y^^bhu
Copyright M br li
CHAPTER XXXI. |
Continued.
**? 1 thought," said uncle Sam;
"boC?breaking off suddenly a^d puratm;
anotlier line of thought?"marT*MXr
is the most discussed yet least
aader-stood of human institutions.
Though women so greatly outnumber
mwu good wives are as scarce as good
ftwbands. Of course nothing can counterbalance
the want of good personal j
<iaairies in either husband or wife, but |
there can be no matrimonial paragon ,
who s unfurnished with dollars. I remember
in my salad days, soon after |
T settled in this country. Van Rensse- j
tser and I once amused ourselves by :
making some investigations as to the '
owdition of the marriage market." j
" V Ool-A/1 I
~Wiiai CIO you lurau, oaui. uorv^v.
Mni Gertrude, looking up from her1
TCk. j
?About twenty years ago." continued j
mj uncle, "there lived in Kivington;
strvet, New York, a matrimonial agent i
who used to advertise in the daily j
papers that he was prepared to supply ;
wives of every desirable quality to
ascBiieinen of unblemished honor and
wspectable means, while of course
Bm* i sefulness to ladies weary of single
fc.essedness was equally great. To
tfeas professor's otfice Van Rensselaer
. and I one day betook ourselves, and
planked down a fee of $5. which
tfce J?gent, with a grateful smile, made
ftasli:' to appropriate." i
"What induced you to be so foolish:"
asKed my aunt.
?Sport, my dear Gertie, sport: nollifarg
more, 1 assure you." said uncle 1
Sam
" "Well, what sport could you find i
to saving your money to a cheat?"
?Very much; my Jo were well in-'
XT*ii.*d. Admission to the agent's office
al&ne was worth the fee. Ha! ha! I
;?tar*nber the place to this any," ana
wnrhr Snm reclined bis head on the !
bark of bis chair and chuckled.
"What was the plate like?" I in- '
^phed.
was a fairly well-furnished ]
firsaid uncle Sam. "The walls |
covered with shelves, on which j
satooJ letter cases and japanned tin ;
losfs. In a corner of the office, on an i
devoted platform, a bald-beaded old ;
frand of about sixty, the proprietor
?f the place, sat at a desk plentifully (
:?pr;r<*d with ledgers. Packets of let-,
t??rs. held together by rubber bands, j
and piles of photographs, lay about in i
<-&ulasion, while close to the door stood J
a large table strewn with writing ma- i
feriate and printed forms whereon ell- '
?nts might concisely-state their quali cotkins
and requirements."
"Bid the ag'Tit show you any of the
photographs?" asked Constance. ;
"Bnzens of them. One lady in par(fralar
I remember he recommended
as a very suitable wife for me. his ree
I...ST.., /.l.iortx- tin
IPUliUrXJUiUJUU UMUg V??CI U X uiv j
tbo fact that she was an English
wotran, who, having passed the lirst j
feJnt-v> of b?r youth (a statement which i
nobody who glanced at her photograph ;
woe Id for a moment question!, was j
frre of the frivolities which nsnally ;
rrcrnpany girlhood, and having been
ftw m years a member of the Lon-,
And musk-hall profession, she was an
nefonrplished vocalis^ who could di- J
ert my leisure with charming songs ,
?f an amusing character, many of them :
Huhuown to-the best musicians. These !
sjoa ities, the agent argued. more than J
compensated for the lady's lack of i
proprrty."
" Was that all the old man told you
.-about her?" I inquired.
"1 think It was." replied uncle Sam.
" "Bri I wrote to ber the next day uu- J
der the assumed name of Holdenhurst. '
?ad a day or so afterwards received
'Jn?r reply, dated from the Bowery. [
*m?--hed in orthography which I had 1
:irot previously met with. One of her j
rifciuexttents?that her dear pa had betn
killd some years before by a fall from ;
a scaffold in the Old Bailey?impressed |
ase as a very pleasant way of dcscrib- '
i?? an unpleasant fact.''
'At this point I interrupted uncle Sain
with my immoderate laughter, much I
to the surprise of aunt Gertrude ami
CWttistance, who. being imperfectly ac<fKs:mted
with I.ondou. perceived nothn*g.
tc laugh at.
"Hotv about Mr. Van Rensselaer?" (
*r-l.ed (Constance, when my paroxysm
otf laughter had subsided sufficiently
f?r her voice to be heard. "Did the
ajgent recommend any of his clients as
a rsmitable wife for that ugiy old Dutcbm&n?*
""Gently. Connie, please. Martin Van
Kriwseleer was a capital fellow, as
3***1 a judge of a railroad as was the
threat Commodore himself: and his adwi"?*
was always sound in matters
wftpre he was not personally interPoo*
old Martin is now beyond
- veil against which I have been
Uhad'mg beating."
""Yes. 1 know." persisted Con*.ante:
you have no. answered my questi?n.
Did the agent recommend a wife
fthT jour friend as lie d'd for you? If
aa. I would like to hear a 1 tout her."
"I'm afraid 1 can't oblige you lu
dLit, Con; but of course the agent made
wwcospHtendatiou. It was his business
tw ?ie so to everybody who consulted
few"
ntr. Van Rensselaer didn't win his
i ?
rstalHaljp
=- BY
VLTER BLOOMFIELD
BEBT BOXSEB'S SOX*.
wife by any such means as that, 1 am
sure." said aunt Gertrude.
"So am I." added uncle Sam.
"Do you thiuk, Sam. any marriage
was ever brought about by such horrid
methods?" my aunt inquired.
"Without doubt, abundance of them."
replied uncle Sam. unhesitatingly.
"Nothing that was ever said is more
true than that humankind are mostly
fools. And it Is well that such is the
Wnra rthnrwl?i> thou nrnli
ably, though no one wouM starve, nobody
would be able to live well. It is
in the follies of his fellow-creatures
that a sharp man finds his chances of
aggrandizement. The matrimonial
1 agent of Rivington street transgressed
no law that I know of. or that I would
enact were I invested with the attributes
of Solon. He merely preyed upon
1 l'ools?a perfectly legitimate process,
sanctioned by the doctrine of the survival
of the fittest. Pass me the cigarcase.
Gertie, dear."
"Were you and yoirr friends fools
when you visited that otfice in Rivington
street?" inquired CouDie, with
a mischievous smile.
"Unquestionably we were." admitted
Uncle Sam. with charming frankness.
"and on many other occasions besides."'
"Nothing can ever induce me to l>olieve
that it is right to use superior
natural gifts or knowledge to entrap
the inexperienced and unwary," said
my aunt.
"Power is its own justification. Thut
which a man can do he may do."
"That is not right," asserted aunt
Gertrude boldly.
"Nothing is right, nor likely to be," '
agreed uncle Sam.
CHAPTER XXXIL
EUREKA.
What is time? The past has gone
and cannot be recalled; the present is
here, hut imperfectly under our con- i
trol; the future no man knows. Is j
there another subject which mankind
regards in ways so numerous and diverse
as time, the most generic and
indefinite of terms? Only for the miserable
wretch condemned to die on an
appointed uay do the fleeting hours ox-!
pire with maddening rapidity; to the
sufferer from any other form of torture
they drag their course with most exasperating
slowness. It is the privilege
of the perfectly happy (if indeed there
? ' -- * -? * * it? JS 1: . V
in* any sucui ana me perietuy iwumi :
(of whom everyone must surely know !
abuudant examples) to disregard time.
The week which elapsed between our
return to New York and my marriage
to Constance seemed to me of supernaturally
long duration. Love is im- j
patient, and dressmakers and milliners j
monopolizing. Though living in the
same house as my athanced wife. I i
now saw very little of her; she was j
nearly always engaged in being measured,
or fitted, or experimented upon in |
some way by a contingent of French i
modistes, who came every day to the
house and disorganized all its ens-'
toruary arrangements. Of the numer
ous dresses being prepared for my wife. I
though I had heard a good deal about!
them. 1 was not for the present permitted
to see one; but I would have
endured that privation without murlnuriug
if the companionship of my
dear Constance had been spared to me.
However, all things come to those
who wait?unless death comes first and
captures the waiters, in which case the
latter escape from their wants. Man's 1
comfort is uot more dependent upon !
events than upon their convenient se- j
quence, a course often difficult to se-!
cure.
At last the wedding morning came (
and I was almost happy. Aii. that
word almost! Has the man yet lived
of whom it can be truthfully said that
he was quite happy? Long and varied
experience makes me doubt It. With
health, youth and strength: $100,000 to
my credit at Drexel's; and a beautiful
girl, magnificently dowered, for my
wife; for what more could I wish, you
ask. Why. for my father's presence
this day, and bis approval of the lifelong
contract I was about to make.
1 I .OJ J-- .. thinl-.
j^UIUtUUW X IUUIU 1IUI accjl 11VUI luiun
iug of my father on this ruy wedding
morning; and as I waited with uncle
Sam and a small party of his friends
in the Presbyterian Church on Fifth
avenue, where the ceremony was to
take place, the old church at Holdeuhurst.
its unlikcncss to the sacred
building wherein I was. my father's
lonely life now that I had left him.
and the probable effect of the recent
tragedy upon him and my grandfather
Wolsey, largely engaged my inind.
despite all efforts I could make to
disregard them; until the organ, pealing
forth the soul-stirring strains of
.Mendelssohn's Wedding March, announced
the arrival of the bridal party,
and my dear Constance, almost completely
bidden in white gossamer-like ;
habiliments and attended by six maids.
passed slowly up the church.
Of the events between that moment ;
and the conclusion of the ceremony.!
when wc all left the church. I for a |
long time retained only a confused j
and general recollection; but dually;
iSie particulars of the ceremony took
shape iu my mind, and now I can j
clearly recall the tall, commanding
form and the clear.. impressive voice1
of the grand old Ulsterman. the officiating
minister of the church; and my uneasy
glances at uncle Sam (whom I
had never seen in such a place before;,
and inj- fear lest he should create a
diversion by some eccentric conduct.
Not until after the wedding party
was assembled at breakfast did uncle
Sam pive rein to his usual pleasantry,
and then to no very great extent. 1
remember he inquired, across the table,
what my wife and I thought of the
reverend gentleman's boots.
"Think of the reverend gentleman's
boots!" I echoed in surprise. "Really
I didn't observe them. Did you, Connie,
dear?"
"Not very particularly," stammered
ray wife, ineffectually endeavoring to
suppress a laugh.
"-Why. how can you say that?" asked
uncle Sam. "The reverend doctor
' wears the largest boots in New York,
; as many rash wagerers know to their
; cost; and 1 observed yon both intently
contemplating their dimensions while
he was exhorting you to be mindful
of your new duties. I assure you I
am very glad if I am mistaken, for
there could be no better proof of your
attention to his precepts."'
There was a suppressed titter at this;
j out aunt Gertrude came to the rescue
and protested against remarks of a
personal nature generally, and particularly
in the case of a gentleman highly
esteemed by all who had the privilege
of his acquaintance. Uncle Sam agreed.
| and declared that he had not only comj
plimented the minister by asserting,
in other words, that he had a larger
| understanding than any other man in
' Xew York.
j Several of my uncle's friends ton*
j dered their congratulations in the timeI
honored platitudes which have served
; on innumerable similar occasions, after
which uncle Sam rose, and glass in
hand, invited all present to drink to the
health, prosperity and lorg life of the
I bride and bridegroom. "For the happy
j pair opposite, who with all the courage
I of inexperience and in deiiance of sages
j and satirists have given those hostages
I to Fortune which so many of us would
like to redeem. I entertain a very spe-1
, cial and real affection." said uncle
Sam. "The bride is the only sister of
( my dear wife, and a daughter of my
J 1 1 T k.... knAnn. !
liifUU ttuu ivruirinviui . x uu*e xuunu ,
her all her life, and I say of her. that
no truer or more amiable lady cau be !
found between Maine and California. ]
She was my ward; and my duty to her
has also been my pleasure from the
day I became her guardian until you
saw me surrender her to her husbaud?
and with her all that I held in trust
for her, with something over and
above. Tb? bridegroom Is the only son
of one, who. in my youthful days in
England before I entertained a though:
of setting foot on this continent, had
promised to become my wife?a promise
she was forced to break?and of my
only brother, whom I do not expect to
see again. It is for these reasons
chiefly that I am prejudiced in favor of
the bridegroom?for he is no genius,
and I don't suppose his unaided efforts
would ever have burdened him with
much property; he is a trifle sentimental.
and lacks resolution and fixity
of purpose. Nevertheless he has proved
himself a faithful friend and a pupil of
at least average aptitude, it is with
much pleasure and confidence that I
ask you to join me in wishing health, |
prosperity aud long life to Mr. and Mrs.
Ernest Truman."
The toast was drunk with enthusiasm.
everybody standing. In my
brief reply I unreservedly admitted
the accuracy of my uncle's estimate
of my powers, aud congratulated myself
on having won not only his good
will but a wife the equal of his own
in fortune and every personal grace,
notwithstanding the natural defects
to which he had called attention; a
retort which, obvious as it was,
seemed to put the company into great
good humor.
?y mis me nour was reucueu nut-u
it was necessary that my wife should
prepare for our departure to Saratoga,
and the party left the tables to inspect
the wedding gifts, which were exhibited
in a large room devoted exclusively
to that purpose?a valuable eol?
lection of jewels and fancy articles,
at which I could not look without the
painful thought that nothing from
Holdenhurst was among them.
It wanted not more than half an
hour of the time fixed for our departure
when uncle Sam. with an air of
mystery, beckoned me to follow him.
1 did so, wondering what his purpose
could be. He led the way to his study,
where aunt Gertrude and my wife
awaited us. the latter now in a plain,
tightly-titting traveling dress, ready to
depart. My uncle closed the door in
a cautious way as soon as we had entered
the room, which circumstance,
as well as the serious looks of aunt
Gertrude and my wif4 filed me with
alarm.
I was about to inquire the meaning
of all this when uncle Sam spoke, my
wife meanwhile observing me closely
to note the effect of his words upon
me. "A letter front England arrived
for you this morning," he said, "and
tiv ?rnr?d fortunp it fell into mv hands.
I have kept it from you until now, for
your benefit; for you would not have
liked your marriage to have been
again postponed. I don't know how it
may prove, but I greatly fear that it
contains bad news. However that
may be. take courage for your wife's
sake as well as your own. Remember
my recent experience, and never let
it be said that the old man was braver
than the young one." And having
spoken thus my uncle handed me a
black-bordered letter hearing an Eng-1
lish stamp and the postmark of Bury j
St. Edmund's.
To be continued.
The sweetest music to the egotist la
when be blows his own born.
.. t . .
,ii -
Ijioldehhii
'(SuitjUUii mmk kr i*
CHAPTER XXXU.
Contlnaed.
A deadly faintness came over me, J
and a sudden dimness of sight pre-,
veuted me from properly examining j
the letter. Without doubt my dear
father was dead, and my one remain- j
ing wish could never be realized upon
earth. I handed the letter to my wife, i
who stood at my side, her little hand
affectionately laid upon my shoulder,
and motioned to her to read it. which
she at once proceeded to do; and she
had not read many words before ourj
mutual fears vanished like a mist in
presence of the morning sun.
Holdenhurst Hall.
Bury St Edmund's, April 23. IS?.
My Dear Boy?Come home. I shall
know no rest until I see you here,
and learn from your own lips that
you are willing to forgive my errors
! of judgment. Consideration of the
strange circumstances in which those
errors were made, if not of the fact
that you are my son whose welfare I
have never ceased to desire, should
induce you 10 auoru mt* iui? grauucation.
The treasure for which you so indus 1
triously sought in face of so much
discourayc-raent has been accidentally ;
J discovered by your grandfather, minus
j only the three sequins you used to j
I carry in your pocket: and not only
I this. but also a quantity of peculiar
Turkish jewelry and precious stones of
i great value. Your grandfather and I
' have together carefully examined the;
| whole of the vast treasure and have;
I placed It in safe keeping, secure from \
[ further accident, to await your return;
! for I have determined that if you will1
j but come home to me. the disposal |
j of the treasure shall rest entirely with j
I you. You deserve it. and I declare it j
to be yours, and yours ouly. subject to<
the one condition, of your coming to j
Holdeuhurst to take possession of it. I
Some time ago your grandfather pro- j
posed that the old gabled granary at
the back of the stables should be j
pulled down, and a more commodious
granary built in another place. I
agreed to the proposal, and last week
the work of demolition was begun. At
the north end of the loft, separated
by a wooden partition from where the i
winter fodder has usually been stored, j
the treasure was discovered. That it i
was stolen from the crypt and secreted {
in the granary by Adams there can j
ue no uouor, ror rne \ eneuau coins
were In the black chests which you
found empty in the crypt one memorable
night. Believing, as I then did,
that the treasure had been quite other- j
wise abstracted. I ordered Adams to |
remove the empty chests from the j
crypt and use them for firewood, but;
Instead of obeying me. he appears to i
have conveyed them to his hiding- j
place in the granary, and refilled them ;
with the coins, which he must have!
taken from them not long before, li j
is not unreasonable to suppose that j
the man with the lamp whom you j
saw in the crypt was Adams, and that |
the occasion was his visit for removing)
therefrom the last of the coins. !
Amongst our discoveries in the gran- j
ary is a leather bag containing six
hundred pounds odd in modern English
money, which I am unable to account
for except by supposing that
It represents the lifelong savings of!
the extraordinary misgt who was my I
servant
I address this letter to your uncle's j
house, not knowing certainly that it J
will find you there. Let me beg of j
you to take the first opportunity to
acquaint my brother with the diseov- J
ery of the sequins. If you can conveniently
do so perhaps you had better
show him this letter. And in any
case be sure to impress upon him my
very great regret for what transpired
when he was last here, and what happiness
it would be for me if that incident
could be buried in oblivion.
Your grandfather, who on the very
day of his daughter's rash act received
from her a long letter taking
upon herself great part of the blame
a# Vt a? nn?t lifft nnst rnannnc i -
Vl UC1 past 11IC? UUU A V^VUUi
bility for her tragic death, has no
longer any cause for contention with
your uncle, who, were he to come here,
would be received with unrestrained
friendship. Each member of our
small family has been wonged by
some other member; no one of us
stands blameless?not even yourself.
Shall recrimination end only with our
lives? Is it presumptuous to hope for
peace, or must existing divisions be
permitted to widen with the lapse of
years? 0 Ernest, my boy, if only
you could bring about the termination
of feuds for which all concerned are
the worse, and no one the better, you
would then have found a greater
treasure than that which awaits you
at Holdenhurst!
I have heard that you at* v>ix?ut to I
be married to Miss Marsh, bet the in-1
formation reaches me very indirectly.;
and I am not assured of its truth. !
Should such happily be the case (for J
I have long perceived the disposition j
of your heart). I congratulate you. and !
wish you and your intended bride all
possible human happiness.
Your affectionate father,
- _ ROBERT TRUMAN. |
? k.
irst'ilHafflj
ALTER BLOOMFIELO
*?RT B)NNEB'S SOSS
I "Ha!" exclaimed Uncle Sam bitterly,
as my wife replaced the letter in f
my hands, "if only these two men I
t had developed their present senses a !
rear atro!"
"Oh, Sam. dear," cried aunt Gert
1 rude, throwing her arms around her
I husband's neck. *what better news
| could you have than is contained in !
! that letter?"
"Xonc, now." uncle Sain answered
quietly. I
"You will respond to your brother's i
message In the spirit in which it is '
sent, will you not. dear?" pleaded aunt '
Gertrude, looking earnestly in her bus-:
band's eyes. "A vow of enmity made
in anger is always better broken than !
observed, and this manly, apology j
comes from your brother, father of Connie's
husband. Remember, Sam. I
| what I have forgiven, and if only to ,
gratify me. send your brother a tele,
gram that I will write."
I My uncle remained silent for a few |
! moments, his gaze tixed upon the floor,
j Presently he looked up and said.1
["Write what message you will to!
. those two men. Gertie, dear, and it'
i shall be sent to them. My enmity is !
I dead." ''
For this generous declaration aunt
Gertrude rewarded uncle Sam with a
i kiss, my wife followed suit, and I
| wrung his hand in silent gratitude,
almost overcome by the completeness
of my good fortune. j
The telegram indited by aunt Gert- .
rude I have not seen, but its healing'
effect is my constant daily experience. J
contributing?I cannot estimate how '
largeiy?to thp happiness of' our re-,
united familv. The telegram which I
my wife and I despatched to Holdeahurst
was a Ion? one, consisting of no 1
fewer than a hundred words. It ac- [
quainted my father with our marriage,
and promised that we would proceed
to England after we had stayed at
Saratoga one week, or a sixth part of i
the time which we had arranged to
remain there.
"You are a tardy bridegroom. Ernest.''
said uncle Sam. consulting his
watch, "and you have lost your train.
It is now two o'clock, so you will no
further delay your arrival at Saratoga j
by returning to the company for-.an ]
hour''?a suggestion at once adopted,
to ihe satisfaction of everybody ex- i
cept my wife's m.iid. who marvelled ;
greatly at being bidden to remove her i
mistress's hat. which had not long be- *
fore been adjusted with infinite care J
and precision. ? i
The hour which the kindly fates had; !
so unexpectedly placed at our disposal i i
quickly passed, our assembled friends j i
being infected with the great increase;
of good humor apparent in host and j '
hostess, bride and bridegroom. In
deed, the universal jollity was so spou- j i
taneous and natural, and my satisfac-; 1
tiou so unqualified, that I was aston-' 1
ished when the carriage which was j
to convey my wife and me to the do- J <
pot was announced, so pleasantly and ' '
fleetly had the time sped. j '
Our departure rook place amid a j !
chorus of good wishes and a shower : '
of rice, whereof a certain handful was ; '
thrown by uncle Sam with such un- J '
_ - J * .. ?Iia rri.no tor rto rf" . 1
PXTiDg IUU1 1UC pivaiv 1 :
of it found its way down the back of; 1
my collar, and rickled me horribly in j 1
die region of the vertebrae until after '
I i
we reached Saratoga. 1
i
CHAPTER XXXIIL
t
CONCLUSION. (
It Is the quality of happiness to ]
present little or nothing to chronicle, j
My full, perfect, and complete con- ?
tentment?in so far as such a desirable ]
condition is over permitted to a mortal j
?begun with the events described Jn j |
the last chapter, and continues to this , ;
day. Here, therefore, am I constrained
to bring these memoirs to a
close; and I do so with feelings at
once a relief and regret?relief at the
accomplishment of a task which, *
though at first undertaken with no -1
more serious intent than the beguile- 1
ment of a leisure hour, soon assumed *
proportions too large for such desul- t
tory treatment, and regret (Incidental, f
alas, to all humanity!) at my depart- s
ing youth. In recalling the incidents 1
of which I have in some sort lived ; c
again. j j
Uncle Sam has built for himself a i
palatial house in London, at Queen's I ,
11 " f i'l- wHai-n hp sntnids I
?ia it*, n.iuc i.um, uv.v ? .
about six months of each year, broken ^
by frequent though brief visits to Suf- }
folk, for he and his brother are now j
closer friends than at any former per- j ^
iod of their lives. On such occasions j
he stays with iny father, or with Con- r
stance and me?for the tine estate of *
Heroustnere. adjoining Holdenhjrst, ^
for centuries the home of the Jarvis .,
family, is now mine, bankrupt tenants! j
and derelict farms having forced Sir j c
Thomas Jarvis to sell his ancestral t
hall and acres. I am afraid very little j
of the purchase-money remained for ^
the use of the unfortunate baronet i
after he had cleared off the mortgages i
with which his property was encum-! 1
bered. but with the remainder, what- j ^
ever it wilp, he has betaken himself' t
to South .ifrica to repair his shat- j "
tered fortunep. Uncle Sam. who con-1 *
ducted my purchase of Heronsmere. J e
has predicted: that Sir Thomas will1 i
i
L
I)e in England again in three yean,
"returned empty," like a merchant's
packing case.
His resolution not to further engage
in business has been strictly adhered
to by uncle Sam. but his conduct la
very erratic, and .he crosses and^ recrosses
the Atlantic at the most'unexpected
times, and has lost none of
his old interest in government loans,
treasury bills, and company promotion.
Less rough in his allusions to
subjects which many people regard \
with reverence?a change which some
attribute to a more serious view of
life induced by the tragedy with which
lie was so nearly concerned, and yet
others to his natural urbanity being
improved by a larger acquaintance
with English society?uncle Sam is a
great favorite, his company being at
all times in great request, though
hardly more so than that of the gentle
lady his wife, whose amiability, largelionrted
charity, and noble protection
?nnr? imn known as
' rbe cardinal" (to whom whatever of
mischief in or around Holuenbnrst is
usually attributed', is the admiration
of all who know her.
About three months after my marriage.
ray wife and I and aunt Certrude
and uncle Sara were enjoying a
posi-praadlal stroll on the lawn at the .
rear of my house, speculating as to
the day and hour of arrival at Liv?>
pool of the Majesrie. which steamer
was to bring to England a party of
our American friends en route for
Heroiis-.nere. when my father unex
pcctedly appeared upon the scene,
fir.shed by raoid walking, and with
an amused smile upon his face.
"Have you heard the news?" asked
my father unceremoniously, wij^out
even waiting to greet the ladies pree
enr. A < 1
"Yes," said uncle Sam, although the
inquiry was nor particularly addressed ;
to him. "I sent specially to Bury this ^
afternoon for to-day's Times (I J
couldn't wait * for It till to-morrow), }
and have read it through, advertisements
not excepted. The English peo- .
pie have certainly gone mad. and the .
House of Commons differs only from 4
other asylums for the insane in respect
of the ravings of its member! 2
being reported. Do you allude to the1j
second reading of the Bill for the i
Audition of the .\avy, or tp uie
posed national endowment of a Pro-*^
I'essorship of Anarchism at the UnJ? "J
versity of Oxford?"
"No. no." said my father, "the Rer.
Mr. Price is married."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed uncle Sam, 'j*
turnins on his heel.
"Who is the lady?" asked aunt Gert?^
rude.
"Mrs. Butterwell."
The cigar I was smoking fell from 'p
my lips, and-1 indulged in a loud and '
prolonged laugh.
"Isn't Mrs. Price much older tba* -?]
her husband?" Constance inquired.
"Only forty-seven jjears." replied'
my father. "Major Armstrong has %
just told me all about It. Everybodjj^fl
is full of the news. Mr. Price Is now J
one of the richest men in the coni"Poor
fellow!" exclaiiribd uncle
?am. "he deserves to be! Let no matt
rouble to revenge himself upon hie--.;
enemies; leave them to their own .dttiflB
rices, and they will themselves do all f!
that is necessary."
After some harmless pleasantry at. P.
;iic e:;p.*nse of the Rev. Mr. Price and :
its bride, we leisurely re-entered the t
house.
"Come, dear," I whispered, as wtt-9
Tossed the threshold of our new home^-fl
I have often heard that. love in a cot-^K
tage is a failure, and I can well apyaj
tree late love's difficulties in that state, <?aj
>u: aituougn you possttsseu *jui ^
ivortb of a dollar and I not the worth ag
>f a sequin. siiil I could be happy 9
ivitii you for my wife, labor for my i
iortiou. and one of those cottage* in
he lane for our home. In no eircum?to*j
'tances could I have done what Price 1
ias done. It is too horrible even to j
:ontemplate."
".\*o, dear. I don't think you could," "
mswered my faithful Connie: "biw|
lon't be too hard in your judgment*. '
[ have heard that money is a terrlhtodH
emptation to those who possess none. ^
ind it has been your fate to acquire ^
nnch of it in unusual ways. OnlyaJw
ew men marry millionaire girls; and??jl
.'ewer still, I fear, discover sequins in >r> >
suffolk."
(The End.)
Demand For Chicken Farms.
Inspired by the high prices of eggaittfH
i widow, who has been struggling for '.V
rears to maintain an establishment in v'
lie city and to keep her son in boarding " j
ichool. has decided to go to cbicfceB'jB
'arming. "I believe all the world' to w
seized with the same fancy," she M?a|
;prts. "Such a time as I have had to l
ind a suitable place. All of the rehjronj
state men told me the demand for ;
limL-on tirmc far exceeds the SUDDiT.
iowever, I Lave hired a ten-acre place- -J
n a Jersey town, convenient to
fork. I am going to take my boy J
rom the boarding school, send him
he high school aud have him help me
>etweeu times. My ardor has been^B
lightly cooled by the discovery thafSfl
nost persons engaged in the businemifj
>u a small scale think they are having fl
:reat success if they get a net profit fl
>f S500 a year. I have been making _I
ialf tbat in a month in the city, botFiS
im not discouraged. I believe I ca*J*J
(o better than $500 a year, and in aafjfl
ase it will l?e some satisfaction ta
nake other persons pay the h^rb price# 1
have been giving for eggs."?New t*J
fork Press. 1
".My:" exclaimed the good-natured I
musekeeper as she watched Weary
Yraggies devour the food, "you cer?-vfl
ainly do act as if you wtre hungry."' J
'Acthe cried, between biles. "Gee
vhizz, lady, don't you know de differ^Jfl
nee between actin' an' de real tlngfHH
-Philadelphia Press. A