y Jf Few people could guess why George Oak worth, master of the national school at Craigside, extended the pat ronage of his friendship to. Dick Den holme, drunkard and law-breaker. He was a handsome, pale, intellectual youth of twenty-five years, with a taste for botanising and geological speculation; while Dick, fifteen years his senior, was a man of no taste what ever, unless the taste for ale be counted —a being whose rough and dissolute aspect spc'.ce with such unblushing ef frontery of his flagrant knavishness that a little dissimulation might have passed, in him, for a kind of negative virtue. Yet tho relationship which subsisted between them was that of the most intimate comrades. They lived in tho same cottage: they spent their Satur days in long excursions; and it was un stood that those who wished to quarrel with the young teacher might also hope to indulge themselves in the hos tility of Dick. The opinion was boldly hazarded by some that, if the truth could be told, George Oakworth was no better than he ought to be, be cause a man is known by the company he keeps. There were othsrs who pointed out that the schoolmaster, out of motives of personal timidity, had merely possessed himself of a stout de fender. Not only were both these views mistaken ones, but when the friendship was struck up it was Dick who took the initiative. Alandoninga hopeful career and the m rotricious insincerities of a big city, George Oakworth had sought oblivion aud honest dealing in a village com munity. The first week of his duties at the national school was disturbed by an incident, which, trivial in it self, sufficed to shape for a while his course of life. He had begun with a gentle hand, hoping to interest the boys rather than to govern them; and although some at times had fallen happily asleep, and others, on the back benches, had exhibited a morti fying preference for the furtive game called "noughts and crosses," he had persevered with heroic good temper. Hut one restless morning the sharp crack of an explosive paper pellet sounded on the wall behind him, and the school burst out laughing. His face flushed, and his practised eye traveled at once to the delinquent, an overgrown and lubberly youth named Puggy Cullingworth, who was accustomed to slaver on his copybook, and whose father hadsenthim to school at an age when it was uo longer pos sible to teach him anything, Puggy sat at tho end of a bench. Advancing upon him slowly the teacher administered a box on the ear which smote, as the lightning smites, before it was seen, and which set a big bell booming in his head The school felt that the incident . had only commenced and was thrilled with a gleeful expectancy. Puggy had long been admired for his amazing effrontery and unmanageable du lness. He could fight any three small boys of the normul school age, and it was wed known that old Scaife, who kept the school v%hen he first came to it, did not dare to frown at him. Conse quently when the effeminate now mas ter, palo and unsuspecting, advanced upon tho raw-boned hero and struck him an impressive silence brooded in the room. And the wide-eyed on lookers were right The incident had rot terminated. When the young boor sprang to his feet with a cry of rage the? domiuio gripped him by the slack of his waisteo.it, kneading his fists into the rebel's abdomen, and rushed him down the schoolroom till his luck struck the wall with a crash that knocked all the breath out of his body and all tho expression out of his face. "You big baby," he cried hoarsely. "Go to your seat. If you had been more of a man I'd have thrashed you!" And, turning to the rest, he added, with a quietness of manner that was equally appalling with fury: "I wish to treat this school as a seminary of gentlemen; but I will be treated as a g ntleinan myself." \\ hich was rather fine, but rather atove the heads of his juvenile audi ence, whose hearts were beating fast at ihe spectacle of this vivid and awful example. Moreover, a clamorous bel lowing A>f inarticulate threats and pro tests burst the next moment from the hum t<lod booby, and could not be sub dued. Master Huggy Cullingworth was put out of doors, and drifted home wards, while a blessed state of recep tivity came upon the smaller fry, and his dismal uluations died away grue- BO ne y into the far distunce. Nevertheless, when the school as sembled the next day, the master noted a certain restlessness among his pupils, the symptom of suppressed anxiety. He got more stupid answers than usual; and on several occasions, at the sound of passing footsteps in the road, all eyes were turned towards the door. In vain he rattled on the desk with his ruler; he only made the little wretches nervous. At last curiosity got the better of him. ' Does any one know,"' he asked, "why Cullingworth is not at school this morning?" AH hands went up. "Well*" he said, pointing to the youngest volunteer, a dumpy red headed child with honest big blue ejes. "Please, teacher," that innocent lisped; 4 'cause his father's comin' to aluc yo' for what yo' did yusterda'." "Very well," said the master. • Slates away now, and get out your history cards." Hut in spite of his sang froid the feverish apprehensive ness increased; and at last, when a trampling of feet made itßelf heard on the playground gravel, with the sound of loud voices, the children mounted the forms to look out of the windows. "(Silence!" cried the master, in a sharp metallic voica "Keep your places!" The door was opened, and M if pushed into the room by the pressure of those behind them, several people made a trailing 1 step or two forward from the threshold, and paused sheep ishly. All but the foremost took off their caps, and ho was scowling 1 roy ally. "Well. *zentltmen," said the school master. prompt to speak first, "to what may 1 attribute this intrusion?'' Ephraim Cullingworth—whom he had recognized by his unmistakable likeness to the absent scapegrace— strode out and answered. "None o' thi dammned impidenco!" he shouted. "Wilt a tak' itstandin' or liggin'?" Mr. Oakworth's behavior was admir able. "One moment, gentlemen, please," ho said—his eyes had flashed and then turned grave—"l am placed here in charge' of your children, and. whatever they may hear elsewhero, I cannot have bad language in the school room. We will discuss this affair out side." A murmur of approval passed through the crowd. Walking quickly past his antagonist, he stood with the key in his hand while that individual, sulky and irresolute as if he suspected a trick, hesitated before following the rest intc "r-LZ. . | TIIB RESULT OF THE FIGHT WAS A COM PLETE SUBPRISE. the playground. Then, putting tho key in liis pocket, ho handed his coat to the nearest bystander—who happened to be Dick Dcnholme—and said briefly, for every one's hearing: "I suppose you know what fair play is in Cragside?" "Corned to see it gi'en," Dick an swered with a grin. The ring was formed, and the stripling offered his hand to his burly adversary. "Keep that for my lad," he said, "an' frame tha [get ready]!" The result of the fight was a com plete surprise. Less than five minutes sufliced, amid a scene of unbridled en thusiasm, to demonstrate the master's supremacy. His challenger lay groan ing, unable to respond to the call of "Time," and he resumed his coat, breathing hard, but without a scratch. A shrill shout wont up within the school house, whoso windows were thronged with wide-eyed faces pressed against tho glass. Dick Denliolmo Rpoke up like the funny man in. a melodrama. "Now then!" he cried, above tho din of voices, "ther' some on yo' calkin' o' what ye'd da Are ye bahn to get agate? He's here, is t' lad, an' just i' fettle [in 'form'], lie willn'tkeep yo' waitin'.— What, ye're back'ard i' comin' forrard? Well, then, he s'll feight wi' his coit on. Six to one bar one—it's a fair wager?" llut the victorious dominie cut short this flattering stream of banter. "Ex cuse me," he said stiflly; "I think we huve wasted too much time already. He good enough to clear the playground as soon as your man can go with you." And he went in without further par ley, leaving tliom to straggle away with as much dignity as they could muster. If he had cared to think of it, George Oak worth might have found in this re contre the means of becoming popular; but as it was, he only made the ac quaintance of Dick. That uncomely outlaw was so seized with admiration of his skill as a boxer, that he regularly waylaid him on the road home, and kept him in conversation with queer stories of village life. The sequel the readers knows. It should be added, however, that old Mrs. Denholme, who soon afterwards became the toucher's landlady, made him so comfortable, and so plainly looked on him as her ne'er do-weel's good angel, that ho found himself very much at home; and further, that Dick iiad fower occasions for over-indulgence in malt liquor than aforetime, and began to respect him self accordingly. In one particular only did Dick find the schoolmaster an uncongenial friend. He could never bring him to talk sympathtically of affairs of the heart Yet he made to him a most in timate confession, which, until then, had never passed his lips. "Ye willn't hardly believe it," he said —they were walking one afternoon among the heather of the parish com mon— "but there's a lass f Cragside parish 'at'ould wed me to-morn if Aw could but kaep teetotal. Aye, there is. Aw'm a gaunless [stupid] fooil, mate, that's what Aw am. Shoo's t' grandest lass i' four parishes, an' Aw do believe shoo fancies me! Hut—well, tlia knows. Aw git droughen wi all my mates but thee." George Oak worth, prone on his back, with his" hat tilted over his eyes, lis tened to this touching avowal in abso lute sileuce. Most people would have divined that, in a man so youthful, this kind of taciturnity indicated a re cent disappointment; but Dick, in his innocence, admired it despairingly as a mark of superiority. "Tha thinks Aw'm soft, mebbe," lie said, raising himself on his elbow from a similar position of reposa "But tha's nivvor seen her. Eh, lad! shoo's likeva fine mornin' i't' springtime. It maks a man's blood dance just to look at her!" Hut the teacher's cynicism was not long to be left undisturbed. On a summer evening of the very next week, as he struck into a wonted field path on his way homewards, he came face to face with a romantic adventure. Wtlking with his gase bent upon the ground, he became conscious of a female figure standing right in his path, and mechanically raised his eyes. For an instant he faltered in his stride; the girl's glance was upon him as if she would speak, and in tho whole course of his life he had not beheld so sunerb a creature. lier clear beauty of complexion, and tho lusty health and strength whieh confessed itself in every generous line of her queenly figure, were the fea tures which first amazed him. She was clad in a hcmely print gown, which might have fitted her when it WRS new, but which she had so Autgrown that its seams were bursting on tho rounded arms, and it was only held across the ample bosom by a few pre carious buttons. Iler smooth and lus trous brown hair was auburn where it was touched by the sunlight, and set on the back of her graceful lieud she wore a huge straw sun-hat, in an advanced stage of dilapidation. "You mustn't go this Way," she said, and advanced her hands as if she would push him back; for he had been about to pass her when she found her tongue. The teacher smiled, and raised his hat with a town-bred courtesy. "Why not?" said he, glad of the chance to stop and feast his eyes upon such fresh and salient loveliness. What ripe, sweet lips she had! and how ten der was the blue of her lustrous eyes!" "Eh, you mustn't, Mr. Oakworth. They've planned to fettle you down yonder. I heard 'em planning it yes ternight, when they were drunk, and they're drunk to-day. They'll do it, for sure." And then she became con scious of his too eager gaze and of her own astonishing boldness, and blushed to the roots of her hair, nnd-looked the picture of modest distress. "I think ldare face them with you to stand by me," said the gracelesc rogue. "Are you going that way?" "Me! Nay, I'm going home again, as quick's my legs'll carry me!" And witli a Parthian glance, that scorned to rest upon him a thought longer than it might have dono, she tripped away along the path by which she had come. Without the presence of mind to cry "Good-bye!" or "Thank you!" George Oakworth stood very stupidly looking after her, and then—turned back to follow. Once she glauccd over her shoulder, porhaps to see if he had heeded her warning; but, whether she suspected his manoeuvre or was merely satisfied, she looked behind no more. Her pace quickoned presently into n run, so rapid that, himself walking, he could not keep her in sight; and com ing soon afterwards to a place where the road divided, he had to abandon the pursuit. It was within a month of this ad venture that Mrs. Den holme's lodger, in explanation of a sudden change in his habits, volunteered the remark that he thought it bad for his health to sit up reading so late as he had been used to do, because it deprived him of the morning air. Nature, he declared, never looked so beautiful as when the dew was still on tho grass and the smell of tho cool earth WRS in tho air. And the simple soul, who almost loved him, told him that he looked a vast deal better for early Tising already— "'pearter" was tho word slip employed. All she wished was that he could per suade "that idle lad" to got up earlier toa Deary me! He lay abed some times till nine o'clock, when the best of the day was gone. Stealing silently down stairs one balmy morning at four o'clock 01 thereabouts Mr. Oakworth discovered the cause of Dick's apparent slothful ness. A couple of hares which he had not noticed overnight lay on the slop stone; and Dick was out in tho yard in his stockinged feet, laboriously scrap ing a coat of fresh soil from his bob nailed boots. Palpably, he had notyet been in bed. As their eyes met the poacher started, but Mr. Oakworth, merely shaking his head, turned and went indoors ugain. On several occa- THE GIRL'S GI.ANCK WAS UPON lII.M AS IP SHE WOULD SPEAK, sions he had seen his boon companion come in of an evening with similar spoils, which he was understood to have "won in a raffle;" and Dick's luck in raffles was so extraordinary that he had thought it prudent not to pry too closely into the method of their manipulation. It did not occur to him that on this occasion at all eveirts his own behavior must appear a little curiou9 in the eyes of Dick, trained as ho was by his way of life in habits of acute observation. He hurried through the fields with the rapid stride of a man who either has too much in view, or is too famil iar with his path, to spare a glance for objects by the way. Ten minutes passed, or something less or more (time, we know, is not counted by the clock alone), ere the lithe and upright figure of Maggie Cullingworth, first seen by him on a certain evening which the reader wots of, appeared in the trellised porch of the kitchen-garden and moved sweetly towards him into the home pasture. Bhe was carelessly swinging a bask ket, and thinking, you nre to suppose, of nothing at all, which, as Ilnmlet said, is a fair thought for maids tc think. To and fro she went gathering mushrooms to line her basket; and be hind the stone wall a pair of ardent loving eyes watched her till she was hidden by an envious knoll. And thereupon the owner of those geyes turned aside down the darksome glen, and made his way unseen to a dense thicket of holly, where, in the dim depth of it, thero was a natural alcove, softly carpeted with dry leaves. And here he waited again, his head in a whirl A rustle among the branches, and his wood-nymph came peeping, lint as he stepped eagerly forward she beat a quick retreat, and stood laughing at him from behind a hazel-bush and shaking her lovely head, lie, the ras cal. approaching her with a look of tame supplication, made a sudden dash and caught her round the waist to snatch a kiss; but, adroitly, with a moist palm laid upon his mouth, she baulked the proffered embrace; and still laughed upon him over her rosy arui. The tantalizing situation! llcr face so near his own that he could per ceive the most marvellous now and gleaming beauties in it, lier glorious blue eves looking right into his, and dancing with frank enjoyment of his bullied ardor. "Oh, Maggie!" he said, with a quick piercing pang, "you promised"—and let her go. "Now then!" quoth Maggie, "you've spilled all my mushrooms." He began to pick them up, but she would not let him do so much as that for her, and hastened to do it herself, ma<euvring all the time against an other surprise. "Well?" she asked, when they had finished, and she stood facing him with one hand on her hip. "Is that all? Whore's your gathering?" He had to confess that he had for gotten to look for any. Maggie tossed her head. "Oh, Mr. Oakworth!" she said, mim icing his doleful manner exactly, "you promised!" This rustic goddess, with her liberal manners and her virtue ever on the qui vive, put him quite out of counteuauce. His glance rested upon her with an ex pression she had not hitherto seen iu aim—an expression grave and piercing, before which her eyes fell and the beat of her heart quickened. How pure and womanly she seemed to him to be, in that moment! She understood, and did not meet his glance. This open love was of a new complexion. They walked side by side down the glen into the pasture, neither a word. Once or twice her keen, familiar ear detected a crackling 1 THERE SHE SAT, HER THIN HANDS LYING OPEN ON HER I,A P. of fallen twigs in the underwood on the opposite slope. She would have been all eyes at the sound a few min utes ago, but now she gave it no heed. Hut in his roseate egotism the school mate neglected Dick; and that affron ted patron fell tragically away from grace. Ho was drunk daily, and never merry in his cups. Their long and in timate rambles were ended; their pleated ties of friendship had some how come undone; Dick's budding self-respect and his comrade's fostering interest had vanished together—and Dick was a lost man. Coming homo one Friday evening, glad that his labors for that week were over, the insouciant lover found his landlady shedding quiet tears as she went about her work. In some strange way ho was irritated; but when ho had eaten the meal that she spread for him, and had sat a while smoking in the twilight, his heart smote him, for ho realized on a sudden that she must then have been sitting for some time in silence and semi darkness in the little scullery behind the living-room. He arose and looked. There she was indeed, her thin hands lying open on her lap, her jaw fallen, and her dim eyes gazing out of the tiny window upon the last grey streaks of daylight in the western sky. He was shaken by a gruesome apprehen sion on perceiving her so. She made no sign, and it struck him that she would look like that if she were dead. "Mother!" he said, in a voice that Rounded strange to himself. It was a name ho had called her by sometimes, half in jest and half in affection, and now it came involuntarily to his lips. She turned her head, and rose hastily to. put away the tea-things. "No, not that," lie smiled, holding out his hand. "There's no hurry. Hut what's the matter to-night, mother?" iShe tottered back into the kitchen, and fumbled with the lock of a drawer, from a corner of which she took out something. "Reyk me down t' lamp, wilt-a?" she said, "an' Aw'll let tha see." He took it down from the high man telshelf; and when she had lighted it, she laid before him on the bleached harden cloth a framed pencil-sketch, yellow with ago behind the glass that had been put over it to keep the flies off. It was the portrait of a chubby boy, with his hair combed smoothly down to his eyebrows, and a comical look of speechless weariness on his face. "Aw wor thinkin'o' times goan," she Raid, "an' they moidered mo a bit Ye'd hardly fancy 'at ho wor ivver like that w'd ye? Aw fancied, when yj com'," she went on, "'at he mud git steuiiicr like; an' ho did mend; but latterly—Aw cannot tell what to think on 't He used to drink just wi' his mates like, as it leeted [happened] they com' together. But there's sum mat strange; he's nut been out o* liquor for three wik, an'this nooinin'—they browt him home, au' he—he didn't knaw me." The teacher was alarmed, and pro foundly touched. Three weeks drunk, and not to know it! "We must have a doctor for him," he said—and unwittingly added the last straw to the burden of the mother's grief, for in Cragside a doctor is not often called in except in grave cases. A period §of delirium followed. George Oakworth undertook the duties of nurse, and sat with his friend for three nights and two days, He found him pitifully changed—unshaven and dirty, yellow-skinned and haggard. Ho saw him cower, and boggle, and fight desperately, beset by phan tom horrors; and, still more monstrous, he saw the abject palsy of mind and body which succeeded to the frenzy. It was his part to oppose an unyielding resistance to the tricks and entreaties by wh'ch the miserable sufferer, with | THERE WAS A BUSTLE IN THE THICKET OP HOLLY, ANI) MAGGIE STOOD GAZING UPON THE TWO MEN. incessant iteration, sought to regain his liberty and renew his debauch. Only in the small hours of Monday morning, when Dick sank at last into a healthy slumber, did ho cease from the horrid vigil. Then, absolutely worn out, he fell asloep instantly where ho sat Ho was roused by a click of the latch on the bedroom door; but roused so imperfectly that he did not at once connect the sound with any cause. Hut it was broad morning, and, start ing up in fear of being late at school, he saw that Dick was gone. He bounded downstairs. As he entered the kitchen, Dick was hurriedly clos ing a drawer where both of them know that the table knives were kept George Oekworth strode to him. "You fool!" he said. The poor devil turned to him meekly and moved toward the staircase again. "It'll bide [keep|" he muttered. Nonsense, man!" cried the young fellow, sick with dismay. "I shall want you for best man one of these days." Dick had the piteous gaze of a wounded animal His eyes wandered. "Ho doesn't knaw," he gasped. "Cheer up, old man," urged his nurse and preserver. "What is it I don't know? Tell mo." "Say nowt, mate," answered Dick feebly, steadying himself by the wall and avoiding his questioner's eyes, "but it's my lass'atye're coortin'." Mrs. Denholmc, coming down stairs an hour later to begin the labors of the little household, found George Oak worth lying on the big sofa, his hands under his head and his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. If her sight had been good, she would perhaps have been struck by his excessive pallor; but he bade her good morning pleasantly, almost ten derly, and filled her with joy by an nouncing confidently that her son was himself again. "I don't think," he said, "he'll drink like that any more." While she busied herself lighting a fire, he went up to speak to the con valescent Dick, who was sitting on the bedstead, looked up shamefacedly as he entered the room. "Good-bye, old chap," said the teacher, holding out his hand. Dick started to his feet "Ye—ye munnnot do that!" he cried- Hut the hand was still extended, and the teacher was even smiling. "Aw willn't hev it!" he burst out, hysterically. "Ye're a better man nor me." So George Oak worth laid hold of the coarse fist that was clenched on his comrade's knee, and grasped it warmly with both hands. "It's you that don't know," he said. 'Good-bye; and—God bless you!" • A man feels like a coward at such times, and the schoolmaster got out of the house without saying a farewell to Dick's mother. He could write for his boxes when ho should need his books again- Again? Would he ever have the courage to begin life a third time? Was it worth while? Ho must leave some message for Maggie, to make Dick's happiness sure if he could. What a fool ho had been! The first time, that was comprehen sible; he had been green, eager, and careless, and the woman had been—well, none of thesa Hut a second time 1, His cheeks burned and his ears tingled, A country wench had now the laugh upon him; a wench that carried the perfume of hay and of cows about her. How it pierced through him to think of it, and of her smile, so loyal and artless, and full of the promise of sweet things, that he could never look at her more than a moment or so. He found a pencil and a piece of paper, and, still shaking, he wrote some formal words of pitrting: "DEAH MISS CULLINGWOBTH, —I am going away, for I havo no right to see you again. I was never worthy to be your friend; but I assure you I did not know till this morning about Dick Make him happy. He loves you more than he does his life. Good-bye. There have been no pleasanter times in all my life than those walks and talks with you. Good-bye. For yov there are happier thingß in store; but I hope you will sometimes spare a kind thought of remembrance for one who is forever—YOUß DEVOTED ADMIRER " lie folded the note, and fixed it with bia scarf-pin upon the trunk of an old tree, by the mouth of their holly-grove. It pleased Him a little to think of ibe scarf-pin as a keep-sake. It had been his mother's gift to him, and there was no woman else so worthy to keep it as this rustic maiden for whom his heart was bleeding. He must have been mad to think of her for one instant as false, as like He had barely time to hide, warned by the familiar click of a gate, before she came in sight of the spot where ho had been standing. He crouched among the bushes, trembling at the thought of being found there; and oh! the dolorous pang that pierced him when a little cry of joy announced I that she had seen the note. In the moments of dizzy throbbing confusion and heart-sickness that fol lowed he was vaguely conscious of hearing a moan and something like a fall; but when he came to himself, starting and beginning to listen in - { tently, he wondered whether it was , possible that he could have made those sounds. But, if not —if it was Maggie, and she was lying there! Heavens! did she love him, then? and so much, so strangely? lie came out from his hiding-place, and stood, with white face and listless hands, distracted with indecision. He could not leave her so; but to go to her was never to leave her again. A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder and shook him much as an electric discharge shakes one. "Dick!" Of all men in the world the least welcome. His eyes restless with a hid den intent, and his manner betraying 1 a frightful affectation of gaiety. "Aye, Dick!" he said, with a short laugh that sounded cynical and fierce. "Dost think Aw didn't knaw wheer yo do yo'r sweetheartin' ?" The schoolmaster made a gesture of desperation. "For God's sake," ho burst out, "don't let's quarrel here. Go and see to that poor girl. I dare not," Dick laughed again as the younger man began to speak; but at the allusion siou Maggie, though ho could not have understood it, his face grow suddenly grave, and his lips moved queerly. "Nay," he replied, Rpeaking quickly and between gasps, "That's what Aw've corned for. Yeknawnowt what ye're doin'. If it bo agean her will-- an' thee goin' away, mate fro' Cragside Dang it, we're mates, lad—we've been like mates, choose how!" The schoolmaster looked at him, comprehending nothingyet "Sitha, Aw willn't hev it! Dost hear? Aw tell tha Aw cannot thoil *tl" lie was shouting, and his faco was like that of a furious man. There was a rustle in the thicket of holly, and Maggie, a vision of loveli ness among the dark leaves, stood gaz out upon the two men, very pale and wild-eyed. A moment later, with a tremulous cry of mingled fright and joy, she had thrown herself upon the schoolmaster's breast and was whisper ing eagerly: "You won't go now! Oh, say you won't go! I should die, I think!" Ho clasped her passionately, with a great sob and the blindness of sudden tears. "Tha sees!" blurted Dick, unheeded; "shoo're noan o' my lass. D'unnot stand tlieer like a stuck sheep! Dang tha, tha maks me wild!" And he plunged headlong down the side of the gorge. Dick's matchmaking was discon certed for a while by the unappeasable sulkiuoss of Ephraim Cullingworth, Maggie's turbulent and raffish father. Hut she came of age a few months later, and one bright morning in the winter they were married quite liuppily without his consent. The merrymak ings at George Oakworth's new home near the schoolhouso were presided over by Dick in his predestined and voluntary capacity of best man. At their height they were interrupted by the sudden appearanco of the malcon tent, who came noisily in without knocking, and waved asido the out raged chairman, who had started up with a prodigious look of ferocity. "It's all right," ho said, with a bear ish unceremoniousness which was meant to pass for good humor. "'Course it is. Hud tha's gitten a rare wench for thi wife, George Oak worth. Ilesn't ta now? By shoo's t' bon niest i' ten darishes! Well, gio's thi hand. Aw wodn't ha' let her goa, but, dang it! tha's ta'en her—an' tha knaws how to keep her, Aw judge." Saying which, ho made a show of "sparrirg," and burst out laughing at himself, and at the joyfulness of their welcome. Love. We sometimes meet with men whc seem to think thnt any indulgence in an affectionate feeling is weakness. They will return from a journey and greet their families with a distant dignity, and move among their chil dren with the cold and lofty splendor of an iceberg surrounded by its broken fragments. A father had better extin guish his boy's eyes than take away his heart. Indulge in the warm and , gushing emotions of filial, parental j and fraternal lova Think it not n weokness. God is love. Love Clod, ! love everybody and everything that is lovely. Teach your children to love— j to love the rose, the robin; to love their j parents; to love their God. Let it be ' the studied object of their domestic ' culture to give them warm hearts and ardent affections. Hind your whole family together by these strong cords. You cannot make them too strong. Religion is love, love to God, love to man. The Wisest Way. In nine caseß out of ten the better course is, if a man cheats you, cease to i deal with him. If he is abusive quit his company, and if he slanders you I take care to live so that nobody will j believe him. No matter who he is or t how he misuses you the wisest way is let him alone; for there is nothing bet- \ ter than this cool, calm and quiet way 1 of dealing with the wrongs wo meet with. Lies unheeded will die, fires un- i fanned will die out, and quarrels 1 neglected become as dull as the now , all but extinct vol can a If anything in the world will make I a man feel badly it is unquestionably a quar ret ,'J. c. mill's MARKET. I Flour, Bonny, No. 1. $1.85 per bag. ; Chop and feed, $1.15 per bag. | Hani, 14c per pound. I Lard, 124 c per pound, i Shoulders, lie per pound. | Codfish, !)e per pound. ; Mackerel, 10c per pound, j Haddock. 5c per pound. Bologna. 8c per pound. 1 3 pounds mixed cakes, 25c | 3 pounds coffee cakes, 25c. i 3 pounds ginger cakes, 25c. j 4 pounds soda cakes, 25c. Sodas by barrel, 44c per pound. I 2 pounds sugar vanilla cakes, 25c. I 5 pounds rice, 25c. 4 pounds rice, 25c. 5 pounds barley, 25c. G pounds oat flake, 25c. 0 pounds oat meal, 25c. 5 pounds currants, 2oc. 5 pounds Valencia raisins, 25c. 3 pounds blue calf raisins 25c. 3 large bags salt. 25c. G bars Octagon soap, 25c. 4 pounds Marseilles soap, 25c. 4 pounds oline soap, 25c. Rookwood chocolate, 30c pound. 5 pounds tea, oolong A No. 1, SI.OO. 1 5 pounds English breafast tea, A No. 1, SI.OO. Blankets, white, 70c, 00c. SI.OO, $1.20, $1.50, $1.75, $3.00, $5.00, SO.OO, SB,OO and SO.OO. Comforts or quilts, 50c, 75c, 00c, $1 00, $1.25 to Downs' $5.00. All kinds woolen dress goods, 20c yard; double width, up to $1.75. Come in and see our dry goods notions— woolen, cotton and funny articles. Men's working gloves and Sunday gloves, underwear, etc. Shoes, boots, slippers, gum hoots, rubber shoes t felt boots, split boots, grain boots and booties. Carpets and oil cloths, rugs, mats, Brus sels carpet, ingrain, rag, hemp, etc., I carry the largest line in this town. FURNITURE! Well, I can't say any more than that I have $5,000 worth upstairs. Parlor suits, bed room suits and beddings. Ladies* and children's coats, all at half price. SIO.OO coat for $5.00; SB.OO coat for $4.00, etc. My store is full of bargains all the time. Drop in and C. J. C. BERNER. ,W_, ...LEHIGH VALLEY RAILROAD. Antliraoitc coal used cxclu- I sivefy, insuring cleanliness and ARRANGEMENT OF PASSENGER TRAINS. MAY 14, 1893. LEAVE FREELAND. 0 05, 8 47, 9 40. 10 41 am, 1225, 1 2 27, 3 45, 4 55, 0 58, 7 12, 8 47 p m, for Drifton, Jeddo. burn er Yard, Stockton and Hazleton. 0 05 a m, 1 32, 3 45, 4 55 p in, for Manch ('hunk, Allontown, Bethlehem, Phila., Easton and New r ork. 0 40 a in for Bethlehem, Easton and Phila. 7 20, 10 50 a in, 12 10,4 34 p in, (via Highland ranch) for \\ hitc Haven, Glen Summit, Wilkes- Harre, Pitts ton and L. and B. Junction. SUNDAY TRAINS. II 40 a m and 3 45 p m for Drifton, Jeddo, Luni er Yard and Hazleton. 3 45 pm lor Delano, Mahnnoy City, Shenan oali. New York and Philadelphia. ARRIVE AT FREELAND. 5 50, 7 00, 7 26, 9 18, 10 56 a m, 12 16, 1 15, 2 18, 484, 6 58 and 887 p m, from Ha/.lctou, Stockton, uiuber Yard, Jeddo and Drifton. 7 26, 9 18, HI 50 a in, 2 18, 4 84, 6 58 p m from Delano, Mahanoy City and Shenandoah (via New Boston Braneh). r,. 1 ,V r>l P ; r> *V in d I' ,n from New York, Easton, l liiladelphia, Bethlehem, Allentown and Mauch Chunk. 9 18 and 10 56 a m, 1 15, 0 58 and 887 p in from Huston, IMiilu., Bethlehem and Munch ('hunk. 9 18, 10 41 a in, 2 27,6 58 pm 1 rom White Haven, 0 Jen Summit, Wilkes-Barre, Pittston and L. and B. Junction (via Highland Braneh). SUNDAY TRAINS. 11 81 a in and 831 pm, from Hazleton, Lum ber 4 ard, Jeddo and Drifton. 11 31 a m from Delano, Hazleton, Philadelphia and Easton. 3 31 p in from Delano and Mahanoj' region. For further information inquire of Ticket Agents. It H. WILBUK, Gen. Supt. Eastern Div. A. W. NONNEMACHEU, Ass'tG. P. A. South Bethlehem, Pa. '1 HE DELAWARE, SUSQUEHANNA AND A SCHUYLKILL RAILROAD. Time table in effect September 3,1893. Trains leave Dril'ton for Jeddo, Eckloy, Hazlc Brook, Stockton, Beaver Meadow Koad, Bonn and Hazleton Junction at 6 (JO, 6 19 a m, 12 1(1, 4 09 p m, daily except Sunday, and 7 08 a in, 2 88 p tn, Sunday. Trains leave Drifton for Ilarwood, Cranberry, Toinhicken and Derlnger at 600 a m, 12 10 p m, daily except Sunday; and 7 08 a m, 2 88 p ni, Sunday. Trains leave Drifton for Oneida Junction, llurwood Bond, Humboldt Koad, Oneida and sheppton at 610a m, 1210, 4 Oil pm, daily except Sunday; and 7 08 a m, 2 518 p m, Sunday. Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Harwood, ( runnerry, romhickcn and Dcringcr at (187 a j m, 1 49 p m, daily except Sunday; and 8 47 a m, 4 18 p m, Sunday. Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Oneida Junction, Harwood Boad, Humboldt Koad, Oneida and Sheppton at 6 47, 9 10 a ill, 12 40, 4 89 p m, daily except Sunday; and 7 40 a m, 808 p I m, Sunday. Tr ills leave Derlnger for Toinhicken, Cran berry, Harwood, Hazleton Junction, Bonn, Beaver Meadow Boad. Stockton, llazle Brook, Hekley, Jeddo and Drifton at 2 40, 607 p m, ' daily except Sunday; and 937 a m, 507 p m, 1 Sunday. Trains leave Sheppton for Oneida, Humboldt Boad, Harwood Boad, Oneida Junction, Hazle ton .I unction a d Bonn at 7 62, 10 Hi a m, 115 5 25 p in, daily except Sunday; and 8 14 a ra, 3 45 i p m, Sunday. Trains leave Sheppton for Beaver Meadow Boad, Stockton, llazle Brook, Kekloy, Jeddo and Drifton at 10 16 a m, 5 25 p m, daily, except Sumlay; and 8 14 a m, 8 45 p in, Sunday. Trains leave Hazleton Junction for Beaver Meadow Boad, Stockton, Hazlc Brook, Eckloy, Jeddo and Drifton at 10 88 a in, 8 11, 5 47, 688 p m, daily, except Sunday; and 10iWa in, 5 88 p m, Sunday. All trains connect at Hazleton Junction with electric cars for Hazleton, Jeaiusville, Auden- Hed and other points on Lehigh Traction (Jo's. Trains leaving Drifton at 6 10 am, Hazleton Junction at 9 10 u in, and Sheppton at 7 52 a in, J b" P ni, connect at Oneida function witli L. V. B. B. trains east and west, • Train leaving Drifton at 6 00 a in, makes con nection at Do ringer wit li P. B. It. train for Wilkes-Barre, Sunbury, Ilarrisburg, etc. E. B. COX E, DAN IEL VOX E, President, Superintendent.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers