(NOW 11111ST PUBLISHED.] y ■ THE MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW. By Mrs. OLIPHANT. Author of The Chronioles of Carlingford., 'k, The S0;1 of his Father," Sk Tom/ &0., &0. I k flLL RIGHTS RESERVED. ] CHAPTER IX. r7" t^chief ^per ^$5yfc~ £ ~'sons in this mm £ •. > strange drama were doing or thinking was hid under an impenetrable veil to all the world. Life *i§j at Blencarrow went on as usual. The frost was now l f keen and the pond was bearing; the youngsters forgotten everything except the delight the ice. Even Emmy had been dragged and showed a little colour in her pale Cheeks and a flush of pleasure in her eyes at she made timid essays in the art I bating, under the auspices of her yfothers, "When she proved too timid for a j progress they put her in a chair *Hd drew her carriage from end to end of the P°?«» growing more and more rosy and i Fl ^rs* Blencarrow herself came down J* e afternoon to see them at their play, >ince the pond at Blencarrow was l*med, there was a wonderful gathering of Poople whom Reginald and Bertie had JQVited, or who were used to corne as soon as "was known that the pond was bearing." ^en the lady of the house came on to •his cheerful scene everybody hurried to do cer homage. The soandal had not taken tIPOtt or else they meant to show her that her would not turn againBt her. Perhaps the cessation of visits had been but au aooident, such as sometimes happens in those :wintry days when nobody cares to leave home; or perhaps publio opinion after the first shock of hearing the re- port against her had come suddenly round again, as it sometimes does, with an impulse at indignant disbelief. However that might be, ehe received a triumphant welcome from everybody. To be sure it was upon her own ground. People said to each other that Mrs. Blenoarrow was not looking very strong, but exceedingly handsome and interesting; her dark velvet and furs suited her, her eyes were wonderfully dear, almost like the eyes of a Child exceptionally brilliant; her colour went and came. She spoke little, but she was very gracious and made the most charming picture, everybody said, with her children about; Jimmy, rosy with unusual excitement and exercise, clinging to her arm, the boys making circles round her. ■ C « Mamma, come on the chair-we will take you to the end of the pond." Put mamma on the chair," they shouted, laying hold upon her. She allowed herself to be persuaded, and they flew along, pushing her before them, their animated, glowing faces, full of delight, Showing over her shoulders. ?* Brown, come and give us a hand with Hiimma. Brown, just lay hold at this side. Brown t Where's Brown ? Can't he hear F" the boys cried. Never mind Brown," said Mrs. Blen- CMMW: I like my boys best." b Ah but he is such a fellow," they ex- claimed, "He could take you over like light- lng. He is far the best skater on the ice. *arn mamma round, liex. and let her see Brown." iso, my darlings, take me back to the Vft I a"i getting a little giddy," she said, t f»ut as they obeyed her they did not fail to Point out the gyrations of Brown, who was inl as they said, the best skater on the ?*' Blencarrow saw him very well— nedid not lose the sight—sweeping in won- e i C'rc'es about the pond, admired by everybody. He was heavy in repose, but he J^as a picture of agile strength and knowledge b S° a^ernoon pass^j all calm, Wight, and tranquil, and, according to every ppearance, happy, as it had been for years. more charming scene could scarcely be, summer not brighter—the glowing «*°es lit up with health and that jy^'SWfcting chill which suits the hardy orth; the red sunset making all the heavens Kjow m emulation; the graceful, flying move- "wnts of »o many lively figures the boyish and laughter in the clear air; the ani- of everything. Weakness or trouble o 110t come out into such places; there was ottimg but pleasure, health, innocent enjoy- natural satisfaction there. Quite a au orow^ stood watching Brown, the ^w«d, as he flew along, making every kind circle and iigure, as if he had been on iogg__far the best skater of all, as the boys 4 l~: He was still there in the ruddy wiiight, when the visitors who had that Privilege had streamed into the warm hall l°f tea, and the nimble skaters had ais- apPeared. Jbe hall was almost as lively as the pond been, the red firelight throwing a sort of fitf i «tment 0ver a^> an<^ falling in J»r?n- "ames. Blencarrow had not been so of th 8*nce ^be night of the ball. Several Hot it 70unS Birchams were there, though •Def« nlr motber, and Mrs. Blenoarrow had I' an<* w^b a smile of meaning, for Kitty in the hearing of every- •Biin-' They aH understand her smile and the 0eVi~v? *^ded a thrill of excitement to the • <f^^s of the afternoon. inv*n* borrid little thing! HoW could she other *Uch B story?" PeoPle «aid to each j^ougb there were some who in the corners that Mrs. Blenoarrow it out »6' #he could keep UP;to brazen ptOB?Zen out! A woman ao dignified, so |f»y 80 8°lf~POSsessed; a princess in her Iran! queen mother. As the afternoon begin ^er strength failed a little; she Solon* breathe more quioklv, to change Aft* lnst*ntaneously from red to pale. &h* j^orept into the clear, too dear eyes. 52* loot ber by turns with a aearoh- someone to appear everything. When tbe visitors' I carriages came to take them away the sound of the wheels startled her. I thought it might be your uncles coming back," she said to Emmy, who always watshed I her with wistful eyes. Mr. Germaine had gone back to his psr- 40T-,agc through the moonlight with a more troubled mind than he had, perhaps, ever lron;<hl before from any house in his parish. A. cl«r £ y.uar. has to hear many strange stories, but this, which was in the course of being I enacted, and at a crisis so full of excitement, occupied him as no tale of erring husband r-v wife, or son or daughter going to the bad-- such as are also so common everywhere—had ever done. But the thing which excited him most was the recollection of the silent figure behind, sitting bowed down while the penitent made her confession, listening to everything but making no sign. The clergyman's interest was all with Mrs. Blencarrow he was on her side. To think that she-such a woman-could have got herself into a posi- tion like that seemed incredible, and he felt with an aching sympathy that there was nothingbe would not do to get her free, nothing contrary to truth and honour. But granted that inconceivable first step, her position was one which could be understood; whereas all his efforts could not make him understand the position of the other-the man who sat there and made no sign. How could any man sit and haar all that and make no sign silent when she made the tragical suggestion that she might be contradicted—motionless when she. herself did the servant's part and opened the door to the visitor- giving neither support nor protest nor service—taking no share in the whole matter except the silent assertion of his presence there? Mr. Germaine could not forget it; it pre-occupied him more than the image, so much more beautiful and commanding, of the woman in her anguish. What the man could be thinking, what could be his motives, how he could reconcile himself to, or how he could have been brought into such a strange position, was the subject of all his thoughts. It kept coming uppermost all day it became a kind of fascination wpon him wherever he turned his eyes he seemed to see the strange image of that dark figure, with hidden face and shaggy hair pushed about, between his supporting hands. Just twenty-four hours after that extra- ordinary interview these thoughts were in- terrupted by a visitor. "A gentleman, sir, wishing to see you." It was late for any such visit, but a clergy- man is used to being appealed to at all seasons. The visitor came in. A tall man wrapped in a large coat, with the collar up to his ears. It was a cold night, which accounted sufficiently for any amount of covering. Mr. Germaine looked at him in surprise, with a curious sort of recognition of the heavy out- line of the man but he suddenly brightened as he recognised the stranger and welcomed him cheerfully. Oh! it is you, Brown come to the fire and take a chair. Did you ever feel such cold ?" Brown sat down, throwingback his coat and revealing his dark countenance, which was cloudy, but handsome, in a rustic, heavy way. The frost was wet and melting on his crisp, curly brown beard he had the freshness of the cold on his face, but yet was darkly pale as was his nature. lie made but little response to the vicar's oheerful greeting, and drew his chair a little distance away from the blaze of the fire. Mr. Germaine tried to draw him into conversation on ordinary topics, but, finding this fail, said, after a pause: You have brought me, perhaps, a mesa- age from Mrs. Blencarrow F" lie was disturbed by a sort of presentiment, an nneasy feeling of something coming, for which he could find no cause. No, I have brought no message. I come to you," said Brown, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his hands, on my own account." Mr. Germaine uttered estrange cry, "Good heavens he said, it was you Last night ?" said Brown, looking up at him with his deep-set eyes. Didn't you know ? Mr. Germaine could not contain himself. He got up and pushed back his chair. He looked for a moment, being a tall man also and strong, though not so strong as the Hercules before him, as if he would have seized upon him and shaken him, as one dog does another. You he cried. The creature of her bounty! For whom she has done every- thing Obliged to her for all you are and all you have Brown laughed a low, satirical laugh. "I am her husband," he said. The vicar stood with rage in his face, gazing at this man, feeling that he could have torn him limb from limb. How dared you ?" he said, through his clenched teeth how dared you ? I should like to kill you. You to sit there and let her appeal to you, and let her open to me and close the door, and do a servant's office while you were there!" "What do you mean?" said Brown. "1 am her husband. She told you so. It's the woman's place in my class to do all that; why shouldn't she ?" I thought," said the Vicar, that bow- ever much a man stood by his class, it was thought best to behave like a gentleman whatever you were." "There you were mistaken," said Brown. He got up and stood beside Mr. Germaine on the hearth, a tall and powerful figure. I am not a gentleman," he said, but I've married a lady. What have I made by it P At first I was a* fool. I was pleased with whatever she did. But that sort of thing don't last. I've never been anything but Brown the steward, while she was the lady and mistress. How is a man to stand that P I've been hidden out of sight. She's never acknowledged me, never given me my proper place. Brought up to supper at the ball by I those two brats of boys, spoken to in a gracious sort of way,' My good Brown/ And I her husband—her husband, whom it was her business to obey." "It is a difficult position," said Mr. Ger- maine, averting his eyes. H DiffIcult I I should think it was difficult, and a false position, as you said. You spoke to her like a man last night; I'm glad she got it hot for once, By I am sick and tired of it all." I hope," said the Vicar, not looking at him, that you will not make any sudden j exposure, that you will get her consent, that you will respect her feelings. I don't say that you have not a hard part to play; but you must think what this exposure will be for her." Exposure!" he said, "I can't see what shame there is in being my wife naturally I can't see it. But you need not trouble your head about that. I don't mean to expose her. I am sick and tired of it all; I'm going off to begin life anew——" You are going off?" Mr. Germaine's heart bounded with sudden relief; he could I scarcely believe the man meant what he said. Ye8, I'm going off-to Australia. You can go and tell her. Part of the rents have been paid in this week; I have taken the. for my expenses." He took out a pooket-book aid held it owt to the Vicar, who started aid laid a sudden hand on his arm. You will not do that -not take money," be cried. It No, no that cannot be." fl Why not? You may be sure she won't betray me, 1 am going for her good and my own I don't make any pretenoe; it's been a i failure all round. I want a wife of my own age and my own kind, not a grand lady who II is disgusted with all my natural ways. A man can't stand that," he cried, growing darkly red, She kept it under at first, But I am not a brute, whatever you think. I have done all I can for her, to save her from what you call the exposure, and I take this money II fairly and above board; you can tell her of it. I wouldn't have chosen even you for a confi- dant if she hadn't begun. You can go and tell her I sail for Australia from Liverpool to-morrow, and shall never see her more." Brown," said the Vicar, still with his hand on the other's arm, I don't know that I can let you go." You'll be a great fool then, Brown said. The two men stood looking at each other, the one with a smile, half of contempt, half of resolution, the other troubled and uncer- tain. They will say you have gone off with the money—absconded." "She'll take care of thai." the money-absconded." Brown, are you sure she wishes you to go ? The exposure will come, ail the same; every- thing is found out that is true and she will be left to bear it alone without any support." There will be no exposure," he said with a short laugh; "I've seen* to that, though you think me no gentleman. There's no need for another word, Mr. Germaine; I've a great respect for you, but I'm not a man that is to be turned from his purpose. You can come and see me off if you please, and make quite sure. I'm due at the station in an hour to catch the up train. Will you come, and then you can set her mind quite at ease and say you have seen me go f Mr. Germaine looked at his comfortable fire, his cosy room, his book, though he had not been reading, and then at the cold road, the dreary changes of the train, the sleepless night. After a time he said, I'll take your offer, Brown, I'll go with you and see you off." If you like, you can give me into custody on the way for going off with Mrs. Blencar- row's money. Mrs. Blencarrow's money not even that," he cried with a laugh of bitter- ness. She is Mrs. Brown and the money's the boy's, not her's, or else it would be law-! fully mine. Brown," said the vicar, tremulously," you are doing a sort of generous act-God help us —which I can't help consenting to, though it's utterly wrong; but you speak as if you had not a scrap of feeling for her or any one." "I haven't," he cried fiercely, "after three years of it. Half the time and more she's been ashamed of me, disgusted with me. Do you think a man can stand that. By I neither can nor will. I'm going, he continued, buttoning his coat hastily; you can come or not, as you please." "You had better have some supper first," said the Vicar. Ah that's the most sensible word you have said," cried Brown. Was it bravado, was it bitterness, was it relief in escaping, or the lightness of despair P Mr. Germaine could never tell. It was some- thing of all these feelings, mingled with the fierce pride of a peasant slighted, and a certain indignant contemptuous generosity to let her go free--the woman who was ashamed of him. All these were in Brown's thoughts.
CHAPTER X. Mrs. Blenoarrow spent that evening with her children; she made no attempt to leave 1\ them after dinner. A lull had come into her heart after the storm. She was aware that it was only temporary, nothing real in it; but in the midst of a tempest, even a few minutes of stillness and tranquillity are dear. She had found on the mantel-piece of the business- room the intimation, "A way on business till Monday," and though it perplexed, it also soothed her. And the brothers returning with the proof of Kitty's state- ment, the extract which no doubt they would bring from those books to confound her, could now scarcely arrive to-night, A whole evening undisturbed among the child- ren, who might so soon be torn from her, in her own familiar place, which might so soon be hers no longer an evening like the past, perhaps the last before the coming of that awful future when she must go forth to frame her life anew, loveless and hopeless and ashamed. It was nothing but the torrent's smoothness ere it dash below," the moment of oalm before the storm; and yet it was calm, and she was thankful for that one soft moment before the last blow fell. The children were again lively and happy over their round game; the sober, kind governess-about whom Mrs. Blenoarrow had already concluded in her own mind that she could secure at least the happiness of the little ones if their mother were forced to leave them -was seated with them, even enjoying the fun, as it is a blessed dispensation of Provi. dence that such good souls often do. Emmy was the only one who was out of it; she was in her favourite corner with a book, and always a watchful glance at her mother. Emmy, with that instinct of the heart, which stood her in place of knowledge, had a perception, she could not have told how, of the pause in her mother's soul. She would do nothing to disturb that pause. She sat praying mutely that it might last, that it might be peace coming b&ck. Naturally Emmy, even with all her instinct, did not know the terrible barrier that stood between her mother and peace. And thus they all sat, apparently in full enjoyment of the sweet household quiet, which by moments was so noisy and full of commotion, the mother seated with the screen between her and the great blazing five, the children round the table, Emmy with her book. Mrs. Blencarrow's eyes dwelt upon them I with the tenderest, the most pathetic of smiles. She looked on sea, and hill, and shore, As she might never see thern more. with a throb of tragic wonder rising in bar heart how she could ever have thought that this was not enough for her; her children and her home and this perfect peace. It was already late and near their bedtime when the fly from the station drove up to the I door. Mrs. Blencarrow did not hear until some minutes after Emmy had raised her eyes to listen, and then for a moment longer she would not hear it, persuading herself that it was the wind rising among the trees. When at last it was unmis- takable, and the great hall door was heard to open, and even—or so she thought in the sudden shiver of agitation that seized her —a breath of icy wind came in, sweeping through the house, she was for the moment paralysed with dismay and fear. She said I something to hurry the children to bed, to bid them go-go! But she was inaudible even to I herself, and did not attempt, nor could, in- deed, form any further thought on any sub- ject, except horror of the catastrophe which she felt to be approaching in this moment of I peace If it had but waited till to-morrow Till an hour later, whoa she should have been alone. Motionless, holding by her chair, not even hearing the wondering question, "Who can be coming so late?" Mrs. Blencarrow, with wide- open eyes fixed on the door arId her under lip, dropping in mortal anguish, awaited her fate. It was the avengers returning from their search; her brothers hurrying in one after the other. The Colonel said, How delightfully warm rubbing his hands. Roger (Roger was always the kindest) came up to her and took her hand. She had risen up to meet them, and grasped with her other hand the only thing she could find to support her, the top of the screen, which stood between her and the fire. "Joan 1" her brothers began, both speaking together. She was hoarse, her lips were baked, it was all she could do to articulate. "Nothing) before the children she said, with a harsh and breathless voice. "Joan, this does not matter. We have come to beg your pardon, most humbly, most penitently." Fact is, it must all have been a mis- take-" Say an invention, Reginald." It An invention-a cursed lie of that con- founded girl. Hallo!" There was a sudden crash and fall. The children all rushed to see, and Mrs. Blencarrow stood with the light streaming upon her and the gilt bar of the screen in her hand. She had crushed it in her agitated grasp, the pretty framework of gilded wood and embroidery lay in a heap at her feet. The sound and shock had brought the blood rushing to her ghastly tragical countenance. She stood looking vaguely at the bar in her hand; but none of the children had any eyes for her, they were all on their knees in a group round the gilded ruin. Save Mr. D'Evnoourt and Emmy no one noticed the terrible look in her face. Come and sit down here while they pick up the pieces," said Ifoger. Joan, I am afraid you are very angry, and you have reason that we should have believed such a slander-of all the women in the world-of you But, my dear, we are heartily ashamed of ourselves, if that is anything." Most penitent," said the Colonel, thoroughly ashamed. "I said to Roger, if ever there were men who had reason to be proud of their sister- And yet we gave a moment's credence to such a barefaced lie She heard them dimly as from a far dis- tance and saw them as through a fog but the voices thus echoing and supplementing each other like a dull chorus gave her time to recover. She said sedately, not with any enthusiasm, "I am glad that you have found out-—your mistake." Oh, heaven Oh, miserable fate But it was no mistake. Mrs. Blencarrow found herself after a time taking Kitty's defence. She got her own pardon for it. Her mother is a great gossip and loves a tale against her neighbour. Don't blame the girl too much." If you excuse her, Joan, who should say a word? But why in all the world, thinking of an unlikely person to fasten such a slander upon, did she choose you? Am 1 so unlikely, when my brothers be- lieved it ? '■' she said with a strange smile. An hour full of commotion followed. The boys never tired in showing each other and everybody else the flaw in the wood where the framework of the screen had broken. But you must have leant on it very heavily, mamma." "She wanted to break our heads with it," said the Colonel, who was in high spirits. Fanoy mamma breaking Uncle Hex's head with the screen," the children cried, with shrieks of laughter and thus, in a tumult of amusement and gaiety, the evening olosed. Mrs. Blencarrow went to her room with something cold and hard at her heart like a stone. They had begged her pardon. They had not found that record. lly some chance, by some miracle—how could she tell what?—she had escaped detection. But it was true; nothing could alter the fact. Nothing could spirit away him-the husband—-the man to whom she had bound herself—the owner of her allegiance, of her- self, if he chose to exercise his rights. It occurred to her, in the silence of her room, when she was alone there and dared to think, that her present escape was but an additional despair. Had they found it, as they ought to have found it, the worst would have been over. But now, to have the catastrophe indefinitely postponed —to have it before her every day-the sword hanging over her head, her mind rehearsing day and night what it would be Would it not be better to go and tell ^hem yet, to have it over ? Her hand was on her door to obey this impulse, but her heart failed her,' Who could tell ? God might be so meroiful as to let her die before it was known. The two gentlemen spent a very merry morning on the ice with the children, and in the afternoon left Blencarrow the best of friends with their sister, grateful to her for her forgiveness. Mrs. Blencarrow did not think it necessary to go out to the pond ,i that afternoon-she was tired, she said -and the skating, whioh often lasts so short a time that everybody feels it a duty to take advantage of it, had cleared the house. She spent the afternoon alone, sitting over the fire, cold with misery and anxiety and trouble, Everything seemed ri2:ht again, and yet nothing was right—nothing. False im- pressions, false blame, can be resisted but who can hold up their head against a scandal ¡I that is true ? It was one of the women servants, in the absence of everybody else, who showed Mr. Germaiue into the drawing-room. lie was himself very cold and fatigued, having travelled all the previous night and half the ¡ day returning home. He came to the nrej and stood beside her, holding out his hands to the warmth. "You are alone, Mrs. BIcn-j carrow ?" Qaite alone. Vou look as if you had something to tell me. For God's take, what is it ? No news can come to me hut bad news," she said, rising, standing by him, hold- ing out her hands in piteous appeal. 1 don't know whether you will think it bad news or good, I have come straight from Liverpool, from the deck of a ship which sailed for Australia to-day. ,I What do you mean P What do vo-I mean ? A ship-which sailed for Aus-1 tralia ?"' I "I have come from—Eterard Brown. He i bas thought it best to go away. 1 have- brought you a statement of all the affairs,! showing how he has carried with him a cer- ¡ tain sum of money. Mrs. Blenearrow, it is II too great a shock; let me call someone." "No!" She caught at his arm, evidently not knowing what it was upoa which *he leant. "No, tell me all—all!" He has taken means—I know not what— to destroy all evidence. He has gone away.! never meaning to return. It is all wrong, wrong from beginning to end, the money and j everything; but he had a generous moaning, He wanted to set you five lIe has gone —for ever, Mrs. Blencarrow!" f, I She had fallen at his feet without a word. ¡ People said afterwards th&t they had thought for seme time that Mrs. Blencarrow was not looking well, that she was in a state to take any illness, And there was a flaw in ¡ the drains which nobody bad discovered till then. She had a long illness, and at one time was despaired of. Thinga were complicated very much by the fact I that Brown, her trusted and confidential I agent, had just emigrated to Australia, a thing he had long his heart upon, before she fell ill. But her brother, Mr. Roger I D'Eyacourt, WM happily abi# to oorra t., Blaioarrow and iook after everything, and she recovered finally, feeing a "woman with a fine constitution, and in the prime of life. The family went abroad as soon as ska was welL enough to travel, and btiri remained so, with intervals of Londoa, ever. »iaoe, ^Ybep Reftittid owpw of Bfofr- carrow will no doubt be opened once more; but the care of the estate bad evidently become too much for his mother, and it is not thought that she will venture uppn. «uoh » charge again. It* is now in the hands of a regular man of business, which is perhaps better on the whole. Kitty fell into great and well-deserved dis- grace when it was found out that she had seen what nobody else could see. Walter even, with a mans faculty for abandoning his partner in guilt, declared that he ncvtr saw it, that Kitty must have dreawt it, that she tried to make him believe it was Joan Blencarrow when it was only Jane Robinson, and many other people were of opinion that it was all Kitty's cleverness to get herself forgiven and her own runaway match condoned. That match turned out, like most others, neither perfect happiness nor misery. Perhapi neither husbani nor wife could have ex. plained ten years after how it was that th'ey were so idiotic as to think that they could not live without each other but they get ou together very comfortably, all the same, [Tne END.]
VARIETIES, Woman is a lovely creature, and she knotrs it, but she is always willing to be told of it once more. The most unfair thing that happens to women is that engagements are so short and marriages gO long. She: John, what is a coastwise steamer He: One that knows how to keep off the rocks, darling," Love that has nothing but beauty to keep it in good health is short-lived, and apt to have ague fits. -f An old man-of-war sailor, who had lost a leg in the service of his oountry, became a retailer of fruit. lie said he was obliged to be a retailer, because having lost a leg, he could not be a whole sailor. To live well in the quiet routine of life, to fill a little space because God wills it, to go on cheerfully with a pretty round of little duties and little avocations, to smile for the joy of others when the heart is aching—who does this his works will follow him. Cute psople in Paris always ascend the Eiffel Tower in the hottest part of the day, because, owing to the law of expansion, the structure is then five inches higher than it is at other times, and they thus get as much as is possible for their money. Assistant Editor Here's an account of a minister assaulted by a disappointed lover, while in the act of performing the marriage ceremony. Chief Put it in the railway newo. Assistant (astonished) Why ? Chief Ha was hurt while making a coupling. It is very difficult to distinguish malaria from yellow fever, A Galveston, Texas, man, who is an aui-horit-y on the subjeot, says: "As a general thing, you can't tell until after you have had it, If you are not alive, then it was most likely yellow fever." The following is an extraot from a compo- sition written by a small schoolboy in New JerseyMan is a wonderful animal. lie has eyes, ears, mouth. His ears are mostly for catching cold in and having the earache. The nose is to get sniffles with. A man's body is split half way up, and he walks on the split ends." The gentleman from Boston:—" Beg pardon, sir, bat are you not Mr. Cragg ? My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. At which of the caravansaries are you abiding while temporarily in this city?" The gen- tleman from San Francisco:—"Hello, l'er- guson Shake. I'm taking my grub at the Slasher house. Which one of the boss chop houses are you creating a famine inr" "lam truly sorry to give you pain, Mr. Hankinson," said the young lady, 11 bat please do not allade to this subject again. I can never be your wife." That is your final answer, Miss Irene?" "It is," "Nothing can indacs you to change your decision r" (I My mind is firmly and unalterably made up." i; Nliss Irene," said the young man, rising and looking about for his hat, before coming here this evening I made a bet of fifty dollars with Van Perkins that you would say no to my proposal. I have won. It was taking a risk, but I was dead broke. Miss Irene," he continued, his voice quiver- ing with emotion, 11 you have saved a despairing man from the fate of a suicide and won the lifelong respect and esteem of a grateful heart. Good evening." At a political meeting the speakers and audience were very muoh disturbed by a man who constantly called out, Ii Mr. Henry! I-leiiry Ilenry I call for Mr. Ilenry t" After several interruptions of this kind at each speech, a young man ascended the plat- form and was soon airing his eloquence in magnificent style, striking oott powerfully in his gestures, when the old cry was heard for Mr. Henry! Putting his hand to his mouth like a speaking trumpet, the offender bawled at the top of his voice, ,( Mr. Ilenry! Henry! I-Iciary I call for Mr. Henry!" The chairman now rose and re- marked that it would oblige the audience if the gentleman would refrain from any further calling for Mr, Henry, as that gentleman was speaking. (I Is that Mr. Henry P" said the disturber of the meeting. H Thunder that can't be Mr. Henry t Why, that's the little cuss that told me to holler." The feelings of Mr. Henry ca» be imagined, a There is the story of the Devonshire jury who tried a man for stealing hay and found him guilty, adding as a rider that "they didn't think the prisoner done it; but there's been a lot taken hereabouts by some one." Then: too, there is the famous Cornish jury, which begaa its deliberations on a murder* case where the prisoner was aceused of having killed his mother by putting poison in her supper of a rabbit smothered in oniolB," by the foreman saying, Well, gentlemen, I suppose we're all agreed that ho did it'? The remark having received general assent, the following comments are said to have been made—"Foi myself, I can't see what business an old woman had to go eating a rabbit smothered in onions at that time of night." I- Serves her right for being so foolish "I haven't touched a rabbit smothered in onions for years, nor don't want to," (i I hate the stuff After many such observations, a juror finally remarked, Well, the woman's dead, and hanging him won't bring her to life "—a remark greeted wtilJ a; proval and with the clinohing <iu«7i h Then I suppose it's Not gv.ilty,' gentlemen .'—and Not guilty it was. Then theye is the legend of the Irish jury who, in spite of the fact that a case of mistaken identity had been proved, insisted on a verdict of Guilty of arson,' because, as one of tfcejw said, "Shore, your honour, it's like to be the man that stole my gray mare last Ubristmas" I
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