Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 20 March 1884 — Page 9

The House on the Marsh!

fk -'.'/Ik

By F. WARDEN.

CHAPTER V—CONCLUDED.

His tone of grave mischief woke an answering spirit in me. Certainly not, Mr. Rayner." "Where did you pick up a sense of humor, most rare gift of your sex, and why do you hide it away so carefully, Miss Christie?"

Indeed I don't know and I don't mean to hide anything," I answered rather foolishly.

Apd how did you like the sermon?" I—I wasn't listening much, Mr. Rayner."

Not listening! A religious little girl like you not listening! I'm surprised—I really am."

His manner grew suddenly so grave, and he really seemed so much surprised, that I felt called upon to make a sort of profession.

I'm not really religious," I said, hurriedly. I haven't meant ever to pretend to be. But I do respect religion and religious people very much, and I hope some day I shall be able to enter into their feelings better than I can now. I do pray for it," I ended, almost in a whisper.

Mr. Rayner took my hand very kindly. "It will come, child, it will come,"he said, gravely and quite paternally. Go on quietly doing your duty as you do, and the blessing will come in due time."

He said it so simply, without any attempt at preaching, that I felt I looked up to him more naturally than even to a clergyman, being quite sure now that he acquitted me of any intention to be hypocritical. And when, after tea, he asked me to accompany his violin on the piano while he played Mozart's Twelfth Mass, the fervor which he put into the beautiful music inspired me with a corresponding exaltation of feeling, such as no sacred inusic had ever woke in me before. At the end of the evening Mrs. Rayner wished me good ningt and glided softly from the room before I had finished putting the music in order, as Mr. Rayner had asked me to do. When I rose from bending over the canterbury, still flushed with the excitement caused by the music, Mr. Rayner held out his hand with a grave smile.

You are the best accompanist I havi ever met you catch the spirit of this sacred music perfectly. To-morrow night I shall prove whether you are so accomplished a reader of secular music. Good night, my dear child."

And he bent down to kiss me. But I shrank back slightly, and so evadedAim, trying at the same time to make my movement seem unconscious and, with a smiling Good night," I left the room.

As soon as I had done so, my heart sank within me. What had I done? Probably offended Mr. Rayner beyond recall by what must seem to him an absurdly strained piece of prudery. It looked as if I thought myself a person of such attractions that he wanted to kiss me to please himself, instead of an insignificant little girl whom he was going, to kiss goodnaturedly, as he might have done if he had been her father. But then he was not my father, and not nearly old enough to be so, however parental and kind his manner might be if he had been forty or fifty, I should have submitted without a moment's hesitation. But, if Sarah or Mrs. Rayner, neither of whom seemed to like me very much, had suddenly come in and found Mr. Rayner kissing me, she might have mistaken, in a way which would have been very unpleasant for me, the feeling which prompted him to do so. So I comforted myself as well as I could with the thought that, after all, I had done only what was right and prudent and, if he was offended, well, there was no help for it.

The next morning, to .my great relief, his manner was just the same as usual of course what had caused so much thought and anxiety to the girl of eighteen had seemed but a trifle to the man of three-and-thirty. I wondered whether I should be summoned to the drawing-room to accompany him on the violin, as he had spoken on the previous night of wishing me to do. But at tea he was much preoccupied, and told Sarah that a gentleman would be coming to see him presently, who was to be shown into the study.

As he turned to say this, I noticed a sudden flash of horror pass over Mrs. Rayner's pale features, and disappear in a moment before her husband could see her face again and I thought I saw on Sarah's dark face a look of intelligence when the order was given her, as if she too knew something about the expected visitor. I hope I am not very inquisitive but, in a quiet country-house to which, rightly or wrongly, some suspicion of mystery is attached, one cannot help noticing even trifles connected with unaccustomed events, and wondering whether there is some meaning in them.

I tried not to think any more about it, as it certainly did not concern me but I did not succeed very well in banishing it from my mind until I sat down in the empty school-room to my evening task, set by myself, of translating a page of Markham's English History into German. I was very anxious to improve myself, so that by and by I might be an accomplished woman and able to take an engagement as finishing governess, which at the time seemed to me quite a lofty ambition. When the translation was finished, I had still to read a chapter of Guizot's French History but that, was pleasant, easy work, and might be enjoyed in the garden. I had seen the stranger as I was crossing the hall after tea. He was a small, slight man, with a fair mustache, who might be old or young and, although he wore only a gray traveling suit, he gave me the impression of being very well dressed, ind ed. I had forgotten all about him long before I made my way,

With

a heavy volume of history

in my arms, to the pond, near the prettiest, reediest corner of which I had made myself a nice little rest. There was here a willow tree which had been forced by an aggressive oak to grow in a slanting position, and one of its lowest branches hung parallel to the ground. This made my seat, and a piece of cord fastened from branch to branch a foot and a half above made a rest for my back so, with a couple of old bricks to raise my feet out of the damp grass, I could injudiciously sit there and enjoy the summer evening until quite late. I read my Guizot, conscientiously hunting out in the dictionary all the words I did not know, until the light began to fade, and I was thinking it was time to go in. when I heard voices that seemed to be coming toward me from the house.

I have mentioned a path which led, by a Bhort cut through the plantation, from the house to the high road

to

Beaconsburgh.

The speakers, a man and a woman, as I could already make out. seemed to be coin­

Siil

ing along,the path. Whoever they might be, I would wait until they had gone by before I went in. I could not see them, nor could they see me, I knew. When they came a little nearer, I recognized Sarah's voice the other was that of a man of a class much higher than her own. Could it be the stranger? He was talking familiarly and seriously with her I could tell that before I heard any words. Sarah was speaking in a tone of bitter complaint, and the first words I heard were hers.

I won't stand it much longer—and so I tell you." Tell him, my dear Sally—if you dare. And now oblige me by speaking a little lower, for there is nothing like trees for carrying tales."

She began again in a lower voice, but in the same tone, and, from the occasional Words I heard—for I cquld not help listening—I gathered that she was angry because some unknown "he" paid too much attention to some unknown "her." But I could guess who they were. Sarah, it was well known in the house, had an admirer, a man some years younger than herself, who lived a long way off—in London, I think I had heard it said—and who paid her visits at irregular intervals. Mr. Rayner took great interest in this love affair, and derived much amusement from it he had somehow discovered that the admirer, whose name was Tom ParkeS, was inclined to pay more attention than was meet to the kitchen-maid, Jane and it was Mr. Rayner's opinion that there would be very little of Jane if she encouraged the fickle •wain's attentions.

So Sarah was giving vent to her jealousy in an earnest and intimate conversation with her master's guest. It seemed a very strange proceeding. I knew that men in the position of gentlemen do treat women of a lower class with more consideration than is necessary when they are young and pretty but Sarah's face, which looked as if it was worn and lined before its time with hard work and strong passions, was more repellent than attractive, and I was glad I could not see it as I heard her fierce words more plainly, and knew how her great black eyes must be flashing and her mouth twitching, as they did whenever 3he was annoyed. "Look what I've done for him think how I've worked for him!" she said. He would never be where he is now if it wasn't for me. Does he think his new fancy will plan for him and plot for him, and risk— £4 ,* "Hush, hush—don't speak So loud I Where's your old discretion, Sally?"

Let him look for discretion in Miss Baby, with her round face and her child's eyes. Does he think he can make use of her? Nonsense 1 It wants a woman that's strong in her head and strong in her limbs to do the work he wants done, and not a soft little chit like that!" "Depend upon it, however useful she might be, he would never compare her services with yours, Sally. He is only amusing himself with thi? little simpleton," the man said soothingly.

But she interrupted him in a tone of half-suppressed savagery that made me ghudder, out of her sight though I was. "Amusing himself, do you say? Only amusing himself! Looking at her, talking to her, not because he wants to make use of her, but because he likes her, loves her" —she hissed—"as he never loved any of his poor tools, though they were handsomer a thousand times than this wretched girl! If thought that, if I really believed that, he'd find me more than his match for once. I'd spoil her beauty for her, and for him, if I hanged for it!"

Oh, what an awful woman! And all because poor little Jane was younger and prettier than herself, and had had the misfortune—for it was indeed a misfortune— bo attract the attention of her unprincipled lover!

The man spoke again, this time very gravely. I had to listen with all my attention to hear him, for they had now passed the place where I sat. "Sally, don't do anything foolish," said he. "Jim isn't a fool, and he knows how to repay services like yours, though he may be a trifle harsh sometimes. Why. he might have thrown you over with the rest when

A

I could hear no more they had gone too far. I waited DIJLL their voices had died away, and then dashed from my perch, through the plantation and the hall, up to my room, as fast as I could, locked the door, and sat down appalled.

What a terrible tragedy in the servants' hall we were likely to have if things went on like this! If Mrs. Rayner had only been a woman, not a statue, I would have confessed all to her but, as she was, it would do no good. It was not the sort of .thing I could tell Mr. Rayner, and there was no way of letting him know without telling him. There was nothing for it but to hope that little Jane would be wise and leave off provoking Sarah, and that Providence would bring Sarah herself to abetter mind.

But what a dreadful woman to have'in the house! And why had the stranger spoken of Tom Parkes as Jim?"

CHAPTER VL

The next morning I woke up with that strange feeling of oppression which is caused by something unpleasant heard the night before. I soon remembered what it was, and tried to shake off the recollection of the talk in the plantation and of Sarah's vindictive tones. I looked at. her searchingly as she came in demurely to prayers with the cook and poor little Jane, and I could not help thinking that Tom Parkes, or Jim," as the stranger had called him— but then a man of such a desperate character as they had described him to be would have a dozen aliases—might be excused in preferring the simple little kitchen maid Jane to that forbidding-looking shrew. But, perhaps, when he first made love to her, she was young and comparatively fair and, if so, he ought not to desert her just because she had grown thin and hard-look-ing in doing the wicked things he made her do. What were those wicked things? I wondered. I had seen Tom Parkes, a strongly made thick-set young man, two or three times, and he had seemed to me to have a stolid but rather good-humored expression I should have thought him to be more stupid than wicked, and certainly not the sort of man to rule with a rod of iron the formidable Sarah.

That very day I had an opportunity of comparing my impression of Tom, when I thought him a harmless and inoffensive person, with my impression of him now that I knew him to be a rogue of the most determined kind. When Haidee and I returned from our walk, we came into the garden by a side gate at the back of the house, and had to pass by the servant's entrance. Thomas Parkes was sitting outside the door in as easy an attitude as the broken chair he sat on would permit, eating bread and cheese while opposite to him stood Jane and Sarah, both annarentlv ir

high good humor. One held a jug, the other a glass, and they seemed united in the desire to please him by ministering to his wants, and by a rough kind of humor to which he was not slow in replying. They were talking about kisses, and I think they were going to illustrate the Subject, when Tom suddenly became aware of our presence, and, taking his arm from round Jane's waist, pulled his cap off apologetically and remained standing until we had gone by.

What a strange contradiction this scene •eemed to give to what I had overheard on the night before! Sarah was scarcely the sort of woman to exercise great self-con-trol when among her equals yet here she was, all laughter and rough gayety, submitting in the best of tempers to receive a share only, and evidently the smaller share, of Tom's attention with her rival Jane! I was rather ashamed of my strong interest in this low-class love affair but Sarah was such an exceptional woman, and her admirer, from what I had heard, such an exceptional man, that I could not help puzzling myself as to whether she had been only acting good humor, or whether the love affairs of the uneducated were conducted on different principles from those of other people.

That evening, after tea, when, my translation finished, the time came for Guizot, I remembered, with a pang of conscience, that I had left that nicely bound book out in the damp all night, forgotten in my hasty flight. I hurried through the plantation, eager to see if it was much injured but, when I got within a few yards of my nest, I saw Mr. Rayner there before me, standing with the unlucky volume in his hand. J, .•

If I had been conscious-stricken before, when my guilt was known only to myself, what did I feel now that it was discovered? I had not the courage to face him, but turned, and was sneaking back toward the house, when he called me—

Miss Christie!" I might have known I should not escape his sharp eyes and ears. I went back slowly, murmuring, "Yes, Mr. Rayner," and blushing with mortification. It was only a trifle, after all, but it was a most Texatious one. To Mr. Rayner, to whom I could not explain that I was too much occupied in listening to a strictly private UUe-a-tele to think, of his book, it must seem a most reprehensible piece of carelessness on the part of a responsible member of his household it would serve me right if he requested me not to touch any of his books in future. He was turning over the leaves with his eyes bent on the book as I came up but I have since thought that he took a mischievous pleasure in my discomfiture. "I am very sorry, Mr. Rayner," I began, in a low voice which almost threatened tears "I brought that book out here to read yesterday evening, and I—I forgot to take it with me when I went in. I know it was most inexcusable carlessness—indeed I will never bring one of the library books out again." "And why not, Miss Christie?" said he, suddenly dispelling my anxiety by looking up with his usual kindly smile. "I am sure Guizot is dry ehough to stand a little moisture, and, if you were to throw him into the pond, you would be his only mourner, for nobody takes him off his shelf but you. But what makes you spoil your young eyes by plodding through such heavy stuff as this? It is very laudable of you, I know but, if you were to bring out a volume of poetry or a novel, that would run no risk of being forgotten." "I am so ignorant, "said I humbly, "and I want some day to be able to teach girls much older than Haidee, so that I have to read to improve myself. And I don't read only dry things. This morning I found time to read nearly the whole of yesterday's paper." "Well, that was dry enough there was nothing in it, was there?"

Yes, there was an account of another murder in Ireland, and a long article on the present position of the Eastern difficulty, and the latest details about that big burglary."

What burglary?" Haven't you read about it? A lirge house in Derbyshire, belonging to Lord Dalston, was broken into last Wednesday, and a quantity of valuable things stolen. They say they've got a clew, but they haven't been able to find any of the thieves yet." "And they won't eithei They never do, except by a fluke."

They say that the robbery must have been most carefully planned, and that it was most skillfully carried out."

They always say that. That is to excuse the utter incompetency of the police in face of a little daring and dexterity." "And they say that it looks like the work of the same hand that committed several large jewelry robberies some years ago-"

Whose hand was that "Ah, they don't know! The mag. was never discovered."

That is another fiewspSjfer commonplace. To say that the way' one ladder was placed against a window, the window opened and entered, and the diamonds taken away, looks very like the way another ladder was placed against another window and another set of diamonds taken away, sounds very cute indeed and to imply that there is only one thief in England with skill enough to baffle them raises that uncaught thief into a half divinity whom it is quite excusable in mere human policemen to fail to catch." "Well, I hope they will catch this one, whether he is a half divinitv or not." "Why, what harm has the poor thief done you? You have nothing to fear from diamond-robbers for you have no diamonds." "I believe you have more sympathy with the thieves than with the policemen," •aid I, laughing.

I have, infinitely more. I have just the same admiration for the successful dia-mond-robber that you have for Robin Hood and Jack Sheppard, "and just the same contempt for the policeman that you have for the Sheriff of Nottingham and Jack's jail." "Oh, but that is different!" I broke in hotly—for I have always put down "Robin Hood" in confession books as "my favorite hero," and I was not without a weakness for Jack. "Oh, y6s, it is very different, I know!" said Mr. Rayner, maliciously. Robin Hood wore Lincoln green and carried a picturesque bow and arrow, while Sheppard's costume, in colored prints, is enough of itself to win any woman's heart. And then the pretty story about Maid Marian! Jack Sheppard had a sweetheart too, hadn't he? Some dainty, little lady whose mild reproaches for his crimes proved gentle incentives to more, and who was never really sorry for her lover's sins until he was hanged for them."

Well, Mr. Rayner, their very appearance, which you laugh at, shows them to be superior to the modern burglar."

Have you ever seen a modern bursrlar*"

T2E THRRE HAUTE WEEKLY GAZETTE.

No but I know what they look like. They have fustian caps and long protruding upper lips, and their eyes are quite close together, and their lady-loves are like Nancy Sikes." "I see. Then you don't sympathize with a criminal unless he is good-looking, nicely dressed, and in love with a lady of beauty and refinement "Oh, Mr. Rayner," I cried, exasperated at having my words misconstrued in this mischievous manner, you know I don't sympathize with criminals at all! But Robin Hood and Jack Sheppard lived in different ages, when people were not so enlightened as they are now and, besides," said I, brightening in triumph as a new idea flashed across me, I don't know what the real Robin and Jack did but the Robin Hood and Jack Sheppard of the novels and poems that I can't help liking and admiring robbed only rich people who could afford to lose some of their ill-gotten wealth."

But all wealth is not ill-gotten," interposed Mr. Rayner, mildly. 'It was then," I went on hastily—"at least, generally. And Robin Hood didn't rob the good rich people, only the bad ones and most of his spoil he distributed among the poor, you know," I finished triumphantly.

It won't do, Miss Christie I must destroy your edifice of argument at a blow," said he, shaking his head mournfully. I happen to know something about this Lord Dalston whose house was broken into and he is a very bad rich person indeed, and much more so than the poor old abbots whom your favorite Robin Hood treated so roughly. He illtreated his mother, stole and squandered his sister's fortunes, neglected his wife, and tried to shut her up in a lunatic asylum, knocked out in pasBion the left eye of one of his own grooms, had embezzled money before he was twen-ty-one, and now owes heavy debts to half the big tradesmen ih London. So that he is something like a thief. Now, if you were to find out that the man who had the chief hand—for, of course, there were dozens at work over it—in planning the robbery of this wicked rich man's property was young, good-looking, well dressed, a large subscriber to charities, and in love with a pretty lady-like girl, you ought, if you were logical, to admire him as much as you do Robin Hood, and more than you do Jack Sheppard."

Oh, Mr. Rayner," said I, joining in his laughter, how absurd! But it is too bad of you to make fun of my logic. I can't put it properly but what I mean is this. In those days the laws were unjust, so that even good men were forced into defiance of them but now that the laws are really, upon the whole, fair, it is only wicked people who disobey them." "Then you don't like wicked people, Idtiss Christie?" "Oh, Mr. Rayner, of course*not!" said I, aghast at such a question, which he asked quite seriously. "Ah, you must know some before you decide too hastily that you don't -like them!" said he. "Know some wicked people, Mr. Rayner," I gasped.

He nodded gravely and then I saw he was amusing himself with my horrorstruck expression.

You won't like all of them any more than you dislike all the good people you know. But you will find that those you do like beat the good people hollow."

Indeed I am sure I shouldn't like them at all. I wouldn't speak to a wicked person if I could help it."

But you can't. You won't be able to tell them from the good ones, except as I said before, that they are nicer and by the time you find out they are wicked you will like them too much to go back."

It was too bad of Mr. Rayner to tease met like this but, though I saw he was enjoying my indignation, I could not help getting indignant. "You are quite mistaken in me indeed," I said, trying to keep down my annoyance. "I can prove it to you by something that happened to me not very long ago. I knew a person against whom I had heard noth-1 ing, who always seemed to me to look good natured and simple. And then I found out that he was really a most wicked man and when I saw him after that his very face seemed changed to me, to look evil and cunning and the sight of him made me shrink."

I was thinking of Tom Parkes and the change I had seemed to see in him that morning. Mr. Rayner looked at me keenly while I said this but I was not afraid of his finding out whom I meant in such a cautious statement. "And what would you do if, the course of your career as a governess, yon found yourself in a family of whose morals you could not approve? Would you give them lectures on the errors of their ways and try to convert them all round, Miss Christie "Oh, no, I couldn't do that," said I humbly. "If I found myself among very dreadful people, I should just run away back to my uncle's house, where my mother lives, on the first opportunity, without saying anything to any one till I was gone, and without even writing to say I was coming, lest my letter might be intercepted. I should be so horribly afraid of them."

Well, child, I hope you will never have to do anything so desperate as that but the profession of teaching has its dangers for a beautiful woman," he said gravely.

The last words gave a shock to me. I had never heard them applied to me before, and for a moment I was without an answer. He had been sitting on my seat, and I had been standing with my back against a young oak-tree, a few feet from him and nearer to the pond. He got up and came toward me, when a shrill little cry as from out or toe ground caused him to start, was the only sound that ever drew forth such a display of ordinary human weakness from self-possessed Mr. Rayner. It came from the lips of his baby daughter Mona, who, ragged, dirty, and withered looking as usual, had walked or crawled through the mud and rushes till she had silently taken her place in the long grass a little way from us, and who now, seeing her father approach, had given vent to her extraordinary dislike of him in her usual ui.dutiful manner.

For one moment I saw in the dusk a look pass over Mi*. Rayner's face which made me catch my breath it reminded me instantly of his tone on that. Sunday night when he had caught Sarah in the garden and, quickly as it passed and gave place to a light laugh, it had frightened me and made me long to escape. Mona was an excuse.

Oh, you naughty little girl to be out so late at night—and without a hat! Sarah must have forgotten you. Come—I muse take you in now. Be a good girl, and come with me."

Mona had somehow come to regard me with less animosity than she did most of the household. So she let me take her in mv arms without much opposition, and

gave me only one more yeii wnen ner father, while wishing me good night, shook hands with me and accidently touched her dirty little shoe. I took her into the house and gave her to Sarah in die hall then I went into the schoolroom to replace the dissipated volume of Guizot that had been out all night among its more somber brethren, and then, moved by some spring of vanity, took my candle to the mantlepiece and looked at myself in the glass above it.

I suppose no girl can hear herself called a beautiful woman for the first time, no matter by whom, without a slight thrill of gratification. To be called pretty falls, I suppose, at some time or other, to the lot of most girls but the other term implies a higher measure of attractiveness, and I certainly was not insensible to the pleasure of hearing it applied to me. I had lived such a very quiet life with my mother, and had so few acquaintances, that I had never known flattery of any kind. The thought that flashed through my mind as I looked at my dark-gray eyes, brighter than usual, and at my cheeks, flushed with gratified vanity, was—"Does Mr. Laurence Reade think me—beautiful?"

I was too much absorbed in my vain contemplation of myself, and in the foolish thoughts to which it gave rise, to notice that I was not alone in the room. Suddenly I was startled, as I well deserved to be, by a harsh ironical voice breaking in upon the silence of the room. "Yes, it's a pretty face enough now, and you do right to set store by it, for it won't last pretty long—not long in a few years it will be all lines and wrinkles, and not worth looking at and you'll turn away in disgust from the glass, thinking of how you used to look, and how the men used to look at you—the fools!"

I had turned, and was looking at Sarah's hard, cruel face as she stood, with Mona still in her arms, her eyes flashing scornfully on me as she hissed out the spiteful words. I felt ashamed of my vanity, though, after all, it seemed harmless enough and I felt sorry for her, for she spoke so bitterly that I was sure she must be thinking of the changes a few years of anxiety and hard work had wrought in herself so I said gently—

I suppose we women all think more than we ought about our looks sometimes, Sarah but, after all, they are a very important matter to every woman, and make a great deal of difference to her life. You know you must be glad not to be ugly, Sarah."

I own this was a little bit of innocent flattery, for I did not think her very ugly —and I thought I had never seen her look so hideous as she did as 3he stood there glaring at me—but I was anxious to soothe her at all hazards, and I was thankful to see that the bait took.

Handsome is that handsome does," she said less viciously and, with a toss of hoar) aha left the room." [The contiouation of this story caa be found in the Saturday aod Weekly editions of the GAZETTE. It will richly repav perusal. If you are in the city and wish to leave before o'clock, it can be had together with all news up to that hour in the 2 o'clock edition of Saturday's daily.] tST'BA.CK! Numbers can be had at GAZETTE Counting Rooms. tiF'Open day and night.^^3

DANIEL WEBSTER'S LITTLE STORY.

How a Lawyer Who Appealed to "Red-Coated" Prejudice Was Beaten at His Own Oame. [Ben: Perley Poore.]

Daniel Webster was fond of a good story, and told a number illustrating his early life in New Hampshire. One evening at a convivial party, where he and several distinguished lawyers were present, the conversation happened to turn on the legal profession, "When I was a young practitioner," said Mr. Webster, "there was bat one man at the New Hampshire bar of whom I was afraid, and that was old Barnaby. There were but fewr men who dared to enter the list with him, On one occasion Barnaby was employed to defend a suit for apiece of land brought by a little, crabbed, cunning lawyer, called Bruce. Bruce's case was looked upon as good as lost, when it was ascertained that Barnaby was retained against him.

The suit came on for trial, and Barnaby found that Bruce worked hard, and left no stone unturned to gain the victory. The testimony for the plaintiff was very strong, and unless it could be impeached, the case of the defendant was lost. The principal witness introduced by the plaintiff wore a red-coat. In summing up for the defense, old Barnaby commenced a furious attack on this witness, pulling his testimony all to pieces, and appealing to the jury if a man who wore a redcoat was, under any circumstances, to be believed. 'And who is that red-coated witness?" exclaimed Barnaby, 'but a descendant of our common enemy, who has striven to take from us our liberty, and would not hesitate now to deprive my client of his land, by making any sort of red-coated Abatement 1' "During this speech, Bruce was walking up and down the bar, greatly excited, and convinced that his case was gone, knowing, as he did, the prejudice of the jury against anything British. Whilst, however, Barnaby was gesticulating and leaning forward to the jury in his eloquent appeal, his shirt bosom opened slightly, and Bruce accidentally discovered that Barnaby wore a red undershirt. Bruce's countenance brightened up. Putting both hands in his coat pockets, he walked the bar with great confidence, to the astonishment of his client and lookers-on. Just as Barnaby concluded Bruce whispered in the ear of his client. 'I've got him—your case is safe,' and, approaching the jury, he commenced his reply to the slaughtering argument of his adversary "Bruce ga^e a regular history of the aficestry of his red-coated witness, proving his patriotism and devotion to the country, and his character for truth and veracity. 'But what, gentlemen of the jury,' broke forth Bruce, in a loud strain of eloquence, while his eyes flashed fire, 'what are you to expect of a man who stands here to defend a cause based on no foundation of right or justice whatever of a man who undertakes to destroy our testimony on the ground that my witness wears a red coat, when, gentlemen of the jury—when, when, when, gentlemen of the jury I' [Here Bruce made a spring, and catching Barnaby by the bosom of the shirt, tore it open, displaying his red flannel], 'when Mr. Barnaby himself wears a red flannel coat concealed under a blue one? The effect was electrical Barnaby was beaten at his own game, and Bruce gained the causa."

Lent and Bourbon. [N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.] There is one beautiful thing about Lent which finds favor in the other eye of a Jeffersonian Semoorat. No restriction is

fflaeed

upon a gentleman's power of suction, his system needs it be can drink more iurinp Lent than at any other timei fa

AH JIM WO'S TREACHERY.

llow Vn Ws'a Hlgaatie Shanghai Massacred Mr. Muleahe/a liittle Bantam. [New York Sun.]

Mr. Mulcahey lives up-stairs in aMott street tenement Ah Jim Wo has a laundry in the basement Mr. Mulcahey, who is of a sporting turn of mind, kept a red game bafttarn of warlike temperament confined in a three-cornered coop in the yard. Ah Jim Wo has a gigantic Shanghai, which he has been trying for a year to fatten for the table. Mr. Mulcahey has frequently expostulated with Ah Jim Wo because the Shanghai pecked at the bantam through the bars of the cage. Yesterday morning Mr. Mulcahey discovered the Shanghai with a grip upon his chicken's tail feathers, trying to drag him through the bars. The chicken didn't come out, but the tail did.

Mr. Mulcahey was indignant "Why don't ye keep that beast of yours in the house?" ha demanded. "Looster likee fightee your looster," explained Ah Jim Wo. "Them things don't fight," exclaimed Mr. Mulcahey in disdain.

Ah Jim regarded the game compassionately, and exclaimed: "Him too little." Mr. Mulcahey whispered hoarsely and impressively "Have ye anny money, Mr. Wor "Not got velly much." "Can ye cover a five that yer long-legged devil'll stan' up till the game?" "All lite. Come back click," said Ah Jim Wo, and be tucked his long-legged fowl under his arm and retired to the laundry to prepare for battle.

Mr. Mulcahey winked solemnly at Mr. Flaherty, who sat on the fence. Then he deftly fastened a pair of long steel gaffs upon his chicken.

Ah Jim Wo reappeared with his cousin, Hop Gee, and several gentlemen from upstairs followed them into the yard. The Chinaman put his bird down, and Mr. Mulcahey threw the game at him. The game crowed, strutted up and walked around his big antagonist, looking for weak points. The Shanghai elevated himself upon his toes and looked down sideways at the pigmy. Th game flew at the Shanghai, which dodged and tried to run, but the game headed him off. There was a flutter and flash, and the feathers flew from the Shanghai's breast, and then Mr. Mulcahey's chicken sneezed and lay down upon the ground to do it more conveniently. "What ails the burrd?" shouted Mr. Mulcahey, and then he grasped a clothes-pole foi support, for the big one set one ponderous foot on the game's back and gave his neck a wrench, and the little bird expired. "Be the powers," cried Mr. Mulcahey, "it's snuff the heathen sprinkled in his rooster's breast to strangle me poor burrd. I'll not pay."

Ah Jim Wo picked up the dead fowl and said: "What you call'em on loosta's toe Ilishman cheatee Jim Wo." "I'm beat entirely, Mr. Flaherty." said Mr. Mulcahey, dolefully. "Them Chinese is full o' deceit"

":x Kursing-Box for Infanta. [Chicago Tribune.] The Medical Abstract gives statistical results of the use of theconveuse (brooding hen) or the nursing -box for children who are weak at birth. The apparatus, as introduced into the Paris Maternite by Dr. Tarnier, consists of a wooden box divided horizontally into two compartments. The lower of these contains a metal case of water, heated by a lamp, while the upper one is designed to receive a basket containing th» child. The heated air rises into the upper part and passes out through holes in the cover. The latter is furnished with a sheet of glass through which the child may be watched. The idea is to keep the infant protected from drafts and at an even and slightly raised temperature until it arrives at normal strength. This is commonly ffected in from ten days to six weeks. The infant may be taken from the conveuse without injury for the few minutes necessary at stated hours to dress or feed it As a life-saving apparatus the oonveuse has a remarkable record. In the Maternite, for two years before its introduction in 1881, the mortality of infants was 65 per cent In a similar hospital the mortality for 188? is given at 66 per cent. After the introduction of the conveuse into the Maternite the infant mortality averaged but 38 per cent. -j .* uT

The Fat Woman's Revenge. [Detroit Free Press.] "Talking about stingy men," said the conductor of a Pullman car, as he sat in the smoking-room while the porter was doing the work, "the worst specimen I ever saw came out of Detroit the other night His wife, a great fat woman, was with him, and they took seats in the ordinary coach. Pretty soon he came back, selected a berth—a single upper—and then went back to his wife. Pretty soon he returned and went to bed alone. About an hour after this I was going through the train when the fat woman stopped me and wanted to know if I had any empty berths. I told her there were plenty of them, when she brought her

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gether like a vise and clenched her fat hands as she said: "I thought as much. Here, take my bag with you, and make me up the best section you have. I'll be back as soon as the train stops again.' You see that selfish cuss of a husband of hers had told her there wasn't an empty berth left, but he had found a chance to share a bunk with an acquaintance. He was the maddest man you ever saw next morning, when he had to hand over $5 for her night's rest in addition to the $'2.50 he had paid for his own. He gave the porter only 2 cents for shining his shoes, and scowled so the porter didn't dare

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more. Oh, but he was a tough one."

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An Englishman on Arnold. Sir Lepel Griffin's amusing "Visit to Philistia," in the new number of The Fortnightly Review, contains this description of Matthew Arnold's lecture in Chickering hall: "Reading his lecture with the manuscript close to his eyes, placing a strong accent on the penultimate or anti-penultimate syllable and dropping the last altogether, allowing the voice to so sink at the close of a sentence that the last words were inaudible, without gesture or expression, Mr. Matthew Arnold combines in himself all the possible defects of a public lecturer. Sitting ten rows in front of the reader, I found it impossible to hear the whole of any sentence, or to follow the argument of the address. Occasionally a quotation more or less familiar could be picked out from the general monotone. But these were mere oases of sound in a desert of inaudibility and, of the 1,500 persons present, perhaps a hundred understood the lecture, to gome 400 an occasional sentence was vouchsafed, while J. .000 heard nothing."

A hunter got lost during a late snowstorm near Las Minas, Chihuahua, became so hungry that he cut off his faithful dog's tail for food, whicfe he roasted and ate. He then gave the bone to the unfortunate canine, not unmindful of the debt of gratitude he owed the sacrificing: animal.