comfortable repast of |
wold few], tongue, potted meatsand bis- |
po from the oven! {
hen Saba Thorn called it ‘‘tea,” |
she merely used a convtntionalism, It |
was only a small scanty meal of baker’s |
bread, with a pot of cheap butter, a |
iittle smoked beef, which had been |
brought frem the corner grocer’s ina |
brown-paper cover, and some milk and |
water, blue and tasteless; for Saba and |
ber two cousins found it necessary to
economize very strictly indeed. |
Saba worked for an upholsterer. All |
day long she stitched pillow ticks and |
tufted mattresses in a dark little room, |
where ther: was a prevailing smeil of |
rancid geese [eathers,
Her cousin Helen stood behind the |
counter of a wiiliner’s shop on the
Bowery; and little Kate—the youngest
of the three—was ‘‘packer” in a fancy |
store, and could do up more neat paper
parcels in a given time than you would
lieve possible.
They were all three pallid and color-
less, like plants that had grown in a
cellar. They all three had a certain
languor of manner, and spoke in low
suppressed voices,
They lived together in this one room |
with a little alcove running out of it, |
Because it was the cheapest mode of
istence, and because their scant earn- |
ings, clubbed together could be laid out |
to better advantage than if expended |
dingly. Moreover, to these poor, home- |
fess girls there was a home feeling in
being together.
1 don't feel hungry,” said Helen,
with a grimace,
“I am so tired of bread and butter!” |
sighed little Kate. “Oh, if I could only |
have some of the stewed grapes that |
mother used to make!”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Saba, |
taking a letter off the mantel. “I’ve |
beard from old Mrs, Pinkney. She |
wants us to buy a fashionable bonnet |
for her—garnet velvet with a long |
plyme—if we can get it for a dollar and
half; and to look out for a bargain in |
rimson merino for Louisa Jane's Win- |
'%s frock. She wants the very best |
ad and she can’t go higher than |
rty-seven cents a yard. And she |
wishes to know if we are acquainted |
with anybody in the business who will |
dye over her pea green silk at half- |
price,”
Helen shrugged her shoulders.
“She must think we have plenty of |
time to execute her commissions,” said |
“Merino for thirty-seven cents a |
yard!" cried little Kate. *“Anda hat of |
velvet for a dollar and a-half. Does the |
woman expect impossibilities?”’ i
“But that isn’t all,” said Saba. Un-
cle John Is very poor. She thinks his
relations ought to look after him,”
“*Uncie John!” sald Kate.
“Poor!’, echoed Helou,
“But what has become of all his |
money?" said little Kate, intentiy knit-
ting her brows.
“I'm sure I don’t know,” said Saba,
“Mrs. Pinkney doesn’t go into particu-
fars. All the rest of the letter Is about
the sewing society, and the chicken
olera which has carried off s0 many
of her fowls,”
““He must have been persuaded into
investing in some of those dreadful
mining stocks!” said little Kate,
“But girls,” said Saba, “what are
we to do?”
“Precisely what he has always done
to us,” said Helen—*‘let him alone.”
“No, no, Helen,” pleaded little Kate.
“Don’t talk so. Remember, he is the
only uncle we have got. He was our
mother's brother.”
“* And what has he ever done for us/”’
retorted Helen bitterly,
“That den't signify,” reasoned Saba.
*‘He is old and feeble, He needs our
care. That is enough.
“Saba is right,” urged little Kate,
#Uncle John mustn't be left to die
alone.”
“But what can we do?” said Helen,
we can't bring him here,”
“No,” said Saba. “It would break
his heart te take him away from the
pine forest. We must go to him.”
“And all starve together?’ said
Helen. “I don’t see that wonld be
uch of an improvement on the present
of things,”
“Listen!” said lifting an au-
thoritative forefinger. From a trifling
seniority in years, and a somewhat
greater experience In the world of
work, Saba had become quite an oracle
in the trio. “I can do the housework
for Uncle John."
“Yes,” said Helen,
“Of course,” said little Kate, **And
if he hasn't been obliged to sell the cow,
have real creamy milk,
then a little cottage-
bonnet is as good as any one, only they
can’t get it.”
*‘Bravo!’’ cried Helen, clapping her
hands. *‘I do think I have rather a
genius for the business.”
“And little Kate could go eut sewing
by the day, among the neighbors,” ad-
ded Saba, ‘‘or help around In soap-
making and preserving times, There
are a good many who would pay fifty
cents a day and board for good intelli
gent help. And that is a deal more
than she earns here.”’
Little Kate looked rather sober.
“I have my doubts about that plan
working,’ said she. “But I couldn't
stay here, away from you. If you all
go, why, so will LL”
six dollars toward a Winter cloak. Un-
cle John wants it more than I do. I'll
keep it for him.”
“There is my ten dollars in the sav-
ings-bank,’’ added Helen. *‘[did want
a pair of thick boots and a warm Win-
ter shawl. But if Uncle John is really
in need”—— “I haven't saved any
money,” said little Kate, sorrowfully,
“How could I, with my wages of two
to help!”
both of you,” said Saba. ‘‘It may be a
little hard just at first, but it is clearly
our duty to go to Uncle John. And I
will write and tell him this very night.”
“Do,” said Helen, “1’ll borrow Miss
Cliteh’s ink bottle, and there are a pen
stand-drawer., I can buy a postage-
stamp at the druggists on the copner.”
“Wouldn't a postal card be cheaper?’
said wise little Kate,
But Saba shook her head.
“Would you put Uncle John's pover-
ty on a postal card, for all the world to
read?” said she.
And little Kate answered, somewhat
abashed:
“] didn't think of that. I only
thought of economizing a cent, I won-
der if the time will ever come when we
don’t have to think of saving?"
And little Kate put on her bonnet
and tripped around to the druggst’s
said the druggst’s clerk. “If
marry I should like a wife like.
she’s not much of a customer of
but I have seen her at church meetings,
No,
an evening. She lives in Timm's tene-
and works in Gracey’s store. That's
all I know about her.
makes one think of a wildflower.
fireside when his nlece's letter came.
he fire of birch logs blazed gloriously
up the chimney; a pair of fat, home-run
candles ghttered on the table. In all
ping poverty.
young man who sat opposite, “I guess
I'll have you here to run the farm for
me, Israel Penfield, It's gettin’ too
much for me to manage alone, But as
for some woman to keep house for me,
now that Anastasia Grixson has been
fool enough to marry old Simpson—Eh?
what ?—a letter? I'm very much oblee-
ged to you, Mrs. Pinkney! Stop and
take a warm while I read it, and I'll
git you a basket of gillilower-apples to
carry home afterwards. They are jest
spilin’ to be eaten, them gillilowers.”
But as he perused his letter a curious
expression stole over his rugged fea
tures,
“‘Sakes alive!’ said, he, stamping one
foot on the floor. **What in creation
does this all mean? 1 guess we'll bave
snough housekeepers, Israel, Here's
my three nieces from New York a
comin’ to live with me, because Mrs.
Pinkney here has writ "em that I've lost
my property.
Well, I swan!”
“I didn’t write no sichl” whined
Mrs, Pinkney, with an alarmed air. *'I
only sald you was dreadful poor in
matiz, nothin’ about
money!”
“Well, no matter what you said,”
remarked Uncle Jolin, crumpling up
the letter in his hand and staring at the
fire. ‘““The gals think I'm poor, and
they’re comin’ here to support me, and
make a home for me in my old age—
bless their hearts! I don’t know why
they should do it,”
conscience-stricken face,
nothin’ for thew. And Kate and Helen
are my sister Jane's darters, and Saba is
Hepsy's only child, And they're
workin’ for a livin’, and I've got more
than I know what todo with, It'sa
shame, now ain’t it, that things is so
unevenly divided?”
“Just exactly what 1’vealways sald,”
quietly remarked Israel Penfield.
Uncle John Jayeox looked at him,
# queer twinkle in his opaque blue eyes,
“1 declare,” said he, “them gals has
taught me a lesson! I don’t need to be
took care of in my old age; but I swan
to goodness! it would be kind o' pleas-
ant to have three gals around lookin’
arter the old man. I'm a mind to tay
it.»
“I would if I was you,” said Israel
Penfield,
So when Saba. Helen and little Kate
arrived, Uncle John received them with
a welcome,
“Nieces,” said he, “I ain’t poor, nor
I ain't likely to be; but I'm glad to see
you. I'm glad to know there's any one
in the world thaf cares enough for the
old man to come and look arter him,
without no expectation of bein’ paid for
it. It sort o’ shores up my confidence
in human natur’, Come in! come inl
There's plenty of room in the old farm
house for you all. Come in and wel-
come!”
The three giris looked at each other.
rJught we to stay?" they asked each
other.
“Yes,” whispered little Kate,
“There are two red cows in the field, 1
saw them.’
“And the air smells so sweet!” said
pale Helen,
“And Uncle John spoke as if he was
really, really glad to see us,’ sald Saba.
“Oh, yes us stay!”
Nor did any of contracting -
ties ever the misun ng
which had ht them so curiously
Tio ato want back lo the in
fA year or '» marry
clerk, who was now setting up In a
I didn't say
Bt
small way for himself, and had come
down to the country after the daisy-
faced girl who at once attracted his at-
tention,
Helen is engaged to Israel Penfield,
and there to have a regular old-fashion-
ed marriage when the dresses are made.
And Saba—quiet Saba—is to stay
with uncle John, to read the paper to
him and cheer up the long, lonely even-
ings,
““For T couldn't get along without
the girl, nohow!’! says Uncle John, jo-
vially.
ssa rst nN,
A Dend Man's Deal.
‘I was just reading,” said a Denver
sport, ‘about a man winking his eye
alter his head was cut off. Now, I
know that I have seen something just
as strange. Twenty years thig month
there was a lot of us took a trip to old
Mexico to see what we could scoop in—
and, by the way, we got scooped-—and
went to bucking heavy on every game
| we could strike, One of our gang, Bill
| pocket full of money till he got struck
! on Mexican monte.
| ‘Talk about your Greaser’'s infatua-
| tion for the game.
| them that could hold a marker to Bill,
| He'd get broke. Then he'd get a pack
i of cards and deal himself.
the cards for anybody or for anything
| when he was busted,
| make a raise, quit and go to playing
than he would tackle monte, and would
invariably get downed, Us boys tried
to persuades hum to stick to a white
man’s game, but no, he wouldn't have
it, and was almost all the time in a
state of 1mpecuniosity.
‘One day Blll had established himself
in a pulque shop with his cards, and
was turning them for auy body who
wanted to wager a cent. There was a
| table, and one of them asked if he
would turn for $100. Bill said he
| would, though he didn’t have but $10
{in the bank. The fellow slaps down
3ill wins,
| the Mexican mad and he slaps down
another, Bill wins again. The
| time and Bill scooped the pile,
“The Mexican asked Bill if he would
{ turn for him $1,000, and Bill told him
it didn’t make any difference if he
| his money and
The
Then he ac-
Bill called him
to pay ten times that amount.
| Mexican bet and lost,
cused Bill of cheating.
a lar.
{ ‘I was standing right to one side of
| Bill, He had the cards in his left hand
{ his rignt band, The Mexican’s hand
was on his gun,
I make this turn. I'll bet you $1,000
to $100 that it’s the seven of spades.’
‘Done’ sald the Mexican, who
threw $100 on the table,
*Bill commenced pulling the card out
slowly, The Mexican was watching.
and Bill's hand stopped.
Pe]
Quick as a
fired. Bill never moved in his chair,
but his right baad kept its siow motion
until the card was drawn from the
pack and held up to view. It was the
seven of spades,
slowly back again and the card was
laid on the table. Bill then leaned
back in his chalr and shut his eyes.
‘We were ail so excited when the
shot was fired that we didn't know
what to do, and as Bill began to turn
| we examined him, He was shot direct-
ly through the heart,
‘Now, I reason that thing out this
Way : Bin was determined to convince
{much as he thought he did.
thought was in his mind when he was
Bill was game, too, and 1 believe that
if he hadn’t realized he wasa dead man
when shot, and hadn’t wanted to win
grabbed his gun and done some éxecu-
tion with it.
“That's why I say a man can doa
thing after he 1s dead.’
re ———
Penitentiary Wateh Dogs
Penitentiary of Pennsylvania at Phila-
delphia have very able assistants In
brute companions, whose instinct and
markable,
dogs, nine altogether, embracing one
full mastiff, two full bloodhounds and
the rest half-breed bloodhounds. They
are kept in three distinct kennels, in as
many separate inclosures, into which
the prison yard 1s divided. The fences
divide them and they never meet. Cer-
tain indications have showed that if
they did there would be several very
tough dog fights. When the might
watchmen are on duty the dogs are un-
leashed and accompany them on their
patrol, but the canine guards are more
effective in their way, as they penetrate
the angles and out-of the-way places,
while the human watchmen follow the
beaten paths, If the dogs hear any
unusual noise, or find anything irregu-
lar, they notify the guard by a sharp
bark, eir capacity to discover at-
tempted escapes has never been fully
tested, inasmuch as the convicts stand
in too wholesome dread of them to
dream of such a thing during the dog-
watch,
An instance {llustrating the wonder-
ful instinct of these brute sentinels
developed not long ago. The guard one
night was startled by a warning bark
from one of the dows, winch he found
thirty or forty yards from where a small
Jentiiating p Rd Buin She interior of
e prison. cautious investigation
showed that one of the convicts on that
gallery, but occupying a cell on the oppo-
site side of the or, being sick was
endeavoring to attract the of
the inside watch, The dog had
ered the unusual noise in the
sound
a eases
A Bear Hunt
Bure enough, there were two bears
{which afterward proved to be an old
she and a nearly full grown cub) trav-
eling up the bottom of the valley,
much too far for us to shoot. Grasp-
ing our rifles and throwing off our hats
we started off as hard as we could run
diagonally down the hillside, so as to
cut them off, It was some little time
before they saw us, when they made
off at a lumbering gallop up the valley.
It would seem impossible lo run into
two grizzlies in the open, but they were
"a
“-
over, the old one kept stopping. The
| cub would forge ahead and could pro-
| bably have escaped us, but the mother
now and then stopped to sit down on
her haunches and look round at us,
when tons cub would run back to her,
The upshot was that we got ahead of
them, when they turned and went
straight up one hillside as we ran down
the other behind them. By this time
1 was pretty nearly done out, for run-
the sage-bush was most exhausting
{ work ; and Merrifield kept gaining on
| me and was well in front. Just as he
| disappeared over a bank, almost at the
bottom of the valley, I tripped over a
| brush and fell rull length,
hardly run any longer.
opposite, and about three
| shoot over Merrifield’s head, aiming at
{ the big bear. She was going
i steadily and in a straight line,
| keep correcting my aim; and the
{ fourth ball crashed into the old bear’s
| flank. She lurched heavily forward,
i but recovered herself and reached the
| timber, while Merrifield, who had put
on a spurt was rot far behind.
couple of shots and a shout,
bear had turned as soon as she was in
the timber, and come toward Merrifield;
but he gave her the deathwound by fir-
| young one, knocking It over. When 1
| came up he was just walking toward
but it suddenly jumped up as lively as
ever, and made off at a great pace—
for it was nearly full grown. It was
impossible te fire where the tree trunks
| were so thick ; but there was a small
| pass, and collecting all my energies 1
i made a last run, got into position, and
covering the opening with my rifle,
The instant the bear appeared I fired,
land it turned a dozen somersaults
{ down hill, roiling over and over ; the
ball had struck it near the tail and had
ranged forward through the hollow ot
the body. Each of us had thus given
the fatal wound to the bear into which
the other had fired the first bullet.”
nrmm— PAI
High Priced Chickens.
from Jersey stood by and listened atten-
“These are genuine Cochins,' said
| the salesman, “‘and they are an unusu-
| ally fine lot. Cochins generally sell for
| $12 for the trio, but the boss says that
these must not be sold for less than §30
He is particularly pleased with
| matched colors of these, and don’t care
| whether any one buys them or not, I
ever asked for chickens before,
a true one, about prices paid for fowls
that are simply beyond ordinary belief,
| bright poultry raisers in England under-
| took to increase the prices paid for the
| stock they dealt in by pretending to im-
| to accomplish results with them far be-
| done,
business was clear beyond their wildest
| anticipations. There were plenty of
| market breeders who were reatly anx-
would lay more eggs and would weigh
more when dressed for the table than
the old breeds that had been common
for years. The Cochins from China
were the favorites. Wonderful stories
of the number of eggs laid by them
were told.
“Finally, the gentlemen and ladies of
leisure who are always on the lookout
for some new diversion took a fancy to
the chicken business. They cared noth-
ing for the profits. They must have
the best fowls in the kingdom, fowls
that could beat the record and show a
pedigree at the same time. The Queen
herself bought fancy fowls, and it then
became the fashion to take an interest
in poultry Hobiicutions and poultry
Pedigrees, prices 10 Soar.
" increased d for fine stock
brought cut new varieties, White and
gray shanghais soon competed with the
cochins, and chittagongs with Canton
Chinese fowls, and heated discussions
over the relative merits of the breeds
were held on the street corners and over
the stiles in the hedges around the fields,
“As soon as the mana was fairly
started, fairs were held for the exhibi-
tion and 8 ale of the fowls, Early in
England
shanghais, A trio sold at sight for $100
and at the end of the falr a pair from this
cage carried off the first prize and they
were sold to a Mr. Taylor, of Shepherd’s
Bush, for $500, This is the highest
price on record. 1 believe for a single
pair. There were plenty of sales du-
ring 1855 and 1854 for from £30 to £50
per pair,
“People think that $2 per dozen 18 a big
price to pay for pure stock eggs, nowa~
days, but then single eggs sold for from
$5 to $10 each, and 1t is on record that
half a-dozen chickens just hatched were
sold at $10 a piece.”
“You said the mania spread to this
country,” suggested the salesman,
“Yes, but the prices paid here were
never so large, Boston seins to have
been the hoadquarters of the business,
Everybody wanted fancy chickens. The
orders to the Boston Importers came
from Maine and from Texas, and ons
firm there sold in 1883 over $23,000
There were single ore
ders amounting to $1,200 to $1,600 and
this firm sold one lot for $2,230,”
“Good business, that,” said the clerk.
mon breed; in fact it cost less then and
costs less now to keep fowls of good
breeds, Plenty of men made Jarge sums
mania lasted, and plenty who came
while the boom was boeming got caught
in the shower, There were too many
poor fowls sold with false pedigrees,
People got disgusted, and then the
ple at 10 cents a pound. When the
craze died out it left the country with a
fine stock of fowls, and the prevalence
of such beauties as those in the coop,
for there are a great many fowls that
due to the craze.
be no more fancy prices paid.”
enes— A ———— —
Too Mach tor Me.
Collis P. Huntington,
in from a mining camp to buy stores,
ter. Huntington had several tubs
brought from Orange county, the fa-
mous butter producing region of New
York. The miners had all the good
storekeeper from the mining camp was
find.
“] want some bang-up butler,” was
the way the storekeeper from the camp
signified his desire,
“Well,” said Huntington, ““here is
some all the way from York state, the
real genuine Orange county article.’
out.
“What's the tax on that grease he
asked.
“That's thirty-five centsa pound,”
replied Huntington.
better?” asked the storekeeper,
“Yes,” sald Huntington, going to
another tub of the very same kind of
butter. He knew the storekeeper would
not be satisfied if be did not show some-
thing better, and he was equal to the
| suid Huntington as he drew the trier
| out, and the storekeeper’s nose followed
it from one end to the other,
“Now, that’s a little like it,” said
{a wink, *‘come now, hain’t you got
that's fur-lined and halrtopped?
There's nothing too good for us, and
we've got the dust to pay for it,”’
“Yes” again said Huntington.
bring out.” The trier went down into
the third tub of the same lot, and the
butter for the third time
“Sixty-five cents a pound.”
“You hain’t got too much for me,”
said the housekeeper.
The Queen's Red-Nosed Secretary.
The first thing that strikes the be-
tary of the Queen of Great Britain and
Empress of India, a red nose is singu-
larly out of place. The rest of his coun-
tenance is in keeping with the nose;
watery eyes, pimply face and a general
appearance of ill-health. His body is
bent, and even in his tightly buttoned
and much padded military tunic with
stiff stock and too obvious stays, his
stoop is painfully out of keeping with
the gay trappings of a warrior. In man-
ner Sir Henry is querulous, I never
saw him nor e to him without pic-
tures of half-forgotten scolding oid
women risine in my mind. He looks
like an old man-maid who passes the
g part of nis life in submitting to
scolding and inflicting scoldings on
others. The Queen is fully aware of
the undignified appearance of her right.
hand man, and would gladly Jie.
him by a younger secretary, but long
of intimacy with every public
the have ren-
dered him almost indi ble.
When the Day is Over.
read, but for a
It is wise at night, to
which will
few minutes, some book
and
——
A Fortane from s Salsd Bowl,
It is recorded that a French noble
man named I’Albignac, having fled
from France during the Reign of Ter
ror that prevailed at the end of the last
century, and finding himself in London
with but slender means, contrived to
pick up not only a living but a compe-
tency, by taking to salad-making as a
profession.
This is how it came to pass, He was
dining at one of the fashionable taverns
in London when he was addressed by a
party of gentlemen who occupied the
table next to him with a request to mix
a salad for them, coupled with a polite
compliment upon the proficiency of the
French nation in the art, D’Albignae,
with some hesitation consented, and,
being provided with the necessary ine
gredients was very successful,
In the course of the proceedings he
entered into conversation with these
geutlemen, and in answer to their ques-
tions he frankly avowed his position;
| consequently they asked his acceptance
{of afive pound note, with which he
replenished his almost empty purse,
The gentleman, woreover, asked for
i his address; and a few days afterwards
| he received a request 10 goand mix a
| salad at the house of a nobleman who
was just then giving a fashionable din-
| ner party.
| D’Albignac saw his opportunity, and
| Was not slow In availing himself of it,
Providing himself with some choice
| condiments, he went to the houses
| named, and being eminenty successful,
he was remunerated accordingly. In
{ a short time his reputation began to
| spread, and all the people of fashion
| found it necessary to have a mixed salad
| by the French nobleman—the “fashion-
able salad-maker,” as he was called.
He found himself in a position to set
up a curricle to go about in, as well as
to employ a footman to carry the ma-
hogany case containing the choice in-
gredients with which he mixed the
| salads,
| Later on he supplied similar cases
| ready fitted with Ingredients, and sold
{them in hundreds. In the end he
| amassed a considerable fortune, with
which—the guillotine having been su-
perceded—he went back again to his
native country and ended his days
i peacefully.
mss AAs
John Basdoiph
Was still & youth for he had not reach
ed his 27th year. That so young a man
should have found a place in so splendid
a representation as Virginia sent was of
itself enough to mark him out a8 a per-
son of no common kind. He had,
indeed, a quick and vigorousmind. But
| whatever of success he achieved in the
whole course of a long career was due
Jess to his parts than to unparalled au-
| dacity, to insolence, and to the infiu-
ence of his name, His friends, and he
had few of them, looked upon Ran-
{ dolph, while living, as an eccentric and
| a prejudiced man. The jurymen before
whom his will was contested promoun-
| ced him to have been, in his latter years,
| insane. The verdict, with small modi-
fication, have been extended to his
| whele life. Nature had richly endowed
him Bat the periods during which he
| was in the full possession of his facul-
| ties were few and brief. In one of them
he frankly declares his ‘‘unprosperous
{ life’ to be “‘the fruit of an ungovern-
able temper.”
The violence of his temper Was some-
| thing terrible. The story is recorded
that, while still a child, he swoonsd
a fit of passion, “and could with difi-
culty be restored.” Wilful indulgence
| 80 strengthened this infirmity that he
| has come down to us as the most acrid
| and intemperate speaker and the most
consummate bully that ever stood upon
| the floor of the house. So completely
| did his gall control his reason that he
| remained to the end of his days the
{ most cramped and narrow-minded of
| men. To be liberal in politics or chari-
| table toward his fellows was impossible.
| In common with members of his party,
| he became, and remained, a strict con-
| structionist. But any other strict cone
| structionist the house could produce
| stood aghast at the lengths to which
Randolph would go. To be an impla-
cable enemy was to his mind as praise-
worthy as to be a staunch fnend. It
was his boast that he never forgave an
enemy and never deserted a friend.
That he never forgave an enemy is true,
For it was impossible for him to believe
that a Randolph could ever be in the
wrong. That he never geserted his
friends is not true, unless his view be
accepted, and we declare that his
friends deserted him,
onmmmsaaanss AATI INAN
Hugo's Strange Beller.
Victor Hugo was always convinced
that he would meet all his friends in a
future world, He was equally sure that
he had always existed from the antedi-
luvian times when the Creator placed
him on earth, He believed that he
would exist forever, inasmuch as he
felt in his soul thousands of hymus,
dramas and that had never fou
expression. When the Atheists would
say to him: “The proof that you will
not exist in the future is that you did
not exist in the past,” Hugo would an-
swer: “Who told you 1 not exist in
the centuries? You will say that is
the of the ages. The poet
written: “Life is a fairy tale twice writ.
ten.’ He might have said a thousand
times written. There is not an age in
my sprit. You do