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ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, MAltCII 10, 1S82.
NO. 3L
VOL. II.
1
4
U M.0IAN .
THE ANGEL'S VISIT.
Do I believe in angelo? Yes;
And in their prowling to ami fro,
I entertained not long ago,
In guise of age and sore distre.?.,
lie clambered i:p the narrow stairs,
And by-his aetiwii I knew
lie was a truant angel who ?
Had come to visit una ares. "
s
"Hest thee, old man," ;I gayly criM,
"And share mv humble couch and cheer;
Thou shall uo want tor comfort here,
My home and heart are open wide!"'
Ketk-voJ. al tern jxrarv; fes..,lL: - .- -The
old man laid him-uowu and slept
And in my thankfulness I wept!
I'd entertained him unawares!
I never shall forget that n'ght.
My happy dream my slumbers sound;
And when I woke at noon I found
My angel vanished out of sight.
Perhaps in years that are to be
That angelowill return; and et
I sometimes frar l may loget
To bring my overcoat to me.
Denver Tribune
J,
"6b, K
UNULE JOHN'S FORTUNE.
Kate, niamma has just received
a letter from Uncle Jcbn. lie is really
coming back from Australia to settle at
last. All tbe beaps of money be bus in-
vesica yes, uiiit me wwu imcauu iu
some something, I don't know what,
but it will nearly double bis xreseut for
tune!"' "Nearly double it! Ob, Nellie," cried
Kate, dropping ber aunt's dress she was
mending, "only think. We are bis only
relatious.
"What a selfish little tbing you are,
Kate!" remarked Ellen Grashaw, thorw
ing berself on a couch, by ber cousin in
ber mother's boudoir, which she bad en
tered with ber good news.
"How can one help being selfish when
one is poor?" laughed Kate Wakefield.
"It is all very well for you, whose father
is alive and well to do; but! Jack and I
have only ourselves to look tc. I have to
turn and turn my dresses until I'm quite
ashamed.. I stick a new bow iere and a
new bow there, but I'm ri'ptl foolish
enough to fancy that people tttink it's a
new dress. Ah, me, Nellie! I lo do so
wish I was- rich!" and she clasped her
bands on her knee, and fixed ber large
gray eyes on vacancy, Its if she wero fill
ing the latter with visions of wealth;
probably she was.
"What a mercenary girl you are, coz!"
said Ellen. "You" don't think at all
about Uncle John himself- only about
Lis money!"
"Each of us thinks of what most con
cerns us, or what we mos't want!" rotor ted
Kate. "He niay help poor Jack, who
only gets il'.K) a year. Lx repeat, you are
rich, or your father is.'
"He is not, Kate; you know it is as
mneb as mamma can tSo to keep us up to
our position in society. But it will be
differentiiyriYear Uncle John says,
is hjrias no relations save ourselves, he
uqy
is. lie can see auoui our leuiiuy
larc-er bouse on liis arrival. Mamma is
delighted, and she says be will be sure to
keep his carriage; while if we try, to be
amiable, he may keep horses for us to
ride. Unlv imagine: win it 01 ue
grand? How the people will wonder and
envy !"
"What a lot of suitors you will have,
Nellie! Who knows but that Sir Hugh
Staffiprd, when he come3 as they say he
willnext month to reside for Mie win
ter months at Beechholm, may be one of
them!"
A bright blush rose to the cousin's
cheek, as she exclaimed:
"What nonseso, Kate!"
For the fact was, Ellen Grashaw was
rery pretty, and such a union had not
only entered herhead.but that also of her
mother one of those worldly-minded
women who render their lives miserable
by a constant fight to keep their beads
hifrher than their neighbors, and to make
five hundred a year pass for a thousand.
Mrs. Grashaw, 'indeed, was already se
cretly busy in devising mean for new
dresses to make Ellen look ber best, and
to give one or two parties, ostensibly in
the Baronet's honor; but really to
"throw the young people together."
"Papa," proceeded Miss Nelly, "used
to call Uncle John. 'the fool of the whole
family a mad speculator. I only wish
in that case that papa had changed
places with him."
"When will he be here, Nelly? Does
be say?"
"He starts the next mail after his let
ter; therefore, he will bo here in a fort
night. There's mamma calling !" she
added, springing up.
"I hope it's not to dress yet.for I have
not done these bows yet," remarked
Kate, renewing ber sewing.
Mr. Grashaw was a tolerable well to
do merchant,-who would have a safer
balance at bis banker's bad not bis in
clinations in regard to appearances
tended in the same direction as his
wife's. What an "old man of the sea" to
some persons are these words: "What
will Mrs. Grundy say?" They excused
themselves by saying it was for their
children's benefit. Horace bad to make
a position in the world, and Nell to be
settled.
The two" othar members of the family
were Kat and her brother Jack (em
ployed in a bank). When they had
been left orphans, Mrs. Grashaw bad
consented to receive them into the fam
ily, as their keep would be a mere noth
ing considering one must have good din
ners because of the servants' tattling;
while what Kate would pay out of her
small income of sixty pounds a year (be
sides making herself useful), and Jack
out of his salary, would go into her own
private purse, and afford many toilet
luxuries. Besides, she knew, as Nell
did too, that society, who was ignorant
of any payment being made, spoke
J highly of their kindness to their poor re
lations. I
Their other sole relation was Uncle
John, a restless, sanguine spirit, who had
been alwavs going to make a fortune.aud
whe bad at last, in Australia,1 done so.
Ho had' gone tliere when Nell and Kato
were children, so all they knew of him
was that he was very kind, and! was ever
sending pleasant letters and handsome
presents to his little nieces and nephews.
When Nell danced in her joy from the
room. Kate, at work on her aunt's dress,
thought of these presents, and it is to be
feared metally commented on Uncle
John's coming homo in a very mercenary
fashion. -J I
"Supposing, as Jack and I are
orphans, he were to adopt us," sho pon
ders; "at any rate, if he be so rich, he
will hardly let his sister's children re
niain so poor. If he does not do some
thing for Jack, I I shall hate him!"
Then, ber eye resting on a darn in ber
dress, her mind reveled in the better toi
lets she might possibly have when Uncle
John came home. !
Uncle John! Before two days wero
over everybody in Monkbourne know
abon t him, of his immense wealth, and
how he was to live with the Grashaws,
who were bis only relatives. Mr. Grashaw
dropped into the estate agent's to inquire
casually what mansions or small estates
wero to be let in the neighborhood.
Horace talked of Uncle John at his club
until tbe members were sick of Uncle
John. Mrs. Grashaw and the girls,
made visits and received them on pur
2ose to let Monkbourne society know
all about him.
"Stuck up, proud
shaws!" remarked Mrs
"Always were; now
people,; the Gra
Stebbiu. they will be
m-
tolerable!" rejoined the doctor's wife;
"as to that Kate Wakefield, she takes no
pains to hide her mercenariness!"
"Well, there's an excuse for her, my
dear. It can't be pleasant, I'm sure"
with a head toss "to be dependent
upon Mrs. Grasbaw's charitv!"
"The train will be the 1:30, no doubt,
that he'll arrive by," remarked Mr. Gra
shaw on the day of Uncle John's coming
as he contemplated the recherche lun
cheon prepared. "I hope, imy love,
there is nothing to make a hitch in his
welcome?" !
It was a moment of great, excitement
Nelli9 flitted everywhere; Horace
lounged about assuming indifference;
Kate sat at the drawing-room window,
regretting her bonnie Jack, wiio was so
worked that ho could liot get a! holiday.
Suddenly, as a cab stopped at the door,
she sprang up and ran to the rest.
"He has come! Uncle John has come!"
she exclaimed.
"Gracious! Why, he must have got
up at dawn!" ejaculated LMrs. Grashaw.
" Where are Nell and Horace?''
A! fluttering bevy they proceeded into
?the hall to receive the lucKy speculator.
The page had already thrown wide the
door, and coming up the steps they
saw a tall, thin, gray-haired man,
with stooped shoulders and a sad,
careworn visage.
"Welcome to England! Welcome
home, John!" cried the merchant, wring
ing his hand. "Dear me, how delighted
I am! I congratulate you, brother!"
The welcomes and congratulations
were echoed all around. They clustered
about him like bees about honey.
Horace took
his
hat, Kate his
walking
stick. I
"Ah", George!" exclaimed Uncle John,
in a feeble voice, as he slightly waved
his hands, "let me sit down somewhere,
please, I have much to tell you!"
"Horace, fetch the wine; your uncle
is fatigued after his journey. No; be
will go into the dining-room at once,"
remarked Mrs. Grashaw.
"Much to tell us?" laughed her hus
band. "I should think so, John, after
your long absence." i
They had all got into the dining-room
now. "The softest chair was pushed for
ward by Horace; Kate gavo a shake to
the cushions; Ellen brought a foot-stool.
Uncle John dropped down wearily.
"Oh, George!" he exclaimed, almost
piteously, "how can I tell .you bow a
hundred times I have wished that I had
never written you that lettermuch has
happened since. I am" thei gray head
dropped on the
"ruined."
withered hands
Had the listeners suddenly been con
fronted by the face of Medusa,they could
not have been more aghast more silent.
They were horrified i-paralyzed . The first
thought of Mr. Grashaw, indeed of all,
was that they had been most grossly
taken in. j
"What do you mean, John?" asked the
merchant. I !
"That the speculation in which I
foolishly invested my all, George, was
but a bubble. It burst a week before I
started for home. It has ruined hun
dreds." j !
"Home! I wonder if be thinks this is
home?" reflected the merchant. "Cir
cumstances alter cases." j
! "Whatever will
thought his wife.
IMonkborune say?
4 We sliall be a per
To have a pauper
feet laughing stock.
instead of a millionaire on j our bands'!
! Horace and Nell looked at each other
helplessly.
Kate felt inclined jto cry.
filled a glass with wine and
Then she
handed it to
Uncle John. j -
i "How very officious the girl is!" her
aunt thought.
"I always thought you were the idiot
c." the family, John' remarked the mer
chant hutlishly. "There, we' may, I sup
pose, have lunchedn? Then you can
tell us about it." I j
"Well?" inquired Jack Wakefield, eag
erly, on Kate waylaying him as he was
creeping up stairs to cuange jus coat,
after returning froni the offise
"lias lie
-come?" !
i "Yes, Jack; and, o't! it's so terrible!
He isn't rich at all the is a begger. The
speculation was was a bubble, he says,
and he has been ruined.
"Poor old Uncle John!" exclaimed
Jack, svmpathetically. 4
"You dear dear darling boy!" cried
Kate, throwinir ber arms around his
neck; " that's the first kind word any one
I has said of him. Oh! Jack Jack, I fear
Arfflt and Uncle Grashaw will make a
crreat difference to him."
"Whv? He would not have lost bis
money if he could have helped it. Where
is he?" ;
And John, no longer thinking of his
office: coat, walked into the drawing room
and warmly greeting the old man, hear
tily remarked :
"Welcome home, Uncle John! Kate
has told me all. I'm so sorry 'pon my
word I am ;
next time;
know."
but. never mind, better luck
"uiV desperandum," you
"Heaven
bless you, my dear boy i
thank you," rejoined Uncle John, grate
fully; for already he was awakening to
his position. And such a pleasant, radi
ant expression came over his features,
that, like a flash, an idea sprang up in
Mrs. Grashaw's bead that Uncle John
was pretendiner poverty to test their
affection.
But her husband soon negatived that.
There was no pretense; but hard, bona
A -
fide, implacable ruin.
Monkbourne did laugh and did sneer.
That nih?ht have been some excuse for
the Grashaws; but before a fortnight
was over Uncle John found himself so
much in the way that, hurt, pained, he
announced his intention of leaving, and
no one asked him to remain.
That evening, however. Jack camo in
to his room on the third floor with Kate,
and the two made a proposition. To let
Uncle John in his great trouble go and
live alone was more than terrible to these
silly young people; it was impossible.
Would Uncle John like them to put all
their tiny incomes together, and take a
little cottage just outside "the town and
live in in it? Kate would be the most
economical of housekeepers.
Uncle John sat aghast.
"And you would do this for me, my
children?" ho exclaimed. "You would
give up your fine life and the fine guests
hero at George's to to "
"Be quite as happy elsewhere,"
laughed Kate, kissing him. ' "You
musn't refuse, Uncle, I will not hear of
i, ! You can't tell how merry we three
people will be together
"I don't doubt that
leve," looking into ber
m my
bright
case, my
face and
grasping Jack s hand.
"Then it's aecreed. uncle?"
remarked
Jack.
"Heaven bless vou children, bow canl
say no?"
So it was settled. The Grashaws were
at first indignant, but later rejoiced in
the ground it gave them to break with
their poor relations, especially with
those ungrateful Wakefields.
But there they were wrong. Gratitude
had been the cause. All the real gifts
Jack and Kate had received from any
one had been from Unc'e John who had
never asked nor wanted a return.
In a fortnight the cottage Jack had
had his eye on received its tenants. It
was very small, but very prettA'. From
morning to nfght Kate flitted about it;
seeing'to this, then that, inventing nice
little surprisesinto which Unfle John
heartily entered for dear old Jack's
dinner tea, or "high tea," as she laugh
ingly termed it. She no longer thought
of
turning
her dresses
so orten
nor
bow
sho
she
'sticking a new bow here and a new
there;" but in ber dark stuff dresses
looked happier, handsomer, than
ever had at the Greshaw's. ,
"It's quite like setting up housekeep
ing for one's self!" she laughed, merrily.
The cottage was situated at the other
side of the town from that wherein was
the Grashaw's house, solvate rarely met
them; but she heard of them and their
doings through one or two of those mu
tual friends who, admiring the part the
brother ami sister had played, kept up
their acquaintance. From one of these
she learned how Sir Hugh Stafford had
arrived at Beecholm from his world wan
derings, and had been feted accordingly
by all the elite of Monkbourne, the Gra
shaws among the number.
"There will be rare pulling caps for
the baronet among the mothers with mar
riageble daughters!" laughed the old
lady, Kate's informant; "and entre nous,
my dear, your aunt, Mrs. Grashaw, will
not be behind hand!"
Kate, seated in the little parlor at work
found subjects for long trains of thought.
Sue wondered if Nellie would
win the Barocet? Sho was pretty enough.
Then would not her aunt hold her head
up high?
Her cogitations were afcrested by the
sound of voices. Looking from the win
dow, she saw that Uncle John had halted
at the gate, apparently to take leave of a
friend a gentleman of about, thirty,
with a pleasant, intelligent face, but
more manly than handsome, was Kate's
mental remark.
"Uncle back, and, no tea!" she ex
claimed, springing up. "Time flies
when one is thinking! Why, uncle is
bringing bis friend in! If it's to tea, he
must just take what I have got!" ' ,
Then tho door opened, and Uncle John
entered with tho strange gentleman, who
Kate observed had exceeningly fine
brown eyes.
"My darling," said Uncle John, "I
have met an old friend. Pardon me if I
put you out at all, but I could not re
frain from bringing him home to intro
duce him to my young benefactors."
' "Benefactors, Uncle John! Oh, I pray,
sir, do not believe that," smiled Kate,
with a blush. "Ours is rather a society
for mutual aid."
"I think I should like to join it," said
the stranger, and those brown eyes rested
upon her face in admiration. "May I
not do that?"
fear it is impossible," she replied;
"it is limited in number as in capital."
Then she looked at Uncle John.
"I beg your pardon, Kate, but I forgot
tlie introduction. My dear, this is Sir
Hugh Stafford."
"Whose place would now long have
been tilled by another," said the Baro
net, bowing, "but for your uncle, Miss
Wakefield, who, while I was in Australia,
several vears ago. saved mv lite, at a
great risk to his own."
'I never knew then, laughed Uncle
John, "that the young red Garibaldi-
attired digger was to blossom forth into
an English iiaronei.
"Neither did I for certain. But by the
next mail news of my .cousin s death
reached mo."
"You stay, sir Hugh, to take tea with
us.' .
"That is," he added, turning to her,
"if Miss Wakefield wjll not find me "de
trop," but will accept me as an honorary
member of yonr society?"
Kate had been overwhelmed upon
hearing who was Uncle John's friend;
now she felt ready to sink to the floor at
the invitation given, especially when the
B ironet accepted ifc.
What was that in his voice, his man
ner, that put Kat?e at once at ease, and
her quite sincere in saying she should be
delighted? Whatever it was, she never
felt less nervous in preparing the even
ing meal, and never did it go off better.
Theconversation never flagged, and the
Baroitet seemed as if he had known them
for years. Then Jack came in, and the
hours slipped away, until,, nearly ten
o'clock, when Sir Hugh took his leave,"
asking Jack to walk part of the way with
him to smoke a, cigar.
When Jack returneiUje was radiant.
Sir Hugh had found ouf how he had
been studying, and how he had passed
some examinations with eclat ' and had
promised to procure him a place under
the government.
"Oh, dear," thought Kate, smiling, as
she retired to rest. "What would Aunt
Grashaw say?"
What would sho, and what did she, and
what did all Monkbourne say, when it
was known how constant a guest Sir
Hugh was at the cottage? Of course, it
was as a patron. The Baronet was gen
erous and pitied John wanted to make
him a return for that Australian affair.
But Kate.though she called herself silly,
foolish and vain, could not help fancy
ing that there was another reasoa for Sir
Hugh's coming, and she was right. One
evening, when the Baronet had had them
to dine at Beechholm, and sho had
stepped on tho terrace, waiting for the
gentleman to come from the diring-room
be joined her alone. He was a man lhat
a dinner-dress became. Kate thought it
particularly so this evening. (
"Admiring the view, Miss Wakefield?"
he asked.
"Yes; it is worthy of admiration," she
said. 'It is beautiful! How proud you
must be to say, 'I'm monarch of all I
survey!
Abruptly ho had drawn nearer, her
hand was imprisoned in his; his brown
eyes were looking, it seemed, into her
very soul, as he said:
"Miss Wakefield Kate I have come
to you here to ask if jon will share that
pride? If you whom I so honor you,
the only woman I ever loved, or can love
will be my wife?"
Then she learned bow his fancy had
been for the brother and sister on learn
ing Uncle John's story of his return
home; how he had been curious to see
them, and how he had loved Kate from
the very evening that he did.
"You will not refuse me dear?" be
whispered in conclusion.
Siio lifted her eyes to his, and as he
drew her to his heart, Kate, trembling
and happy did not resist.
It was a great surprise and disappoint
ment to most at Monkbourne, particular
ly to Mrs. Grashaw, who, however, was
condescending enough to forgive Kate,
and let Nelly act as bridesmaid.
Years have passed, children's happy
voices make musical tho air of Beech
holm, and rise up to Uncle John's ears,
after summoning him to the window, no
is still "poor, ruined Uncle John," but
ho doesn't feel so, for be declared that
Sir Hugh and Lady Stafford's behavior
toward him makes him experience a
sense of conferring a favor instead of re
ceiving one.
Lincoln's (JraiuIsoJ.
The Cincinnati Times-Star Special,
"Ex-Senator James Harlan, of Iowa.and
his wife are in the city, the guests of
their daughter, Mrs. Robert 1 Lincoln.
An incident occurred yesterday after
noon in which.the grandson of the im
mortal "Old Abe" figured, and which
was of intense interest to a passer-by
who witnessed it. An open barouche
drove slowly up Tenth street, in which
were seated Mr. and Mrs. Harlan, their
daughter, Mrs. Lincoln, and ber F tie
son, a bright boy of seveu or eight ye?,rs
the grandson of the martyred President.
The carriage was stepped opposite t.e
Medical Museum (Ford's old theater),
where the terrible tragedy was en
acted 17 years ago. After gazing at the
buildiner. during which an earnest-rw
vnvsntinn was keot up. the attention
wards the building opfosite, were Lin
coln breathed his last. The yf ar.bl. Bh
lawrxj i"" . ...rntin.
passer-by of the sacred sp
ized, and the party drqv
;n silence.
i WAe stirring
' mnob I
W nai migiiw rwuii-. Mtr,,
w t m ;"X-the brains of at lei,,
flashed through tg f the carriage)
A -"CI " - - uu v o
rlillT. . - '
the brains of at leit
i! fi T- foth one, a mere boy,
while tn third generalion 0f the mar-
fafk?5uily, a living reminder of the
vr?ring flight of time and of stirring
its in history.
"I
TRYING 1I3IES.
"Broiled spring chicken for tea, eh?'
said I. "And. lobster salad and fried
oysters! Upon my wora tnis looks as
if wo wero going to have company."
"So mw are, my dear, answered my
wife, looming a little guilty, as she pol
ished up te surface of the big silver tea
tray with ainew chamois leather. ,lney
are all coming to visit me Uncle icsilas,
and Aunt Melicent. and the children
and Cousin Joab, and the two Miss
Wilmerdings, and my Aunt Louisa," to
meet the Rev. Mr. Speakwell, from Min
nesota, who married mv cousin Jerusna
Wilde. Mr. Speakwell is troubled with
the catarrh, and he thinks of staying at
our house for a few weeks while he is
being treated by Mr. Dosem
I put down my linen duster and brown
paper parcels witli some empnasis.
"Oh, confound the Rev. Mr. Speak
well!" said I.
"John!" ejaculated my wife.
"Well, my dear, I can't help it," said
I. "It's not human to endure cvery-
tbinsr. And I've been relationed out of
all patience ever since our marriage.
The Jenkinses went away last week, the
Birdsaes took an affectionate leave yes
terday, and now, just as I was contem
plating a peaceful evening by ourselves,
here's a new swarm, hungrier than tho
rest, just about to settle down upon us!
In my opinion, Kitty, my dear, relations
should be abolished."
I am surprised at you, John, said my
wife. "My own people,they are so fond
of me.
"There's where you are mistaken, my
dear," said I. "It's your comfortable
spring beds and good cookery that they
are fond of, not you.
"John!"
"I'd be willing to wager a good
round sum on the truth of my assertion,"
said I.
"Because you have no relations your
self "
"Thank Providence for that!" said I,
devoully. "I was reared in a foundling
as-ylum, and have nobody to thank but
mvself for mv tolerable success in the
world."
"It's no reason you should find fault
with mine," said Kitty, with her bright
blue eyes full of tears, "And Mr. Speak
well is such a spiritually-minded man,
and dear Uncle Silas loves you just as if
you were his only son, and Cousin Joab
is so interested in our children."
"I'm much obliged to 'em," said I,
dryly. "But I slept all last week on
soft cushions lying in the bath-tub; and
we had fourteen people here over tho
anniversaries, and I was obliged to give
up my own room for a month last win
ter to old Mr. Mansewell, not to speak
of our being half-poisoned with Aunt
Louisa's hygeian messes in the fall:
When the poet said, 'There's no place
like home,' I piosume he meant when
there were no relations visitingT L'U
tell you what, my dear," with a sudden
inspiration, "I've a great mind formally
to deed over .this house for your rela
tions, if they will agree solemnly to
leave me in peace for he rest of my
life, wheresoever I may set up my family
tents."
"Nonsense!" said my wife. "Do go
up stairs and change your, things, and
brush your hair and get ready for tea.
They are all waiting in the best parlor,
and I was awaiting your return to see
about hiring some cot beds from the vil
lage hotel, to put up in the attic for those
four little Speakwell children. You see,
Aunt Louisa has tho blue bed-rooms,and'
Cousin Joab sleeps in the little wing
chamber, and Mr. i and Mrs. Speakwell
will have our room rihd "
"Indeed!" said I, "And we are to
sleep in the barp, I suppose?"
"Don't be cross, John," naid my wife,
appealingly. "One must be hospitable,
you know. " And I can easily make up
the sofa-bed in the back parlor lor our
use, for a week or so."
I said nothing, but ground my teeth
in silent despair, as I sprang up stairs,
two steps at a time, to make what changes
I could in my toilet, by the aid of a ten
by twelve glass hung over tho washstand
of a stuffy little bath room.
The Rev. M. Speakwell was a big man,
with a still bigger voice, -and a limp,
faded little wife whoso sole earthly
interest seemed to center iu her four
white-eyed, freckle-faced children. Un
cle Silas and Aunt Melicent were a silent
couple with excellent appetites, and
two boys, who giggled and snickered at
each other in the intervals of the conver
sation. Cousin Jaob talked incessantly with
his mouth full, and tho two Miss Wil
merdings served as general echoes to the
rest; while Aunt Louisa devoured lobs
ter salad ad libitum, and kept up sending
her cup for some green tea, until I
trembled for her nerves, while my wife,
careful and troubled, like Martha of old,
with many things, looked ready to
dropwith the hospitable exertions she
had made, and I, a mere cipher at the
bead of tho table,: felt as if I was keeping
a baording house without any pecuniary
emolnments therefrom.
"My trunks will be put up in the five
o'clock train," said the Rev. Mr. Speak
well; "I'll trouble you, Cousin Poyntz,
to the depot lor
any department in
oyntz, that could
"1 tt1r fnr mv fpm norarv
use, it' would greu6y facilitate my
intellectual occupation 'liaring my so
journ in the suburbs of tb) gre&tvcity.
And I hope the childr will be kept
still during tho hours wAich I devote to
study."
Here my wife looked at me aghast,
thinking of Lttle Johnpy and the b&by.
VBtuJ J 1 J
"Never ind, my dear," 1 romanced,
sottoNvoi "We can easily get 'em
boardeoXut somewhere."
"And, liw on Rev. Mr. Sreakwell"!
should esteenXit a favor if a horse and
I
I to send an f.xpressman
of I '"a u mere is
. tnib ... t;ousin r
Du6gy could be procured for my daily
use when going to Dr. Dosem in the city,
as the motion of the train disagrees with
my nervous system."
"I don't happen to own. a carriage, but
I might buv one."
'J -. ) , .
"Thank you, 1 thank you, Cousin
Poyntz," said Rev. Mr. Speakwell,
blandly. '
"And if there's any other little thing
you should happen to want, pray don't
be backward in mentioning it," I added.
"No, I won't, CousinvPovnlz," said the
reverend gentleman, with the utmost
gravity. ! (
And I am bound to say that he kept
hi word. I-
For three days I endured the swarm of
visitors which , literally infested my
ho.me, and then L made up my mind that
patience had ceased to be a virtue.
"I'll put a stop to this thing," said I.
I came home one night with a tragical
expression on my face.
"Katharine Is said to my wife, "I
made a sad mistake in buying those
shares in the Western Union. More than .
that, I am sorry to say, the. owner is
ruined!" i
"What!" cried all the company at
once.
"Those shares of the Western Union,
you know," said I, with a heavy sigh.
''Yes, dear," gasped poor Kitty.
"Thev have gone down," said I.
"Oh,John!" I
"I wish I had taken your advice, and
let 'em alone and kept my money," said I.
I looked beamingly around at my
wife's relations. I They returned tne
glance by tho blandest of stares.
"If I' borrow two hundred dollars a
piece from all these dear kindred," said
I, with obtrusive; cheerfulness, "and re
quest Uncle Silas to endorse my busi
ness notes )
"I couldn't think of such a thing,"
miri icuiy mterrupteu. mat geuuemuu.
i - n i -1 ii
"I should be most happy to oblige,but
I am quite out of funds at present," said
Cousin Joab. !
i t u -l -w- t ii t n r f1 l
Ana x, saiu wie xev iixr. opean.-
well, pushing back his chair, "must
save what little share I possess of the
world's filthy lucre to pay my passage
and that of my family back to Minne
sota." ' i
"Surely," cried I, "you would net go
away and leave me in sucn pecuniary
straits as these?" i r
The Rev. Mr. Speakwell significantly
buttoned up his pockets.
"It is every mania business to look
after himself, Cousin Poyntz," said ho;
'and I don t scrapie to say that it is
lownright dishonesty for a business man .
ike yourself to get into sucJi 'financial
difficulties." j
'And in fifteen minutes every cousin in
he lot had, upon one exciise or another.
vanished from the room, to pack and
prepare for immediate, departure. '
I looked at my wife; my wile looked at
me. l burst out lauguing; iviuy Degan
to cry. - I -' j-
"My dear," saul I, "it's an easier job
than I thought it would be. I didn't
know but that it would be necessary for
me to catch the smallpox before I could
get rid of your relations."
"But are we very poor, John? And
a ii.!. t 1!n1. ii n
U.UUU II U 1 V V- U11H UVUl 11VV1V V f. .
Oh, how cruel it is of Uncle Joab, and
Mr. Speakwell, and Uncle Silas, and all
of them, not to help you! I know Mari
ana Wilmerding has five thousand dol
lars that she wants to put out at interest,
for she told me only yesterday, and-"
"Yes, exactly," said I. "But probably
she doesn't regard me as a good invest
ment." j
"After all I have done for them!" sob
bed my wife. j
"Relations are only human my dear," .
said I. !
Tho company took their leave without
i. . a: i it.i.ri..
in ii i: i ii u i r i I'll mi iniu 1 1 rn r iiTTm ni iTiuirur
mucu cureiiiouy ur auiuui, uuu tuaiiuiici-
noon my wife came to mo with tears in
her eyes.
"John," said! she, "will you tell me
how much money yon have lost in that
horrid Western Union stock? Because I
would rather know the worst at once."
"Lost?" repeated I, looking up from t
the newspaper, which I was reading in
Uncle SJlas' favorite easy chair, now
vacated for the first time in many days.
"Why, I only lost a trifle."
"You said you were ruined."
"Excase me, my dear, I said nothing
of the kind. I merely stated the
Western Union shares had gone down,
and their owner was ruined. But I am
not the owner, as I sold out my shares a
week ago. Their depreciation, with other
still more serious losses in their specula
Hons, have ruined their owner."
"John?"
"Yes, my dear."
"How could you?"
"Very easily," said T, with a latent
smile. "My dear, I think if your rela
tions had stayed another week I shoald
have committed suicide."
"And you told that horrid story just to
get lid of them?"
"I made that unimpeachable statement
with that precise intention."
"They were rather trying," confessed
Kitty. "And I think they might have
helped you a little when they thought
you were bankrupt."
"They will not come visiting here
again," said I, quietly.
And I was right. They did not.
A Brave' Colored Boy. A mnllatto
,boy, at the burning of the old World
building, New York, seeing three men at
a window helpless, and that a telegraph
wire was fastened over their heads and
to a pole across tho street, climbed the '
pole, cut the wire and enabled the men
to save themselves. Tha wire served as "
rope, by which they easily reached the
pavement. The name of the young Lero
was Charley Wright. Ouescending
fhA nidfl- after ! cutting the-V'wire. he fell.
hurting his leg, and waycKi.bbed by the
police.
V