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About The Columbian. (St. Helens, Columbia County, Or.) 1880-1886 | View Entire Issue (June 2, 1882)
r , A V J C' s7 A- 7 x ? ) m H ' v-1 J l A VOL. II. ST. HELENS, COLUMBIA COUNTY, OREGON, JUNE 2, 1882. NO. 43. .... - J . It .... M . - M ff 11 THE THREE GREENS. Shortly after the Crimean war, an in dividual -whose right arm encased m splints and hung in a sling, entered a magnificent jewelry shop, the proprietor of which was a Mr. James Green. The stranger had that in his appearance which is generally styled dignity; his carriage and garb revealed the military veteran, and his manners the finished gentleman. . At the door halted an ele gant caribolet, and the good taste of its owner "was made apparent by the plain and neat livery of the groom and the choice trappings of the handsome . blooded horse. - The stranger stated that ho was de sirous of procuring a complete silver table service, rich, solid and elegant, with but little ornamentation. Could Mr. Green prepare such a one for him? The goldsmith answered, of course, in the affirmative, and he showed several patterns to his visitor, who then de scribed very minutely the style in which he wished the articles" to be made, and asked by what time they could be ready. At the same time he insisted on punctu ality, saying that he must use the set at a reception he would soon give at his new residence in Leicester square. Mr, Green promised to have it done in three weeks, and then the two parties discussed the terms. The jeweler very carefully made all his calculations and demanded jC1200. The stranger thought a few moments, then Lsaid he had determined upon get ting a service at a cost of $1500, and re quested Mr. Green to add as many more pieces to the set as would fix the price at that sum. Mr. Green thanked the gen tleman for his remark of confidence, and inquired of him to whose recommenda tion he owed his patronage. "No one ha3 recommended you to me," repb'ed the stranger. The jeweler looked up in surprise. The stranger, who had hitherto worn au air of dignity almost amounting to aasterity now became more friendly and continued: "I am a soldier. I have served for years in India, and more recently in the .Crimea. At Balaklava, I received a "severe wound in ray right arm and hand which will, perhaps, disable the member for life. My patronage you owe to your parents, grand parents, and, in fact, to the whole line of your ances tors." tm . i -j .1 t ;i x lie jeweier was aiuaxKu ami Lewii tiered.. iis parents and otuer ancestors had long been dead, and could not have referred the soldier to him. The latter Apparently enjoyed Mr. Green's perplex- ity, and smiling continued. 'I will make myself clearer. When in consequence of this unfortunate wound" here a sudden twinge in his arm made him start painfully "I was compelled to leave the service, I resolved to settle in London. While riding out, the other day,' I was attracted by the appearance of your splendidly furnished shop, but more so by the name on your sign, for mine is precisely the same. To this simple reason you own the present visit of Colonel James Green, of the Grena dier Gnards." The jeweler expressed his delight at the honor of being a namesake of so dis tinguished a warrior, and, after a few more phrased of this sort, conversation reverted to the business in hand. "May I now inform you, said the jeweler, with some hesitation, "of the conditions which must be generally complied with previous to making a sale?" I "No," said the colonel, sharply. "I have my own way of doing business! You and I do not know each other, and although my order is not an uncommon ly large one, yet it amounts to a sum which you cannot credit a stranger. I will therefore pay you 100 cash down for a surety, the remaining '1400 when I call for the service." Mr. Green accepted the proffer with profuse thanks. "You need not thank me," the officer interrupted. "As I remarked, I always have a way of my own, from which I never like to deviate. Now do me the favor to take my portnionnaie from my coat pocket; my unfortunate Balaklava wound" the colonel again winced with pain "has maimed my right hand and arm completely." Mr. Green expressed his sympathy in the warmest terms, carefully pulled the portmonnaie from the veteran's coat pocket, opened it at his desire, and from four or five new notes took one, which the colonel requested him to keep. Mr. Green wrote off a receipt and placed it in the old pocket-book, which he care fully restored to its resting place. lie then assisted the colonel to enter the carriage, and the groom Colonel Green could not drive on account of his injured arm rapidly drove off in the direction of Leicester square. The jeweler.though much overjoyed, was a cautious busi ness man, and notwithstanding the con siderable deposit, proceeded to make his safety certain. In the "War List," he readily found the name and rank of his customer, just as they had been given, and from the estate agent who rented out the splendid mansion in Leicester squaiej he had as certained that it bad recently been occu pied by Colonel James Green, of the iGnard8, and that the latter had brought most excellent recommendations: from his banker and sundry other distinguish ed personages. In the course of the three weeks, at the end of which the set was to be done the colonel often came into the shop to see how the work was going on, and al ways discoursed so affably with the gold smith that the latter could not find sufficient words of praise for his genial customer when speaking to others abont him. " At last the service waa completed. It was placed upon a large table in the counting room, and covered with a cloth of blue velvet. Punctual at the stipu lated time in the afternoon. Colonel Green entered the shop, his elegant cab riolet with the blocded horses remaining before the door in care of the groom. The officer stepped into the counting room, and Mr. Green, swelling with pride, removed the velvet cloth from the service. The colonel, though usu ally a quiet man, declared that it sur passed his most sanguine expectation, and greatly insisted upon paying the entire 1500, and also upon the jeweler retaining the deposit of 100 as a dou ceur for the satisfaction he had given. "You owe me no thanks, my dear Mr. Green," warmly said the colonel to the delighted goldsmith. "Give me your nand and again receive mv nearttelt ac knowledgement for this superb master piece." I The jeweler's beaming opuntenance, on grasping the hand of his namesake, i i. i : : .3 At .1 ..:i..t "Now, to business," said the colonel. "Be so kind as to take out rav pocket book and count off your 1500, for I do not wish to tarry a moment before showing your "chef dceuvre to my wife." The jeweler hastened t6 comply. He took from the officer's breast coat pocket a card case, a set of ivory tablets and a silk purse, through whose meshes glittered some five or six sovereigns but no pocketbook. Upon the colonel's request, he then examined all his pock ets. The search was futile. "Strange! Incomprehensible! Could I have lost it or been robbed?" muttered the colonel, audibly; perplexed and pro voked. "What o'clock is it?" heasked suddenly. "Twenty-five minutes to five, ' was the reply. "Good, it is time enough. You must make yourself of service to me once more, my dear Mr. Green, and act as my right hand. Will you have the good ness to write a few lines for me to my wife?" With these "words the colonel step ped to the jeweler's desk, on which lay some writing paper, printed with the name of the firm. Taking a sheet he placed it before the jeweler, saying, "This will do; my wife knows that lam here. He then dictated and the jeweler wrote: "Mi Dear Wife. Have the goodness to send me at once 1500, through the bearer. Yon know where the money is kept. I am in immdiate need of it; therefore do not detain the messenger, who is a trustworthy person. Your affectionate husband.. Jon.v Grrkn. "Thank you." said the colonel, after perusing the epistle "Michael" he door and calling cried, stepping to the the groom, "take this letter, ride home as fast a3 you can, and return at once to this place with that which my wife will give you. The groom took the letter, bowed and quickly drove oil. Fifteen minutes, half an an hour passed away and not return. The colonel tient and wished that he hour, nearly Michael did waxed impa had gone in person for the money. The jeweler es sayed to tranquilize him, but withont effect. "I have always regarded the fellow as honest and trustworthy," said the colonel "and have on seyeral occasions intrusted him with large sums of money, though, it is true, never with as much as at' this time. Fifteen hundred pounds have proved too strong a temptation for him." Pulling out his magnificent gold watch, he continued, "I will wait just seven and one-half minutes lonirer that is exactly the time it takes to drive here from Leicester square." The seven and a half minutes were gone and the groom did not come. The colonel could not contain himself any longer. "Do me the favor.. Mr. Green, to call a cab," ho said, in tho greatest im patience. "I shall go home myself and return within half an hour." The cab was soon at the door. - "Quick to Leicester square," cried the colonel to the coachman. "A half crown extra if you drive well." - The cab drove "on as rapidly as the horses could go. The goldsmith mean time had the service packed up, and then waited for his patron's return. The clock struck six, seven, eight, nine. The colonel did not come. Something usual must have detained him; but jeweler felt no anxiety, for had he not still the service and a deposit of one hun dred pounds. Tired of waiting at last he closed his shop, at half after nine, and went home. His wife who had long been expecting him, had grown sleepy and was slumber ing on a sofa. An open letter lay in her lap. Mr. Green stepped .-lightly to her. intending to awaken her with a kiss, when his eyes fell upon the letter. "What is this?" he cried dumbfound- ed, as he recognized his own handwrit ing and the letter which he had just written for the colonel. The reader can readily gaess the se quel and the connection. True, there existed a Colonel Green who had served in India and the Crimea and had been wounded at Balaklava, who had rented the house in Leicester square and who possessed a considerable for tune but, alas! he was not the Colonel Green who had ordered tho silver ser vice. Heaven knows by what means the sharpers had gained knowledge of all the facts and circumstances upon which they constructed their admirably ingenious plan. The man personating the groom, of course, was an accomplice, and the let ter which Mr. James Green had penned for the pseudo Colonel James Green was delivered by him to the jeweler's wife,Jwho did not hesitate to deliver to him the fifteen hundred pounds, because she recognized her husband s band writing upon the paper stamped with the name of the jewelry firm. Who the sly rogues were never was brought to light. Breeds of Poultry. There are many breeds of poultry which are seldom or never seen on this ceast. Yet they appear in the collections of fanciers in the Est and in Europe, and form the i foundation for crosses of value. The climate of the Pacific coast particularly of California, is so admira bly adapted to the production of the finest poultry that it is perhaps worth while to test every breed known to the fanciers of other countries. The follow ing notes are taken from the best poultry books, and cover the entire list of varie ties shown at the greatest exhibitions of the world: j The Anconas are a cross between the black and the white Minorcas. The plumage is mottled gray, or dominique in color; the comb face and. lobes are like the Minorca. They are hardy, good layers and non-setters. White, red and yellow in the plumage disqualifies. The Minorcas alluded to in the pre vious paragraph, are supposed to have originated ages ago on the Balearic Is lands in the Mediterranean sea. The black Minorcas were possibly ancestors of the black Spanish, but are more ro bust and have a red face; splendid layers and non-setters; eggs very large and pure white: plumage crreen-oiack, or purple-black, and lustrous; comb up right, hrm: very fine fowls for farmer s use, being hardy and maturing early. Another important breed is the Anda lusians. origin obscure; first exhibited in 1848. The type of the Andalusian fowl is tall, slender, long neck, legs grey, pumage bluish, or slaty, laced with black. The eggs are large, and the fowl is noted for laying qualities. The chick ens are remarkably precocious, luis is a val uable breed for general use. The best and largest of the Hamburg tribe are the blacks. There are few birds of equal beauty to a fancier's eye. They are delicate and' cannot be raised easily unless the breeder can give them a good range and some attention. Among other varieties of the Hamburg are the gold penciled, the silver penciled and the redcaps. These are all favorites among the fanciers, and great regularity in the penceliugs and spangles . is re quired. The Biahmas, light and dark, are no table fowls the world over. The light and the dark should in all respects save color, be similar. An adult male should weigh 12 to 14 pounds; an adult hen 8 to 10 pounds; pullets G to 8 pounds. The "points" essential for exhibition purposes in this breed are numerous and carefully defined in works on the sub ject. It has long been a favorite in poultry shows.' Leghorns, white and brown, originally from the city whose name they bear, seem to be a! favorite in the United States and have been brought to great perfection. They are non-sotters and prolific layers, but the eggs are small. They are hardy, vigorous, like an exten sive range, and the chickens are of very little trouble. They are stylish and orn amental for exhibition purposes. For farm uses the brown Leghorn crossed with light Brahma s make an excellent bird. The Andalusians are perhaps the only birds that surpass the Leghorns as layers. J The Chittagohgs were the breeds of poultry which played a part during the furore of 1850 in New York, over largo fowls. They are a coarse gray bird, and very little is at present seen or heard of them. j Cochins are are another of the noted large breeds, the cock weighing 12 or 15 pounds, and the hen from 7 to 11 pounns. The body is deep and wide, chest promi nent, tail very short. The varities are the buff, the white, the black, the par tridge Cochin and the cuckoo Cochin. All these are admirably adapted for use in close quarters, and for small yarns. The Cochins aro pretty good breeds for table use. All the varieties aro hand some and stylish exhibition birds. They iay well in winter, but are too broody. They are crossed, with the Dorkings to improve their laying powers. The Couites Pattes is a French breed very difficult to procure, but said to be a prolific layer. jThey have remarkable abort legs. Another French breed which is widely known is the Crevicceur, one of the best for table use in dry places, but unfit for damp localities. The birds are lorge and handsome. They are poor layers. One of the valuable and leading breeds, the Dominique, jis of American origin. They are good layers and hardy. The cocks weigh from seven to eight pounds, and the hens sixjpounds. This is also a good table fowl, j " Of ancient fame in poultry annals is the Dorking, probably descended from the Roman fowl described by Columella. Four varieties are known, the white, the cuckoo, the dark and the silver. Their proper place is on the table; they are inferior layers. The cock ranges in weight from 10 to 14 pounds, and the hen from 8 to lOjponuds. The chickens are somewhat hard to raise. A peculiar ity of this breed lis the presence of a fifth toe. Congress has bought Charles Wilson Peale's portrait of Washington lately ex hibited at the Corcoran Gallery. The price is said to be $5000. The joint con gressional committee on the library has bought for the White House a three quarters life-sized portrait of Garfield recently furnished by E. F. Andrews of wasningtou. One Worn Hi's Work. Off the coast of North Carolina, a few miles from Baufort, there rises a small bit of land, known as Harker's Island. It is about five miles long, by two broad. Fifteen years ago it was inhabited by one or two hundred people, all of the poor white class. Their degradation, demor alized by the slave system, it would be impossible to describe. At this war period they were in their lowest depth of wretchedness, moral and physical. A book was unknown upon the island. They never repeated the name of God, or heard it, except in oaths. They lived in miserable huts, whole families some times crowded into one room, in poverty and filth inconceivable. . They despised work, subsisting entirely upon govern ment rations, which they obtained upon the plea of helplessness. Their repul siveness almost destroyed compassion, and men shrank from them as from the oontagion of a plague. At this time Miss J. C. Bell, a Worth- ern woman, went to JNortu Carolina, with the purpose of teaching the freed men. But, on arriving, she found the field in that neighborhood well occupied by teachers, and. soon after, her atten tion was drawn to Harker's Island. Miss Bell's pity for this miserable peo pie seems to have been deeper than her aversion, for she soon decided to open a school for the children. There was no building which would serve as a school house, a roof and four posts being all that the island could furnish, lhe au thorities at Beaufort being appealed to, a floor and walls were added to this prim itive structure. A log lean-to was also built against it, which was to serve as the teacher s home. In this small school-room MissB. gath ered such of the children as she could, and began work. Half naked, diseased, with the blight of generations of ignor ance upon them, they came to be taught. Their primer lessons were well salted with maxims of neatness, and along with the rudiments of common knowledge they acquired a strong respect for their instructor. These good results produced their effect upon the parents, for grad ually Miss B. 7as able to extend her in fluence, an1 incited the islanders to am bition and labor. The difficulties in this direction were the greatest she had to encounter. Their contempt for labor words are not equal to. Yet with such unlikely material she bravely conceived the idea of making the community self-supporting. The first step toward it was to represent to the government authorities that the Harker's Island people did not need rations. As a result the supplies were cut off and they were left to shift for : themselves. The island was naturally productive, and the shores yielded abundant fish and oys ters. For these Miss Bell obtained a market. She taught her people how to utilize the raw materials abouc them. She instructed them in the practical arts of tilling the soil, (often doing over her self their half-and-half slip-shod work,) and always paying them for it eut of her own means. The assistance she solicited from per sonal friends and otners interested in her undertaking was mostly devoted to objects of permanent value and repro ductive quality. She made it" a point that no one should receive anything for which some return was not made. This wise s? stein of benevolence produced its results in the beginnings of self-respect, honesty, and ambition. Their organic untruthfulness was gradually exposed to them, and their moral sense quickened. It is not easy to imagine Miss Bell's personal life during these years. An ex perience so unique requires reflection to appreciate. But the sohtude of it at once impresses the mind. one was ab solutely alone. There was no one near her who could have any understanding of her thoughts and motives, and the island had no regular communication with the world. Shut off from all so ciety, constantly giving of her best, with out the encouragement of present sym- prthy and counsel, and withou.t hope or thought of reward, this narrat Jve of her life, as she has herself given it in various towns of the North, is a real romance. The hard prose of her daily toil and en deavor had in itsucn underlying quali ties of patience, heroism, and devotion as only rare heroines exhibit. During the early years or tms lime Miss B. lived in the log lean-to built against the school house. She has now much more comfortable accommodations the ordinary furnishings of an unpre tending home. A rare friend or visitor steps aside from the ordinary routes of travel, and spends a day or two unuer her roof. Her door is always open, lit- literally as well as figuratively. Nothing . . ll il 1. 1 i in connection Wltu una nouiu wumau is more striking than her fearlessness and generous confidence in the 'people about her. She , never locks her door upon them, and she has never been intruded upon. The change wmcu niteen years nave wrought upon Harper's Island, through her unselfish efforts, is her best reward. Her hope to make the people self-sup porting is being surely, it slowly, real ized. They are acquiring iiamts oi in dustry, and becoming honest .intelligent, and respectable. The wretched huts they formerly occupied are giving place to neat, comfortable houses in the midst of productive gardens. The soil is being cultivated, and is -yielding the fruits adapted to it. Sunday is respected, and brings with it, not only abstinence from labor, but the opportunity oi uunsiiau worship in a comfortable church, lhe school, begun under such desperate cir cumstances, still continues, and is the center of good influences which have made the island what it is. This is one woman s work. If a de tailed account of it were to be fitly given it would form one of the most striking chapters of individual history. THE OLD WELL trnn ... v 4- 1 Imnm it T attAM I.aJ j" j"" wouu iu jvuvw ii j. ooi uuu romance?" said Aunt Margaret, leaning back in her easy chair j with a mild, re- flective look upon her peaceful face. Yes, something did happen to me once that may seem like one to you, though I never nought ol calling it by tnat name. "Letrs hear it, auntie, please, l an sweredl pushing the velvet hassock nearer her, and giving an extra shake to the bright coal fire. The night was somewhat cold and Vvl ii a4- aE r Aiif ollo Till 4-1 w ' 4vn 1 wt a1a Aunt Margaret's room, with its warm hued furniture, its softly cushioned easy uiuobiiuK t-f u voivt j m ksuv vumu vuij auuvio chairs, its glowing hre and shaded astral lamp, look all the more inviting. She rwas a distant relative who had come to pay us a long promised visit, and fro u ray first glance at her fine, stately figure and her noble, placid countenance,knowing that she had never married, I got the notion into my head that she must have had a romance. Her hair was still brown and abundant, while her eyes shone clear and blue as a young girl s. And yet Aunt Margaret was well past fifty "Well, my dear," she began, smiling softly, r 'once upon a time, as the story books say, l was young, and considered rather prettv " "Oh, bo need to tell me that, Aunt Margart t, I interrupted, gazing with unfeigned admiration at the handsome face, into which a delicate rose-color came so brightly at the memory of her girlish loveliness. "You might easily carry of; the palm of beauty from us now, if you felt so inclined. She smiled again as she saw how sin cere was my tribute to her charms, and resumedjher story: "I had, of course, my share of admir ers among tne village youtn, and was a great favorite at balls; quilting parties, husking bees, and all the other enter tainments of village society: yet 1 reached the age of twenty heart whole and fancy free, still keeping house for my widowed father, as I had done almost from childhood, and never caring to make any change. "Because the right one' hadn't come along, auntie," I said eagerly, thinking of my "t onnie Charlie," with his curly locks anO lightsome heart, and wonder ing how irirls in any age of the world could ha re loved, married and lived hap- fily without ever having known the sun ight of bis presence. "Well, Madge, he came at last, con tinued Aunt Margaret, with a gentle sigh which seemed to waft her far back into the nappy pest, "and the manner of his comirjg was one that I can never for get. Our house stood at one end of the street, and in a far corner of the lot stood an old well, neglected and unused for years, save by us silly girls, who found it a romantic spot to try our fortunes by on Hallowe en. But it was very danger ous, being unprotected oj euro or tence, and standing as it did close to the public road, I had often begged my father to make it more secure, but he neglected it until my proDhecy of danger from it was at last fulfilled. "One dark, starless evening in Octo ber, returning from a visit to a neigh bor's, I was passing the old well, when suddenly a low groan of agony caught my ear. Instantly I realized the awful truth that some traveler had fallen into the dark 'and dangerous pit, and my heart stood still with horror. But only for a moment. I saw the need of instant action, and, leaning over the edge of the black, yawning hole, I called loudly to the person within not to despair, for I would soon bring him assistance. "Then rushing to the house, and call ing wildly at every step for help, I be gan an eagei, treu.bling search for a rope, which I soon had knotted firmly around a stout, crooked old pear tree standing near the well. Then I called again to the poor groanin? victim below I bade him grasp the rope tightly and let me pull him up. But it was no use My only answer was another moan, so low and deep that I thought the poor wretch was dying. "What to do I did not know. No help had come and I feared to lose a moment by going After it. But I was young and strong and nerved with tho courage of desperation, so I did not hesitate long. How I managed it successfully 1 never could tellL but I let myself down by the rope until I reached the bottom of that dark abyss and found tho helpless being whom Providence had sent me to rescue, too much injured to move a limb. "As gently and quickly as I could, in that awful situation, I fastened the rope around liis body and lifted him in a more convenient position ; to be drawn up; tlien nand over nand, nice a sailor, an,d blistering the skin as. I went, I slowly climbed to the top again, where I found my father and two or three anxious neighbors just beginning to realize what had occurred. It was well they had come, for my girl's strength, try as I would, could never have drawn that large, strong man to the surface; nor could he have lived much longer in the deadly gasses of the old well. "He seemed more dead than living when he came up and one arm was found to be broken. He proved to be a young merchant from a distant city, who had come to visit a friend in the village, and had met with his accident while walking io his friend's house. But he was too badly hurt to be removed, and for weeks he was an inmate of our home, where alrr ost the entire care of the in valid devolved upon me. "I need not give you the history of those weeks, Madge, but they were the sweetest I have ever known in my long life of hall a century. Hugh Woodman was the hero I had dreamed of hand some, nohle looking, polished in manner and conversation. Better than all that he was the soul of honor. Before solicit ing my father's permission' to offer m a I At. l.'t. 1 " 1. 1 1 I .t 1 1 V , a i ixio iiiu wuicu u uaways ueciarea I uad saved, he told us frankly the story of his past. "He was a young man then only 27 yet he had already been . married .and divorced.' His young wife had been un faithful to him, and after bearing with her faults and the disgrace they brought upon his name as long las he could, tbev were legally separated, and the care of their only child was entrusted to him. This chillis iittle lliywaa a tLeme of which : he never tired. Hour" after hour he talked to me of her. nraiaiher her beauty and goodness, planning for her future with us, and! begging me a thousand times over to love her for his sake. i "But he had no need to ask me that. Anything that belonged to him was dear to me. Even the faithless wife who bore his name was an object! of interest to my mind, and many times I found myself pitying her for having cast aside the priceless blessing of Hugh's love. For I knew that his old love for her was dead and buried, and that the whole wealth of affeotion in his heart and soul was mine mine. Aunt Margaret paused. and the intense look which her blue eyes gathered in the ' m t memories oi long ago gave ner iace, i fancied the same expression which it must have worn in the ltve-days of her youth. , "Yes, she resumed, f'our happiness was perfect far too perfect to last. Our marriage was to take place on Christmas and after a short vedding tour we were to settle down at once to housekeeping in the city. He had brought little Lily to see me, and she was to come to us for good the moment we j returned from our tour. How I loved the ( child 1 . not only for her father's sake, btrHor the in nate loveliness of her own sweet, child ish nature. 1 "She did sot look like Hugh, there fore I knew that she must resemble her lost mother; ard if so, how beautiful that mother must have been! Lily was a blonde, as I wa, but the fairness of my skin was snow-white in hers, the blue of her eyes was more the intense brilliancy of the sapphire, and the blonde of her hair, the shimmer of bur nished gold. I can see Hugh now, as he stood with- halfj tearful, half laughing eyes, watching me caress his darling child, and thinking to tease me by calling me the 'young step mother. ! The week before Christmas found us all as bright and happy as a prospective wedding party could ever be: but it brought a new actdr upon the scene who was destined to change it all in the twinkling of an eye. Hugh's divorced wife, having in some way learned of his intended marriage, had made her war out to our village, determined to win back to herself the husband whom she had deserted. Had she appealed to Hugh alone she could never have been successful, for she had utterly forfeited ;; all claims to his love or confidence, and - his heart was too entirely mine for her pleadings to have moved him. But find ing him firm and unyielding, she sought me out." I "Oh, Aunt Margaret!" I interrupted in amazement, "surely you did not vol untarily give up Hugh's love for the sake of that bad woman?;' "Yes, child, I did, she hastily an- swered.with a'little choking sound in her voice. "And you could not have be lieved her bad, Madge, . had - you seen her, as I did, imploring, with tears and sobs, to be restored to her husband and child. She was so lovely oh! a thou sand times lovelier than I . ever was, though Hugh had always called me pretty. . In those days, Madge, divorce was not so'lightly thought of as it is m lit it . now. A divorced wiie, wnemer jusuy or not, was always regarded with sus picion, and the disgrace even attached to Ln whom r loved so well and for the 8ike of her future I helped plead her children. 1 thought of mother's cause with Hugh. "It was long before he would listen to either of us, but at last he left the deci sion of his fate to me. Oh, child, I can never forget the anguish that filled his loving eyes as he did so! 'My life is in your hands, Margaret,' he said, in his wife's presence; 'you saved it once, and it is yours, both "by right and my own choice. : Do with it as you will So Madge, I decided against myself, and that is why you see me an old maid to day." "And they were married over again? How strange! But was she a good wife to Hugh after that. Aunt Margaret?" I asked,- with a girlish curiosity, not thinking that my words might wound the noble heart, until I noticed the slight shudder with which she answered them. "Yes, Madge, I heard of them years afterward, a happy and united family. I have always found strength to be thank ful that I helped reconcile them to each other. My life is flowing peacefully on to the great ocean of eternity, so I am content. But Hugh's last, loving ' kiss which he gave me so passionately beside the old well, where I ri'ked my life to save his, has never been effaced by the touch of other lips." Aunt Margaret's story waa ended. She had never thought of this 'grand, nn selfish act of her life in the light of a romance.but to me its seemed very much Lovers and collectors of illuminaUd MSS. are looking forward with intense interest to the sale of the Dike of Ham ilton's library in June when thre will come into the market the pjrecious illu-. minated folio MS. of Date's "Divina Commedia," with outline designs rom the hand of Sandro Botticelli and other famous artists of Quattrocento. I f 7T