JOSEPH‘S COAT. egiatered in accordance with the Copyright Acn of A875] “I am not to he on barred, Mister Joseph," he said, very picked and precise in every syllable, as men only educated late in life are apt to be,â€"â€"‘~l am not to be debarred. Mr. Joseph, from doing my duty by any pretend ed contempt» you may assume. I1; is my busi nose to warn you-and ‘I do It without fear. If my warnings are disregarded by you I shall carry them elsewhere. I have already told you that I have watched you clowly. witnesned your parting last nigh» from that unhappy gill whom you are endeavormg to emrap." - “ Eh?" saidyounp Joe. an octave higher than his common speech. and very softly. “ I spoke to her.†said the Reverend Pam], " and admonished her. And I shall make It my business now, for her soul’s safety and yours, to tell your par Ma and hers what 1 know about this matter.†"‘1 Yéï¬â€˜v'v'mfwiu you?†said the other in the 35mg soft kay. A " I can tell..already.†said the Reverend Paul, " that it. will be useless to appeal to an) honorable instinct in you. And I have seen enough of the girl whom you have endeavored to make the victim of your arts and Wiles, m know that. only cunamnt watching could en- sure her safety.†At that instant three people Were tremen dously surprised. And I cannot tell who was the most profoundly amazed amongst them I record the féct. Young Joe struck the Reverend Paul and knocked him hradlong into the arms of Bushell senior, at thu mo- ment in the act of enteiing the room Father and son regarded each other across the semi prostrate ï¬gure of the minister with blank amumment, for young Joe was as wildly astonished at his own dead as even the Rav erend Paul himself could be. Yet having done the deed, he must abide by it. 7-th wuut‘s all thié?†demanded the 01d u} m ateruly. "Tuis fellow," said young Joe. scornfully indwhug the minister. who held a. whue handkerchief to his mounh. “ has the inwn ence to iell me thin he has been Watching me this lung time pasi. H.» says he saw mv kiss a. pretty girl last niuht, nnd that he'r going to tell her muther and my m “her. and have us lauked after uni taken care of. Aud he has the audacity to tell me Ih-it. nothing but close watching can save my -my sweet hearn‘u virtue." 0 disingenuous and cowardly young Joe! ii was not. too late even than, and one honem word migvn have saved you. but you would not speak in “ An ’ becoa a minister o’ God’s word. as is a. old man Ilkewue. Speaks a. honest. word 0’ warnin’ to you, you yo au' knock him down I An’ you do it. in your father's house. of a Sunday 1†.. .. .. - .,. " He insulted alady." said young Joe. “ for whom I hnve a. great. respect and regard. I never meant. to smke him. I. tried to lemm- the room, and he stood in the doorway. and wouldn’t let me pass. Suppose 11 mm hand attacked my mother's reputation before you mun-led her, wouldn't you have knocked him down 7" Old Joe had been a little too handy at knocking people down in 1113 own youth, on sliguter proweation. to feel that he had any great right to be severe about this mat ter. Yet he leit keenly that an outrage had been committed. and that it must in some way be named for. He was angry. but he was puzzled, and. as his readleet refuge from bewilderment. he looked angrier than he was As for young Joe, he began to feel that he was dangerous and incendiary. He had knocked down two men in one day, and he was now bitterly ashamed of the achieve ment. One of the men was his closest friend. and the other was elderly and laid under pro lessional obligations not to ï¬ght. But the more ashamed he grew, the more shameful his last misused seemed likely to appear in the eyes of others,_ and the more necessary it became Io shroud himself in a sort of cloak ottamt scorn of every body, and be eulky in as digniï¬ed a way as came easily. I, a": J“: The turtle of a. hill: dress was heard mug Mrs Buebell stood in the doorway. by her husband's side. At. the bare axght of nu. mother young Joerecounized the ho; elesauese of any defense, and threw himself up m the sofa. " What’s the matter 7" naked Mrs Bashe‘l “ Your son," said the Remâ€"rand Paul Screed, removing the handkerchief, “ has answered the solemn word of warning you desired me to address to him by blow." “1 do notvknow,"' said the minister “whetherl received one blow or mute. J am still a little shaken by: big violence.†“ Very well,†said the young man rising. Even at that moment the mother's heart. yearned over him. but; she must acquit hob self of duty ï¬rst and be teudvr aisrrwards. She knew her husband would interfere, and she never dreamad that her only chlld would leave her,even though we ordered him a.an ï¬xiï¬Lï¬ï¬‚oï¬sisaid the culgrit. from the 50m: mgrdening himself, " 1.2..b1uw." “ Joseph, ’ said Mrs. 'Bu-hell, advancing. “ leave this house, and never come back to iL agaig.†“ But an’ no‘nnense I" said the old man angnly. “ If We anybody‘s business to order my son out o’ the house. it’s mine. Fair pluy’s a j»wel. Joe’s done wrong. but we du’ knowâ€" (meaning dnn'n Know) â€"tha rights 0’ this bnsluers 3m. Now, parson, it’s your turn. Say thy my." Mr. Screed answered nothing, and Mrs. Bunhell. still conï¬dant. in her husband’s inâ€" terference. turned uguln upon her son. “ Leave the house. Jouuph †“ Vrvy well! said young Joe again. and passing lrum the mu m weub upstairs, and began tn pack bin belonging-9 tokeuher. Mean- while the miulscer told Lia story. and from in: own point of view told It fairIy. " Where do You think you‘xe gning 7" asken Mrs. Bushell sevrr: 1y,wounded by this last allu aion. “ A W188 son maketh n. glad father. bu he that is foolish despiseih his mother, 13. that reiuaeth instruction despiseh his own “ Ba: his p-u'don for i'nauluug me 1" saï¬d young Jue bitterly. “ No. thank you, In Itber. As for leaving :he house, I've been 1(5de and w'illmg to do that this many a day. It’s been none too happy-a home for me, with its par- soua and prayer meetings." " Mr. Banks," raid Mrs. Bu‘hell. " ain‘t a godlv person. but I’ve known Dinah ever since h~~r was a baby, an’ mm as good a gel) as ever lived, I brlneve. I‘ve seen an Jae au' her was fund 0‘ each o‘ber, au’ I always thought some hiu' ud come of in.†“‘Jogeph 1" she Raid harshly, yearning ovey him. minute‘ “Una u all. pdrsou,†said old Joe in great heat, " why shouldn‘t. lha lad kiss his swan heart, an’ why should yo‘ go and black her character to 1mm?" 7‘". I did my duny,†said Mr. Scared with’ dignity. _ " Furgiveness is a. Christian duty,†said Mrs. Bushell, alarmed by the sounds which came f om above. where young Joe was vigor oualy coming a box. “ I needn’t. tell you that, air. But Juneph shall beg your pardon on his bended knees, or out of this‘house he goes.†Mrs. Bu~hell mounted the stairs and enâ€" tered her son's bedvroum. He was hastily searching the pockets of an old light over» coat. and When his mother entered he threw the garment upon the bed, where it lay with all its pockets turned inside out. Whatever he searched for was not found, for he turned. and, disregarding his mother’s pres ence. took a hasty look through s number at documentsâ€"old letters scraps of newspapers. and what notâ€"in an open drawer, and then, as it putting off the search to a. more con- venient moment, tumbled the pipers lnosely together into a portmanteau which he strapped and locked. His mother Watched him with a. cold demeanor whian belied the longing oi her heart. Come downstairs an’ beg Mr. Screed‘r pardgn. 9: out 0_' this 1191199 you go.†v “ I am Willing to accept his apology,†said the Reverend Paul. wuh a. real effort towards charitytwh‘ichr coat him‘ dgar. _ _ "Yes mother,‘ said he, looking up for ‘a BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. soul, but he that huaretb reproof gutteth undrrstundiugl You come down and baï¬ Mr. Sceed‘s pmdan, or out 0’ yhxs house you go"' V “Very well mother." said young Joe ; and Mrs. Bushell. her mission having failed, went down stairs again. 7 _ . f The old man called his son from the foot of the stairs, and Joe came down with a, box on his shoulder and a. portmauteau in his hand. He set them down omside the parlor, door, and stood “and sulkily. “ Joseph," she Enid. addressing her hun- band, " I can do nOLhin‘ with him. Will you spe‘uk to hun ? " " [v've heard this ailing though 0‘ one side," said old Joe. striving to ddul h-mestlv with she case. “ What h.’ )ou got to any ? " " I have said. all that l have to any," young Joe unBWered. “ He Was insulenb, and I lean my temper. I told him once sh n; he was my father‘s guest, and than I had no right. to quarrel wwh him. I bad him guod afiernoon, out he atwpped me, and was more insolent than ever.†' “ Now, look here.Jnseph.“ said the old man: “ you ask Mr. Screed'a pardon, and mk’ them things upstairs again, and be a good lad, and let 3 heat no more about in†H I can send for these. I suppose f†sail young Joe, indicating the chest and port- mmteau. " Good the, father. Good-bye. mother. When next 3011 1ecl inclined to be: inmlent. sir, remember me deserved (mas us mam you once met wit : at my hands.†“I wouldn't forgive Mr. Sareed," said vouug Joe. feeimu hlmself $0 be a vely plucky martyr now, “ if he asked my pardon ï¬fty lilIlPS, and that. 1 should apologise to him 18 out. of the quertion.†“Then 12mm the house,†said Mrs‘ Bushell, still belying herself and thinking it righteous to do so. With thin ï¬nal deï¬ance. young Joe was gone, He was very miserable. and very much ashamed ; but there was not one of the three who remained behind who did not confess Ihal’. be had at least a shade V of right on his side. Indeed tue whole of this poor quarrel was conducted by people who were visuade of their part in it. The Rev. Paul Ielt. that he had gone Iurther with the lad than duty impelled him. The Mother re pound of her cruel ultimatum, and cried to think she had not mad softer means. The fmhv!‘ was angrywuh himself for having al- lowed young Joe $0 go The lad himself. as We have sewn already, Wan heartily usuamed Of course each member of the quartenne would have foughi me quarrel Ihrougn agtiu. mlher mun admin juat, men a. shade of wrong On his or her own aide. Ywunu, Joe Gould «namely analyze his own sensations at that time. He was very fond of his Lather and very proud of him, in spill“ of an education which had done much to weaken all family tire. For his mother he had an affection much less keen. [‘nere hed never been any sympathy between them, so far as young Jo! knew; and although his negative know- ledge was necessarily incomplete, in wane barrier more than sufï¬cient egtinst love’s progress. I regret that we shall see but little of that hard old Calvinist, for to one who knew her well she was a Woman well worth knowmg. She had more emotion in her than anybody gave her credit for, end she loved her only child With so paaei mate a. tenderness that she prayed every night and morning that she might not make an “idol †of him. In this wise she succeeded in die» guisiug her love so perfectly that young Joe had grown up in belief that his very presence was distasteful to her. So. With a sure heart and with some but dens of conscience. the young fullow dswled away from the house in which he was born, resolved never to return to it The fu- ture looked blank enough, for he had no buiness or profession, and had dlSGOVeI'Bd in himself no special apnitudes which were likely to be proï¬table to him. He had ten pounds in Lis pocket, and might be able. perhaps, on his personal possessions of jewelry and what not, to realise ï¬fty. The prmpeot was altogether dreary, and in spite of his resolve not to return. he was conscious of a very deï¬nite longing that his futith would run after him and take in Clblfl possession 0! him by ear or shoulder. He would will ingly have gone back â€"even ignomiuiously ~ so that the ignomny had not seemed voluntary. But noloiy run after him; no rtstminmg voice called him; and young Joe Went his Way to shame and sorrow, as many many a thousand Worse and better then have gone before him; for the want of one wise courage in hunself, or, fui ing that. one Ward of friendly resolut on from outside him. There was nothing to invite or encourage. him in the blank Sabbath street. where one our lay in the sunshine snapping at the flies Young Joe had upon him an impulre to kick the cur. but res rained himself, and went miserably and moodin along. It was counted highly improper and even immoral to smoke- in the streets on‘ Sunday in that qlurter of lhd world ; but Joe. feeling that he wa-i hav- ing the town and could affird to despise its edict, lit a cigar and hardened himself. He chose a way which led him across certain mournful meadows, where the grass was pomoued by the exhalatione ofa chemicai factory near at hand. and rambled on through frowsy verdure until he reached a canal. The artiï¬cial hills rose high on each side of the cutiing. and on one side ran clean into the water, wooded to the very edge. On the other, the towing path was green except for one little streak. 'l‘he water was wllil’lolll, motion. or the place might have pass: (1 ‘0" an unusually favorable scrap of English iiVur scenery. The artiï¬cial bluffs ware bold and precipitous, and tho-y had thr mwrit of hiding the def med countrv which lay beyond them. Up and uown the towmg path )oung Joe wandered with the aim-f aman who had appomted a van d-zvous He waited fur perhaps an hour, when round the corner of the farthest] bluif ‘came a ï¬gure in fluttering white muslin and a straw hat. His back was turned, and the new-comer. with innocent mirihtul mischiel in her f1ce, ran tiptue al mg the award, and clapped both hands across his eyes. “ Goad heavens, Dinah! " said young Joe. " don’t say hadn’t oux.hn. How can I go ham. and say I‘m sorry? I’m not sorry; and evm if I Wale. I couldn't go back and say so, to nave them think I was aflaid to face the world.†Dmah stnoi grave and thoughtful for a mums. and then said. "I suppose I musn’t tell your father am We're a going? †Ynung Joe, facing about, kissed her, and muk both her hands in his. The tears still glistaned on the lashes over st gloomy eyes. and the girl regarded hlm‘Wilh a look of few and anxiety. Young Joe returned no answer. The ex pression in the glrl's ï¬les changed. Sue moved her hands. and sawâ€"what she had unlyfelb beforeâ€"that they were wet with Le rs. She threw one arm around his neck, and serking his left hand with hers, asked with tender solicltuvle, " What 13 it, Joe, dear? What’s the mat- ter?†- “ I have bad news for you, Dinah." said young Joe at last. “ I am turned out; of house and home. and I shall have to go away somewhere and face the world.††Turned out of house and home.†young Joe repeated sombrely. " But don‘t be afraid. Dinah. I hhall be able to take care of myâ€" self and you. I shall cuss about for some- ming to do, and I'll work my ï¬ngers m the bone rather than see you want anything †" But. Joe.’ said Dinah. “ you hadn’t ought to haw hit him and him a. middle-aged man Wuu dn't it be hemer, darling, to go back, and my as you was sorry 7†‘I‘Guess who 1t in," said the new-comer blhhely. 7 " Turned away froth home 'I †Dinahiagain uhked. “ Who Lurnrd you away ? †“ And you ree. dear, there’s nothing for in but. so go away and "â€"wiuh a. bun: little laugh â€"" and seek my fortune.†" Turned out; of bonus and home 9" queu aiomd Dmah, with brown frigutened eyes wide_open._ Joe related the inci lenta of the afternoon, with some lime natural bias. “My~daxling,†said' youhg Joe, “you muatq’t think of coming with me. Not at ï¬rst you krio w; I must go may add get 30ina thing to do. and make a†home 101‘ you. We can’L run away llke two babes in the Wood, 111 that fashion. It won’t he long. Dmah, don‘t cry, my darling, don‘t cry. We shan’t be long apart I‘ll take care of th ~tf†“ I don't See {my use,†said Dinah, si‘tirg disconsolately on Lhe aide of the spoil-bank and mping her eyes with her little muslm npron â€"" I don’t. see any use in being warned If a wife can’t: go along with her husband when he's turned out of house an’ home. and hwsn't go! anywhere to go to 0 Joe, you can't. leave me behind â€"you can’t be so cruel No Joe. no. you couldn‘t have the heart to leave me.†Jue sat; down beside her on the grass ercwn bank and soothed herV feeling himsef very umlmy all the while. Dmah refused to he comforted, and yet found his pruffured oom- fun ‘ pleasant. But byand by a German coquemah IIMIB petulance cook the plme of grlrf. and young Jae knew that ha had half won hh muse, which he admitted was a. poor one m win. " Don't tell me, Joe.†said pretty Dinah. " as yuur folks are going to drqu you away for always vâ€" I know beater. If ymxake ‘em at their word, and stay away a week, they’ll be glad to have you back again." Young Joe recognised the truth of this observation, bux it played aursh havoc with the heroncs of the case thu he resented it and pooh~paohed it with a sombre gloom. “It isn’t very kind of you. D-nahJ’ said Joe, glad to appear as the injured person of the two, " to make light. of such a, seriauu matter. And I would not; lower myself in my own esteem by begginu myself back again for amthiug the worli could glve me. I couldn’t. do it, darling, even for your sake. No. [’11 work for you, and struggle for you, bus I won‘t do a mean thing, evwn for you.†‘ I know you‘re noble au’ ’igh sperited. my dear,†she said “ and I shall never say a word no ask you to ba nothing 911-6 for me. no not a word, Joe. ‘ And I’ve been a very thankless girl. Joe, l0 mike b<lieVe as in was my trouble When it was yours all the Lie. Why, dear me 1 im's no great matter for mm to go on livm’ at home with my father an‘ Lumber. till you cm afford to send for me, is it, Joe")? No, duliu,’ I snan’u fret: no more about my self." He said “even for you†so tenderly, and there was such an obvnous self accusation in him when he said in, thm the girl threw her arms about 1113 neck and kissed him. He read the devotion and the aï¬ection in her heart. and had a dim notion that he could not be altogether a. bid fallow nince she gave him such unstinted vove. It; stirred a vague comfort in him and strengIhrned him to approve of himself. He bullled his conscience imo quiet, there- fore, and began to take quitea. my: tone with It. “ It‘s perhaps a. good thing. after all." he said. “ A man ought not to be dependent upon anybody. He ought to be able to take care of himself. And I shall go into the wurld and ï¬ght. for you. Dinah, and than will help me And when I have made a place far you â€"†He smiled in appreciation of Ihe‘ Wurk already done â€"in fancy. “ Don’t mind about its being a ï¬ne place at ï¬rst, deér,â€.said Dinah, nestling to him and admiring him with all her heartâ€"hie courage, his miefoxtuue, his love. ‘- G )7â€. she said, struggling to be brave. “ Go, au’ God b ess you, my own dear, duar, ever dearest. Jne †“ th'too ï¬ne a. pluée at ï¬rst,†said Joe, †bm later on a. palace of spines." _ He said it lightly. and she laughed at the bmdinage. but. in a. moment they were grave again. It was abitter business, after all When the time for parting came, Joe strained her to his breast, and we hung about him sobbing At this courageous sorrow young Joe melted. “ Yes." he said. “I will go. I’ll go home and brg o‘d Screed’s pardon.and I’llâ€"1’11 tell my father that we’re marned. Dinah, and if he likes to cut. up rough about it. he can, but. I can at least; feel mu I've acted llke a. man. and not a coward. And if he likes to send me away then. I can Work with a. clear . cou~ science, and I shall know than I huve done my duty.†Now, women have always been puzzles to me, and I un nersland very little of them. but l have net-iced in them one consistent pecu- liarity. if you once snowed in awakening in a. wuwan that; sense of protecting streng h and ten lvrneas which the moan helple-m of women are capable of feeling over even the most, helpful of man. she will protect you, at the amt, of serious WuuUdfl. from the mereut scraLuh of any hula thorn. Dinah would have none of this wholesome and honest sacriï¬ce for her sake. “ No," she said, fairly yearning over him and worshipping him for his bare pro mise of bare justice. “ Don’t Vex him with anv talk about me yet. my dear. Why, you know, darling." she went on, strangling her own hopes with the bows ring he! sultan h-xd sent her a munm before. ~‘ ï¬nal; if you hadn’t known as it. ’ud Vex him yau'i ha.’ mm him uficlong ago. And now you Want to tell him when he‘s Vexad a‘ready †‘~ I don't care," said Jan, feeling heroic. “ He ain't. (to anything worse than he has done. I‘ll do the right thing.†But D.ua.h clung 120 mm '- N J,†she said. “ You shau’t ruin your self for me. Joe.†And she clung to her pount with such vehemance than Jae yielded, and had all the satisfaction of seeming heroic without incurring any dangerâ€"a. ju) which 1 htVt} mysrlt exyrrienced. " You don’t say so Joenziph," said the respectable man, “i h a wooden want of in- Lerest. " You’re not a-znin’ far away, my darlin’. are you?†said Dmah, trying to be brave again? " Yes, sir,†Raid t‘le dam‘sql, and led the way Into a. gaudin furnlshed pavlor. where in black broudclobh sat, an Intenser respect- able man in an arm chair bv the ï¬ruplase. “Jue leh.†said the intensely renpvctable man, divxuing the name into two balanced syllables, “ how arerygu ?†[‘h ywkissad ï¬nd embracei again, and Joe wiped her eyes, and promised brukenly to wri e of en. “ And, Joe, dadin‘," she said after a tear- ful {mun-e, relieve-i by mamv Md kiaflea, “ will yon} let. [pg keepmy muriage lineg †Mrs. Bushell did when she could to atone to the minister for the terrible insult which had been put upon him by her son. Old Joe sat awhile and em iked in silence, and, baing greatly exercised by the whole business, drank rather more whiskey and water than was good for him. Finally a streak of lighi appeared, and he went, a little flushed cowards in. It led him fora. while by the road young Joe had taken an hour or two before, but be stopped short of 'the many memow and soundedsa, heavy rat ml: at the d :or of a smart looking house. which stood a. lime buck from the lane. A neat servsm maid responded to his summons. " No, dear, no,†said he in answer ; “ not far." ' " Is Brolhar Gdorge in ?" askel the old man. She whisperéd the quamun at. his ear, and be bent ovar tenderly the while‘ “ Yes, yes. my dear," he answered ; “ I meant to bring them to you this afternoon. but I was in such a hurry. 'They are packed up In mv pornmanneau. but I will send them “ I was wronz all through.†he said; “ we ought to hive been married openly. Bun I shall do you justice, Dmah. You know that, don’t you 7 ’i . ‘i'You don't mind my askin‘ for ’em, do you.AJue ? †And so, with protestations, caresses, and hopes, and with some repentances on his side, they parted. Joe chmbed the bank again, and waved adieu from the top. Sha answared wwh a motion of the hand, and he Was gone. “ George." said old-Joe. seating lhimself ' I‘m in a. bit 0’ trouble.†‘ Yis," said old Joe, rubbing his grey hair CHAPTER III. with an enormous palm. “ I‘m in a peck 0’ trouble My 'Reb’e‘cdï¬haï¬ been and' ‘ordered my JOH out; o’ my house. an’ ne‘s took her an a WUI‘d, an' he’s gone.†' “ Dear me,†said Brother George, as wood enlyrgs beforq. ‘: Yea," said old he again, “ he’s took her at ayprd an’r he’s gape}? A “ Wnat did her 6rdur him off for ‘2†asked qulher Georgei dishonesty. Old Joe told the story, with rough-hewn brevity, and his brother nodded now and then to signify attention. In print of fact. it interested him more than it seemed to do. He was pretty nearly as Wooden as he looked. but he had 21va remarkable eye for the main chance. He saw mouev with an eye at once telescopic and microscopic' and he scented it, or seemed to scent it, as a sleuth hound scents his game. Joe Bushell had made hi money by a remarkably proï¬table patent, was worth a. quarter of a million if a penny, and lived on lees than a twentieth prrt of his income George had borrowed from his brother to startlife as a. charter‘masier, had worked hard‘and lived hard, and screwed down all under him to the uttermost ferthirug, and having made his m iney chiefly by hard~ ï¬â€˜tedness, was hated by his Workpeople, and knew it, and rather rrjoiced in it than other wise, as being in some sense a, tribute to hie business capacity. He was a. mean and grudgrng creature, with no instinct of active He had a. dull. slow, wooden dislike for Joe, because young Joe would one day inherit old Joe's fortune. Not that George had ever had a hope of it himself, but he grudged wealth to anyb rdy, and could have nursed a spire against the very wells of a. bank‘s strong room for holding so much mom-y. And now for the ï¬rst time in his life dawned upon h In some dim fancy scarcely a hope, that he might handle Brother Joseph’s money as his own some day. It‘ was that dim fancy which made old Joe’s story interesting to him. -“ Now," said the father. when his narra tive was ï¬nished, " wban I warn thee to do, George, is just this. Thee go en’ ï¬nd Joe, nu’ fetch him hum. Tak no sort 0’ denial. He can stamp Wi’ thee a. day or two, 311’ then, when it's bluwed over wi’ R‘becca, he can come back to me. Dost see 1’" " Ah.†said Brother George, †I see.“ And he saw more than he confeswed to Seeing. He intended no wrong to anybudy. but was i: liker that young Jue would listen to his solicitations? He thought um.‘ And if that unguided young man declined to listen. might not his absence become a. source of proï¬t: to his uncle? " Where is he 7" the uncle Eflktd, after giving these rtflections time to form. “ Wall. thee seest,†said old Joe. rubbing his head perplexedly, “ we do’ rightly know wheer be 15. But he's boun’ to send for his luggage." “ Ah," said Brother George again, “ I see." “ I think,†old Joe resumed, “ as he‘s likely to send for it; to-night. Our Joe's allayu in a. bit of a. hurry. an’does everything hotâ€"foot.†“ Then," said George, “ I'd better come up togqur plage, 8)] 2†0.--, V_ . .J " "‘ If “ Just what I wanted," answered old Joe ; and the two set out together. " Not a word to the missis, mind.†G orge nodded in reply. turning over in that stiff jointed mind of his the questionâ€" Shall I break or keep that pro- mise? Which is likely to pay ‘2 He- would not have robbed young Joeâ€"he would not have robbed anybody. Theft was “ agen the law.†But although any straight forward method of transferring a neighbor’s coin to his pouch was a thing to be reprehended, the construction of any crooked scheme for that purpose was praisewnrthy, and the carriage of the same to triumphai effect was althing to be proud of. In short. Brother George was a diplomatist, and had some personal advanâ€" tages in the diplomatic wayâ€"singular as that statement may appear. He could lie. for in- stance. with a stolidity which deï¬ed scrutiny Practice had done much for him, but the ï¬rst great gift was Nature‘s. He was in scrutable enough to have realised a Tory journalist’s idea of a prime ministers His respectable countenance, clean shavnn but for its respectable tufts of grey whisker, was scarcely more mobile than a mask. Since he never lied apart from strictest necessity, be was commonly regared as a voracious man He is not the scoundrel of this story 7 which. indeed, scarcely aspires to the p irtraiturs 0! a real rascal â€"and nobody who knew him thought of him as being anything but a very respectable self made man who did unusual credit to his original station in life. The remarkable woodenness of his manner, and a certain solemn drawl he had. were mainly responsible for the ‘family belief in his wis darn. He was the ï¬nal authority on family affairs. The Reverend Paul had left the house when the bronhers had reached in. Mrs. Bushell was sitting in the kitchen with a. big Bible before her. earnestly and believineg seeking comfort in the utterances of Habak- kuk. There are people who ï¬nd Christian philosophies in Solomon’s Song and suck satisfaction one of Ecclesiastes; and Mrs Bushell was of them. But at thls sorrowful hour, a. philippie against [the Chal- u‘eans. “ that bitter and hasty nation,†had liule power to soothe. Joe shook his head at Brother George mournfully and George ahouk his' head in answer. Matters were growing rather lmghn for Brother George. and if the brightness were only nebulous as yet. it might reveal things pleasant- 'tu look at by aminby. NoqutLh standing this cheerful inward knowledge, hoWever G urge looked upon his brother With a 8 )lemn countenance. He would fail; have appealed Sermualy to his sibterdn-ln N's fur- bearnnce. and so hava drawn from her a more emphakic and forcible denial of her “ B'rother George,†she said, as that re- spectuble person entered, “ has Joseph been masking yourjdxice‘?" “ vaecker,†Brother George-replied with weighty solemmty, " far be it. from me .to deny anything as is true. That’s what Jua-ziph come to see me for, as far as I can see.†“ Whv." read Mrs. Bushell with her ï¬nger tracku g Ihe denouncing lines in the great Bible. “ why doat thou Show me iniquity. and cause me to behold grievancas ? for spelling and violence are before me; and there are that raise strife and contention therefore the law in slauked and judgment doth never go forth; for the wicked doth cumuass about the righteous; therefore wrong judgment proceedeih " †Joseph.†said Mrs‘ Bushell, with unfortm mate solemuity, “ if you look fur any healin’ of this breach apart trom his repenmnce. you Will wait. in vain. If 3051 mean as Ishall com» ru'und. yéu are mistaken. In this case, Joseph theré is duty to be done, 311’ I’ve spoke my last; word a’ready.†‘ " They wouldn’t be boys if they wasn‘t,†ew'd 01d Joe. with a touch of the local humor. “ Juï¬eph 1" said Mrs. Busheli warningly. “ Becky, my gel! 1" mil old Joe. leaning above her chair and layingaheavy hand upon her shoulder. “ Y- a,“ said bld Joe, nodding at h‘s bro ther, 3' giva him a day or two an’ he'll come round.†‘ 5 Well. - well, Rubecker." said Brother Georg-1 With a propibimtory accent, “ boys Will ha boys, you knuw. an’ all_ays was.†Old Joe moved away from the back of her chair, and Brother George sat down with an air of wislom on him,and looked as one who is prepared to proflor counsel. There was silence for a time ; then Mrs. ushell turned her hand away and asked : “ What do vau advise, Brother George ?†“ Well,†said Brother George, venting an elaborate and prolonged wink upon old Joe. “ I should advise as nothing should be done not to say orecipitate.’ “ There’s my guide. Josaph.†she made answer, when she could trust her voice, for «he was sure diaturbed. and her “ wordly longinge,†as she called them, moved strong- ly in her heart. She felt the appeal thus conveyed. for she wam'by natun a woman of much tenderness. But; she only eï¬m‘ghuened herself and laid her ï¬nger once more upon the warning text owu_ desires, but he was afraid of that experi m'ent. ' - “ Becky,†said old Joe, being perhaps a. little more acceeslble to emotion at that mo- ment than he commonlyiwas, “ the lad was hard put on. The parson go's an’ says things to him about his sweetheart, an’ it stands to r’ason as Joe got humped at it. He axed me. Becky, afore you come into the room, What I'd ha’ done if any man had said things to me about yo’ afore we got married. It wouldn’t ha’ made much diï¬er to me. I think," said old Jae, driving one great hand Into the palm of the other. “ who is’t was a said it. I'd ha’ fluored him, if he’d ha' killed me the next minute.†Brother George nodded gloomin in assent to this‘ for it seemud to him an unanswerâ€" ahle argument In young Joe‘s favor. But Mrs. Bushell held ï¬rm. "I've rpoke my last word Joseph. He struck a. miJisier o' God’s word,in his own father’s house, of a, Sunday; au’if that aiu’uworth sayin’ ‘ I’m sorry for,’ I‘ve got, no more to say.†Brother George nodied again in acquies- cence, for this view of the case also seemed unansmmble. " Gl‘e the lad time." urged old Joe.- “ Let him take his own time.Joaeph,†said the muther staunchly. “ When he’s tired o' the husks o' the Prodigal, he‘ll come has); again. But I fear he‘ll sup sorrow by spoon- fuls i’ the way.†“ Goo an’ say a. word to him, George." said the fem-r “ Do't let the lad go further 'n Brummagem. Mak’ him send Wt‘l‘d to you wheer he is, when he gets theer, 311’ well tek care on him. But, George, don’t go to let him know as I ain't angry wi‘ him. Mind that. Do it all as if it was comin’ from your used like. D’ye see ‘2" " I see," said Brother George. Gould any thing have been designed to play better into the hands of a respectable man who desired to secure an advantage and Was atraid of crime. He would not in this case have even the shadow of a. lie upon his conscience. All ithat was to be done was to tell the truth, and *obey instructionsâ€"in breaking them. Mrs ‘ Bushell, withnut an apologv, was implacabka. and her husband wished to have it supposed that he also was very' angry. George knew very well that his nephew would tender no apology just then. and began to look complnw cently on the promise of the future. She left “19 room. and old Joe with a troubled face, set tubacco and a glass of whiskey before his brother. The pair sat in gloomy silence for a. While when a, knock came to £he door. Old Joe answered this pummons. “ Who’s theer ?†he asked. “ Well." said a voice from the dark outside, " as fur as my apinium go‘s, it‘s a young fel- ier 0’ the name 0' Bowker.†“ Come in. William,†said old Joe in a shaky voicel “ What be you conga f9!- ‘2†“ Why. your son‘s at Dudley Arms,†said Mr. Bowker entering the kitchen. †an’ he’s sent me up here t‘ ax for his box. He’s a gouin’ into Brummagem to-vnighs, an’ on to London i’ the mornin’.†Young Joe sat moody and alone in the smoke room of the Dudley Arms, awaiting the return of his emissary, when Uncle George entered. and wimha. solemn aspect took a seat before him. “ This is a bad job, Joe-ziph,†said he, shaking his head. “ I‘ve heard all about 1t from your mother and father. I don’t say as you was in the wrong. not to say altogether, but you Know as it was a dreadful thmg to do «a. dreadful thing. But look thee here, my lad,†he continued. with a. wooden as- sumption of geniality which went, howsoever unreal it might be, clan to the lad’s sore heart, “ blood’s thicker than water, un’ when ull‘s said and done you’re my novew and I’m your uncle. Now, what d’ye mean to do? 'I‘hey’m hard on you at home, fearful hard." ""1 shall go out and thee the world,†said young Joe‘ " I'm {10p afraiq I†A -‘ Of course you ain’t, a. ï¬ne built young fellow like you! It ain’t; likely as you would be. Bug look here, my ladâ€"you can’t face the world on nothing. 0m you, now?†“ I have something to begin with, Joe in answer. “ I am not altogether out money. And then, I have a. little to me." -‘ I‘d go to America.†said young Joe, “if I only had the chance.†“ Merriky ?" echoed Uncle George. “ It’s a. long way there." " The longer the bitter.†said Joe bitterly. “ No. no, Joseph." said ULJie Geurge “ Don’t say that. But if you'xe bent on it. why. I ‘â€"â€"â€"â€"» . No, no, Joseph, don’t think an it.†“ Ah, dear me. Well. I can see as you’re just us hot~f09t as your father and mother Bu‘, come now, wheer do you think 0’ gom l0 1†“And I’llmake poor little Dinah happy, anyhow." he thought. S 16 haunted him, and her memory ï¬lled him with a. keen and poignant remorse “ The poor child," he sand In himself, “ must have her marriage lines.†With that. he unatrapped his part- mauteau. tumbled out its disorderly pnpers 0n the carnet, and set; to Work to SPflI‘t'll for the certiï¬cate of the marriage between Jon-eph Buuhel], bachelor, and Dinah Ba‘ ks, spinswr. Fust, he made a. hasty and conï¬dent grape “ Yes,†said Joe, “I’ll do it if I work my pas-sage out. There’s room for a man to move m, in Amurica.†H "‘Don’t you talk nonsense,†said Uncle George._ “ By jove." quoth young Joe, rising, and feeling already the glow of a. successful ex plorer, “I’ll show you Whether or not I’m talking nonsense I tell you sir I’ll do it, and I will.†“ Pooh 1†said Uncle George; “you ain’t going to work y mi‘ passage out. Not while you‘ve got an uncle as can put his hand in his pocket to help you. No, no. Joseph.†“ You’re very kind. uncle," saxd Joe, “ but I can't accept any help from you. And he wondered why did I never see What 8. good fellow Uncle George is until now. †Wait here a bit." said the benevolent uncle. and with that arose. and left the room with stagey stealth. When he returned. he bore with him a. sheet of letter paper and an inkstaud. He sat down in silence. and wrote in a slow and labored manner. Then he produced a pocket book, from which, after an imriccte search, he drew a. crumpled receipt stamp. Gazing hard at Joe, he moistened this With his tongue, afï¬xed it to the paper. and then. squaring his elbows. he Set- hus head down sideways to the table, and laboriously signed the document. Jae watched him, not knowing What all this might m. an, until the sheet, carefully dried br-f. re the ï¬re, was plactd in his own hands. He read it thh a. swift mointening 0f the eyes, less at the gilt than at the kindness wh ch dictated it. , CHAPTER IV. Young Joe. his heart still warmed by his uncle‘s generosny, But at the side of the bed in his room at the Dudley Arms that Sunday night. and aurveved the situation. Starting in this well provided way, it did not seem easy to fail in the world. Practically, as everybody kno vs, there is an end to the pro- ducuve powers of a hundred pounds, but, for all that, a. hundred pounds is a good ruuud sum for a. start in the world. and Y lung Joe saw already in fancy his fortune made. - Themwinh the benevolent uncle squeezed h's nephew’s hand and left him. Young Joe sat with his elbows on the table, and looked wmh new born affection and gratitude after him. Why had he never understood Uuole George until now .9" V “ X dear good fellow I†he said aloud in his enthusiasm ; “ a. most kindly, generous fel- low I" And with tears of gratitude hot in his eyes, be folded up his uncle’s cheque for a. hundreei pounds. “If Eney knowed ." said his only friend truthfully, "'93 I’d helped you i’ this way, they‘g nevpr forgive.me. But wherever you you, Joseph. reliember as you’ve got a friénd in me. Allavs write to me, my lad; allays write to me." “ Tuauk you. uncle,†said ‘young Joe. “ God ble~s you for your goodness. You are the Only friend I hfwg.†said Withâ€" owing amongst the papers; next, with a. little shade of perplexiiy on his face, he took _a more careful search ; and ï¬nally. having separately examined every scrap, turned oumis pockets, unlocked his chest and searched though its contents, and still met with§no success, he set down on the lid of his box in the midst of his tumbled belongings and clawed his hair with vexmion. “Uonfound it all!†said Joe. “The‘ thing’s somewhere here,I'm sure. I must‘ look for it by daylight.†With this promise by way of consolation for almost certain loss. he undressed. and got into bed. He had buta poor night of it, for Dinah’s appealing face was always before him. and he felt alternately base and her-ole as he thought of his encounter with the min ister. The candle burned down and Wentl out, with the result particularised in the Honorable Mr. Sucklethumbkin‘s account of‘ apublic execution. Then the moonlight sent into the room a beam which trawled very very slowly across the carpet, and rose very slowly up the ï¬replace. and when Joe had tossed about for long ages, reached the mirror, and crept along the wall, and slid 1-10le toward the window.as its brightness ‘faded and died. Then the swallows who built beneath the roof pipes began to chirrup and the window glimmered grey. Joe pulled up the blind and lighted a cigar. and looked a last look on the familiar High street ; a last conscious look at least, for' always when memory brought her budget of pictures to him hereafter, she brought that view,with the grey desolate dawnlight broadening on the closed shutters of the shops, and he heard distinctly many a time, by memory’s magic. the stately step of the peelerâ€"“ the blue robed guardian of the city streets," es a minor poet called him once upon a timeâ€" patrolling the silent highway. ‘ 1:.,,, Iâ€"the present writerâ€"have found it neces- sary, for one reason or another, to face the world anew s . often, and under such vary». ing circumstances. that I have almost worn out the sensations attendant on the process. But striving as a faithful chronicler should strive to project myself into Young Joe’s personality, I succeed chiefly in calling to mind my ï¬rst impressions of that melancholy yet inspiriting business. I recall the heartache and the sense of freedomâ€"the regrets for past folly and the promises of amendment so deâ€" vouily swornâ€"the dear regard for parted friends, the h< pe to meet again, the determin- ation IO return triumphant. All these held sway in the young fellow’s heart. But for Uncle George‘s news of the attitude of father and mother. he could will- ingly have gone home again to say good-bye, not wihout hope of no good bye being said. Shame pulled him both ways, now home wards, now abroad. After all, going back was out of the question. He packed carefully, purposing to go once more through his pa- pers, but when he came to them he said. Without being quite certain of the motive which moved him, “ I’ll look into them on the way," and so thrust them anew into his portmanteau, and waited drearily for some signs of life in the hotel. ,1 , ,,,_ L “Ham. .. ___ V At the ï¬rst sound of opening doors he rang his bell. and demanded of Boots, Who came unkempt and sleepy, the time table for London. The railway had not reached the outlying Black Country towns at this time, but coaches ran through most of them to the great New street station in Birmingham, a marvel of art whose vast glass roof was in these days, as I can just remember, an object of unfading wonder to the populace: The , coach would start in time to catch the mid-day train, and there were four hours to wait. He went down-stairs and sat alone in the dismal coï¬ee-room, and being presently broken in upon by a damsel in curl-papers, asked for oreakfast, and in an hour’s time attacked with languid appetite a oindery dish of eggs and bacon, and investigated a funeral-looking Britannia metal urn containing a dark color ed semi liquid tepid concoction announced by the curl papered damsel as coffee. After this he called dejectedly for his bill, ordered Boots to send on his luggage by the coach in time for the upâ€"train, and set out to walk“ His spirits rose as he went along the road. Town seems in danger of meeting town to day. and some now alive may live to see a vaster Lon don join its scattered parts in the middle of England. forming one solid and prodigious city. But there were fair spacss of ï¬eld and park about the central town when Joe walked towards it, and here and there a rabbit frol- licked across his pub, and once he stood still to watch a weasel shoot across the road from , hedge to hedge. where a grey rabbit had run a second before. " The mellow ousel fluted in the elmgf colts pushed their enquiring ‘ heads over‘the gates which held them from j the road, the sun shone clear. the wind ‘ blew warm. Joe meant no wrong to any ‘human creature. Why should trouble weigh upon him? He pegged on, wrth snatches of song on his mind, and high resolve in his heart. There was gold in California. Jim , Berks, the High street tailor’s son, had found a nugget Weighing two hundred ounces. Gold-digging was the readieet way to wealth the world had seen, and many a man prosâ€" pered at it â€"-Why not he ‘I The great Henry Russel’s songs were in vogue, and Young Joe sung jollily back to the lark 'and throatle: Pull away, cheerilv, Not slow or wwrily, Shifting the cradle boys, fast to and fro ; Working your httnd about, Shifting the sand abuut, Seeking for treasures that lie hid below. And so on. The verse was not written in the highest poselble style of art, but it might be interesting to know how many young £81» 10 vs went out of England with that doggerel in their ears and on their tongues. Joe was only one out of many who made it a part of the Litany sung at Gold’s great shrine He cashed Uncle George’s cheque at Lloyd’s‘baok, and drew the hundred pounds in sovereigns, influenced, I fancy. by those goldâ€"digging visions. Paper is but a poor medium belween riches and poverty. after all. You may be able to translate it into gold. but it has not gold's magic, and can exert but little of gold‘s charm. Iam nothing of a money lover, but I do yet care somewhat for the round ring of minted gold, and ï¬nd a something sibilam in the rustle of bank- paper, as though that rustle whispered: “ Soon shall I fly.†With the hard gold in a lump in his inner breastpocket. tied in a chamois leather bag, Joe wandered down to the station and awaited the arrival of the coach. By some accident, for the days were leisuerly, and people gave themselves plenty of time for most things. the sound of Old I‘om’s horn came tootling into New street a quarter of an hour beyond its usual time, and the train was already pufï¬ng to be gone. Joe had secured his ticket. and now fell upon his luggage,oalled a porter. impetuously bade him get these things into the London train, saw them hurridly labelled, took his seat just in time, and was swallowed up by the darkness of the tunnel before he had looked round him to observe his fellow-passengers. Light breaking in anew, revealed the florid ooun tenance of Mr. Sydney Cheston, who held out his hand with a loud greeting. Joe took it, a little shamefacedy, but his friend was determined to make light of the previous day, and was even ostentatiously hearty. At Covenâ€" try they were left alone and, having bribed the guard with half-a-crown (after the manner of a young British gentleman before Brinsley Sheridan’s grandson gave us the good gift of smoking-carriages), they began to smoke at a great rate ; and it betel that in the course of the journey Joe opened his heart, and, having ï¬rst apologised once more, Went on : “ I‘m in a deuce of a mesa, old fellow. To tell the truth, I was in a wremhed bad temper all day yesterday. or I should never have be- haved as I did no yuu " ‘, Don’t 51;; 173.7 ‘évord about in," Chester: said; “I didn’t; mean to hurt. you, but it was my fault." â€"A sturdy old son uf the plough ) Hm! u. .«nuine Creamery cough, Bun â€" 9 took a, had cough Which canied her ougu, And he don‘t run a. creamery nough‘ [To BE CONTINUED; An Inveterate Smoker Who Reached His Ninety-Eighth Year. (From the Dayton J 0111 113,1.) The Hollenders are more given to smokirï¬; than any northern pewpleâ€"“ dreaming with the eyes open.†The boatmen of the Treach- krit, the aquatic diligence of Hollund. meas- ure distance by smoke ; from one place to another not so many miles, but so many pipes. Entering the house, your host offers you a cigar ï¬lling; another, often insisting upon leaving your anger ease. Some go to sleep with pipe in their mouth, relight it on awakening in the night, and in the morning before stepping out of bed. Diderot says 2 “ A Dutchman is a living alembio.†The cigar is not the companion of indolence. but the stimulant and aid to labor. Smoke is called their second breath. and the cigar the sixth ï¬nger of the hand. A Frenchman telie the story of a rich gentleman at Rotwrdam. Von Klues, surnamed Father Greatpipe being old, fat and a great smoker. As a merchant in India he had amassed a fortune. On his return he built a. palace near Rotterdam. in which be arranged, as in a museum, all the models of pipes from all countries and of every time. This was opened to strangers to whom. after his display of smoking erudition,he gave a catalogue of the museum, bound in velvet, with pockets of cigars and tobacco. Mynheer Von Klses smoked 150 grammes of tobacco per day, and died at 98,from 18 years of age he smoked 4,283 kilogrammes a making an un- interrupted block line of tobacco of twenty French leagues in length. When but a. few days remained to complete his 98th year he suddenly felt his end approaching and sent for his notary, a smoker of great merit, and said, “ My good notary. till my pipe and your own; I am about to die.†When both pipes were lighted Van Klaes dictated his will, celebrated over Holland. A'fter the disposal of the bulk of his property to relatives, friends and hospitals, be dictated the following arbiclp :_ “ I desire that all the smokers in the coun- try shall be invited to my funeral. by all pos- sible meansâ€"newspapers, private letters. circulars and advertisements. Every smoker‘ who shall accept the invitation shall receive a gift of ten pounds of tobacco and two pipes, upon which shall be engraved my name, my arms and the date of my death. The poor of the district who shall follow my body to the grave shall receive each man, every year. on the anniversary ol my death, a large parcel of tobacco. To all those who shall be present at the funeral ceremonies I make the condi- tion. it they wish to beneï¬t by my will. that they shall smoke uninterruptedly during the ceremony. My body shall be inclosed in a case lined inside with the wood of my old Havana cigar home. At the botton of the case shall be deposited a box of French tobaccog so called caporal, and a parcel of our own Dutch tobacco. At my side shall be laid my favorite pipe and a box of matches. because no one knows what may happen. When the cofï¬n is deposited in the vault every person present shall pass by and cast upon it the lashes of his pipe.’ The will was carried out. The funeral was splendid and vniled in a thick cloud of smoke. The poor blessed the memory of the deceased, and the country still rings with his fame; All over New England clay pipes are offered for sale with the initials T. D. There once lived in Newburvport, Mass, an eccenssic genius by the name of Dexter, who wrote his name with the sufï¬x “ My Lord Timothy.", He was a. great smoker, and invariably nsedva clay pipe manufactured inn pipe factory‘of that city. In order that his name or its ini- tials might not be lost to posterity. Dexter endowed this factory with [the understanding that every pipe offered for sale should bear the initial letters of his name, and from the day of the endowment until the present every pipe made by the Newburyport Manufacturing campany bears the twentieth and fourth let- ters of the alphabet, meaning Timothy Dexter. [‘hus can New England furnish 3. Dexter tot Von Klees of Holland. THE DENVER “TRIBUNE†PRIMER; Simple Tales for the Pleasure and» iii-em of the Nursery Brigade. « Here we Have a Piece of Chewing Gum. It is White and Sweet. Chew it awhile and stick 1!; on the Under Side of the Maine] Piece. " 'Ihe hired Girl will ï¬nd it There and Chew it while Herself and then Put it Back. In the Way one Piece of Gum will answer for a. Whole Family. When the Gum is no Good. Put in the Rocking chair for the Minister or your Sister’s Been to sit Upon. n. This is a. Cock Beach. He is Big, Black and Ugly. He is Crawling over the Pillowu Do not Say a Word, but lie still and Keep your mouth open. He will crawl into Your Mouth and You can Bite him in Two. This will Teach him to be more Discreet in Future. The Peach 13 Hard and Green. He is Waiting for a Child to Come alone and Eat him. When he gets into the Child’s little Stomach he will Make things Hot for that Child. The Child Who eats the Peach will Be an Angel before he Gets a. chance to Eat another. If there were No green Peaches there would not be So many Children’s Sizes of Grpld Harps in Heaven. 1v. Behold the Printer. He is Hunting for a Pickup of_half a line. He has Been hunting for Two hours. He could have Set the half Line in twenty Seconds, but it is a. Matter of Principle with him never to Set wh at he Can / pick up. The Printer has a. Hard time. He has to Set type all Night and Play pedro for the Beer all Day. We would Like to Be 9. Primer were it not for the Night Work. This is the Man who has had a Notice in the Paper. How Proud he is. He is Step- ping Higher than a. Blind Horse. If he had Wings he would Fly. Next week,the Paper will say the Man is a Measly Old Fraud, and the Man will not Step so High. 7!. This sorry Spectacle is a Plumber. He is Ragged and Cold and Hungry. He is Very, very Poor. When you See him Next spring he 'will be Very, very Rich and will wear Dia- monds and Broadcloth. His wife Takes in Washing now, but She will be able to Move in the First Circles by the Time the Weather turns Warmer and the Pansies Bloom again. v11. Here is 3 Castle. It is the Home of a Editor. It has Stained Glass windows and Mahogany stairwaye. In front of the Castle is a Park. Is it not Sweet. The lady in the Park is the editor’s wife. She wears a Costly robe of Velvet trimmed with Gold Lime. and there are Pearls and Rubies in her Hair. The editor sits on the front Stoop smoking an Havana Cigar. His little Children are Playing with diamond Marbles on the Tesselated Floor. The editor can afford to Live in Style. He gets Seventy-ï¬ve Dollars a month Wages. See the Lamp Post. By its Dim Raye you can Behold the Electric Light across the Street. There is a Man Leaning against the Lamp Post. Perhaps the Lamp Post would Fall it it Were not For the Man. At any Rate, the Man Won (1 Fall if it Were not For the Lame Pout. What is the Master With. the Man ? He appears Disquieted. He is trying to Work his Boots up Through his Mouth. He will have a Headache to marrow and Lay it. to the Climate. 12. The Girl is Scratching herBaok against the Door. She has Been eating Buckwheat Cakes. Her Beau thinks she is Delicate, but he has Never seen her Tackle a place of Hot Cakes on a Froscy Morning. Cakes had tether Roost High when she is Around. If we were the Girl we Would wear Sand Paper lining in the Dress and not be faking a Hair Brush out. of the Poor Door. OLD FATHER GRE ATPIPE. III . VIII .