A Hons of Time.
How worn a thnno it that of time?
'alien why do 1 l<gin to rhyme
Upon it now?
Heeniuin to-night the nir in filled
With voiooN Unit will not ho ntUlcd—
Thoy will not CCIUIO.
And always sing tho anino n>rraln
Of time that will novor como again,
Of time that flies.
O." all that time swoops in his (light
'The voices sing to too to-night,
Tlmo euros all caro.
That's when I would fain lioliovc,
My hoart therewith 1 do docoiru
With luitli in Litno.
Oh voices singing tx> you mute,
You touch a chord on my heart's lut
Hut seldotn played;
Yet Ailing all tho air amund
With a sweet and melancholy sound,*
A song of time.
Of time that was, of days so fair
Whou all was young luid love was there,
I/>ng ilays ago.
Ho still! He still that sad refrain!
1 dare not listen once again
To that same song.
Maybe 1 hold those days too high,
Aud yield them far too oft u sigll,
Those days long since.
Yet as they were the fairest yet
Of all my days, then why forget
That happy time.
Though if it still should he my fato
To live yet happier days, the iluto
Of that sweet time.
I'll bury, then, within the grovo
Which holds all things forgotten save
The present time.
Nor hoed a voice which whispers low,
The sweetest song is that you know
Of long ago.
So with the voices in the air,
1 mingled mine, and io was thcro
A song of time.
Ijtnlon Sociity.
A Successful Plot.
"They are determined not to like
me," said Octavia Durell, with the
tears of inortilied pride sparkling in
her eyes as she laid down the frigid
letter she had been reading. "And it
is cruelly hard for mo to be forced to
meet them without Sigisnmnd's pres
ence to sustain and uphold me. I
know just how it will be. My mother
in-law will look coldly and critically
upon everything I do; my stepdaugh.
ter will fancy me a tyrant, and steel
herself against ine as if I were an in
quisitor. Home will lie a dungeon and
life a burden! Oh, 1 wish—l almost
wish," she added, rorrc ting herself,
with the shy smile of happy wifehood
—"that I had never married. Hut.
after all, what nonsense that is, when
Sigisnmnd is so good, so noble, so wor
thy of a wife's devotion!"
Mrs. Durell was on her way Home
from India, and, seated in the cool,
marble-paved apartment at Gibraltar,
from whence the Peninsular and Ori
ental steamship was to sail the next
day, she watched the palm-leaves
swaying in the breeze, the flutter of the
gay green-and-white awnings, and the
turbaned Eastern scr\ants passing to
and fro with trays of black coffee, del
icately-flavored ires, molded to imi
tate apples, oranges and j**nu*gra
nat"s, with absent, unseeing eyes.
Never before bad she been parted
from her husband, who was American
consul at one of the Oriental ports, but
a sudden call had arisen for his pres-'
ence many hundred miles back in the
mountain country—a wilderness to
which it was impossible that lie could
take his delicate young wife.
"There is no telling how long I may
be detained among those semi--.ivag<-s,
Octv," he had said to his wife, "and I
can neither take you nor leave you.
Go home to my mother, and make
friends with little Eudora |t is pos
sible that I may follow you in a few
months, if all goes well. But, at all
events, I shall f el safer if you are se
cure on American soiL Benson, your
maid, is an accustomed traveler, and
Leonard, who commands the Parifira,
Is my old friend, so that you will lack
no care."
"But, Slgismuud," cried Mrs. Durell,
with a countenance of ludicrous dis
may. "a mother-in-law! and a step
daughter! To he compelled to con
front them, all by myself!"
"My dear little goose!" said the con
sul, laughing. "Now you are fright
ened at mere shadows. My mother is
the dearest old lady in the world, ami
Dora is a darling."
"Couldn't I stay with you?" pleaded
tho young wife, clinging to his arm.
"I rather be murdered by the natives,
or die of cholera down on the plains
than go bar* to America all by my
self."
"Nonsense! nonsense! nonsense!"
cheerily cried out Mr. Durell.
And so the matter had been settled.
And Octavia was thus far on her voy
age home, when, crowing the chequered
pavement, without, a slight, graceful
figure glided by, with floating lace
pc-" "id deeply-fringed, rote-colored
1 pat.ww..
"It's Janlo Weldon!" cried Octavia,
springing up and rushing out to inter
cept tho movements of tho beautiful
stranger.
"Why," cried Miss Weldon, In inilnito
surprise, "it is Octavia Oleott! And
here, on tho bights of Gibraltar! Of
all places, who would have dreamed of
meeting you here?"
"I am going to America," said Oc
tavia.
"So ain I," said Miss Weldon.
"But my name isn't Oleott any long
er," added the young wife, laughing
and blushing. "1 am Mrs. Sigismund
Durell."
"Then," said Miss Weldon, frith her
eyes growing larger and more brilliant
than ever, "you are the uaughter-in
law of Mrs. Alkmond Durell, tho very
lady I am going to Durell court to
visit. Do tell me about her! Is she
nice? Is she lively? Is she—"
Octavia burst out laughing.
"1 never saw her in my life," said
she.
-Neither did I." said Miss Weldon.
"Hut she has invited me to visit her
because my Aunt Barbara was an old
friend of hers. And you really have
married the eharming young consul
widower? My darling. I congratulate
you!"
"1 was a governess at Calcutta," said
Octavia, Mushing and looking exceed
ingly pretty. "And—"
"I see how it was," nodded Miss
Weldon, who had been Octavia's school,
mate long ago. "Love at first sight
and I don't blame him, w hen I see how
pretty you have grown. And I sup
pose dear old Mrs. Durull is delighted
to have you ?"
"She isn't delighted at all," said Oc
tavia, solemnly. "She has written me
a letter as cold as ice, regretting that
her son should have married again so
precipitately ( just as if his first wife
hadn't been dead live years)—hoping
that we should be cotigeniid, but fcar
mg very much that I should find the
quiet and solitude of Durell court too
dull for my tastes."
"Hut that's horrid!" .uiffl Miss Wel
don. "Net in the least like the letter
she w rote me. Wait a minute -1 have
it here in my jacket."
And, with a heart thrill* d by in
voluntary envy, Mrs. Durell read the
affectionate, almost motherly epistle,
which invit*sl Miss Weldon, for her
aunt's sake, to make Durell court her
home for as long a period as she
pleased, assuring hi r of the wannest
welcome and love.
Octavia's eves filled with tears.
"Why couldn't she have written
such a letter to me?" she exclaimed.
"Because, my dear, you are her
daughter-in-law," Mi-s Weldon philo
sophically answered. "No woman can
wt Iconic the girl wlm has stolen aw ay
her son's heart. It isn't in human
nature."
Octavia was silent ,oi a minute;
then she i xclaimixl, suddenly:
".Janie, I've an inspiration a p"-l
tivo in-piration' Let me go! And you
keep awav for a little while!"
"Go where? Jvep away from
whom?" said M s Weld n. m amaze
ment; und then, with brightening
eyes, she added. "Oh. 1 see! 0< ta\ la
you are a genius! Come l.ero and sit
by uic, and u. e'U arrange it all "
t 4 <
The gold n autumn-time hau come,
and the woods aiound Durell court
were wearing their brightest dyes.
Little Eudora had skippi I around
all day, gathering the swutest roses,
arranging violets in saucers of Dresden
china, adding new beauties to the suit
of apartments which had been pre
pared for Miss Weldon, the only child
of "grandmamma's dearest friend."
"For we must enjoy her society all
we can before my odious stepmother
comes," said Eudora, all unconscious
that she was in th" least degree un
charitable.
l'oor child i sin out/ eenoed the
chime of popular opinion, after all.
And when grandmamma's jony
plia'-ton came hark from the train with
the tall, lovely lady in black, Eudora
flew into her arms, with all a child's
innocent enthusiasm.
"Stand off a little, and let me look
at you," said the child. Joyously, push
ing back ber jetty curls—ah, so like
Nigisrnund's that Octavia's heart thrill
ed within her! "Oh, you are exactly ;
like what 1 pictured you in my mind!
And we are going to be so happy
together—you and I, and grandmam
ma—until—until iny stepmother
conies!"
Octavia looked wistfully at her.
"Dear Eudora!" she said, impulsively
"I love you already. Promise me that
you love me!"
The warm-hearted little girl covered
her cheeks, brow and lips with
kisses.
"Dear Mias Weldon," sftld she,
"I protniae you a tliouaatid tlinea
erf'
And Mrs. Durell led the guest sinlL
lngly to her room.
••My darling," said she, "I want you
to bo very happy here. For you are
lllliiig a place in our heurts that
lias long been vacant—my daughter's
place!"
"Hut Mrs. Sigismund Durell V" sug
gested the stranger, coloring deeply.
The old lady made u gesture of
dissent.
"1 can never love her!" she uttered.
sadly.
"llut me—you will be kind to me?"
"My dear Janie, you are like my
own child already?" lovingly spoke the
old lady.
And Mrs. Durell never sQspectcd the
rain of hitter tears which poor Octavia
slied when she was at last left alone.
"Hut I will make them love me!"
she thought; "and when once their
affection is thoroughly mine, I will not
let them withdraw it from me, merely
because I am Octavia Durell instead of
.Funic Wi ldi>n!"
And this beautiful young impost**
had not been a week in the house
before she bad w**n all hearts. She was
grandma's darling, Kudora's conlidant*
the pet and sunshine of the house.
And oh, how her heart beat when Mrs.
Durell looked at her tenderly one even
ing. ami said, with a kiss;
"Dear little Janie, I was thinking
how many thousand dollars 1 would
give if* Siglsmund's wife were like
you."
Octavia turned first rid, then
w bite.
"Mrs. Durell" she said, hurriedly,
"if I were Sigismund's wife- -"
And just then a bevy of guests were
shown in. And the words of ronfes
si**ll Were I becked on Oetaviu's lips.
Hut the sit ret betrayed itself at last,
as secrets will always do.
It was a r**-*y Dei-ember sunset, the
snowy fields all dyi-d with carmine, the
huge |iire i*f mo-sy logs crackling in
tie* tiled fin-place of Durell court.
The *•!>! lady was -* r< ndy dozing in the
blaze, ami Hudora was helping Iter
gin-st to arrange r fre-li gathered
fr**ni the green-house, in antique ina
j' lsra v.iscs, when the door suddenly
ojieiic'l, and a tall, well-molded figure
str*b* in.
"Well mother! Well, Hudora—•
The old ladv start*sl up with a cry.
Kud ira looked with dilate*!, wondering
eyes; but first and swiftest of them
all Oct.uid was in h< r husband's
arins.
"Sigismund!" she cried, hysterically,
"oh, Sigisinuml!"
Old Mrs. Durell recovered herself
with an effort, and looked uu in amaze
ment.
"sigismund," said she, ~i tuft not
know that this lady—"
"This lady, mother,' . , isecren,
brightly, "is the sw t-.-test and dt arest
little l.i*ty in all the World toiuo-uiv
w if.-!"
And ntta\rt Tti*i u. r tart a, ncr
mother-in-law's sho... ler.
"Dear Mrs. Durell," she whispered,
"forgive ino f**r st*-a';ng ymir heart by
strategy, f. r. ind.-'tl, I despaired of
ever winning it in any other way
Janie WeMon told me that 1 might
Isirrow In r personality. She, too, is
coming after New Year's, anil—"
"I'iu sure," said Mrs. Durell, ncr
vously wiping lier spectacle glasses,
"I don't know what to say!"
"Say 'I forgi *| v*u,' " raid Octavia;
an*l say also, 'I love you, daughter !*"
"I love you. dear little daughter,"
sai l the old lady, faltering!)*. "And as
for forgiving why, 1 am not certain
but that I need forgiveness the most
of all"
While little Eudora elung closely to
the young wife's side.
"I don't care whelhet you are my
stepmother or not," she said. "I love
you, and 1 shall always call you mam
ma. now!'
And then tne nappr, exciieo lituo
group gathered around the fire, and
explanations followed all around.
Octavia had to recount for her the lit
tle plot, so often nearly betrayed by the
fullness of her own heart. Sigismund
had to relate the combination of cir
cumstances by which he had obtained
a year's leave of absence from his
Eastern consulate, and managed to
take thein ty surprise; and a more
joyful little household was nowhere to
be found.
"I was beginning to wonder why
Mrs. Durell, junior, did not come,"
said the old lady, with a smile.
"And I was dreading it, terribly,"
said Eudora, "and all the time the
mischievous darling was in our very
midst."
And tnat very evening Octavia sat
down and wrote to Janie Weldon what
a success lier plot hail proved.
The first auction In England was held
in 1700 by Kliaha Yale, governor of
Madras, who thus ilis|osed of the goods
which he brought home.
LADIES' DEPARTMENT.
Woman'* llrautjr
Even ugly women admit that beauty
Is their sex's most powerful weapon;
they liko to see It exert it force, ami
when it Is great, and, so to speak, be
yond criticism, admire it with genuine
heartiness—heartiness as real as that
which men show in their admiration
for strength manifested in any con
spicuous way. It is usual to say wo
men decry beauty, but that is a blun
der, caused by stretching instances into
a law. Of all sources of success, wo
men grudge beauty the least. They
may deny it is beauty, but if they ad
mit it they are so far content. If a
man makes a misalliance for the sake
of beauty, society forgives him readily
To this very hour the deep feeling of
women for Eugenie, the French em
press, though founded, of course, on
pity, is greatly assisted by the recollec
tion among the middle-aged of a tri- :
umph so conspicuous, and so visibly
owing to personal charm. This kind
of female interest is universal, and ex- '
tends in a more languid degree to the
men, who find in anv national appreci
ation of hcauty not only the charm
which springs from Kinship in taste,
hut an excuse for a secret imbecility, a
powi-rlcssiicsft in pr< sencof the attrac
tion, which they all r ent and feel.
We wonder if, beside all tliis, there is
any residuum of the old tireek feeling
that beauty was a dear g...d in itself,
a harmony, something which indicated
that the gods of nature were not essen
tially and at heart hostile to man.
M any artists say so, and to judge by
the extent of fooling, almost of pious
feeling, excited by flic heautv of HI • B
ery the positive esteem felt for Switz
erland, for instance, for 1 cing so b< uu
tiful a place the feeling should be
general ,
A Itrnthrn I'rlntrai.
The I'rinr. -i Lilino Kalalia, of the
Sandwich islands, bin- lor dre.—i-s in
Paris. This lady, wh" is admitted by
her Parisian admirers to 1M- a trifle
brnnc, is said to r< -eiiible her brother,
Kal.ikana, king of Hawaii. Hut her
taste in dress is, to ali accounts, gor
geous and will considercl. >h>- lias
introduce! ruches of iv<* to protect
li<-r shoulders from the gaze *.f a 1 ir
baric court. This detail lias astonisln 1
Parisian modistes more mpl* t* iv
than the substitution of fai.-i diamonds
for real in the tiara wherewith she
prop, -is to • n< ir< le ber regal brow.* A
dress of cloth of gold, trimmed with
ruches of golden lace bas a train six
meters in length, which opens over a
white satin petticoat worked with gilt
birds. According to the redundant
fancy of the Hawaiian princess, the
1 ak of each bird is to contain a dif
fercnt ornament a diamond, a pearl,
aft -at her or a bit *f gold. The cost of
the dress is n**t gi\< n, but the cloth of
gold is not suj jx, *,| to represent the
sum of a thou-and dollars or more the
meter, aa did a toil* t worn at the court
of Marie Antoinette r a dr<-s two
millions of dollars in value, completely
studded with i".iris and emeralds, and
worn by a lady of fashion in ancient
Home, The i * onomy of age is un
pleasant, and to modiste, must be re
volting as compared with the lavish
n* sofg .-l old liberal turn- . A dress
f damask satin, sky blue and covered
with lmiiquets of bright colored ro*.-i
which, in sj itc < f its intrinsic richness
ha* a tunic of -eqiiin* of the shade
known as moonlight, f**rms a part of
Idlino Kalaua's wardroix*.
I Mahlnvt
All lares are fashionable.
This is to lsia lace season.
brocaded silks have not g*>ne out of
vogue.
Huttons are small for dresses, large
for w rajm.
The palm-h af pattern crops <MfT In
all the new goods.
Combinations in roatumea are as
much in vogue as ever.
Postilion hacks and |ioints tn front
are the rule in basques.
Overdresses are made eccentric and
irregular in the draping.
The evanescent fashion of silk un
derclothing lias disappeared.
For evening dress the arms are com
pletely covered by the gloves.
Slippers with straps, or strapped
shoes, are for elegant house wear.
Underw ear must lie white, but stock
ings are de rigucur adored or black.
Embroidered rolies of cashmere and
veiling are seen Among late novelties.
Two contrasting colors are intro
duced in the new small-checked sum
mer silks.
The gray tint introduced into the
new colors is very becoming to the
complexion.
After all, there is no color more In
coming to a woman no longer young
than silver gray.
Cashmere Jackets complete costumes
of ribbed Ottoman silk and velvet.
All the new blue and terra cotta
shades appear in the new checked and
plain summer silks.
Shoulder bows of ribbon are very
fashionable set against the standing
collar on the left side.
Portieres hung on bamboo trees with
a portion of the roots showing at one
end is the latest novelty.
Heavy colored Spanish guipure
comes fur trimming new black Otto*
man and gros grain silks.
Itosettes of wool braid and a wide
band of white Ifi-rculej braid trim
English round hats of felt and o
braid.
Masks surrounded by gay moss, re
lieved bv brightly colored Japanese
ligiin-s, arc much used in house deco
ration to place over the doors.
Some still ding to the style of dress
ing tie- hair low in the le * k in a small
knot, but a much admired mode is at
| top of the head, and is very broad.
Cotton aatteens, in all the light
diadi-s, and in a variety of patterns,
1 .
!r*iiii (lie old-fashioned "Dolly Varden'
to the common place polka-dot,are now
reaily for selections.
Ottoman silk costumes have the
front breadth of the skirt and paniers
scattered with detached ligures of i-tn*
|*o--i-d velvll, each liguri- i-dgnd with
handsome cord or Frem-h gimj.
The I.angtry waves are the newest
f**r the front hair. Tie :* lung curled
waves are very effective, and differ
from the Saratoga, curls ls-ing tin* div
tinctive feature, The hair may in
parted on the sole or in the i * nter with
tins it\le of dri-ssiiig.
The new blue over which I'aris has
gone wild is a bright'-]• ar shale, just
l one remove from Napoleon, and about
the rolfir of tin* blue long cl ik- w* rn
by tin* king- of England and Fran**-iri
the r*]gn of Henry Vof England It
is tailed ro)al French blue, and is very
1 • an' iful. but n* ' i tin tic in the mod
ern sell-'- "f the Word.
TIIE FAMILY DOCTOR.
A I.t of i • -tt n I atting sprinkb 1
with bhck pijijH* and wet with
sw-'-t . jl and in-* rted in the -oi will
immediately cure carazhe.
One table--pooiiful of bf *mieehlora>
lum to eight * 1 soft water makes an ex
i i-Heiit deodorizer, and w ill purify the
sick-room "f any oflensive smell
In Lyons, France, tin- cold bath
method of tr* ating tyjile-.d fever ba<
been ail "J* tisl with iii.irke*l success.
In the cjvil hospitals the death-rate
was reduced fr**m I'd to !• per cent,
and In urvato practina to 1 to J per
ccn.
I'eople snrmiu tw .iiemt>er that if they
are rarcle-s as to allow ing themselves
to get into a low state .if health, they
run the ri**k **f j*ickirig uj> any malady
going alsiut. A* >ir James Paget
t• !il liis audience lat*ly, these maladies
an- met with every day. but happily
man* of th*-< meeting them are n**t
in a condition to catch tlum.
Treat flesh wound-in the following
manner; Cl* -e the lips of the wound
with the ban-Is, hold them firmly
together to * heck the flow of blots]
until several stitche- < an IM* taken and
a bandage applied; then bathe the
wound for a l**ng time in cold water,
{should it IM* painful, take a pan of
burning coal- and sprinkle ii|*m them
common brown sugar and hold the
wounded part in the smoke.
Song Writers.
T'isier was a wonder, says a wifll
known music comjuwor. HP was as
well-known through his songs to
Americans as Dickens was through
his stories to the English, but was
known to very, very few personally.
tf his song, "Old Dog Tray," 125,000
copies were sold in the first eighteen
months nfter Its publication. His
"Old Folks at Home" was the best
thing he ever wrote, and 400,000
were sold by the publishers that first
issued the song, and Foster received
#15,000 as his share of this sale. 1 tell
you It's always the publisher that
makes all the money. We grind out
the songs, may be under a strong
pressure for some necessary of life,
never knowing and often not raring
whether it would "catch on" or not-
Thcv give up a little money for It and
may be like some of Dank's songs, it
proves popular and they make a great
deal of mosey out of it. Foster wrote
a great, many negro melodies that
proved famous, and commencing with
"Camptown Paces" he went steadily on
until he wrote some very fine pathetic
songs. I know it to be a fact that
Christy paid Foster #4OO for the
privilege of having his (Christy's)
name printed on one edition of "Old
Folks at Home." That caused the
error to get afloat that Christy wrote
this song.
The Mining Prospector.
The genus prospector, a man of
ml!um bight, a rather lightly but
flruily-knit frame, age anywhere le
-tween twenty-five and thirty-five, a
fine five, gentle but firm, bronzed with
exposure to many a fierce storm, stamp
ed with the unmistakable expression
impressed on the features of those w ho,
•lay after day, stand face to face with
danger and death, a face that a girl in
distress will turn to without hesitation;
that a rowdy will turn from with fea
and hatred. His first movement be
trays the frontiersman. A rapid pierc
ing glance around the park, neither
human foe nor edible game l.-ing in
sight, his next glance is to the sky.
Apparently satisfied with the inspec
tion, his first care is to tend to his jack
or "burro," to use the mountain phrase;
then having liberated the burro with a
drag on the end of his rope which wil'
effectually prevent hi-> straying from
that park, he turns to his fire, blows it
into a blaze, puts on bis coffee pot to
ls.il, and then to bis toilet. Three
inehe* of eotnh, two <• juare inches o !
hs.king glass, a coarse towel, a pieeeof
yellow soap, a tooth brush, and the
toilet table is furnished. Now follow
him to the dressing-room; a dozen steps
down the creek takes him to where a
little dam has funned a crystal pool.
J'own on the moss-covered r<ok.s g'>e
the broad white hat, the collar of the
blue fl.mnel shirt is r-ll'-d back di.vl'is
ing the neck and chc-t of an athlete.
Oh how cold, how refre-hing, how in
vigorating the water i, fresh from the
snow aU.ve. The toilet Ls finished,
! breakfast is the next eooaidenUoo.
The c .fT<-e hat ing boiled is j laced on
one side to w-ttle; the bacon fri** 1, thr
batter f> r a pile of •\>-!ap- - .' ks ' )*-atcc
up, he fri.-s one of tin al-orni nations
throw ing it into the air and catching
it on the reversed side with the precis
ion of an i M timer, and now h<- plunges
into the tent and emerges with th<
"chuck box," or in Knglish, "m<~
chest," into the innermost recesses of
j which be dives, and from the eooglov
(-ration of cartridges, buckskin th ngs
steel traps, n-'dles and thread, sail r's
palm, mineral specimens, three or f..u
l'-ttcrs, a lsh k very torn and dirty, a
pair of Mexican spurs, odds and end*
. of string, etc.. etc., produce* a sinali
J cativars sa. k of salt, ditto of sugar, r
half gall n can of syrup. and breakfast
isr<adv arid the tahleissct. Todis
I at' h t!.< meal tak'-s but a little while
j *-h< rt a" the time is, however, it is not
wa t<sl. f.oh-erve the upturned face
the eager searching glance, peak aftei
peak is so,ann 1. f rmation, color ntod
until apparently satisfied with the in
spection. Tite meal is finished, plat*
and cup washed and put away; thr
morning pipe is lit and smoked while hr
goes through his pocket* t.. *r-e ;f bit
' outfit is complete, matches, compnsß
knife, magnifying glass, all safe.
Catching up the burro and j keting
hirn on fr- -h grass t nislies the UK rn
ing chores and we are ready for thr
day's work.
Lying.
There is a story of a candidate for r
fork shire liorough addressing the elec
tors in flattering terms, and telling
them that for "the ho;*- of being their
representative he had given up valua
ble prospects in India, and traveller
many hundreds of miles." "What i
Jolly fool you must be." was the un
sympathetic remark of nncof the crowd
The speak r had. in fact, returned t<
England because bis prospect* in Indii
had jirnve<l delusive. Kxaggerators of
th-s class have 1-eon held up to dcri
sion for centuries. Lando (sixteenth
century ) tells of an Italian eeclesiastir
who was so given to drawing the lonp
IHIW that his friends openly derided
Jiis tales. He at last hired a simplt
country lad, whoso whole duty it was
to stand Itehind his master's chair and
corroliorate his anecdotes. The l>oy
did his work for a time; but at length
his employer ventured on a talc sc
amazing that the honest servant start
led the company by exclaiming, "Nay,
master, take Karl; my livery ; I cannot
swear to that." Epitaphs offer a very
usual field for exaggeration. Few
imitate the sensible con risen ens of an
inscription in a Hampshire church,
where the survivor merely add*, aftet
the name of the deccased."To those whe
knew him a narration of his virtue*
would be needless; to those who knew
him not it would be tedious"—a fact
too often lost sight of by the writers
of monumental inscription*.
Facta themselves may be presented
in a light which exaggerates them to
the listener. Iloswell once praised the
profuse hospitality of a gentleman
who "never entertained less than a
thousand in the course of a year.
That is to say. about three persons
dined with him dnlly." Jtoth "w ays of
putting It" were true, but tlicy convey
ed widely different meanings.— Lon
don Qlobt*