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18
servants. The two young men descended,
and entered, and went into the billiard
room, where cigars and soda water and
similar things had been set out in readiness
for them; and here Lord Musselburgh,
lying back in a cane-bottomed chair, pro
ceeded to talk in a lets random fashion
about this project of his, nntil he had
almost persuaded his companion that there
was something reasonable and practicable
in it, if only it could be properly initiated.
"Anyhow," said he to his guest, as they
were both retiring for the night, "it is some
big movement like that, Vin, my lad, that
yon want to get identified with, If your aim
is to make a position in English pnblic life.
You hare advantages. You can speak well.
You will hare plenty of money. You are
beginning with the proletariat that is lay
ing a foundation of popularity. You hare
youth and heaps of strength on your side.
Then Grandison is known to be your friend.
What more?"
What more, indeed! The future seemed
to smile on this young man; and if his
dreams, waking or sleeping, had been of
great achievements and pnblic triumphs,
who could hare wondered? But cnrionsly
enough, Inst at this time, the forecasts that
came to him in moments
oi auiet were apt
to be somber. He dreaded he hardly knew
what. And these ragne forebodings of the
day took a pore defiuite shape in the far
reaching visions of the night; tor again and
again there recurred to him that phantasmal
picture that had suddenly startled him
when old George. Bethune was talking of
the possibilities that might be lying
in store for his granddaughter. Vin Harris
had never seen Balloray did not know
where it was in fact; bnt night after night
he beheld with a strange distinctness the
big baronial bnilding, and the black firs,
and the gate with the otter's head in stone.
Had that been alii But as regularly
there came forth the tail young girl
with the long flowing hair; and he was
a poor wanderer, cowering away irom recog
nition; and again she would ride by, along
the white road, until she was lost in the
dappled sun and shadow under the beeches.
Then there was a song somewhere perhaps
it was the trembling leaves that whispered
the retrain but it was all about separation,
and loneliness, and the sadness of remem
brance and of loss. "Chante, rossignol,
cbante, toi qui as le ccsur gai" this was
what be heard, or seemed to hear, away in
that distant land, where he had been lelt
alone. "J'ai perdu ma maitresse, sans
l'aroir merite" It was strange that no
birds sang in these woods, that no ltrk hung
quivering in those skies; all was silence
save lor that continuous murmur of fare
well. "Lui ya longtemps.que je
t'aime, jamais je ne t'oubiierai." And
sometimes the murmur rose into a larger
monotone; the big gray building and the
black firs, and the highway, and the beeches,
diappeared; and behold in their stead was
a great breadth ot sea, desolate and rain
swept, and void of ail sign ot life. And was
this the harrier now between him and her?
Then the gray dawn would come; and he
would awake to the knowledge that he had
been tortured by mere phantasies; and yet
these le t something in his mind, even dur
ing the actual and practical daylight hours.
He began to wish that there was some bond
ot what nature he bad not determined
for it was all a vague longing and wistful
desire that could so bind Maisrie and him
together that that great width of sea should
not intervene. Pur it was a sorrowful kind
of thing even when the white hours of the
daylignt told him he had only seen it in a
dream.
But apart from all these dim anxieties
and this haunting unrest, came the strictly
matter-of-fact consideration that within an
appreciable time old George Bethune and
his granddaughter would be returning to
the United States. That was no spectral
ocean that would then lie between Maisrie
and him, bnt 3,000 miles of the Atlantic;
and who could tell when the two wanderers
might ever see England again? Kay, had
sot he himself been implored to help in
bringing about this separation? Maisrie
had begged of him to urge upon her grand
father the necessity of getting the American
book done first, before setting ont on the
poetic pilgrimage through Scotland which
was to yield irmt ot another kind; and, of
course, if the old man consented, the first
step to be taken was a voyage to New York.
"Vincent had drawn many a fancy picture of
a little group of three, wandering away
through the rich-bued autumn davs, by
"lone St. Mary's silent lake," or by the
banks of the silver Tweed; iut now all that
was to be sacrificed; and be himself was to
do what he could toward sending the old
man back to America and Maisrie
with him. Then there would be no
more or the long, quiet days of
study, made happy by anticipations
of the evening; no more of the pleasant
little dinners in this or that restaurant; no
more of those wonderful twilights in the
little parlor, with their enchantments of
mukic and happy converse. London, with
Maisrie Bethnne 3,000 miles away; that
would be a itrange thing that he could
even now hardly imagine to himself.
Nay, it was a thing that he looked for
ward to with such an unreasoning dread
and dismay that be began to construct all
sorts of mad schemes for defeating any such
possibility; and at last be hit upon one that
seemed more or less practicable, while it
would in the meantime virtually absolve
him from his promise to Maisrie. On the
morning after the meeting of the Mendover
jjinerai Association, tne two young men
were returning to town by train; and Tin
cent saia to his companion
"Yon were telling me the other night of
the Scotch newspaper man whom you got
to know in New York; what did you say his
name was?"
"Oh, you mean Hugh Anstruther? I hope
I spoke no ill of him; lor an enthusiastic
patriotism such as his is really something
to admire in these days. A capital lellow,
Hugh; until 1 fell across him in New York
I did not know that I had one virtue
transcending all the other virtues, ana that
was simply my being a brother Scot"
"What did you say was the name of the
paper he edits?"
"The TTesrern Scotsman."
"And it was he who gave Mr. Bethune a
letter ot introduction to"you?"
Bnt here Musselburgh's manner instantly
changed; he had been answering these ques
tions in a careless Vay, looking out of the
carriage window most of thejtime; now he
turned to his companion, and regarded him
with some scrutiny.
"Why do you ask, Vin?" he said. "Do
you want to find out something further
about the old man?"
Vincent's forehead flushed; and his eyes
. gloomed dark.
"I do not," he made answer, in distinct
tones. "I thank goodness my nature is not
o suspicious. It seems to me extraordinary
that two human beings who have done noth
ing in the world to deserve it should be re
garded by a constant mistrnst and doubt.
"Why? Do you suspect everybody else in
the same wav?"
"Oh. don't say that I suspect them,"
"Musselburgh exclaimed at once, lor he was
an exceedingly good-natured young man
and had no wish to offend. "I don't know
. them well enough don't know anything at
all about tbem, in fact"
You told me yourseln that my aunt and
you had been talking them over; and I
gainprea enougn irom wbat you said, was
the younger man's retort.
".Mrs. Ellison is naturally anxious about
anything that concerns your future. Vin
or seemslikely to concern it,"Lord "Mussel
burgh said. "And you should be the last
lo object."
"But I do object," he said, stifflv. I I ob
ject altogether to ber canvassing the charac
ter Oi any friends of mine; and to her putting
her doubts and suspicions and bints about
them into any third person's imagination.
Oh, yes, I could make out quite clearly
what she had been saying. Tnat night at
Henley she came on a Visit of inspection; it
was per ectly obvious. And what is more,
shecame with the hope of having her sus
picions confirmed; audi suppose she was
horribly disappointed that Maisrie Bethune
did not drop her h's, and that Mr. Bethune
did not beg the loan of a sovereign from
her!"
'Why so passionate, Vin why so indig
nant?" said his companion, glancing at him
curionsly. I
"Because I say it is a shame a monstrous
shame,"ithe young man said,- with flamii
eyes, "that anyone should be 'insulted sol
Is It their fault that they bare no friends,
that they are unknown, that they are poor
To be wealthy is to be virtuous, of course; if
you hare a long balance at your banker's
you are above suspicion then; if you have
house-boats, and four-in-hands, and gold
plate, you're all right I suppose,"
said he, altering his tone, "that it was on
that very evening the evening of her in
speotion that my aunt was kind enough to
talk over those two Iriends of mine with you,
and tell you of all the portentous things she
suspected of them. But I presume she did
not repeat to you the very last words she
used to me as she said good-night?"
"About what?"
"About Miss Bethune," said Vincent
though it cost him indescribable effort to
pronounce ber name.
"Well, I believe she did, "Lord Mussel
burgh said. "For she had just come away
from hearing Mitt Bethune sing some
Canadian song or another: and she was very
much struck; and rbe said she had admit
ted as much to you. Oh, more than that
but I don't precisely remember the words.
Anyhow, she was immensely im
pressed by the sincerity and sim
plicity of the girl's voice; at
the .moment she was ready to
give up all her prejudices and doubts as
far as Miss Betbune was concerned. But
really, Vin, when you come to think of it,
you must confess that there is not much
gnidance as to character, or to antecedents,
or anything else, in the mere singing or a
song. Mrs. Ellison, who is always posing
as a callous woman of the world, is really
very sympathetic and generous, and warm
hearted; and she was quite taken captive by
the charm and symplicity of this Claire
Fontaine is that the name of it? bnt at
the same time I should not place too great a
value"
"I quite agree with you," the younger
man said, interrupting without apology.
"I place no more value on my aunt's ac
quittal and commendation thin on her
previous suspicions. And and if you
don't mind, Musselburgh, I would rather
not bare the question discussed further, nor
Miss Bethnne's name mentioned in any
way whatsoever."
"Oh, but remember I said nothing against
her," Lord Musselburgh finally added, in
perfect good humor. "How could I? I
nope your new friends are all you think
them; and as for the young lady, it is diffi
cult to believe any harm of so refined and
sweet a face. But I hope you won't concern
yourself too much with tbem, Vin; you have
other, and perhaps more serious, interests in
uie; ana it seems to me tnat everything
promises well lor you. Why. at this mo
ment, man, don't you know what ought to
be occupying all your attention?"
"What?" his companion asked perhaps
glad enough to get away from that delicate
topic.
"At least I know what I should be think
ing of if I were in your shoes," Musselburgh
said. "I should be wondering bow much
space the editor of the ifendocer Weekly
Guardian was going to give me on Saturday
morning next"
It was another editor whom Vincent had
in his mind at that moment As soon as he
got back to London he wrote and dispatched
Ine following letter, which was addressed to
"Hugh Anstruther, Esq., Western Scotsman
office, New York, TJ. S. A."
"Deab Sib I hope you will be so kind
as to consider the contents of this note as
strictly private and confidential. In a re
cent conversation with Lord Musselburgh
ne lmormea me mat it was you wbo bad
given a letter ot introduction to him to Mr.
George Bethune; and from Mr. Betbune
himself I learn that he, Mr. Bethune, is
auoutto oring out a volume on the Scottish
poets in America, as soon as he can con
veniently get the materials together. But
to this end it would appear that he must re
visit the United States and Canada, to ob
tain particulars of the lives of the various
poets and verse writers, and perhaps, also,
examples of their work.
"Now. I wish to ask you, as a friend of
Mr. Betnune's, whether all this fatigue and
travel might not be spared him, supposing
there were some person or persons in this
country willing to defray the cost of having
those materials col letted for him. To
speak plainly, do you, sir, know of any
writer, connected with the press or
otherwise, who would undertake, for
a sufficient consideration, to bring to
gether biographical memoirs of the
authors in question, along with specimens
oi ineir wore, wnicn coma ne sent over
here to Mr. Bethune, for him to put into
shape and issne in book form. Mr. Betbune,
as you know, is an old man, wbo must
surely hare had enough of traveling; more
over he has in mind a leisurely ramble
through Scotland which, while also leading
to literary results, would involve much less
fatigue than a voyage to the United States
and Cinada. I should be greatly obliged
if you would tell me whether you consider
it practicable to collect those materials by
deputy; also, if you know of any one capa
ble of undertaking the task; and what re
muneration he would probably require.
"I tear that the idea of collaboration
would not be welcome to Mr. Bethune; so it
might be better (if possible at all) that the
materials for the book should be got to
gether by some one with no literary preten
tions whatever, leaving the real authorship
of the volume exclusively in Mr. Bethune'a
hands. I presume 'that mechauical
wort oi mat &ina couia ne done by a
clerk especially if he had yonr authority
to write to me various gentlemen and ask
them for copies of such thing as they
happened to cave published: but of course
you must be a better judge of such a ques
tion than I; and I shall be entirely guided
by your advice, ii you will be good enough
to grant it me.
"I beg you to forgive me. a stranger, for
thus appealing to you; but I know you will
not grudge a little trouble for the sake of a
friend and a fellow Scotchman.
"Yours faithfully and obediently,
"Vincent Habeis."
After sending off that letter the young
man's spirits lightened considerably; he
saw there was still a chance that Maisrie
Bethnne, her grandfather and himself
should together set out on that coveted per
ambulation of the legend-haunted districts
of the North. And now he and they had
returned to their ordinary mode of life
which perhaps pleased him better than the
ostentatious festivities of Henley. Here
was no staring crowd, here were no suspi
cious friends, to break in upon their close
and constant companionship. He rejoiced
in this isolation; he wished for no tourth
person at the qniet little dinners in the res
taurants; he had no desire that anyone should
share the privacy of the hushed small parlor
where old George Bethune loitily dis
coursed of poetry and philosophy, of
ancient customs and modern manners, and
where Maisrie played pathetic Scotch airs
on the violin, or sang in her low clear voice
of le pont d'Avignon or perhaps of Marian
son, dame jolie. Moreover, he could not
fail to perceive, and that with an ever-increasing
delight, that her old expression of
sad and wistful resignation was gradually
being banished from her eyrs; and not only
that, but a quite fresh color was come into
her cheeks, so that the pale snn-tmge was
less perceptible. Perhaps it was the com
panionship of one nearer to herown age that
bad made a ditterence in ber life; at all
events much of her former sbyness was gone;
she met his look frankly, sometimes with a
touch of gratitude, sometimes with sinmle
gladness, as if his mere presence was some
thins that pleased her. When she was wa
tering the flowers in the little balcony, and
caugbt sight of him over the way, she nodded
and smiled: he wondered whether it was that
faint sun-tinge of the complexion that made
her teeth seem so clearly white. He began
to forget those dreams of a wide inter
vening sea: this present existence was
so peaceable, and contented, and happy.
And in spite of Maisrie's injunction,
those dreams of Scotland would recur:
he saw three newly arrived strangers walk
ing along Princes street, Edinburgh, in the
silver glare of the morning; and ther middle
one of the three looking away up to the
dusky shadows of the Castle rock was no
other than Maisrie Bethune herself, with
light and gladness shining in her eyes.
And what had old George Bethune to say
to this constant association and this fast
friendship between the two young people?
Well, old George Befhune had an admira
ble capacity for enjoying the present mo
ment; and" so" long Vs"f be " dinner wafpiirly
cooked and the claret to his taste, so long as
THE
he had a small and faithful audience to
listen to his rhapsodies about Scottish song
and Scottish heroism, and so long as
Maisrie's violin was in tune and ber hand
as sensitive as ever on the trembling
strings, he did not seem to pay much heed
to the future. Perhaps it was but natural
that one who had wandered so far and wide
should welcome a little peace at last; and
perhaps he intentionally blinded nis eyes:
at all events the young people were allowed
the utmost freedom of companionship it
was as if these three formed but one family.
One night, as Vincent was about to leave,
the old gentleman said to him
"About to-morrow evening: I presume we
dine at Mentavisti's?"
"Oh, yes, certainly; we've tried ft good
many places, and we can't do better than
Mentavisti's," the voung man answered as
if it mattered one brass farthing to him what
sort o' a dinner there was, or where be got
it, so long as Maisrie was at the same tablet
"Ah, very well. For this how I am situ
ated," said Mr. Betbune, gravely and
grandly, as befitted the seriousness of the
theme. "I have an appointment in Jermyn
street at 6 o'clock. I miy be detained. Now
I can undertake to be at Mentavisti's res
taurant at 7 and when the dinner hour is
once fixed, to play shillyshally with it
seems to me abominable but I am not so
sure that I shall have time to return home
first It will be better, therefore, and every
way safer, for Maisrie to come down by her
self in, a cab"
"But mayn't I call for her?" the voung
man suggested at once. "You know she
would mnch rather walk down than drive."
"Oh, very well, very well, if you doa't
mind," said Mr. Bethune, with a lofty con
descension or indifference; while Maisrie,
instead of being in the least confused by
this proposal, looked up with perfectly
frank and pleased eyes, apparently giving
him a little message of thanks.
Nor was she in the least embarrassed on
the following evening, when he was ushered
upstairs by the landlady's daughter. Maisrie
was alone in the little parlor, ready-dressed
except as regarded her gloves, and she was
putting a final touch to the few flowers with
which she had adorned the table.
"Good evening," said she, quite placidly.
"I will be with you in a moment, as soon as
I have dried my fingers."
She disappeared for a second, and re
turned. He hesitated before accompanying
her to the door.
"Won't you give me one of those flowers?"
said he, rather breathlessly.
She seemed a little surprised.
"Now that I think of it," she said, "I
have never seen you wear a flower in yonr
coat, as otner gentlemen ao. Ana JL m
afraid there isn't one nearly fine enough"
"If you were to give me a flower, I should
not destroy it by wearing it ia my coat?"
said he.
"Oh, merely a flower," she asked. She
went lo the table. "Will this one do?"
It was a white geranium that she banded
him, simply enough; he took out his pocket
book, and carefully placed it between the
leaves. For the briefest instant she regarded
him as if in wonder that he shonld seek to
preserve so worthless a thing; but she made
no remark; and then unconcernedly and
cheerlully she led the way downstairs,
and together they passed out into the open
street
It was a marvelous and bewildering thing
to think that he should be in sole and com
plete charge of her, here in the midst of the
great and busy world of London. Did these
hurrying people guess at his proud elation.
bis new found sense ot guardianship and
responsibility, his , anxiety that all things
should be pleasant to ber; or had they
hardly time even to notice this beautiiul
young creature, her step light as a fawn.
fresh color in her fair cheeks, happiness
radiant in her eyes? Perhaps they heeded
her and the tail and handsome youth by her
side as little as she heeded them;
for indeed she seemed to be entirely en
grossed in her companion, talking,
smiling, replying to him without a shadow
of self-consciousness or .restraint To him
this new relationship was an amazing kind
of thing; she did not seem even to perceive
it To him it was an epoch in his life, to be
forerer remembered; to her well, nearly
every evening she walked out in similar
fashion with her grandfather, and she did
not appear to notice any difference; at least
she showed no sign.
But all at once Maisrie altered her man
ner; aud that was when he, in the lightness
of his heart, informed her that there was
still a chance ot their setting ont on that
long contemplated pilgrimage to the various
poetic shrines of Scotland.
j "Mr. Harris," she said, proudly, "you
made me a promise "
"res, I know I did," he said; "bnt things
have changed, and I'm going to explain to
yon; and I think you'JI find everything sat
isfactory. But first of all, before'l begin, I
wish you wouldn't call me 'Mr. Harris.' It
sounds detestable. You bo are so natural
and straightiorward in all your ways why
don't you call me Vincent?" -
".Don t you tnint that Mr. Vincent might
be a fair compromise?" she asked gently,
and with her eyes lowered.
"I've called you Maisrie once or twice, by
accident, agd you didn't seem to mind, he
pointed ont
"I am sure I did not notice," she made
answer at once "How should I? I am
used to nothing else."
"Then I am to be allowed to call vou
Maisrie," said he, clutching eagerly at this
new-found privilege. "And you will call
me Vincent when you find Mr. Vincent
become too formal; is it a compact?"
"Yes, it is Mr. Vincent if you like."
said she with a smile. "But why do you
make it- so very serious?"
"Because," said he gravely, "when any
solemn bargain is completed people shake
hands to make it secure."
"Not in the middle of Oxford street," she
said.
"We will postpone the ceremony, if you
prefer it; and now I will begin and tell you
bow it is still possible we mar have that
lung ramble through Scotland together.
Yon were anxious that before anything of
the kind were attempted your grandfather
should go back to tne United States to get
materials for his book on the Scottish poets
in America. Well, now, it seems a pity to
make such a long voyage if it can be done
without; and so I have taken the liberty of
sending over to New York to see if there
isn't some bandy young fellow there some
clerC or reporter who would undertake to
collect all necessary materials, and send
them over here for yourgrandfather to work
up. Then we could go to Scotland all the
same that is, if you will let me accompany
you."
"Someone to collect the materials and
send them over?" she repeated; and then
she said: "Bnt 'would that be fair, Mr.
Harris Mr. Vincent? would that be hon
est? Surely not! The book would not be
my grandfather's book at all; properly it
would belong to the roung man in New
York."
"I beg your pardon," said he, witn de
cision. "He only supplies the bricks; he
does not build the bouse. ' When a Chan
cellor of the Exchequer produces bis budget,
of course he claims it as his own; but he
has got his tacts from the heads of deparU
ments, and most likely his quotations have
been bunttd out for him by his private sec
retary. It would be your grandlather's
book, solely and wholly."
"But the cost?" she said, after a second.
"Supposing it were practicable, the exoense
"Oh, never mind about that," said he,
lightly. "It will be next to nothing you
needn't mind about that Our' deputy in
New York will find very little difficulty in
getting the memoranda that he wants. There
is no sort of unnecessary modesty about
minor poets; they will be glad enough to
give him specimens of their work, as soon
as it is known what he aims at And in
Scotland," be continued, grown suddenly
bold, "don't you see how it would work?
Your grandfather must have an occasional
morniug to give to his MSS.; then you and
I conld leave him in absolute peace and
quiet; and we might go away tor a stroll up
to Arthur's Seat or round the ramparts of
Stirling Castle, and return to bim by lunch
time. Wouldn't that be an excellent ar
rangement?" "Yes, that wonld be very nice indeed,"
ssid she. with a pleased look; she seemed to
look forward to this close and constant com
panionship as the most natural thing in -the
world.
PITTSBTmG- DISPATCH,
And in fact so sanguine was the young
man about the success of this new scheme
that, when the three of them were seated at
a small table in Mentavisti's Eestaurant, he
ventured to hint to old George Betbune his
fond hope that he might be allowed to oln
in that prolonged excursion through Scot
land: and the old man at once acquiesced.
"Yes, yes. why not?" he said; and then he
went on, absently: "Yet, my nerve is not
what it was. bometlmes I hesitate. It
would grieve me more than I can say if
Maisrie here were to be disappointed. It is
a long time since I was in the conntry; per
haps I rememberonly the beautiful things;
and it is only of those she has heard me
talk. When Sturrock thinks of the old
borne, the dappled hills shine for him you
remember Maisrie?
Oh native land! Ob cherished home.
Pre sailed across the sea.
And, thongb my wandering footsteps roam,
Mr heart still turns to thee I
My thoughts and dream are sweet and brieht
with dew which love distils:
While every gleam of golden light
Falls on the Scottish hills.
"He forgets the mists and the rain and
the darkened days. And you, Maisrie, you
have been brought up under fair bine skies;
you have never learnt how somber days and
wild and driving clouds stir the imagina
tion; perhaps, if you stood in the very street
where the 'bonnie Earl o' Moray came
sounding through the town,' you would see
only the wet pavements and the dnll
windows; and you might turn to me and
say 'I this what you have talked about to
me, grand ather?' " Then all of a sudden
be seemed to throw off his despondent fit as
by a violent effort "No, nol" said he, in
quite a different tone. "I will not believe
but that there are still yellow cornfields
and silver lakes in bonnie Scotland, and the
lark singing as high in the heavens as
when Tannabill, or Hogg, or Motherwell
paused to listen. I will show you the red
rowans hanging from the mountain
crag, and the golden bracken down by the
side of the burn; and if we go still further
away to the lonely islands of the Western
seas then you must learn to forget the soft
prettinessof the sunnier South, and to let
the mysterious charm of isolation hold yon,
and the majesty of the dark mountains, and
the pathetic beauty ot the wandering veils
of rain. I would sooner forget the mother
that bore me," he said, with a proud ring in
his voice, "than believe that bonuie Scot
land had lost her glamor and wonder and
fascination. And you would be no holiday
tourist, Maisrie; you belong by blood to the
'land of wild weather;' and imagination is
part of the dWry of youth. No, no; I do
not fear. I I made a mistake when I said
I was afraid I am not a raid of you, Mais
rie not afraid of you you have the fine
sympathy, the intelligence, the quick
imagination that I can trust I am not
afraid of you, Maisrie "
"Yon need not h Jlfr.ll'r? irr-nf.thi- "
the girl said, gently for she saw that he
was somewhat disturbed. "Why should
you be afraid, grandfather? I shall be look
ing with your eyes."
But the curious thing was that despite all
this talking about the projected pilgrimage,
it never seemed to come any nearer. No
mention of a date, or even of any approxi
mate time, was ever made. In like manner,
their return to America, though the old
gentleman Bpoke of it now and again as a
fixed and definite and necessary thing, kept
receding backwards and backwards into a
perfectly nebulous future. The present
moment was everything to old George
Bethune, whether he was engaged with a
roe-deer cutlet at a restaurant in Begent
street, or lighting his pipe and mixing bis
toddy on bis return borne, while he was
descanting on Barbour and Drummond and
Sir David Lindesay, or Bamsay. and Fer
guson, and Burns. People were beginning
to leave town; Vincent Harris had received
and declined an invitation to join a big
house party in the far wilds of Boss, not
withstanding that it was to the same hnnsn
that Mrs. Ellison and Lord Musselburgh
were going; but old George Betbune and his
granddaughter appeared to pay no heed to
the, changing times and seasons; their placid,
uneventful life seemed quite enough for
them. And was it not enough fur
this youog man also, who had been ad
mitted to be their constant associate and
friend? Why shonld he rex himself about
literary schemes tbat were none of his de
rising? Day by day he wared a good morn
ing to Maisrie as she came to water her flow
ers, and an answer came from hersmiling
eyes; sometimes he walked out into the
parks in the afternoon, with her grand
father and herself, and even he rejoiced to
see that the fine peach-bloom on ber cheek
was surmounting the sun-tinre that had
been left there by travel; then in the even
iug they had all London to choose from, as
to where ther should dine, with a quiet
stroll homeward thereafter, to music, and
dominoes, and careless talk. Wbat more?
The great outer world might go on its way,
and welcome.
But Master Vin was about to be startled
out of this dreamful ease. At last there
came an answer to the communication he
had sent to the editor of the Western Scots
man, with many apologies for unavoidable
delay; Mr. Anstruther, it appeared, had
been in Canada, taking his annual holiday
among his kinsmen ami countrymen there.
"I must say your letter has astonished me
beyond mea ure," the writer went on, "and
I would lain believe that there is some great
mistake somewhere, which is capable of ex
planation. It is quite true that when I
gave my venerable friend, Mr. Bethune, a
note of introdnctiou to Lord Musselburgh,
I was, aware that he had in view various
literary projects in fact, his brain ttems
with tbem as if he were a young man of five-and-twenty
the perfervidum ingeniuin
Scotorum in his case has . taken hold of his
imagination; but I cannot understand how
he could hare included in these the publica
tion of a volume on the Scottish poets in
America, for the simple reason that he must
have known that such a work was not only
in progress here, but that it was- near com
pletion. Why, I myself showed Mr. Be
thnne proofs of the early sheets of this vol
ume; for the author is a particular friend of
mine; and as it was being set up, he used to
Beau me me sneets as tney were printed; and
Mr. Bethune being in the habit of call
ing at my ofEe, I not only showed 'them to
him, but I fancy I let him take
some of them away, that he might
read them at his leisure. How he should
now propose to bring out a similar work
and bespeak Lord Musselburgh's patronage
for it, as I presume he did passes my com
prehension, except that, being an old man,
he may have suffered from some temporary
attack oi mental aberration and lorgetiul
ness. I would ra'ther believe this than tbat
a man whom I had taken for a thorough Scot,
loyal and true to the backbone, and proud
of his country as his own name and lineage,
should be endeavoring to supplant another
worker who is already in possession of the
field. However, no actual harm can be
done, for the publication I speak of is on
the eve of publication, and no doubt it will
be issued simultaneously in England. That
is all I have to say on a subject which at
present seems to me to have something of a
painlul aspect tbongh I hope a satisfactory
explanation may be forthcoming. In con
clusion may I beg you to keep this letter
private? The facts are as I have stated, but
I would rather Mr. Bethune did not know
you had them from me.
"Yours faithfully,
"Hugh Anstbutheb."
For some time Vincent Harris sat with
this letter in his hand, in a sort of stupefac
tion. Curiously enough his first question to
himself was What if Mrs. Ellison shonld
get to know? would she not triumphantly
declare that her worst suspicions had been
confirmed? That was bdt a first thought
There must be some explanation; He had
not associated so continually with old George
Bethune he had not heard his voice thrill
with proud emotion as be spoke of Scot
land's hills and dales he had not seen his
eyes fill with unbidden tears as he talked of
his granddaughter and the loneliness that
might be in store for her all for nothing;
nol at once could he be convinced that this
old man was a mere charlatan, a thief, a begging-letter
impostor. But he had been
startled, and when be reached his lodgings
in that small thoroughfare, he hardly dared
look across the way; he knew not what to
think.
To ie Continued: Next Sunday.
This week, a first look at new fall dress
goods; English r.ui tings, plaids, chevioU.etc
ttssu , Huaus.& Haokb.
. U - ' ' SV
SUNDAY. AUGUST 24,
COLORADO'SWONDERS
Nature's Phenomena on the Way
From the Springs to Leadville.
A PEEP IKTO THE KOTAL GORGE.
Evening Scenes In the Big Sulphur Baths
at Glenwood Springs.
THE BTQEX OP A I0UXG COUPLE'S WOE
rcoBxxsroxnxxcx or tux eisfatcb.1
ThOMASVTLLE,
Col., August 20.
The trip from Col
orado Springs to
Leadville by rail is
a varied one. Down
the Fouotain-quI-Boule
to Pueblo,
the agricultural as
pect of the foot hills merges into that of the
sheep industry of the true plains, and a
sort of hybridism of rural lite pervades.
Tne Fountain, as it is usually, styled, while
the water from the melting snows of Pike's
Peak are constantly poured into its well
marked channel, is one of those streams
that has the peculiar trick of disappearing
for miles at a stretch ieaviog a dry bed,
and then coming up again. So agriculture
is rather uncertain on its borders.
From Pueblo, the ride is up the val
ley of the Arkansas, where the cereals, in
cluding maize, rival those of the East, es
pecially this year. Apple orchards of fair
growth and proportions checker the broad
bottoms, while small fruit bushes are' seen
in abundance. The train .whistles, the
brakeman mumbles Florence, and what is
this? Tank and side track, steam pump and
refinery everywhere aboundl Why this is
like Pennsylvania! We are in the oil re
gions of Colorado, and the pldjsr, the pick
and the corral have given place to
DEEEICK AND DBILIA
A few minutes farther on and we are in
Canyon City famons for its rich gardens,
its dusty streets, its hard coal, its mineral
springs aud its penitentiary. It enjoys the
reputation also of being a fine winter resort
for invalids. Judging from its temperature
the day we passed through, I should think
it might meet expectations. Kpw our train
plunges into the canyon of the Arkansas,
and in a few miles we are in the midst of
what is coobidered the finest piece of rail
road scenery in the world.
The Boyal Gorge, of which so much is
written is, aside from that of the Colorado
river, the deepest gorge in the world. . Its
sheer ruggedness is its greatest attraction.
There is no great element of beauty, aside
from grandeur, that enters into it ' The eye
from below fails to appreciate its great
height I do not know what its height is at
present Colorado is a growing State.
There is no reason why its canyons should
not grow with it Ten years ago the depth
wis piaced at a Utile over 2,300 feet At
Pueblo as we passed they had it 2,600 and
the brakeman said as we were going through
that it was 2,800. At that rate it will stand
second to none soon.
AIT AWFUL SIGHT.
The railroad people, it is said, talk of
putting in an elevator at the Leon's Leap,
the deepest place, so that patrons can go
above and look down into the awful chasm.
Tears ago I drove around to the point just
above the iron bridge and took this fearful
peep -the most awful sight, unassisted by
any kind of motion or force that I ever be
held. I have seen a lady take a peep, catch
a glimpse of the silver thread of water be
low, place her hands over her eyes, and run
away never to be induced to look again. I
remember that I felt better as I looked, be
cause the rope I held on to was tied seenrely
to a strong pine tree some distance back.
Conceive that you could take the blocks out
between two of your parallel streets for half
a mile, if Pittsburg has them, that you
could stand the notch up on end and look
down into it, and you may get some idea oi
this depth. No photographs either from
above or below can do it justice. Your cor
respondent attempted it above the heads of
the wild throng on the observation car, but
it was a failure a few wondering faces a
wall ot rugged rocks, but no srrasD of Its
grandeur.
Soon the canyon flares and anon expands
Into a valley, dotted, with ranch and wood
camp, and the little town of Salida busy
and interesting the creature of the railroad
and the mines claims your interest Here
the present route to Utah leads over the
famous Marshall pass, but our route still
leads up the Arkansas to Leadville. The
Marshall and his brass buttons was at the
depot when we arrived, but he must have
gone over bis pass, for a drunken brawl be
neath mv window went unqnelled that
night Perhaps he was at home a candi
date for re-election.
WHEBE HAT COSTS MONET.
The remainder of the ride is uninteresting,
save the peculiar boldness of Mounts Princ
ton, Yale and Harvard, the passage through
Buena Vista famous for its mines and
mixed population, and some famous hay
ranches just below Leadville, which in the
old freighting days before the railroads came
made their owners rich. Plenty of hay at
8150 to 5200 per ton was equal to carbonates
in camp.
Leadville, in most senses is still a mining
camp easily the first in the world. It
still shows and will long continue to show
its temporary construction. Itsjioh mines
will long perpetuate its existence, but
against its growth as a city, there are heavy
odds.
by only the strongest and while its output
is very large, little of it outside of the
necessary expenses, is expended here. The
dividends go East as cash exported, at
- &t.a oti.i4.uuc reauers it naoitaDie
least as lar as Denver. Many of the fine
residences and blocks 'of that city are the
result of "striking it in Leadville." The
class of people who reside here, while many
are highly cultured, are not calculated to
give Leadville a permanent and cultured
society. They are not there for society.
Said the wile of a prominent physician
there: "I'm on my way to lower ground.
It does not agree with me here. My
husband has a large practice. As soon as
he accumulates something we will go else
where. It is largely the way with others.
Yes, I think there is one brick residence in
Leadville. Oh, I will borne back now and
then, but I can't stay long."
BATHING. IN THE 8PBINGS.
Glenwood Springs has had its boom.
While it is now in the reactionary state 'it
gives evidences of much enterprise. Its
population is perhaps 2,500, and its chief
attraction is the great quantity of hot sul
phur water that bubbles out of the banks of
the Grand. Back under high bluffs are
cavernous basins filled with sulphurous
steam in which the invalid may take a
rapor bath of nature's own preparing. Be
low on the other side man has caught the
healing flow in artificial basins, and bnilt
avast plunge pool and 'magnificent bath
house costiug 80:000, atfd contemplates a
hotel on the beautiiul terrace near, costing J
Bulphur Spring and Pool.
1890.
300,000. Fountains sparkle in the electrle
light, and during the sultry nights for
wbich,tbis place is famous, youth, beauty,
middle-age, ill-shape and awkwardness don
a bathing suit and meet here upon a com
mon level.
At times the uninitiated attempt it in the
daytime. I saw a lithe young man and a
burly, red-headed girl, of rather rotund
proportions, that not reckoning on the Glen-
xwood sun, had plunged in at noon. Myl
out It was bot They bad gotten into a
depth that was bevond the girl's length.
She conld not swim a stroke, and he, by
tiptoeing it. could just touch bottom. He
sustained his lair burden with much effort
A CALL FOB WHITE HOBSES.
.When I saw them last he had towed her
(in two senses) to the fountain, and the 140
pound maiden, with her shoulders burued
as red as her hair, was lolling ungracefully
about upon the sulphurous billow, and the
youth looked as though be wonld not only
like to see a gray horse, bnt a whole team
of tbem to help banl this girl out Now
the iountain spray blew this way and that,
and it comes from the city water mains,
that are fed br a mountain stream and its
temperature and that ot the pool is quite
contrasting.
He was all blown with fatigue, the girl
was ireezing, and the dilemma was getting
distressing, especially as there was a man
on the bank with a detective camera in his
hand. The natural delicacy of a newspaper
reporter came to me, so I snapped my
Bath Bouse at Olenwood Springs.
shutter at the sad spectacle and left; bnt
either the f"g of the fountain spray or the
red rays reflected from the lassie's hair pre
vented aclinic action, for I got no picture.
But I think it safe to state, without really
being able to swear to it, tbat that young
couple took their natatory exercises after
this later in the day, further from the foun
tain and in the shallower water.
James Newton Baskett-.
STAMPS OK A CIGAR BOX.
There Are Lota of Tbrm and Ther Tell the
Wins Smoker a Great Deal
New Tork San.
It requires somewhat close observation to
note all the marks on a cigar box. On a
box of imported cigars, for instance, there
is branded the mark of the manufacturer.
It is seldom that connterfeit brands are
found on imported cigars, as the import
stamp is a guarantee that the cigar
has gone through the Custom House. This
stamp is put on first Each of the Havana
factories has its stamp, the Garcia, the Clay,
the Carolina, or whatever it may be, on the
lid of the box. It may be hid afterward by
the revenue stamp and lithographs, but the
first thing done is to brand the name on
The name of the factory cannot be taken off
without planing into the lid, but the brand
ot the quality and color can.
Before the cigars are put in the box is
further branded with the color, "claro,"
"Colorado claro," "Colorado," "colnrado
maduro," "maduro," or, as known to
Americans, very mild, mild, medium, fairly
strong, and strong. These are not enongh
grades to mark the various distinctions in
color and strength, bnt they are generally
approximated. Some brands of Colorado
claro cigars are milder than the claro cigars
of other brands, but the mildest ones are al
ways put into the claro boxes. There has
been some change in tbe strictness of mark
ing in recent years caused by the fact that
the American trade prefers Colorado claro
and claro to the madura and Colorado ma
dura. When tbe box has been marked in this
way it is filled and the final tacks are put
in. The manufacturer usually then pastes
some advertisements on it in order that the
box may not be opened and other cigars
substituted without its being evident to the
purchaser. Manufacturers have labels
which they paste over tbe seams, which
contain advertisements aud notices of
various kinds.
It arrives with tons of thousands of other
boxes and is examined by an inspector. He
pastes over it the import stamp, so that the
box cannot be opened without destroying
tbe stamp. When filled up the stamp shows
not only that the cigars went through the
Custom House, but the steamer in which
they came, the port at which they were en
tered, tbe date at which they were received
and stamped, and the name of the inspector
who stamped tbem. This is an unfailing
certificate of the length of time the cigar
has been in this country.
When the import stamp has been posted
on the box, the internal revenue stamp is
put on before the cigars can be sold. The
internal revenue stamp is a cheaper affair
on blnish green paper. It is canceled at
the same time that it is put on. and with a
stamp which, if it were plain, might show
the date; but this stamping is done much
more hastily and does not aid in the history
of the cigar.
A cigar box with an internal revenue
stamp on it and no import stamp does not
once in 50,000 times contain imported cigars,
smuggled or otherwise. Some of the ficti
tious smugglers wbo go around among
downtown offices and peddle cigar which
tbey say are imported, produce them in
boxes with only the internal revenue stamp
on. Smuggled cigars have no stamps what
ever. HUHTIJTOr THE WAttTTTTint,
The Sportsman Who Geta a Shot at One
Nowaday Iain Lack.
Illustrated News of the World.
The "markhar," or wild mountain goat,
of the Western Himalayas, is one of the
animals most difficult for the huntsman to
stalk. Unlike the ibex, he starts off at1 the
firsr shot; and, unless he has been severely
woundea, is not likely to be seen again.
Captain B. B. James' experiences are thus
related in some extracts from his shopling
diary:
"From April 26 fo May 6 I saw a mark
har now and again, but never fired off my
rifle, except at a brown bear, who came close
to my tent one morning when I was at break
fast On May 6, at 4:30 A. M., I started
with Wali Mohammed in the evening.
I made out a markhar, on a point of rock,
standing out from a steep khud, about 600
yards off. A ter a long round we got above
him, and looking over a rock, with the
shikaree holding on to me to prevent my
going over, I saw the markhar still in the
same place. 7t was an awtward shot,
straight down; but I fired, and saw bim
half jump, half fall, off the point of the
rock.
"After another long climb, we found bim,
with his horns smashed to pieces, about 800
feet below whpre he had fallen from. It
was too late to get back, so I slpt in my
felt bag, and got home to camp and to an
easy day with a novel next morning. I got
one more markbar, not a good one, for the
district is nearly shot ont, and picked up a
splendid head, with horns nearly 40 inches
long, while looking about near my tent one
morning. On May 20 I started lor Bangns
for bears, of which I bagged five, and on
July 4 set off for Baltistan, to look for ibex
in the Shigar nullahs."
HantlnsT iboOrchtd.
Orchid hunters go to the Phillipine Is
lands year alter year, travel far into the
virgin forests of tbe interior, and emerge
again after months of absence, if fever and
the Tagalos spare them, with a few baskets
full or strange flowers which- tney carry
iiume wiui innmte precaution, and sen lor a
king's ransom. One collector recently sold
a Diannor ivu.
1
ONLY ONE ANSWER
To the Question of the Importance of
the Body and SouL
IT HATTERS LITTLE ABOUT OHE,
Bat let Host People Live far It to tbe
Reject of the Other.
EET. ME. HODGES' WEEKLY BEEMOU
rWBlTTIX TOB TSZ DISFJ.TCH.1
Heaven and earth meet in every human
being. We are made in the image of God
we have a soul; but we are also a kind of
animal we have a body. The Lord's ques
tion, which is better, which shall we ac
count more valuable, the soul or the body?
would seem to be the easiest question in tie
world. There is only one answer to it It
answers itself.
It is true that in the lives of men another
'answer seems often to be given. Some peo
ple appear to be of the opinion that between
the body and the soul we should put the
body first; that he makes the most
of life who is able to live like
a well-fed and well-sheltered animal.
And we find people who seem to live like
horses, eating, working, sleeping, respecta
bly stabled, content with their wages, and,
so far as anybody can see, desirous of noth
ing higher. And we find people who ap
pear to live like squirrels, wbo, haying a
home of their own and a big pile of golden
beechnuts hidden away in a hole they call a
bank, are apparently therewith content
They seem to desire nothing more than a
merely animal comfort But this is only
an emphatic contrast between the real and
the ideal. Every hnman animal has some
where in his heart the answer to the Lord's
question.
cannot hate peace.
No man who lives selfishly, narrowly,
looking down and not up, following the
baser aims of life, forgetting his divine
sonship and the heavenly possibilities that
are in him, paying no heed to that side of
his nature which differences bim from the
animals, taking no thought for tbe eternal
morrow, taking no care of his soul no such
man is satisfied with himself. In his heart
he is uneasy, discontented, dissatisfied with
himself. And when we come to such a one
and say, in words hallowed bv devout as
sociations and as true as truth: "Brother,
there is a light witbin thee; resist it and
tbou art miserable, follow it and thou art
happy," we speak straight to the heart of
that man. He knows that that is so. And
that irresistible response of erery man'3
heart is a testimony to the precioosness of
the soul.
The most precious thing anybody has is
his soul. The body dies. This body is not
iuai oouy wmen snan De, except, poten
tially, as a seed is a flower. God will give
each of us another body, as it shall please
Him.. We shall all be changed in body.
You may wear out your eyes with late
work or hard reading, but you will see
with perfect clearness, when "you come to
look upon the face of Christ You may not
hear very well in this body, bnt that will all
be changed not a note will be lost from the
orchestral harmonies of heaven. You may
go out of this mortal life halt or maimed,
but you will enter sound and whole into tbe
life immortal. The body will be changed.
THE soul doesn't change.
But that is not true of the souL Death is
no physician for the sonl. Out of this life
into the next, passes the soul unchanged.
How it sobers one to think of thati On goes
the undyingand unchanging soul theblind
soul, blind still; the deaf soul, deaf still;
he that is unjust, unjust still; he tbat is
nitby, mtby still; he tnat is righteous, right-
aa. till T .v .. ..!... 1 ! t .1
wu own. Aiair u tiwr iiuu, lay oroiner,
among the good things of life, between the
temporary and the permanent That
whioh lasts is alone worth anything. That
which is temporary is like the pleasure of
the prodigal. It U delightful lor a time,
but the end is satiety and disgust and re
gret and remorse. You can have success
and pleasure, plenty of it, ir you put the
bodyfirst You can enjoy yourself like a
human animal. But you will be conscious
unceasingly that that sort of thing cannot
go on forever.
xou will find yourself in moments of de
pression, in seasons of reflection, thinking
about the future. The crucial question
which tests all that is temporary in buman
life is in two words "and then?" You
will be rich, yes and then? You will have
a good time, and surround yourself with
pleasure well, and then? You will retire
from work and live in comfort and then?
Ont of the dim bacsground of the heart
comes forward, step by step.into the light as
the years pass, this irresistible interrogation
with warning and questioning finger, ask
ing at first faintly, and then iomlcr nH
louder, always this inevitable and then?
and thed? Well, then what? You will
die. After all is told, what then? I must
die. And then what? You and I must be
brought low some day and die. And then,
who has made the most of lile? Then,
which is" of more value, soul or body. Then,
what has a man profited, though he has
gained the whole world, it he has to lose
his own soul?
THE CEEATOE'S LAW.
For here comes in another thought This
soul of yours, this infinitely most precious
of all tbo posseesions that you have you
may love it You may love your soul. On
goes the soul into the other life
unchanged. Alone of all that you
hive and are to-day, that will remain.
That Is why the next life depends so abso
lutely on tbis because the soul passes on
unchanged. All the possibilities of future
misery grow straight out ot that truth. For
the punishments of God are not penalties,
but consequences. Punishment will follow
sin, not as in our world of buman justice,
but asin God's world of nature. Punishment
will follow sin, as result follows cause. The
fire does not burn you, because God is angry.
Whed you fall, you do not break yonr arm
oecause uoa Is angry. And God does not
make that persistent question and then?
fearful and unanswerable by you. because
Godis angry. No; you may lose yoursoul,
but it will be absolutely your own act.
God's wise and loving law governing all
things iu heaven and earth, simply declares
if you do tbis, tbat will follow.
Take it iu the natural world, lou may
lose your sight How? By not seeing, by
shutting your eyes, by keeping away rom
the light You may 'lose the use of your
arm. Let it hang by your side six months
and then try to lilt with it You may lose
your mind by not using it You may lose
your body by not feeding it, or by giving
it wrong food, or by otherwise not "using or
misusing it. It is one of the great universal,
inevitable laws of God that we must "use
and improve or lose."
THE SIN OF OMISSION.
So you may lose your soul. Do not think
you must do some act of deadly sin or live
persistently in open and flagrant wicked
ness in order to lose your soul. Is there no
way of committing suicide except by cut
ting one's throat or shooting oneself in the
head? Can't a man starve himself to death?
That takes a longer time, it is true; but
isn't a man just as effectually dead at tbe
end of it as if he had blown himself up with
dynamite?
'Neglect your soul. Befuse to listen to its
voice till it grows dumb." Turn away,
whenever, as in a sermon, the voice of God
wonld speak to it; do not let the voice of
God get the hearing of your soul till it
grows deaf. Keep good thoughts out of your
soul, and helpful deeds out o your life and
holy books out of your sight starve your
soul. Do n6t pray; do not think of religious
things. Quick! think of something else
when a sober thougbtbegins to get the better
of you.
God calls for volunteers in the hard fight
of tbe church against the world, the flesh
and the devil. You know tbat be calla you.
He wantt'your influence. He wants yonr
work.. He wants yonr heart
He wants) von and everybody else who.
JUt really .on the .side of righteoosftes
to stand up bravely and say so. And you
think for a moment that this year you will
take that step that this week or this day
you will enroll yourself among those who
want to live a higher li e. But wait Con
sider a little. What is the hurry? Why
won't next year do as well? Put away the
halt-formed resolution. Lire 'or yonr body;
lire for this life only; and as for your soul,
If t that take care of itiel and if you do
not lose yonr soul, then fire will not burn
your hand, and falling over a cliff will not
bruise you, and all the other unchangeable
laws of the universe of God will prore lalse.
AN TJNALTEEABLE LAW.
My friends, here is a law inevitable and
universal. It is not in the Bible only; it is
not in the words of the religions teacher
only; it is just as plainly in the principle
with which impartial science deals; it is
just as visibly in the irresistible conclusions
of our human reason tbat we are warned
that we may lose our souls. If you are
doing nothing for yonr sonl, if you are
neglecting prayer and worship and holy
thinking and religious living if you are
not caring for the culture ot all that part of
yon which will alone survive the change of
death, if that which is temporal is filling
up your life, so that that which is eternal is
being crowded out, there is no need for me
to tell yon what will happen. You know
yourselr. Use your soul, or you will lose
your sonl.
Now this soul of yours, this most precious
thing ot all that you possess; this precious
possession, so delicate and sensitive that if
you do not care for it, it will die, like a
tender plant; what would you rather have
than it? What will you sell it for to the
devil?
I have read a fable of one who sold his
soul to the devil with this condition: That
if ever he wearied of bis bargain, he might
get somebody else to change places with
bim, if be could. And after years of that
round 01 fiendish pleasure,which is described
so vividly in thestrangestoryo! Dr. Faustus,
and the equally strange story of Dr. Jekvll,
he did grow weary of his bargain, and' ho
offered to tike the place of anybody who
wonld take his place, and give his sonl to
the devil in his stead. He went to t e beggar,
and offered wealth uncountable; to the con
demned murdererand offered lileand liberty;
to the sick, distressed, tortured, dying, and
offered health and happiness if they would
onlysell theirsouls. Bnt nobody would do it
No hnman creature could he find who, for
any promise whatsoever, would barter his
immortal soul.
PAWNING THEIE SOTTLS.
Yet men and women do sell their souls for
next to nothing; even giveaway their souls
for nothing at all. Yes; but never directly,
never driving any conscious bargain with
the devil; never saying: "Give me so much
money. SO much Sinful nlcmnre n mnrh
careless ease, and take my soul." The old
legends were not quite true to life when
tbey painted people trading away their
souls. They would have drawn closer to
the miserable truth had they represented
Satan as a merchant keeping store at the
sign of the three gilded balls, and men and
women coming and not selling their souls
not tbat but putting them in pawn, and
feeling very sure that after they had used
up so many dollars, or so many sins, or so
many thoughtless years, they could redeem
tbem. People are every day pawning their
sonls. They just let the devil take care of
their souls for a little while. If you are
not taking care of your soul the devil is
taking care of it for you, he has it in his
pawnshop, and wbat shall a man zire in
exchange lor his soul?
The day will come when all that goes to
make life pleasant, all that seems desirable
in it, will appear in comnarison with our
soul, as worthless as bags of gold in a sinking
ship in comparison with loaves of bread.
You remember how two boats got parted as
a ship was going down, and by some acci
dent one had all the gold on board and the
other all the bread. And as tne distance
widened between them a man stood up in
one boat, holding in his hand a bag of
bullion, and shouted, "Fifty thousand dol
lars for a loaf of bread!" It was bread he
wanted then, not gold.
It is the possession of a good conscience,
and the remembrance of a religious life,
and a soul fnll of faith and hope, which we
will want one day more than all the world
beside. Then, if never before, the soul will
be everything, and all else as nothing. On
into the other life will pass the sonl just as
it is, tbe undying and unchanging soul, and
what that other life shall be will depend
upon the soul alone.
Geoege Hodges.
A HEW GOLIATH.
The Strang Sinn From Weiiphalla
ua
Storira of Lord Arthur Cecil
Pall Mall Budzet.
Herr Sandow,wbo,it will be remembered,
defeated Samson in a conquest at the Aquar
ium, has unearthed iu Westphalia, and
brought to London for exhibition pur
poses, a gentleman who is hence orth to be
known as "Goliath." This prodigy is said
to possess the following peculiarities: One
of his bands will easily cover a shoulder of
mutton; the ring he wears on his forefiner is
in circumference the size of half-a-crown:he
can span a foot from thumb to third finger;
he can easily lift 800 pounds at once; he has
has never been defeated as a wrestler; and,
finally, he is stated to have, in a contest
with a mad cow, easily turned it on its back
and held it tbeie.
"With reference to the statement that the
new Westphalian strong man, 'Goliath,'
once laid a cow upon its back by its horns,
it may interest your readers," writes a cor
respondent, "to know that Lord Arthur
Cecil, a balf-brotherof Lord Salisbury, once
told me a similar incident in connection
with himself. Lord Arthur, though a short
man, is of giant physique and enormous
strength. He was one day walking through
a field on his farm at Innerleithen, when a
young bull rushed at htm. Instead of turn
ing tail, Lord Arthur coolly seized the ani
mal by bis horns and pushed him back,
wriggling and struggling inch by inch, till
he got him into bis stall, where he left him
cowering and trembling all oyer.
It was Lord Arthur who on one occa
sion, when traveling by rail, bade his
new man-servant get the tickets, which the
mau did procuring two first-class tickets,
and seating himself in the same carriage
with his master. Lord Arthur said nothing
at tbe moment, but the next time he bought
the tickets himself, one first-clas, one
third, and, giving the man the first-class
ticket be traveled third himself. On the
next occasion the servant, being again en
trusted with the task, toot two third-class
tickets.
STATESMEN'S ATTITUDES.
If Engllih Papers Ar la bs Trailed tha &
P.'j Are Nol Very Dfarninrd.
Below Is an illustration taken from the
Pall Hall Budget showing the parliamentary
attitude of Sir George CampbelL The paper
may ne a little prejudice 1 xgdiud Mr.
Campbell, but if tbe attitude is correct, we
can well stand a 'comparison of Ceflgrwa.
auu jrariuuaesi.