Bloomington Telephone, Volume 7, Number 33, Bloomington, Monroe County, 22 December 1883 — Page 4

UttlAILUIlifc UMlil WALTER S. BJUUFUTK, E4Unr. BLOOMINGTON, : : INDIANA AT THE MILL, What do yon see, my farmer? Gray walls of wood and of stone. A mill-wheel turning' to grind your gnat, And turning for that alone. Ton hear the millstone's murmur, The splash of the tumbling mi, Asyou plod with your oxen slowly down The sunny slopes of the hill. The heavens are blue above you, l There's sun and shade on, the road; You touch the brindled backs of your team And reckon the bags in the load. Tou olip the heads of the daisies, And wonder that God should need To litter the fields with the staring blooms Of a stubborn and worthless weed. You're honest and true and sturdy, tHere, give me your brawny hand' A singer of idle songs, I greet The farmer who tills the land. Plod home witt your grist in the gloaming; i The baby crows at the gate; And over the hill by the pasture ban The lowing cattle watt. "What do I see, my farmer? The mill and the rill and the wheel; The moss on the shingles, the mold on the stones, And the floating mists of meaL But the poet's vision is clearer. Revealing the hidden things; I see the rivulet flow to the sea Prom cool, clear, woodland springs. I see the brown fields quicken "With the green of the growing wheat; When the swallow's a-tilt at the bending eaves. And the breath of the morn is sweet. I see the swaying reapers. In fields of the golden gram; And oxen that pant in the summer sun Yoked to a loaded wain. I see white sails careeningOn the opal tinted seas. When the silvery sunlight glints the waves, That are stirred by a freshening breeze. I see the storm-rack gather. That blots out the evening star; And flung in the foam of a billow's crest; A drowned man lashed to a spar. I see in a city's shadows, a sgure trtat creeps ana scrawls blond, or bread." while the wine flows rea. And there's mirth in the city nails. I see a rich man's darlings As fresh as the rose's bloom; . . And the gaunt white face of a litte child Dead, in a barren room. Plod home with your grist, my farmer, Nor heed how the wide world fares; The eyes that are clearest are saddest alway, ijWith their burden of alien cares. Hushed is the millstone's murmur; The dripping wheel is still, And over the dusky vale I hear The song of the Whippoorwill. E.G. Meager, in Centurif Magazine. DOCTOR AHD PATIEST. A Story in Two Chapters. CHAPTER X. W ell, doctor, what's the verdict? Am I condemned to death, or are you going to reprieve meP "I think I can reprieve you. But I cant promise to do more." "I never expected it. I know my state 'quite as well as you I haven't a year's life in me. Now, don't begin to talk the usual rubbish; you ought to know me well enough by this time. Can yon give me six months." "Not in England." "Where?". "Somewhere in the South say, Nice or Cannes. .Nice, by preference." "All right; Nice, by all means. When can I travel?" "Early next week, if - you rest the remainder of this." Mr. Fletcher gave a dissatisfied grunt as he turned himself in his bed. "Look here, Maitland," he said, when he had settled himself into a new position; "if you think at .my time of life I'm going to gad about foreign countries by myself you're mistaken. You'll have to come with me." The doctor smiled; be was pleasantly surprised to hear his patient make the suggestion, bnt he did not wish him to see how gratified he was. "What is to become of my practice meanwhile?" he asked. "Oh, vour practice "must take care of ikait: Inolc nnnn tins innrtwv as a. nnlinnv felv tn Nun. Tint ma in the hands of a p-nnd nctnr there, and then vnn onxi Iaava ma tn end my days in peace. I think you will do that tor three nunarea and expenses?" "I would do it for less," was Maitland's reply. "I don't want you to. I'm rich enough, s you well know, to pay well for what people do for me. What do you suppose I want to keep mv money for? I can't take it with me, can t eh?" Not beyond Nice," replied the young doctor, using the freedom that his eccentric patron liked. "Good, and I shan't want much there; I can't make much of a hole in my property in six months, however hard I try; though I believe that young scamp of a nephew f mine will grudge me my daily drive." Maitland was silent; it was not his place to foster the breach between uncle and nephew, whatever his private opinion of Fred Dexter's character might be. "You have a father, haven't you?" asked the old gentleman, after a pause. "Yes; he is still living." "Then treat him better than my son treated me; it will make him happier, if it doesn't make you." "I wish you would let me speak to you about your son," said Maitland. "Thank you; I'd sooner hear you on any .other subject." "I dont often trouble you with this one." "No, or I should change my doctor." "You have done him injustice, at all events," said Maitland, rather warmly, "and I think you will live to repent.it." "In that case you must make me live longer than you profess to be. able to do," retorted the invalid. "Dont renew the sub--ier:ti. nlease. till I ask von. Come in to morrow, and we will make final arrangements about the journey." Maitland knew Mr. Fletcher intimately enough to know that me interview was over. He left the room and proceeded on his round of afternoon visits, reaching his small house about an hour before dinner. A letter was waiting for him; it was di rected in a lady's hand. and. bore the tost mark of Nice. He read it through twice. apparently enjoying the perusal, then he jay nacK in ni caau- ana tnougnc. "It's a stroke of good fortune, most decid edly," be soliloquized. "Amy is at Nice, and now i snaji oe awe to go and see her. That will be a pleasant surnrise for her. 3 hope. I'm afraid she doesn't get too many of them. Luckily, Mr. Fletcher will never sruess the reason oi my recommending Nice : after all, it is just as good for him as any other Dlace. and I may be doim? him a greater service than he dreams of in taking him there, u cning iau one as they should." In the midst of his reverie the servant entered, bringing him another letter. "Please, sir, this came this morning, but vou don't seem to nave seen it." Maitland opened it, not with the alacrity &e had shown witn tne sm, a ran snug : Dkar Maitlakd: How is the old boy? This question will savor of nepotic anection or minrerted selfishness: vou mar take vour own meaning. X ask, because I ant among the sharks aarain. and until I can naeify them with a feed on my uncle's accumulations they are insatiable. I want to know, as a matter of

business, how long he is likely to linger on this 1 earth, it ne Has made a will in my ravor, as no knows very well I shall not be sorry to get it proved. Why should I hesitate to own as truth that which he taunts me with evor.v time we meet? Could you lend me fifty till the time comes? Charge fifty per cent, if you like. Tell me truth about my uncle; I can bear it even if you give him five years longer. I shall bear it still better if you confine him to five months. Yours, F. Dexter. "Heartless brute 1" thought Maitland, on finishing, "though certainly he never makes a pretense of being anything else. It is fortunate for him that his uncle knows so little about him, or his chance of succession would be considerably smaller." He scribbled a note in reply to the letter simply informing Dexter of nis uncle's intended journey and of his state of health. He omitted to give any opinion as to the probable length of his tenure of life. Dr. Maitland was still a young, man in his profession, though he was thirty-four years of age. He had entered it late; his prospects were fairly good, but hitherto bis practice had been restricted in a country town it takes time for a new man to make a position, as every family of standing already possesses a medical man and is unwilling to change. However, be did not despair of getting on. He had every reason for wishing to do so, for he was desirous of getting married. He was not yet even engaged; he had secret reasons for not proposing at present to the girl he loved. Whether he would ever be in a position to do so was more than he could as yet foresee. Mr. Fletcher had been his patient during the last five years in fact, ever since he began practice. This was partly because he had quarreled with all the other medical men of the town, but chiefly for a reason that he would never own. This was that Maitland had been a great friend many years before of his only son Charlie. Charles Fletcher was a very different stamp from his father. The latter was as a rule selfish and arrogant diligent in business and economical in habits. He had bred his son up in his own footsteps, but had found that he could not mold his character as he wished. Charley was inclined to extravagance, held the opinion that money was of no use unless spent, thought that life should be valued for its opportunities of pleasure rather than of gain, and in countless ways ran counter to his father's life-long maxims. Quarrel followed quarrel; the fact that he loved his son so well only made the father more bitterly resent the want of affection and respect with which he was treated, till one day the crisis arrived. Mr. Fletcher had determined that his son should marry early, hoping by this means to make him settle down. He informed him of his wishes accordingly, pointing out that he intended to make his future prospects depend on the propriety of his selection. Charlie postponed the matter as long as possible, until at last a confession became inevitable. He was married already. This put a stop to all hope of reconciliation; there was a violent scene, during which the father refused to recognize the marriage, and told his son he must shift for himself. This Charlie said he was quite ready to do, and that his father need not fear any applications for assistance from him. If money made men behave like his father, the less he had of it the better. A year afterward Charles Fletcher died in Paris. His father refused even to make inquiry as to his wife, but was informed shortly afterward of her death also by a paper sent to him from some unknown quarter. He said nothing to any of his friends, but his health gradually broke down, and from being a robust, active man he became in the course of years an invalid. A second attack of paralysis was the immediate cause of Mr. Maitland's last visit, and no one knew better than the patient that his days were numbered. "Ah well!" he used sometimes to say, "I don't want to live, and several people want me to die the majority ought to have their wisn." CHAPTER II. However, when Mr. Fletcher found him self at Nice, with its charming surroundings and delightful climate, he almost be an to have regrets that he must so soon ad farewell to existence. "I wish. Maitland, I had come here sooner," he said one day. "Why didn't you order me here long agor' "It wouldn't have done you any good. and I thought you preferred England." "So I do to live in, but this is the sort of place to die in." Maitland made no attempt to turn his thoughts; his patient always resented it if he did. "I hope you are having a pleasant time here as well," continued Mr. v letcher. ' don't want to monopolize you, you know." "Thanks, X think jve shown you 1 can leave you alone occasionally." "l didn't Know vou nao. mends Here. Who are those rjeODle I saw vou talking: to this morning: in the gardens?" "The Kestertons; x omy Know tuem slierhtlv." "H m!" coughed Mr. Fletcher. "I should have thought you knew one of them rather well. She's a pieasant-ioomng gin." Maitland tried his best to look uncon scious, and flattered himself he succeeded. "Oh, X know tne one you mean," he said, "but she isn't one of the Kestertons; she's a Miss Fletcher." "Same name as mine? Well, Fletchers are common enough." "Yes, but not such Fletchers as she," re marked Maitland. The old gentleman did not reply; his thoughts had evidently wandered back to old times. Maitland was careful not to disturb him; he had noticed lately that his reveries had become more frequent, and that they seemed to sorten the ascermty oi his nature. ' They were seated on the terrace, where they often came to watch the passers-by; it seemed to please the invalid to see the gay life of which he could no longer be a partaker. The young doctor was still sitting silent ly, when he was interrupted with: "Bring her here; I want to speak to her." He looked up and saw the young lady of whom they had been speaking approaching them. By her side ran a little girl seven or eight years old. "Do you wish to know her?" asked Maitland. "Yes; why should you be afraid of me? I'm not likely to be a rival." Maitland felt this was a home thrust; the old man's eyes were keen enough yet. He went forward to meet Miss Fletcher, close ly watched by his patient. "Amy," he said, "I want to introduce you to a- patient of mine. Oddly enough, he has the same name as yours. You will do him and me a kindness if you will talk to him a few minutes." " With pleasure," replied Amy, adding in a half whisper: "So it is a kindness to you ior me to taut to some one else, is itr" "Sit down here, my dear," said the invalid, alter a few minutes' ereneral talk. "Maitland, you take little Missy to see that wonaernu cactus at tne end or tne terrace ; I want to talk to Miss Fletcher a little." Maitland obeyed, glad to find that he bad interested his patient in a new direction. He took little Cissv'sliand and marched her off toward the cactus, though she seemed scarcely to like leaving miss Fletcher. She soon began talking about her, and found that her companion was an appre ciative listener. Not, only that, but he asked questions about her a most unjustifiable proceediug, of course; but he salved his conscience by arguing that nothing Cissv could say would alter his opinion of her governess, and it was very pleasant to hear her praises sounded by a disinterested observer. At the end of a quarter of an hour they returned to the seat. Amy rose as they atroroached. "Maitland," said Mr. Fletcher, "I am coins to stay out here ior another hour or so; you had better accompany this young lady home. You will find me here when vou rtstnrn." Maitland did not make any very length ened protest.

"How do you like my old friend?" he I

asJted, when they were out of hearing. ! "l tninK he is delichttul." was Amy's eply. What did you talk about?" "All sorts of thiues. He asked me how old 1 was tlwt was very rude, wasn't it? and all about ny father and mother, and now it was x lived with tne jtestertons." "And what did ou say?" "I told him that you could tell him more about me than I could myself. He seemed rather surprised. I should not wonder if you came in for a cross-examination this evening." "Did he ask you to come and talk to him again?" Yes. wnyr" I suppose because he liked your so ciety," replied Maitland, willfully misinterpreting her question. "Be sure you come to the terrace at the same time to morrow." "Yes, I will make a point of it, so you can consider yourself relieved." "I may be relieved, but I don't intend to be dismissed again," replied Maitland with a laugu. "X suppose x nave no excuse goou enough for coming in?" he added, as they reached the door of the villa hired by the Kestertons. "I must leave you to settle that question." "I have no excuse to make at all. but I'm coming in all the same, if you will let me." "it isn't my house," replied Amy. "That is a very unerraoions invitation,'? said Maitiand, as he accompanied her into the hall. When Maitland. half an hour later, re turned to his patient, he found him talking with a man who was sitting next him. lie is makine: aeauamrances to-day." thought the young doctor. As he approacned, nowever. he saw that the sunposed stranger was Mr. Fletcher's nephew, Fred Dexter. "Ah. Maitland !" was his ereetiner. "here I am, you see." xes, put in the old gentleman, on whose nature his nephew always acted as an irritant; "'where the carcase is' you know, Maitland." "Uh, come, uncle, you're not a carcase yet," protested Dexter. "You might have blamed me with more reason if I'd waited till you were one before I came to see you." "lie seems to bo under the impression that I shall be able to blame him after I'm dead," remarked Mr. Fletcher, sarcastically, to Maitland. Uh, come, uncle. I don't see why you should always put the worst interpretation on all I say." 'It won't bear anv other." nettishlv re plied the old man. "Who told you I was here?" Maitland. I wrote and asked him about you." "Do you mind letting me see that letter?" Maitland here interposed and said he be lieved he had not kept it. "That's a pity," said Dexter: "I should like to have shown it to you that you might see what my letters about you are like." "iiet us go in," said Mr. Fletcher: "I'm getting tired. You will dine with us tonight?" "Many thanks, uncle, but I've promised to see some people to-night." "Who?" "They are called Kesterton." "Do you know them?" inquired Maitland. rather anxiously. "Uh, yes, very well. Do you?" "Slightly." "There is a very nice girl in the house, a sort of companion, or governess. She's called Fletcher, same name as uncle's. Odd coincidence, isn't it?" "Come I" said Mr. Fletcher, perempto rily. After dinner, instead of trying to get his usual nap, Mr. Fletcher sat in his easychair, evidently in a very excited frame of mind. He seemed undecided what to do; he fidgeted about with one book and another till at last he threw them down, and called out, "Maitland!" "Yes." "Let me see the letter that precious nephew of mine wrote you. You haven't destroyed it. I could see well enough that you were only trying to screen mm. He said I could have read it if it had not been torn up." "l have it, it's true," replied maitland. "but Leant show it you without his per mission." "He gave it." "But I told him I thought I had destroyed it." "Very well, if you don't show it me I shall conclude the worst; it's clear you would let me see it in a moment if it was fit to be seen. Fred had better take care: he knows that he is my heir, but he dosn'fc know how near he is to having his expectations disappointed. I'm afraid he's a scamp, and it will be a bad job for him if ne can't conceal tne lace a few months longer," Maitland did not attempt to defend Dex ter; both his conscience and inclination were against such a course. He knew that he was, in spite of his advantages, a loose, untrustworthy and selfish fellow, and he had strong reasons tor hoping that his sue cession to Mr. Fletcher's money might aever become a race. The old man seemed inclined to talk this evening, .lie turned iiimseii round to face Maitland and said: "Who is Amy Fletcher?" "One is governess at tne Js-estertons." "Why? Who got her the place?" "I did," replied Maitland, looking rather guilty. H m! you seem to take a considerable intesest. in this young lady. Has she any money.'" "JNoue whatever." "Then who paid for her schooling?" "Her father left enough to cover most of the expense." "And vou sunnlied tne rest?" Maitland's look was sufficient to condemn him It's a nice, romantic story," continued the old man; "when do you propose to marry her?" "x don't know," replied the young doc tor: "pcruaps not at an." "You mean she doesn't care for you?" "JNo, x don't mean that; but 1 am m a very peculiar position in regard to her." "What is the peculiarity?" "Do you ask me to tell you?" "Yes; why not?" "I didn't like to do so without vour ask ing me directly. I have re.son to believe that she may be an heiress." "I don't see why that should stop you." "No, perhaps not; though people would doubt my sincerity in proposing to a girl so rich as sue may become." "It is very odd that an heiress should be a governess." "She doesn't know who she is," explained Maitland. "I am the only one in the world who does know. Suppose that I ask her hand she may accept me; afterward she discovers that she is very rich ; what will she think of me then? She will judge me to be the most despicable man in the world." "Whv not tell her she is an heiress, and then propose? If she loves you, the fact that, she is rich will only add to her willingness so accept you." "I can not tell her because she may never be so." Mr. Fletcher looked puzzled. "There is more in this than you tell me, Maitland," he said. You've treated me very well ; I've taken a liking for you, and for the girl too, for that matter. I should like to help you if I can, and feel I have done one kindness before it is out of my power to do any. How did you come to have this girl on your hands?" "I knew her father and mother very well They died abroad within a few months of each other, l was oniy a very young man then, as vou may imagine, but they left me in charge of their only daughter, then scarcely more than an mrant. my motner brought her up; when she was old enough aha wits mnt, to school, as I told vou." This simple recital interested the old mnn more than he cared to show. He could not prevent his voice from trembling as he asked; "Is her grandfather alive?" "Yes," was the reply. 'Whv does he not support her?" "He doe not know of her existence. He quarreled with his son, who went abroad

and died there, telling me never to lot bis father know that he left a child. I have kept the secret till now." "You mav as well finish the story now

you have gone so far," said the invalid, railing back in Ins chair. "What was ner father's name?" "Charles Fletcher." "My son?" "Yes, your son." "Then Amy is my grandchild?" Maitland assented. "She does not know it?" . . "No: she is not aware of the existence of any relative. Your son made me promise she should be kept in ignorance of her relationship to you. I shall never tell her." " 1'nat will do for to-night. X am tired and excited; my head aches abominably. I will go to bed." Maitland came down stairs so soon as he had seen bis patient attended to. He, too, felt excited and feverish. He determined to take a stroll in the cool evening air. His object had been accomplished; he had made known to his patient the existence of his granddaughter. Would the result answer his expectations? If so, what would it be his duty to do? no was still revolving the matter m nis mind, trying to look at it dispassionately as an outsider and failing miserably, when he heard himself accosted. "Hello, Maitland, I thought I recognized you.- Uorgeous night, isn't it? Are you in a hurry?" "I must get back soon," was the reply. "I'll walk with vou if vou don't mind. The truth is I've something very important to tell you. I've made a terrific discovery." "Wellr" queried Maitland. "You know that Miss Fletcher who is companion or something at the Kestertons? I got talking to her to-night pretty confi dentially, and somehow happened to ask her the name of her father. You might have knocked me down with a feather, as they say, when she told me it was Charles Fletcher. You know who he was, I sup pose?" "Mr. Fletcher's son." "Just so. Sweet news for me. isn't it? I've always supposed mvsolf the only rela tion the old boy has, and he has told me times enough that I'm his heir. Now, if he nasn't made his will x shall be in a noie, for everything will go to this girl." "one does not know about it, does sher' "No, thank goodness 1 No one knows it but ourselves." "Why have you confided in me?" asked Maitland. "There you are, you see," exclaimed Dex ter. "I hadn't decided whether to tell you or not, when suddenly you appeared before me, and that settled it. It seemed provi dential." "That's scarcely a sufficient reason for your action, I'm afraid." "ilrt rvxr -1 -Tta J trAiii'A inrVi4r IV rail rha truth for once, I wanted to find out if the old boy had made a will, and I thought you were the one most likely to know. Then it struck me it was quite possible you might discover the secret without my help, as I know you are a friend of the Kestertons and acquainted with this girl." "X've Known it a long time." "Have you, though? Mv instinct was right. Did my uncle know that Charlie ieft a cb ad?" "No ; he wished it to be kept secret." "Well," said Dexter, after a few mo ments' deliberation, "I'm not as safe as I should like to be. It seems to me I've only one course open to me, which will insure everything turning out right. wnat is tnat?" "I must marry1 Amy." Maitland gave a start. "Marry Amy !" he repeated. "Yes. Why not.' 1 must get engaged as soon as possible. When my uncle dies, if he has left mo his property, I can break off the engagement if I want to without much difficulty ; and if she gets it all for want of a will, I must press forward our marriage. You see I'm showing my confidence in you in telling you my plans beforehand, as I take it for granted you mean to let Amy know who she is after my uncle's death, unless he leaves everything to me by will." "You are quite right" replied Maitland, stiffly. He had recovered his calmness now, and had need of it all to restrain him self. "It certainly was my Intention to let her know. I do not promise you I shall not tell her at once, in order that she may have an opportunity or urging ner claim." "Oh. confound it all. Maitland, what good will that do? Let it stand as it is for a time at any rate, ixive a fellow a chance. You see, as it is, I can make love to her as a man with good expectations, and she's only a poor governess ; but reverse our positions, and where's my chance? No, you must let matters stand for a week or two." I won't promise anything," replied Maitland. "I shall see you to-morrow, and will tell you my decision then." He turned away without saying good night. Dexter was such a mixture of apparent good-nature and selfishness ; he had such a way or taking him into his confi dence and making him a sort of partner in his disgraceful plans that Maitland was disgusted beyond measure. And this was the man who was his rival for Amy ! And his own hands were tied ! He rose early, after an almost sleepless night. He found that his patient was out of sorts, evidently tne result of want of rest. He made no allusion to the events of the previous day ; both of them seemed unwilling to start the subject. However, in the afternoon, Fletcher abruptly said: "Maitland, X wish you would send to my nephew's hotel. You know it, I suppose?" Yes. Are you going to tne terrace tms afternoon?" "Yes; the same time as yesterday. I want to see Amy." Half an hour afterward Dexter made his appearance. Mr. Fletcher asked Maitland to leave them a ad rejoin them on the terrace in an hour. As he went out Dexter managed to whisper "You won't tell her?" "No," replied Maitland, firmly. The interview between uncle and nephew was rather long. Mr. Fletcher told Dexter that he was not so ignorant of his doings as he supposed, and that he had for some time doubted whether he ought to let such a scapegrace be his heir. "I was once harsh to my son," said the old man, "and I lost him. I determined to make every allowance for you. I don's ask you if you deserve it, but 1 should like to know what your plans are. Do you intend to marry?" This sudden question took Dexter off bis guard. Making up his mind on the spur of the moment, he answered: "Yes, Sir." "Whom?" "Well, it isn't quite settled yet between us. I have not declared myself yet, but, if I obtain your consent, I will do so at the earliest opportunity." "Who is she?" "She is the governess at the Kestertons'," replied his nephew, boldly. "You've never seen her I suppose, but she is a very charming girl." 'No fortune I presume?" "I believe not." "Then you can't marry unless with my money?" Dexter rather uneasily answered; "No, sir." "Very well," said Msjuncle. "I have no objection to your making a love match. I toll you what I will do. It would be unsatisfactory for both of you if you a rich man were to marry her a pauper. If you win her consent I wili give mine and make her heiress of half what I have. You will then bo on equal terms,, as man and wife should be." Dexter was growing inoro and more uncomfortable. This was far from the state of things tie wished for. "You are very thoughtful, uncle," he murmured. "I should like to see this young lady," continued Mr. Fletcher. "I presume that bv birth and education she is iittod to be 3'our wife? You have made inquiries, I presume?" "Well, uncle, I thought that would be rather wanting m delicacy, hue is evidently a lady." "Your sentiments do you honor, Fred.

It was quite right of you not to make impertinent inquiries, especially concerning her position." Dexter felt he had done it now. It was impossible for him to confers that he knew Amy's identity. After a Uttl6 further conversation they started for the terrace, whre Maitland was shortly to meet them.

Meanwhile the young doctor had been I spending an unhappy hour. He was sure that Dexter would take the opportunity of ' telling his uncle his intention to marry Amy; the probability was greatly in favor of the old man's approval of his nephew's suit rather than of his Maitland's. One thing he was sure of that he must keep silent till Dexter had either won or lost, and that if he won he must keep silent forever. His only hope was that Amy loved him. Yet why should she? He had always been careful to treat herasayung sister, and if occasionally he had been conscious of saying something which was not quite apEropriate for a brother, she had never given im reason for believing that she had ever contemplated the possibility of a closer relationship between them than had always existed. Yet, if he lost her, and to such a heartless scoundrel ! No ! he would never let her marry that other. Yet what could bo do if she accepted him? His mind was still full of the matter when he found himself on the terrace, near the usual seat of the invalid. Mr. Flether and his nephjw were already there, and close by them tood Amy. She had evidently only that moment arrived. Dexter rose, and with considerable eagerness offered her his seat, and began to introduce her to his nncle. "There is no necessity," interrupted Mr. Fletcher; "this young lady and I have .met before." Dexter looked surprised and annoyed. He had made good use of his time during the morning, which he spent in the company of Amy, doing all he could to compress a courtship into a couple of hours. He had told her he wanted to introduce her to his uncle, but had not mentioned his name, and Amy never imagined that the uncle was the same old gentleman whose acquaintance she had already made. At this moment Maitland came up. He took off his hat to Amy, and remained standing near. For some time the conversation was to the last degree commonplace; not one of the men seemed inclined to be the first to broach the subject that each was thinking of. At last Mr. Fletcher, after a painful cough, said : "My dear, I want to speak to you seriously for a minute or two. You will excuse an old man who has not many 'months to live if he says things a little bluntly. Try and suppose that he is afraid he has not time to do otherwise." Amy looked surprised, but said nothing. "My nephew," continued Mr. Fletcher, "has told me that he wishes vou to be his wife. He has not, I believe, confessed as much to you, knowing that the possibility of his marrying depends on me. I have told him that, if he gains your consent, he will not marry a penniless girl, for I shall give you the same as I shall give him. So you see, you may rely entirely on your feelings in giving vour answer; it will not be a case of marrying for money, but only for love, vv hat do you say r" Amy said nothing. She turned her eyes on Maitland, wno persistently kept his averted. This is too sudden, uncle," pleaded Dexter. "Perhaps it is," assented the old man. " I do not ask for a decisive answer now. Plead your own cause, my lad, during the next week, and then Amy shall give her reply." Amy turned her head. "There is no necessity to wait for a week," she said; "my mind is quite made up. I can never marry Mr. Dexter." My . dear girl," persisted Mr. Fletcher, "do not make up your mind so swiftly. No doubt my blunt way of put ing the matter has pained you. X cau see you aa agi tated. Liet me plead for my nephew. His love for you is disinterested; he knows you Dut as a cnarming young laay wnc is at present occupying a position unworthy of her. He knows nothing of you whfctever beyond that; judge then whether you are treating him quite fairly in refusing to listen to him. It is not so easy to find young men, nowadays, who are capable of dis playing such disinterested earnestness and devotion in seeking for a wife. He tellsme he is even ignorant of the name-of your parents does not that show he values you for yourseir" Dexter had tried once or twice to inter rupt his uncle, but in vain. However, he now managed to interpose- with: 'Xtenlly uncle, you appear to imagine that" But he was interrupted m his turn by Amy. "Did Mr. Dexter tell you he did not know who my father was?" she asked. 1 x es," replied Mr. i letcner, "and x ap plauded the delicacy of feeling he showed.". "i must ten you taeu inao ne aia asx me, and seemed very surprised to hear his name, mere seems to oe some mystery about it, for its mention seems to have sufficed to turn Mr. Dexter from a casual ac quaintance into an ardent admirer." Dexter stood aoasuea; ne aia noc attempt to defend himself. 'So. sir," said his uncle, severely, "it seems that you do know who this young lady is. I had my suspicions, and that is why I have said what I have, thinking I should catch you in your own trap." "I thought you would be pleased if I married her," pleaded Dexter. "Don't say another word, sir. lieaye us now; come to my rooms tnis evening, x shall have something to say to you then." Dexter walked away as carelessly as he could. "Come a little closer to me, my dear child," said Mr. Fletcher,, in a tender tone, as soon as his nephew was out or sight. 1 have some news for vou. You must think Vie a verv strange old man so I amy per haps. You think x have been very rude and unkind, but it was for your sake. No one is near us now; put your arms around my neck and kiss me and call me grandpapa." Amy looked at hini in astonishment for a moment, and then glanced at Maitland; His look reassured her; sne nung ner arms around the old man's; neck and kissed him. "Grandpapa, t" she exclaimed. i true?" "Yes, my darning.- Ah, if I had; Ly known it before I It's your fault.. Maitland." "Are yoa quite surer" he asked.. "Well, no; I suppose it's chieflSy wrae. Do you think, Amy, you will be able to love me for the few months I have-to live?" "Oh, don't talk of dying, grandpapa; you mustn't.?' "Ask Maitland-."' "What must I as&him?" "If he can spare me a part of your affection for a time. Ah, I know all aboat it, you see ; my eyes are not so dim yet but that I have seeu more than either of you imagine. Take her, Maitlandi."Maitland dlid afc hesitate long, for Amy's glad look revealed to, him that her grandfather had judged her truly. Alt &S Teal jRownti. Daniel Conroy, of Erie, Pa., who achieved notoriety two years ago by foing insane over the "fifteen" puzzle, as t'oceafcly been released from the asylum where he was- confined. Recently, while working on the new cathedral tower, 135 feet from the ground, he got furious over a tvival dispute with a follow workman and tried to throw him from the geaffold. A terrible struggle ensued, and both were kept from being clashed to pieces by other workmen, who came to the assistance of tlu man whom Conroy hail assailed. Pittsburgh Post. Medicine Hat is one of the growing towns on the Canadian Pacific. It has a population of 1.U00 aad is on the Saskatchewan River, 650 miles west of Winnipeg,

No Spots There.

It began to rain again soon attar dinner yrdttjg-d n zen who came down Jswwiwo avenue car bsidfj mr. rw ?m.rkfld : "I presume this M owing to those upots on the sun. "Heyr" cauea tne outer e j iqfv his hand to hi& ear. , "Spots on the sun!" yelled tn BHer, "Hey? Spots? Wmem "HeyP" . "On thfi simP The old maif rdsf bfi 1 tfie car and looked-out. of the wjngWgsnd squinted around for a minute,' andThen returneu anu saiu; v i "Can't see the sun the spots come there?1 "I don't know." ... "Hey?" :' $p "I don't know.". "Hay you seen, 'em?' "No." " "You have, eh?V. "Oh! you haven't? What? Tfafjjpur object in telling me there were spots on the sun? -I am not so old 4ht I permit any ona to make a fool of meP The other now looked out of the window -and assumed a careless air, but the old man wag. righ.geuin with: I .ll&li "You come into a car'wwlft l am minding my own business awd bejgfn to talk about spots on the sun. -Who are you, sir! Did you want to get me up to pick my pocket?" "They say the rainy whither. ,&mes from the spots on the sun,' explained the other. & ,. . r "Who says so? Name.ihe man! rm around all the time, l&d Uffen't heard of any spots oft - the sitil fyou think you can work "any game p me you are badly sold!" .: t& s The citizen got up to change isfeat, but the' old gent pulled teuxdqw.nand said: 'You wanted to work som sort of a game on me, and I know it. Tf ver catch you within a rod of m'e igithi I'll tie you up in a knot in two .minutes! I'll put spots on yon till you n't sleeps" " The citizen made a break tind got out, and though he had no, umbrejla he dropped off in the midst 05 the rain with the look of a man glatomake the exchange. -. Hfo.had just raa&betl the curb when the old man came to the platform and called out: "Took me for a greenhorn,, did you! I wish I'd walked you right to the police station!- AM you mfeBabl swindler! Spots, on the sun JMay b you made something out of sweet-oiling around me!" Detroit Free PressA . . . a a ml I? Asses, Ancient anu inoucrii. " - Once upon a time the wjjd asses, , tiu onagers, were the only representatives of the family, and they were-wlft of foot and so courageous that jbhe, :East and the South wore their hides as robes of honor, and kings and chiefs took the wild ass for their cognizancand badge. Oriental children wore shreds W assskin round their -necks that theytkmight grow up generous and braver DM. Ali, "the Lion of the Lord, nteiidvarty disparagement of the m"ophes fawbrite horse when he named his own donkey Duldul after it? Thus prized, e wild ass soon came under domesticati6n?'anct the under-sized drudge f thesjjjjbondott streets is the latest and most f degraded variation of the speciesc' But fnfwrnediate between the proatTagabocl of the desert and the costermpnger'a 'moke'1 come marry snikaum moveworthy, physieallyr o their, oage. la Egypt the white ass still claims something of the respect, and ftet the p high price, of oMen da.y, v ajjgataring cue xiigypuan war x re memoer seeing more than one of these ahimaWnglriagconspicuously in the &itish.caMM Sir 1 Henry Havelock did'notdisdajnjpi add 1 one to his cortege, and' 'the Horu WEjtzpatrick, M. P.,' Bode-lothWHiMSI as used to ride thefiftyonpf Jajr- j All oyer Asia Minor the donkey of jjfierior caste is the recognized "liacTtf'Wof' the well-to-do, and I have see not i only in the Levant,, but in Saum Enrope and in Eastern Afncarsumf'tuouslv caparisoned as sreedsandef size i and form that djgnihed thir office far better than some or tne pomes oi ne Cossacks of the Dora,, the tattoos M Inidia. the breocbjosiof.Kesterni.Aanefcicav 1 or the rat-like chargers of Bejuehj war riors. 1 have seen m flie' tresh'' afP the j animals I mention and .doMptfefc write, therefore, withow foundation, or from any merely whimsical desire toBehabil- ; itate the poets' butt. 1 And 1 have overwhelming autnocuy from the past for my ' respect for donkeys. The-purely stupid asss was., unknown to antiquiW. Take Hindoo, mythology alone. There "we fi$(di..the-ieo-key in divine, demoniacal -oif ghandarvic aspeets that is, benign, malign, or merely vagabond and lotse f nxojk?d but never ignominious or ridiculous. The ass of India is a potent pereoiiage, and, as the warrior that edttoWts at Yamas, irises to the dignity 'of solar hero, the sun itself; - Ot,lt ynV will, ta ke the more familiar Greek and lAtin. What was-the ass Lucius , IjiUmunP Sacred to Baschus, it paced? tnuniDhantin Dionysian feasfesi JdL was honored, a it well deserved,' IhrO . 1 - i 4.1. ,1 ..iSj-' . my utieiiiijj: u we gou. wbev via. Whftt the Great Eastern Ba CwtTo, A use has at last been f o4; fo the Great Eastern, which been, figuratively, eating her head otf Sit" Mufordi Haven for some years paste -SJ ha been ctartered hy a coinpauy . w Inch proposes to bring coals from ScotlasKl to London; and a the grevesset can take 20,000. tons aft a timethfi, enter rise ought to pay. Ihis isnota very iffnified employment, perhaps, ' tor a ship which was .aoeeuated.iyears ago one of the wonders of the world, but her owners will not trouble themselves much about the dignity tfiftiBy-can earn, a little 00 their shares. ofW Cor. Manchester Weekly Times. , , ,V. . ' t ." -HI During a heavy tluudr-s.tasm at Taunton, Mass., the other morning lightning struck the hoiLse dbrofiSd by Peter Filzpatrick, rurjningifi $ wire clothes-line attached to the corner of the house, doi -ig considerate damaire nd stunning Mrs Fitzptrhkvf

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