irT.iiits 01P I°,IIIIILIV - SkTION s
! •
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Handbills, Blanks, Cards, Pamphlets, Blilbeads,
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Vitsittess §aTbs.
INIADILL & KINNET,
Arroinmvs-AT-LAW.
OMee—Rooms formerly oce . upled by Y. M. C. A
Reading Room.
U. J. MADILL.
3,18,80
AYES. E.. J. PEREJGO,
TEACIIEII Of PIANO AND WIGAN
Lessons given In Thorough 'Hass and Harmony .
Cultivation of the voice a specialty. tocated at A
SL Reverence: Mining St Passage
Towanda, Va., March 4; 1880.
t IiGIEIN W. CORDING,
I.:Tow:EY-AT-LAW, TOWANDA, PA
Oftle over Klrbrs Drut Store. ..
tr.; OMAS E. MYER
L,
TOWANDA, rn
`Zee with Patrick and Foyle. Sep :5,'79
DECK & OVERTON
ATTOHNEYS-AT 1.4 W,
TOWANDA, T.'
D'A. OVEIZTON,
tiODSEY A. IktERUR,
ATrtintiftY AT-LA•iv, •
TOWANDA, PA.,
St.llt.ltor of Patents. Particular attCntlon paid
to tininess In tta Orphans Court and to the iettle
utcnt of estates.
Of are In Montanycs !Doer:
OVERTON &,,S.O
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW,
TOWANDA, PA.
E. ON EnsoN. J se
TIT H. JESSUP,
•
ATTORNEY AND CO-L:NSELLOR-AT-LAW;
MONTROSE, PA.
.111.1 go .Tegsnp having resumed the pratdireot the
law In Northern, Penii,ylvarila, wilt attend to any
legal business l ntrinded to Mon In liradlord countv.
rcrsons - wishing" to consult Win. can '1 4 211 on H.
Streeter, Towanda, Pa., when an appointment
can he malt,
FIENRY STItEETER,
• • •
ATV . :II[O: EY ANII (:7(4I,z7.:SELLOR-AT-LAW,
Ti/WANDA, PA
TT L. TOWNER, M. D.,
110S1'EO1'ATHIC PHYSICIAN AND SITIZG EON.
rt..lh.shlence and Oates Just North of Dr. or
hits ou Maio Street, A then& i'a. Diti2n.ntn.
T+ L. 111144.1§,
A.
AtTORNEY,AT-LAW,
• TOWAN6A, PA.
, E. F. GOFF,
ATTOIt N EY-A T-LAW,
WI - AMUSING, VA
Atzency. for the sale and purchase of all kinds‘of
Seeuritl.•s and for utalttug loans „lon lleat Estate.
All lousiness will receive careful and proupt
atteuthon. iJune 4. 1879.
•11. THOMPSON, ATTORNEY
• vs LAW, WI NG, VA. Wttl attend
to all !,11 , 1111.5S iatitrtiQted to his care In Drad ford,
hullican and Wyonling.Couidles,. °Dark wttt F.:41.
rortrr. e :norl9-71.
BULL,
SURVEYOR
140;1N SCIWEVINi: AND DRAFTING.
I'o Qtcc u ith (i. F: 31 ( a.0a, over Patch dr Tracy
Main street, Towanda, Pa. 4. 15. M.
1 - 4_ l If. ANGLE, D. D. S
•
OPERATIVE NI) '.NrEcit ANIgALi DENTIST
(infte bn State Street, second door of Dr. Pratt's
apr 3 79.
ELSBREE ,C; SON,
A Tron Aw, ,
T+ /NV A N DA, rA.:
N. C. FIL,Bni.Y...
~ICI'IIERSON,
T.
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW;
TOWANDA, PA.
Piv't Att . !, Vra.t.
71►IIN WA.MIX,
f
ATI'n:~:LY•AT-t.AW AND Co3niissloNEn,
T.bwANDA, PA
, fb ce—North Side P übl lc 21i uarcl
SAM NT.,IIVOK,
IAT T , ,ILV T-L A IV,
To 11 - A SL .4, I' E.S A" .4
(1111;:x—, P,tplar street. oppo,ite Ward
II , \ 1,.9.
i- DAVO.:S A: CA11:0(11I4k:',;,
A TTOIIN
:311‘E Qv NY NI 1) .
Doe 23-75; 1 4 . NV NS P
ANDREW 'll' 1
II
ik
i ATT.III , ::*: AT-I , W.
ome,-..., , Aq.an.; RT,,,1,. 11,1,0 , •,...r . J. 1.. }CM's
alorr, Towaada. May lA. olusal Ted In -rman,
r A prt l r 2".... •7 ,, ,.1
-.
- r .1. YOU.NG,
• ATTolivEy-AT-I,r, .
, . TowA ~." I) A, PA.
othee—.o,ol,4, do o r ,outh of the First Nat!onal
Slain St., up ,tair.s.
W.M. MAXWELL,,
ATToItNEY-AT-LAW
Ti .W A N I).k, PA.
0 (lire flspr Dayton's Store.
;" .April 12 , f 1576. `.
..
III:.( 1
S. M. NVOODBURN, Physi
,ll,.'::,l‘.l .r u .•on. Vll:ce at it:Wl:lice. en
~.^ rint• •••tr..:et.--F. - . 3 , 1 . ef Main..
,
.1 ., ,NN “... ' : I ~ . S l:.y I, 1.,71: ly•
a E . I7 T T I
T , eth iti•ortell atA Al
umni= ba , o. Teeth extruded without pain.
- VI D. l'A YNEI. M. D...
1 1
SuIk:FINI
e .aver nntun Storo. I)(flee tiovs trona
to 1:: A. `4, a::.1 trt , lTi 2 to 4
rate ration given t'
111-1--I.l.trESi DISEASE:,
TE E Elf k TflE EAR
-
- V
NJ •
R 17 . A N ,
eurNTY
11.4 .sattirrtny of em•ti 11101.1. h. over Turner
o.3r4uu's Drug Sitar, Ttrknutla,•ra. ".
T. wa,.4a, .rtulP 2P. IS7N.
. .
S. RUSSELL'S
GENERAL - .
INSURANCE AGENCY
Vf 1 ... • 7A • r
F ißsr NATIONAL BANK,
TOW AN DA, PA
(A I'ITAL PAID IN
41freri unusual facilities for the trans
it I:ca of a general bauking'husiness.
J. POW Prebldeut
)111S. TL I'EET,
LA (' lla ¢ uI , PIANO 31 V6I C,
T ERM S.—f 10 per term.
Third street, Ist ward.)
T.,, aTi.t, Jan. 1a:79-Iy.
ET . YOUR
kJ
Jo.n PRINTING
at the REPORTER OFFICE, oppoldte tau
House, Towanda. Colored work a fiporlalty
'COODRICH & HITCHCOCK. Publishers.
VOLUME XLI.
Ugder the blue New England slaw',
Floated with sunshine a valley lies.
The mountains clasp It, warm and sweet,
Like a sunny child to their rocky feet.
MI
Three pearly I tea a hundred streams
Lie on Its quiet heart of dreams.
Its mesd.,ws are greenest ever seen ; •
Its harvest fivis have the brightest sheen ;
DE=
Through Its trees the softest sunlight shakes,
And the whitest lilies gem Its lakes.
I love, oh : better than the words can tell,
Its every rock and grove and dell;
But most I loyo thetorge where, the rill
Conies down by the old brown elder mill
•
Above the clear springs gurgle out •
And the upper tncadows wlnd.about . ;
Then Join, and under.wlllows flow • •
•Iloundknolls where hlue.beachi Whipstocks grow,
To rest In a shaded pool that keeps.
The oak trees clasped In Its crystal deeps.
Sheeer twenty feet In the water falls•
Down from the old dam•, broken walls,
Spatters the knobby bowldera gray,
And, laughing, cites in the shade away
Under great rocks, through trOut poola still,
With many a tumble down to the mtlf.
All the way down the nut trees grow,
And :.flubrels hide above and below.
BENJ. M. BECK
Acorns. beechnuts, cheslittite there
Drop all the fall through the hazy alr';
And burrs roll down with curled up leaves, 4
In the mellow llght l ot harvest eves.
Forever theretLe 4111, old trees
Driuk a , s lue of peace that has uo lees
1311132
111 the roadside stands the cider
Where a lowland Slumber waits the rat ;
DERV,X, ,
A great brown building, two stories Me,
Ou the western bill-face warm and dry ;
JOUN F. SANTMESON
Aud odorous piles of apples there
Fill with Incense the golden air;
And heaps of pumice, mixed wlth.straw, •
T. their amber sweets thedatc tiles draw. ,
The carts back up to the upper duor4 .
And spill their treasures in on the loor.
is.
Down through the toothed wheels hey go
Tu the wide, deep cider press bet+. ' '
And the screws are turned by slow degrees
Down on the straw-laid cider cheese; . '•
And each with turn a fuller strealp
Bursts from beneaththl; groanimfbeatn.
An atpher stream the gods might Gip,
And fear no motrovrs parched II ;
It 1 .
Rut whurefore'Vdsu, Those fdle Ills
Were soulless '..0 reai; l tiew England buys.
What ria , sic guid i--...et ever felt .
SOch trilling tou'eld.s Iluitigh It melt,
) el, 27, 79
As throb electric along a straw,
Whet ,the boyish lips the chlei draw?
ft ovll-75
The years are heavy , with weary sounds,
Alia their discords Itte's sweet music drowus;
Itut yet I beat, cdt: meet, oh: tweet,
The rill that bathed rny hare, brown feet ;
Anil yet tLe cider drips and falls—
tln :ay Inward ear at Interval.s
And 1 lead at times In a sad, sattet dream,
To the that little stream;
And I sit In ixfslolied autumn still,
tlie surmy 4dor'of the chler
How I Became a Murderer.
." Thou shalt do no murder." I
suppose that the response which sane
men and women. make in church to
the sixth commandment is about the
emptiest and most formal prayer of
which they are ever guilty. Ask
yourself, reader, if
.. you have the
faintest ghost of affiiticy in you that,
under any Concelviible, or imagina
ble, combination ; of impossible cir
onmstanNs you eppld eVer pray with'
weaning ,to be alivered from the
temptation to murder in cold blood
a fellow-man or fellow-wonian. You
have read history, and you read the
newspapers, and you know that mur
'ders arc not uncommon things; But,
nevertheless, you think of' them as
belonging to an outside world, with
which 'you—otherwise than as a just
possible victim—cannot possiblyhave
any sort of concern. You 'would as
soon think of praying to be delivered
from the sin of witchcraft as froth
1-I , ,tsiotKe
y'll l'7B
IMMEM
the sin of murder. They are, alike,
impossibilities to yop. Of course, I
assume you to be oft the type of the
average reader-sane. but for a few
harmless' and prot4ly, wholesome
crotchets, educated in the ideas and
feelings of your time aind country,
and in sympathy with them; 'respec
table and prudy t nt in all weightier
matters, and as .;comfortable, within
and without, as the nnijority of your
neighbors. If I w+ to tell you
that you are a poVntial murder
er, you would not 6 - en be angq
with me—you would imply smile at
such an absolutely -preposterous no
tion. And so.4n the face of such an.
accusation, should I have smiled- .
once upon a tithe.
Judge for yourself if I should not
have had the right to sunlit. My
name, by the way, is . ; ;Vlfred Lam
-1 I
Ili
EIN
TOWANDA. PA
8125,000
66,000
N. N. BETTS, Cashier.
Aril 1,157.9
=1
THE CIDER MILL.
—.l , dan O. Whit thr
consider my name as of
some con,equence to my argument,
because I happen to be oink of a fam
ily which can- carry back its history.
for an exceptionable number of gen
erations. and without-being able to
name a single member of it who was
not perfectly respectable and per
fectly sane—not taking into account
a ,t'ertain hereditary , tendency to let
ourselves be imposed on and our mo
ney slip unaccountably through our
fin!rers in' the most contented man
ner. 1 should say that our family
characteristics were steadiness., pm-
KAITII, alit
dence, and plain common sense, corn- I It. was too hot to work very-desper
binul with a somewhat inconsistent ately after an early ]inner ; and I
indifference to becoming higher or lam afraid I must confess that the,,,!
richer than we find ourselves at start-1 rich blue of the sky without, the s 4
inn. But of course we have our dis wind that scarcely took the trouble 1
tinguishing Marks among ourselves. to carry the weight of its own scent 1
I. am a solicitor • and I cannot at thiough the window, the caw. of the this-moment calf to mind a case of a rooks on their way home, and th l e
man's being,murdered,at l least in the regular heave and rush of the, sea
flesh,. by a solicitor. I live quietly, against . _the wall of rocks ,close,,
and in hazimony with all my tastes united to set me dreaming of any
and, inclinations, in a little place f thing but of gains. I -was myself
close to the seal and am; as I . have ;in love, remember, and Venus came
,
-always been, particularly strong .and from the sea much on such an after
healthy„and tond of using my limbs noon. •
without entirely neglecting my brain. I had a clerk in the outer office,
I have a few cupboards in my house,' who was also in love, and whom 1
but have never had the ghost of a strangely suspect of having been
skeleton in one ofthem. I have no sleeping, too. Our office was cur
turn for dissipation, and am-quite as tainly not conducted on the ordinary
well off as I want to be. In spite of j principles of hurry and open eyes—
my profession, I am, and always hate a client from the outside world .did
been, absolutely without an enemy, i nat call once_ a quarter, and was not_
which may be partly accounted for -particularly welcome when be came:
by the fact that I have exceedingly I, At any rate,-Tom Brooks looked as
few neighbors and scarcely any cli-1 if he were Still . dreaming when he
cuts, my practice consisting in a I stumbled into my own. room and
semi leal, send-agricultirratsteward - startled me with—
ship to g the best and dearest friend II . "A
-strange lady, Sir; and to see
ever had in the world7—friend,s,, I
\ i
•
. \
:. - i
i • :_:.. I V
, ,
I N
'
should say, for his wife-is as dear to
me as if she were .my own sister, and
his children as if they were my own.
Whom should I ever have been
tempted to murder, and why ?' Put
the same question to yourself of your-
self—and answer it if you can.
My. friend was Sir Reginald Ger
vase—of course you must allow just
as much accuracy' to my , proper ,
names as you please: He had one of
the largest estates hi Foam.shire, and
lived mostly at SL Moor's, a splendid
place near Spendrith, which is on the
wildest and rockiest part of 'that
grand and magnificent coast, as all
the world knows. My description of
him is short—he was, literally, the
best and finest fellow in the whole
world. Werel Lady Gervase writing
this story, I have no doubt she would
say a.great deal more of him - ; mine
must be a man's praise of a man. He.
had not a single fault that I could
ever discover, and yet was as far
from being a prig as the South is
from the North Pole. He was near
ly my match—which is saying some
thing—in point or chest and biceps,
and infinitely more than mine, or
most men's, in brains; and his heart
was larger still. I sometimes used
to think it his single misfortune that,
lie was so rich and so happy and so
full of sense of all the duties that his
birthright had throivn upon him.
Had the fortune left him the strug
gling barrister that he was when e i
first met him in London, he would
have made himself a great man, in-
stead of merely growing intb some-1,
thin°. Much (Treater. For he had by'
no means been born to a Baronetcy
and the ownershsp of St. Moor's. He
unexpectedly inherited it from a
cousin of about his own age, and'a
parently as strong and as healthy p
himself, who had been struck Born
by death when hardly thirty years
old. It was a change to turn most
men's.brains, and to send half of
them to the devil. Sir Reginald took
his wealth and his position with less
elation than he bad taken his first
brief, Went abroad for a while, and
then came back to settle down for
good at St. Moor's. Tile first thing
'be slid—which. was in an hour or two
I:•was to become first favorite of the'
whole country, and that among his
poorer, even more than among his
richer, neighbors. The next was to
send for, me, then managing clerk to
.a London firm, to be his friend and
counselor. The next was to marry,
as wisely as man ever did in this world.
He had fallen over head and ears in
love with the best girl in all England,-
and she with him, Before long they
had a family of two boys and two
girls, and were fortunate in them all.
The eldest was. Called Reginald, bf
course, being a first-born Gervase.
The nest was called _Marion; after Iter
mother. Then came my own god
son, Alfred, and then Nora. Their
names have nothing to do with the
Matter, but it is pleasaq for myself
to write them.. It is hardly more to
the purpose than to say that-I; tog,
was on the eve of marriage, after a
long and weary waiting, but this, too,
I like to tell, because this also was
due to the position in which Sir
Reginald had placed-me. What did
I not owe to him ? Past, ;present,
future; everything that.l like to re
member, all my; happiness now and
to come. The one trouble he ever
crave me was the feeling that I could
do
. so little for one who had done so
much for die. Anybody could have
looked after his atthirs as well as 1.
I was never, likely to be so much to
him as the mouse was to the lion.
In fact,, the hardest work I ever
did for him was all pleasure and play,
except that he made me feel its inter
est and importance by throwing him
self- so heartily into all that concern
ed the smallest cottager or fisherman
with whom be had to do. ne looked
upon life as a trust not merely to be,
fulfilled but enjoyed, and his wife
agreed with him. I hardly know
which we learned to like best—our
task's or our pleasures. That he
liked the tasks best, I am sure. tAtid
I.ani sure, too, that if Sir Reginald
tiervase, even in this nineteenth cen
tury', had taken it into - his head to
declare war against .the queen, there
is not a man within ten miles of
Spendrith who would not have turned
rebel.
For two months every Summer St.
Moor's was left empty while the mas
ter and mistress were in town, for
they were by' no means people who
looked upon rusting and falling out
of the great world's stream as one of
the duties of those sho have to do
their best with the course of a •eoin•
paratively sma.ll one. 'Lough I
11 U I wed or their ab.
_Aem, 1. approve,
sense, for I could net get. rid of my
ainbitiOn for my friend ; it would be
something if, as member of Foam
'shire, he could have the chance of
doing for England some little of
what he was doing for one of her -re-
Inoter corners. One warm afternoon,
while they were away in town, I was
engaged alone in my (ace with some
drainage plans, half at work upon
them, and half thinking about what
I could do, in the face of an ap
proaching election, to get Sir Regi
nald Gervase to stand for Foamshire„.
11l isset
VOU !"
i •
TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST p, 1880.
It is hard to wakenp all at once.
For a moment I almost took for
granted that it could be nobody but
my Lottie, who had managed to fiy•
through the window all the way from
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, at the other
end of the Kingdom ; • what other
lady, a stranger to, Tom Brooks,
could want to see me ? But a mo
ment more told 'me the absurdity of
such a fancy ; so I stretched myself,
rubbed my eyes, - and said sharply,
" Then wak6 up and show her in."
She came in, with a silky rustle ;
and I had certainly never seen her
beforh. She Lottie; indeed ! I never
can" guess a woman's age, so I must
content myself with saying that my
visitor could not Possibly have been
more than thirty-six or less •than
twenty years old. She was of a mod
erate height and graceful figure, and
was dressed much more fashionably
than we were used to round Spend
rith—in a brown silk, with bows be
himl and down the sides, a tight
fitting jacket, and s t sort of, nonde
script cross betwe ! a hat and a
bonnet, from under Which escaped - a
mass of fair brown hair—behind, is
thick waves that tio*id down to her
waist, and in front, in a fringe falling
down to her eve-brows.' .Her face
was a pretty one, on the whole, clear
complexioned, fair,i and .btig,htly
colored r i but her mouth was, at the
same time, -too small and too full,
her nose, too long, and hex dark eyes
ayery great deal too large, as well
as being too closely, set together.
Still, the g eneral effect was decidedly
good, and had to be called pretty,
whatever else it relight be called, and
however much it, differed from my
own two standards of beauty—Lot
tie Vane and Lady blervuse. My
visitor looked grave and sad my na
ture, as if she had a story, and that
an interesting one. l sluiwed her a
sent, and she sat down.
" You are Mr. Laniboutn . , and you
are a lawyel ?" she asked in a voice
that made hei prcttinesal suddenly
change into something More. It was
a clear, liquid voice, with. some wilt
of special' accent in it, and. a kind of,
singing quality about her first words.
"My name is Lambourn, and . I am
a solicitor.' You call on business, I
suppose ? Whom I have the honor
• She opened a mother-of-pearl case
and handed me a' card—" Adrienne
Lavalle." " I come to ask your ad
vice," said she. The name looked
French; and yet, though she did not
speak quite like an Englishwoman,
her
_accent was by no means distinct
ly that of a foreigner. Who could
she be, that she came for legal advice
to Spendrith ? It is true that if any
body does happen to be suddenly
in warit of legal advice at Spendrith,
he is Bound to come to me.
b6wed anJ waited, and - she went
on. -
"1 am told that you arexible and
honest," she said, " and, therefore, I
come to you. You asked my name,
and I gate you my eard. It' is one
of my names, the name by which I
am known.. I have one more. : My
birth4iame 'is Ray—Juliet Ray. Did
you ever hear the name before?"
"Never in my life," said I.
Then, before I tell you more, may
I ask you if you are [lmi:wed to un
tlertaki, as a lawyer and a gentleman,
the cause of a woman against the
racist cruel wrong that evercwas done
by - a man? A cause that wilt give
you honor and glory throughout the
"Neer mind the'bonor and glory,"
said I. " The giestion is, , 'wbether I
could find the time and snare the
pains.
,Of course, I shall be glad to
help to „get justice done, just for the
sake of the thing', I.w.yer though I
,am. But I must hear the story ffist
" You shall hear it ; and you shall
hear why I come . to Spendrith for a
lawyer_ sI did not supposejou would
know the name of Juliet'llay. But
I had my reason for asking, all the
same. I wasnorn in London. I had
a mother Mr. Lambourn; but no
other relative in the world.. My
mother was on the stage. I cannot
tell you all, for I do not know ; but
we were in Paris when my mother
' died, and when I was Seventeen years .
old—without any, means to live, but
1 with the need to live you understand.
1 Perhaps you find it hard to believe,
1 but I was as innocent then asayoung
[girl can b;."
1 I let silence imply assent;. but I
i was certainly beginning to wake up,
land to call my professional wits to
getter.
It was in Paris. that I met a
young man—if I must call him so—
who niacle love to me. I took him
for a mail of honor. -He swore, Mr.
Lambourn, a million times to make
me his wife, in the sight of heaven
and in the sight of man. In the
sight of heaven he did make me his
wife; and whtni we• were soon after
in. London, he married - me in church,
as he should have done before. He
is a scoundrel !"
• " But if he married' you at any
time, he did Lis best to right you, it
seems to me. -Well ?". ,
" Praust not call 'scoundrel?'
Wait; see what you will call hits, if
you' are a man! We went abroad
again—to Paris, to Vienna, to twen
qcy places—and then one day he. left
me, never to return."
" lle deserted you? You did not
hear from him again ?"
From him ? No ; never one
word. Of him? No; tot for many
years ! lie
_left me to live as best 1 1
could, without the means, but with
all the need, once more. Perhaps
you, will not tinti it hard to believe
that I was no more as innocent a
fool as at seventeen."
Again I let assent be implied in
silence ; so much I did not flnd„ it
bard to believe.
" But I hear of him at last, and he,
is married again I" '-
-" You meari. that • you wish your .
husband tO.__•b prosecuted for biga
my ?"
" No, Mr. Lsmbourn. I mean that
I will haVe my rights, and that I will
have my revenge ! That is what I
mean !"
And I Could see, beyond any ques'. ,
tion, that it _was what she did mean.
If her story was true, she had cer
tainly been ill-used; but, all the same,
REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.
I wished she had not come to me. I
felt that, from the beginning, 1 bad
not liked Miss, or Mrs., Lavelle.
" I don't care about taking crimi
nal matters," I said, rather coldly.
"There are plenty of solicitors in
the county. And if you want—since
you speak of your rights—to make
any sort,of profitable compromise, I
must decline your case on any terms.
However, as you come for .present
advice, I suppose you can prove your
marriage ?'
" I can prove it as surely as that I
live 1" said she. "I have my lines.
Will that do?"
"Certainly they will do. You will
have to prove the second marriage,
too—"
"He won't deny that," said she,
with a smile. " And he won't deny
that I sm.l; and if he does, he can't
deny that I was alive when his crime
was committed ; and if he:does, there
are scores and scores who will know.
You ask me why I come to Spend
? It is- to . make sure—to have
him under my - hand. I have not
found him out and tracked him down
to let himlgo again. And 1 come to
you, because you are here ; because
you can watch for'me. When I have
my rights, you will have Aura too,
never fear."
So she had set down my reluCtance
to undertake her ease "to a fear of
not being sufficiently well paid? If
I had not much liked her before, I
liked_ her exceedingly little now.
And who at Spendrith could possibly
have been guilty of big,rmy, and of
deserting a 'wife abroad ? I knew
every living creature in the place—
there was not one whom 1, could
connect in the wildest , fancy with
Mrs. Lavalle.
" Who is the man yoit say is your
husband?" asked I.•
I suppose she thought that ,her
last words had refreshed my interest
in her
",The scoundrel who is my Lus
band ?" said she. ." There !"
A little theatrically she Lid a doc
ument before me. It was a perfectly
good and authentic copy of a register
of marriage solemized at a London
church between inlet . Ray, spinster,
and—Reginald Gervasel
My eyes seemed to darken and
swim. What could it mean ? As she
sat tchere, triumphant - in her coming
vengeance or in her greed, I thought
and thought; and the more I thought,
the more clear the meanings grew.
Some months before the date of the
marriage my friend had been in !Paris,
I knew. Just before the, same date
he had returned to town And then
there was' his long subsegdent absence
abroad for nearly a WholOcar. But,
still, Was . Reginald Gervase, who held
diity to . be evenabove hOnOr—if such
a thing can be-a . !flan who - , under
any circumstances, wpuld, when he
found himself suddenly rich and in a
high position before the world, rid
himself of any woman—whether his
wife or not, and even if he had learn
ed to hate and scorn her—by leaving
her to starve? No doubt she must
have been false td him first. But
even so, the pride 'of my own life had
gene ; every illusion I darkened,
at such a shadow as this must be.
Perhaps he had thought her dead:.
But no, that could not' be unless he
had willed very hardi indet to think
her so.
" Leave me this paper,' s aid I.
" Call on me again to-morrowlat ten;
I will think over what you bave told
'me. Excuse me noir."
" Yon will -undertake the case,
then ?" , - •
"I will -- (ty.to` do whAever is for
the best, Miss Lavalle."
" Who is Miss Lavalle ?" asked
she, as she left me: " I am Lady
Gervase."
I locked the copy of the register'
in a safe, where' I kept my own pri
vate personal papers, shut up my
office, and went out to walk myself
cool. -I had met with a skeleton from
St. Moor* indeed I I could see the
whole miserable history as if it had
been written out for tne., The young
.barrister had Made a fool of himself,
as many otherwise wise men 'have
donee{,.,. lie had been entrapped by
this woman -In Paris. • Perhaps the
pitifulness of her unprotected condi
tion had imposed upon him quite as
much as tier bright . cheeks and her
great black eyes. -She bad stuck to
him and drawn him into marriage;
no doubt.his sense of honor had help
ed her, however' much his reason
Must have opposed her. It was slit,
no.doubt, who had swallowed up the
whole of his little fortune and kept
him under water. It, was she who
had been the cause of those long
va
cations in ' Paris, which he used to
' make even during his term time.
Anti then, when fortune came to him,
he had gone abroad to hide what had,
no doubt, proved a disgraceful, mar
riage. And then, no less beyond
doubt, he had discovered unfaithful
ness in her and bad-Jeft her, half
ashamed, half relieVed, twsuch a man
would have left such a woman, aim
ply;. utterly, and Without a word of
blame. And then true love had come
into his heart. Perhaps he really be
lieved his first wife dead. Perhaps
the belief was too' much due to the
wish—who knows? It was not for
me to judge 11,tginald Gervase.
knew the man as he was, whatever he
had done, however weak lie might
have shown himself in one thing.
• And what was I to do? Nothing?
Nothing? When 1, and I only re
alized the nature of the blow that
was about to fall ? On the one hand,
there was the true Reginald Gervase,
my more than friend, brother, and
father, who bad ,plainlvbeen able to
free himself of the old shadow, trust
ed, honored, loved by all the world,
whose whole life was a growth in
goodness and usefulness,'and whose
loss would be public as well as pri
vate, and felt none could guess how
far round his home. There was the
wife, who believed ii him as a hero,
and who loved him with her whole
heart and soul. There were his young
children—what need I say of them ?
On,the other hand, there were ruin,
scandnl,the dock, the prison cell, a
wife's broken heart, and four child
ren's lives blasted for all their days ;
=II
and only because a worthless woman
bad not died. The thing looked too
hideous to be possible; and I dream
ed of such a word as—nothing I
Well, thank God that be was not at
St Moor's. Every day delaye&was
a day gained, if only for thinkint
what could be done.
I was walking along the narrow
coastguard path' overh#nging the sea,
which was the shoitCst cut from
Spendrift to the nearest market
town, when I was met by a lad who
acted as rural postman, and who
stopped me with a letter. I took it
with scarcely a word of good even
ing, and opened it absently.
"Dear Lambourn "—I read with
out even taking heed of the bind
writing—" Cone .line in baste to say
that we shall all be hOme to-morrow
evening, almost as soon as s this
reaches you. Everything's all right,
but Jenny - would rather be safe at
home just now, and so would I.
Look me up for a weed, there's a
good fellow, about nine, and we'll
have a good big talk about the
,ilrains. I feel like 'a - school•boy off
for the holidays. 1 R. G.
It was like. destiny. Be and his
wife—yes, I would still call her so—
were hurrying back full sail into the
storm. I knew what their coming
back sooner than usual meant; it
was One of Gervase's. crotchets that
all bis children should •be of Foam
shire, and of their home bred and
born. Well, that made matters 'worse
a thousand times. He wasacoming
where that woman—l could not call
her his wife—was waiting to lay
hands upon him and to destroy him
more terribly than even she could
dream. I was not to see her again til
the next day, and I did not know
where she was to be found. I sui).
pose I
_bad acted stupidly ; but it is
bard to keep one's presence of mind
where one!a heart is concerned too
deeply. how could I meet Gervase
this very night with this terrible
secret upon me-? I Could nat. And
yet what right hid 1 to leave him in
his fool's paradise for n single avoid
able hour?• I tried to' ask MySel
what I should have donetad I been
simply his lawyer` instead of his
And I could find no answer
GM
IL seemed strange that the thunder o
the sea, as it rose 'higher and Eiger
with the advancing tide against the
cliffs, did not change 4ts tone.
The letter-carrier could not have
left me many minutes--long as they
seemed—when he came running
back breathlessly,shouting and point
ing behind him with his arm.
" Mr. Lambourn !" he panted out,
" there be ? some un down yonder on
the Carao - f
sus lone as lone, and not
half an h: ur o' tide!" 1
. I *as 8 rtled out of such_thoughts
as eken ra he. I knew every inch of
that i coatt as-well as if I had . been a
smuggles: f the old times, and no
body whO knOws the cliffs about.
Spendritfit needs telling what being
alone on the Carricks means within
even any hour_ of high ' tide. The
Carricks are a point of rather low
rocks, projecting something like the
'blade of a' scythe, or,rather like the
pointed ram of an ancient galley,
from the base of the cliff, easily to be
reached within about, , A.vio hours of
the highest tide; but;lafter that,
breaking the calmest sed into a rage,
and entirely Cut off from reach either
from above' or below. At absolutely
full tide the most shoreward of these
rocks was a full two fathoms under
high-water line. ,The cliff, itself a
promontoliy;rose up sheer from the
rocks for 'Soke distance, then bowed
out over them, sand then finished its
course of. , some hundred and fifty
feet to the overhanging • path on
which I was itandinff. All: these
meant, in a dozht words,' that he who
found himself atone on the CaNriclia
half an hour before the tide tuilted
I would be a dead man in half an Ithui,
:or there was no point among the
network of currents which the strong
est swimmer could hope to gain.
" Who is it?" I asked.
you tell ?"
"I couldn't see for, sure ; but it
looked .to seem like' Lucy Green
that keeps company , with Master
Brooks—"
" A woman—good God !” • In this
peril, at least, something - might pos-'
sibly be done. As fast as I could ,
cover the ground I was at the coast
guard-station, only to find a single
old-sailor on what was by courtesy
called.duty, a strong fellow enough,'
with any quantity of rope at hand;
but what could two men do ?
•.
Nothing, certainly, without trying.'
We could carry to the _edge- of the
cliff rope enough to reach the Car
ricks twice over. But that was little.
How could a woman, even if she had
the courage, fasten herself safely to
it, and keep herself from being dash
ed to pieces against the face of the
cliff on her giddy upward journey ?
And hoW,pould one man reach her,
with but one pairof hands to hold to
the rope above him ?
Happily, the sea was tolerably
calm ;. otherwise, considering the'
shortness of the time at our disposal,
nothing could have been done. It
was only too certain that'somebody
was there. The letter carrier: was
positive that he had twice seen a
woman on the rocks ; the secoal
time, while I Was - on my way to the
coastguard station, he: had seen her
trying to clamber farther out sea
ward, as if' she had become fully
aware of her danger, and was trying
to place herself where she might hav,e
a chance of being seen from the
atshore. I. looked t my watch, and
the sailor looked out to sea. There
was no boat to be signalled, and not
nearly time to Obtain one for our
selves and to row round.
The question of the boat was set
tied in a single look from one to the
other.. But the same lOok set the
sailor's wits working.
"Run to the station," he said to
the letter-earrier, " and get all the
oars you qin lay your hands on, and
bring theriyhere, and look aliye."
He craned over the edge of the
path, and so did kthough more cau
tiously ; but there were no means of
seeing anythrng more in that way.
The sea hal already risen in a surge
of white foam and dark greed cas
cades over nearly the Whole length
. .
- . .
\
. -, - 1 .I\ll,\\. ...• •
,
' .
-
of the rocks below, so that any pris
oner upon them must have been
driven for respite from death under
the bulging part of the end, where
she would be altogether. out of sight
of all but 'The senulls. Then the
.old sailor looked out westward,
where a broken patch of white and
_gray cloud seemed to be rising from
the sea into the sky , in the shape of a
spire.
"The wind won't be here tilt after
the turn, Sir," said he. ."There won't
be so much swing on - as there might
be." Ile pat his hands to his mouth
and shouted downward, but no an
swer returned. "Where's-that young
slug with the oars?"
I could only hope he had some
plan. I certainly could think of
none. Perhaps, though as i anxious
as any human Creature mustte when
a man or woman is drowning under
his, eyes, and when he can do nothing
but, wait above and listen for the
dead heave of full tide against the
'cliff to tell hini all was over, I may
not have been. so absorbed in the
emergency 415 I should have been
two or three hours ago. What was
a moment's struggle with the sea
compared with that worse than death
against which I was trying to put
out my hands no less in vain ? I was
not, I feel sure, at that moment con
-seionsly thinking of the greater peril
in the immediate. face of the less ;
but that it was the greater which had'
well-nigh paralyzed me I know.
At last the lad hurried back with
four long oars. The old sailor laid
them all together, fagot-wise and bar
wise, over a'cleft in , the edge of the
path, so that the bundle of oars
might serve 4. 0 i one strong beam,' and
that the rope might run through the
cleft for a groove before swinging
from the projecting rim of the cliff
out into the air. The beam of Spars
was kept from being pulled forward
instead of downward by the form of
the path which rose up slightly to
ward the edge, and by the :chance—
on:which the whole plan depended—
that the natural gutter 'ran between
two ears of crag just high enough to
serve as posts for the beam behind
them. He fastened one end of our
longest line , of rope, with practiced
skill round the middle of the oars;
he bad already made the other end
into a noose, as soon as his •ready
eyes had taken in" at a glance the
chances of the ground..:' He paid out
the whole rope over the' edge of the
cliff; there was no time left for argii
lug who should go down.
Indeed, I felt as if forced by an
irriplse from outside myself to take
that matter into my own hands. It
is true, I was a great deal younger
and by so much more. active than the
old tar, who was still as strong in
the arms and shoulders as tugging at
the oars can make 'a: man, but had
- certainly not been in the habit, as I
had been, of spending hisleisure in
clambering an :King rocks instead of
staring through a spy-glass at the
oiling ; so* that I was likely to feel a
great deal more at home among the
nulls and cormorants than he. There
was every reason for placin g him at
the fast head of the rope, and me at
the noose!. Bat had it been otherwise
I should have stood upon my rights,,
as representing the'lord of the manor,
to do as.h pleaseda . boye the - ine of
high water. Do something I must—
something, anything which,;. had the
semblance of helping a living crea
ture, however unconnected it might
be with the storm - that was gather
ing.over the head of my friend. 'As
I have said, there was no .time left
for a needless words; I took my way,
and, resolutely thinking of nothing
but of keeping my eyes Hied on the
the highest,visible part of the end,
-was ; beforca word was spoken, let
4ing myself: down the rope with my
knees and bands. It was not that I
had room left in my heart to care,
save in the most general way, for the
woman on the Carricks. 1 was • in
anything but a philanthropic mood,
or in one that, would excite me to
risk a sprained .wrist for any soul on
earth but- Reginaid"Gervase. IL was
all-sheer impulse; neither foolhardi
ness on the one hand, nor courage on
the other.. I claim no credit for the
climb; . rather blame. It could in
nowise be of
.the smallest help to
Gervase ; on the contrary, I was
risking the only life that could in
any way hope to . aid him. . Only I
had no hope__ for him left in me, in
the face of the proofs and of the
.
-
woman. whose hands they were. It
all came from just what I have said,
the overwhelming hunger. for action
.of any sort or form.
'Of- course our idea was to fasten
whomever I might find below to the
loose end of the rope, in hope-that
the sailor, with whatever help the
letter-carrier could give him, would
be able to draw her up, and then let
down the rope again, so that I might
follow. With a view to the first part
of the work, I carried_ doWn with me
a second rope to fasten. to the noose
and to act as guide from,. below, so
that she might not swinglgainst the
face of thceliff.on her upward jour
ney.. As tot my own return7l might
manage a good deal by climbing,
or
I might, at any rate, be pulled up
far. enough to swing above the tide
until further help should come.
At last I stood upon the last slab
of slippery - rock - which thi- sea had
not wholly covered. There was just
room enough upon it for two. And
I stood faire to face with Adrienne
Lavallenay, I must call her so—
Lady Gervase. •
Why had she been brought here,
out of the reach, of-all aid but mine? -
W hy had ihe tidings of her peril
been brought to me? What was the
true nature of that impulse which
had' brought nie—men of all men—
face to face with her thus, and here;?
. her
Think of the first sentence o i t this
history! We were absolutely,'titter
ly alorne together, unseen even froth
the cliffs that rose up betwed us
two and the whole world. Her secret
was known to me alotie ; its Iproof
was in my own hands.- - If she had
died there unaided, what would have
signified the lciss.of a woman such
as she? Why had she not been left
there to die ?., And.if she was left
to live—in one. *instant I saw the
whole of that vision upon which - my
mind had been dwelling ever since
" Could
Sl.OO Par
,Arli11101:111 Advance.
she had left me—the ruined lives,
the broken hearts, all the .world's
loss, all the shame, all the cruel pun
ishment of an' innocent mother and
her children for the weakness of a
good man. I had despairod of help.
ing, them all. But what! was that
now ? Nothing, less thali nothing,
when I realized that all kills storm,
would burst upon them, no longer
froth the hands of this woman, be
cause she lived, but from my hands,
because I did not let her die !
_ Would there not be something um
speakably mean and cowardly in pre
ferring the perfect Serenity of my
own selfish conscience to the lives of
those to whom I owed more than
even alvorse sin-for their sake could
repay ? Surely the ways of justide
are not the same as,human Jaw. For
the sake of - others we 'must punish
what, for the sake of others, We must
cull crimes; • but we do not call,
crimes necessarily sins, and what we
condemn with our cold,. reason we,.
may in our, hearts and souls approve.
At last I could - do all things for Re
ginald Gervase. -Virus I too flinch, so
that 'tau weakness Should let loose
upon shin all from which could
save him, and that in such a way
that he would never ever guess the
peril in which he had been ? I swear
that I,felt as if for this very purpoSe
she had, as if by Providence, been
delivered into My, hands. only
that wretched lad bad never caught
sight of her? But was I to let Ouch
a miserable chance as that destroy-
Reginald GervaOe ? What -was I
there for - but to counteract chance,
and to do all things for him?. Sup
pose I did murder her, • what; but
good would have been done ? I, did
not shrink from thinking of the thing
by its name.. I had completely cool
ed my blood by now.
What she read in my lace know
not: But something she must have
read, for it was very .far frOm the
birth of a hope of rescue that I saw.
in hers She seemed looking through
- my eyes into my heart, as if she fear
ed it more than - the sea. Neither of '
us spoke a Word - ; hitt, meanwhile,
the sea itself 'rose and rose, and the
wind began to rise too., .
I was absolutely - Making plans: I
lea* her there—it would not be my
'fault if she were found, drowned.
The body 'could
. be - recovered at low
water, and buried; and nobody would
be the wiser. I must give, up lottie,
of cOurse; it was one - thing to com
mit a murder, but quite, another to
make her the wife 'Of a 1 - murderer,
even though of one .who had right
on his side I could take it - into my
head to leave Engtand,,and should
-soon be forgotten. .
Can you - save me ?". she said at
last: " What are youl;going to do
with me ' .
" I? ivith you ?" I asked—i" God
',knows. What are you doing With
Reginald Gervase ? Lpok, the tide
will:, be Avaist-high soon. I 'nm
friend. Are your rights or is your
Mlle dearer to you But I can't
•
trust you.",
I turned faint' and sick at heart.
How 'could nerve myself, even for
his sake, lo„be strong enough to let
this weak ittomar . i die? Suddenly a
heavy wave 'swept. over the 'rock,
brought - her toter knees, and would
have carried her into deep water at
I)nee had I not instinctively thrown-.
the noose round . her and held. her so.
It must be done, though; it wal some,
weaker self that had saved her for a
minute More.
"';'ou can, save me, jtmd yOu 4 bid
me spil.my rights for my life!" she
Laid,` withceal scorn, and with a '
courage that startle& me. 'Yes ' you
say truly;. you, are his friend. Like
master, like man."
Should I have held her there till
she was dewub&? Should I have
been able to face the unspeakable
shame of returning to the cliff dione,.
or should .1 have waited there untiil
the tide had covered me' also ? I say
to myself, and I 'say to you,, what I
said to myself. God knows:. I trust,
not; ?but 1 have never very confident
ly believed in the • goodness of the
good, or the' badness of the, bad, Or
the weakness of the weak or the
strength of the -strong, since that
day. .
" Ahoy, there! Hold on !" heard
a shout, and the grind of ' wood on
the rock, and the unshipping . of oars.
I think we wete - ,botli - in the boat be
fore we knew where
.we were. • She
was saved without my help, and
I scarce know from what, if from
anything ; I had been saved. .
Sir Reginald i 1 mself was. at
.the
helm. What could Ido now ?.
Ab
°solutely nothing;i4t last, except give
up everything to. despair. ' I waited
for the storm to burit.even there - and
then.
It was simply to my amaze that no
look or sign of recognition passed
between the. husband and the• wife
whom he—he, not I—had saved to
destroy him._l waited in vain.
"Thank God I saw you, from the
yacht in time!" said he. "Ittivus
like you old fellow, to try 'to break
your neck for nothing,. but I don't
think both of you could have got up
without, damage. May I ask the
name of the lady whom I have been
'lucky enough to—Allow-me to intro-_
duce myself." -
"lam Lady Gervasel" she said
with a scornful look at me. " I thank
you, Sir, for saving my
"'Lady Gervase!"
"You seem snprised ? I am the
wife of Sir eginald Gervase, of St.
Moor's. ay I. know whom .1 have
to tha or—"
"I r 1 y must ask you to pardon
me," sad he, courteously bewilder-.
ed. "But Lady Gervase happens to
be on board that yacht yonder. I
am Sir Reginild Gervase."
What could it all mean?
If you reader, cannot guess, . you
must be as blind as I have been.
You must have forgotten my.telling
you that Sir-Reginald had inherited
St. Moor's from a cousin of his own
age, and that Reginald was the fami
ly name. If that cousin had chosen
to die suddenly- before he had time
to communicate with his wife or his
friends, or to make a will, his wife
was perfectly entitled to call herself
Lady Gervase if she pleased ; but it
could not possibly affect his hair be-
yond compelling' him to pay d cer
tain part of the personal estate to
the widow, *lab he was able enough
, i t V o. What a worse than afoot! had
When I have heard people talk
lightly of their temptationato do this
or that, I have said. " The greatest
find strongest temptation Dever felt
Was to murder, in .cold' blood, a wo-
man who had never done me a shad-
ow of. wrong." People think me jest
ing; but it ia trie. , --Licmdon Society.
A MISSIONARY stationed at one of
the South Sea Islands determined to
give his residence a coat of white
wash. To obtain this in the absence
of lime, coral was reduced to powder
by burning.' The natives, watched
the process or burning with interest,.
believing that the coral was' being
cooked for them to eat. Next morn
ing they beheld the missionary's cot, -
tage glittering in the rising sun
white as snow.,],, They'- danced, they.
sang, they screamed with joy. The.
whole island was in commotion
Whitewash becaree the rage. Happy
was the coquetterho could enhance
her charms ty a
,daub of the white ,
brush. Contentions arose. One par
ty-urged their superior rank; anoth
er obtained possession cf the brush
and valiantly held it againatill com
ers; a third tried to upset the tub to
obtain some of the precious cosmetic.
To quiet, the hubbub, more white;
wash was made and in, a week not - a
hut, a domestic utensil, a war-club, .
or a garment but. was white as snow ;
not an inhabitant but , had a skin -
painted in grotesque. figures ; not a
pig that was not whitened, and even
mothers Might be seen in eery, di- • '
rection capering joyously and yell
ing with delight at the superior
beauty of their whitewashed babies.
NUMBER 11
How .AN ARAB LADY PERFUMES
-11EusErs.. , --In the boor of the tent or
hut, as it may chance to be, a small ,
hale is excavated sufficiently large to"
contain- a common champagne bottle; -
a fire of.. charcoal or of glow-..
ing embers is made within the hOle,
into which'. the woman about to be
.-
.scented throws a handful of . drugs.
She' then . lakes 'Off the cloth or
"tope which forms her dress and
crouches; naked over the fumes, while
she arranges her- robe to fall as a
mantle frZi!n her neck to the ground
like a.tent,.. She
_nbw - begins to pet:-
spire - freely in. the hot-air bath, and,
the pdresl . ofl the skin" being thuS
opened and moist. the - volatile oil . -
from the smoke of the
. burning per-._
fumes is immediately absorbed. By.
the time that, the . fire
completed,
expired the
scenting process is completed, anUI
both her person and her robe areerel
dolent-withincense, with which they , •
are so thoroughly impregnated 'that .
[have frequently smelt a party of
women strongly at full kundred
yards distance .when the wind has
been blowing from their: "direction.'
—Sir William _Baker.
Children's Fancies and Sayings.
N'Vusv is the worst thing about - rich
est" asked the Sunday School - su . perin- .•
tendeut. And the no* "
boy said : Their.
scarcity."
"MUTABLE Schoolmaster : "Now, Men,
stupid, what's the next ' word? What
comes titles cheese?" Dull boy : A. 1- -
mouse, sir.'
How do' you define ' black as your
hat ?' " said-.a schoolinaster to one of-his • -
pupils. "Darkness that may be felt,"
replied the youthful wit.
li.xxsasSehoOl teacher : "Where does
your grain go to ?" "Into the - hopper." -
"-What hopper?" . "Graishopper,7 tri- -
umpliantly shouted. a-scholar.
A NEW pair of shoes fora live- -
year-old.r-old. He tried them on ; and finding
his feet were in very close quarters, c)nirn
cd, " Oh, my ! .they are so tight I Can't
wink ,my toes."
Youxo lady visitor (reading the para-.
Me of the Pi odlgal Sou) r —"A.nd he would -- • -
fain have - eaten of the ,husks that the - _
swine clid eat." Small boy • (to teacher) -
Why diddle not kill one of the pigs r
(Young lady visitor much shaken):
A GALVESTON school-boy persisted ilk.:
throwing his hat,on the door, • until final- -
ly the teacher chastised him: severely.
'• " Now," said the breathless teaCher, - "do
you know whore your hat ought to have -
been?" • "Yes, sir ; inside
clothes, sir." z. .
ONE of the lady teachers in a Rena,
Nevada, public school, a feiv days ago .
was laboring with an urchin on the sci
ence .of pimple division. This is what •
came ofit :." Now, Johnny, if • ydit had
an .orangi Which you _wished tol divide
with, your little sister, how - much would
you give per?" Johnny—" A suck."
RE.am,f-a.-Pact this Time:—Rise of in
tellect in the Midland Counties.—Dioces
an Inspeetor : ," And what , happened
, when they came to Paphos?" Child :
"St. Paul struck Blymas - the sorcerer
blind." Inspector : What did he strike
him blind fur:"'- Child: "Because he
sauced him, sir."—,Ludy, • " •
Ronmiaged three .years, has .
attended Sunday School one or two
months. He is an apt scholar, and gives
early promise of bearinr , rich_ and ethical
fruitage. play - with an older brother
the other day original Adam so far
got the better of sd as to cause- him
to clinch his little fist
.and strike his
brother. lirother'Tom was about to re- ..
taliate with his more formidable weapon,
when, Robbie cried out : "No, no, no'
Teitelter says oo mu't n't strike back
when oo is hit."
h
TEItE is a good deal of human nature
inateu-year-lqld girl. The Browns were
discussing at the- breakfast table how
nitro r conference delegates' they would
try to entertain. Two, four and six"were
the numbers, before the house, and
,the
-genecarsenßinent, seemed to be in favor
of the smallest number. Little ten-year
old,
however, stoutly advocated the max,
imum number. - We have three spare
beds and might as well take six. Take
six, mamma. Please do?" "Well," re-
.'
sponded the matron, "if you will wipe .
the . dishes each time, we will." Ten- '
year-old immediately began to sink down-,
in her chair until her head. almost disap:"
bared - under the table.. " How many ;
shall we take?' asks mamma: "One,
was the whispered answer.
Thoughtful Thought*
Nucu charity winch begins at home is
too feeble to get out doors, and much
that begins out doors never gets into the
'home circle.
No humility is perfect and proportion
ed bUt that which- makes us hate our
selres as corrupt, but respect ourselves as
immortal ;Abe humility that kneels in the
dust, but gazes on the, skies. I
As every thread of gold is valuable, so
is every minute of time ; and as it would
bergreaf folly to shoe horses (as the .10-
man Emperor Nero did) with gold, 'so it
is to Spend, time in trifles.
MovNTAINS never shake bands. Their
roots may tobeh, they may keep together
some way up, but at
' length they :_part
company, and rise, nto individual, isolat
ed-peaks. SU it is with great men..
PiursE.Gon for all your gifts, and use"
them wisely and constantly. 'Then pray
that you may do your work in life as in
the sight of God. Peek to please and
honor Him, put away all, selfish, motives.
- Whether men sriiile or frown, go straight
ahead, ~ a nd you have an approving
conscience and at last a great reward.
Ili rwEEN male and female, says a
modern writer, there is a difference of
kind only—not degfree. Man is- strong,
woman is beautiful ; man is daring and
confident, woman is diffident an unassum
ing ; man is great in action, woman is
suffering ; man shines abroad, women at
home ; man talks to 'convince, woman to
persulde; man has a rugged heart, a wo
man a soft and tender one; man prevents
misery, woman relieves it ; man has sci
ence, walnut taste ; man has' judgment,-
woman sensibility; man is a - being of jus
tice, woman an angel, of mercy. •