Evening Star Newspaper, December 26, 1896, Page 19

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 26, 1896-24 PAGES. (Copyright, Written for The Evening Star. (Continued from last Saturday's Star.) Chapter XI. Sartwell showed little sign of the wear and tear of the struggle. He walked from the station to his office every morning at his usual hour, as if everything were going on to his entire satisfaction. He was al- ways dressed with scrupulous neatness, and he invariably carried in his hand a trimly folded umbrella, which no one had ever seen kim undo, for when ft rained he took a cab. The umbrella seemed a part of him, and a purely ornamental part; he was never met on the street without it. Noman could say whem Sartwell purchased a new suit of clothes; each suit was precisely the @ame as the one which had preceded it, and it was always put on before its predecessor began to show signs of wear. = There was as little change in Sartwell’s demeanor toward his men as there was in his clothes. He did not keep his eyes on the ground as he passed along the street to the gates, nor was there, on the other hand, any belligerency in his manner. The men had gone out; that was their affair. He nodded to them, or bade them a curt “Good morning,” as had been his habit be- fore the trouble. Few of them had the presence of mind to do otherwise than raise their fingers to their caps, or answer, with the customary mumble, ‘Mornin’, sir.” Habit is strong in the human animal, as has often been pointed out. No one of all those concerned was more anxious for the strike to end than Sartwell, but none the less was he determined that it should end his way. He saw the openings in his armor through which, with a blind- ness not understandable to the manager, Gibbons neglected to thrust. Curiously enough, it was not Gibbons that Sartwell feared in this contest, but Mar- sten. He knew the young man had been strongly against the strike, but he also knew that he had thrown in his lot with the men; and although the leaders of the strike, up to that time, had held aloof from Marsten, pretending to look upon him as a covert traitor to the cause, still Sartwell feared they might take him into their coun- sels at last, and that he would show them the way out of their difficulties. The man- ager had made it his business to learn all he could of what was done by his oppo- nents, and he had been amazingly success- ful. He knew of Marsten's visit to Barney and of the generally futile result of that conference; but he had so slight a confi- dence in Barney's good sense that he fear- ed some hint might have been dropped by the artist which would show the men how anxious Monkton & Hope were for a set- tlement on almost any terms. As time passed, and Sartwell saw that Gibbons still held Marsten at arm's length, he became less and less anxious. Affairs were rapidly approaching a crisis when Marsten’s aid would be useless. A few days after the announcement of the reduction in strike pay had been made Sartwell, approaching the gates in the morning, Saw Marsten standing alone at the street corner. The manager had al- most passed him without greeting on either side, when the elder man suddenly stopped, turned half around, and said sharply: m picket duty, Marsten?” Mr. Sartwell.” 2 t in their confidence, perhaps.” suppose i am neither in their confi- gence nor in yours, Mr. Sartwell.” “Rather an uncomfortable position, is it not? I should like to be one thing or the other if I were in your place, Marsten. “I am one thing. I am entirely with the men. “Perhaps, in that case, you are afraid to be seen talking with me. Some of the men might happen to pass this way.” “I am not afraid to be seen speaking with anybody, Mr. Sartwell.” “Ah, you are young; therefore you are brave. I have known a smaller thing than this conversation to cost a man his life, but perhaps times and methods have changed since my early days. It is a pity you are on the wrong side for your bravery to be appreciated. The masters of this world al- Ways value taleut and courage and pay well for them The men do neither. That is why they are usually beaten in a fixht, and it is one of the many reasons why they should be. I have a few words to say to you; the street ccrner is not a good place for a private conversation; will you come to my office in an hour's time?” - Do you wisi to speak about the strike?" ‘s,” said Sartwell, looking with some intentness at the young man. “We have no other subject of mutual interest that I know of.” “Very good. whatever you may have to te use in the interests of the men. Sartweli shrugged his shoulders. ou are quite welcome,” he sald, “to make what use you please of the informa- tion I shall give you. I am well aware that your advice is in demand by the men and their leaders.”” The elder man walked briskly on; the younger reddened at the covert sneer in bis last remark. “My God,” he said to himself, angrily, “I would like to fight that man.” Marsten turned and walked rapidly to the strike headquarte-s. There he found Gib- bons and the committee in consultation, while a few of the men lounged about the place. The talk ceased as Marsten entered the room, the committee and its chairman locking loweringly at him. “What do you want?" asked Gibbons, shortly. “I met Mr. Sartwell a moment ago in the street, and he said he had something to tell me about the strike. He asked me to call I merely asked, because me I shall “You think I have asked you here to learn sumething from you, and you have resolved to tell me nothing.” at his office in an hour's time. I promised to do so, but told him any information he gave me I should use in the interest of the meg. “Xna 80 you came here, I suppese, to get some information to give in return. Marsten had resolved not to allow him- self to be taunted into anger, but he saw that he had no easy task before him. He was going to do his duty, he said to him- self, and help his comrades if he could. The situation was too serious for recrim- ination. jo, ¥ shall tell him nothing. If he wants irformation I shall refer him to you. 1 thought he perhaps might say something that would be of value for us to know, and so I came te tell you that I am going to his office.” J? Who do you mean by us?” “The men on strike. I am on strike as ell as the others. I have lost a situation, even if you haven't,” retorted the AGRI THE MUTABLE MANY, BY ROBERT BARR. 1806, by Robert Barr.) feo so mocmratona teem STE LLL LALLA UY man, knowing as he spoke that he was not keeping to his reslution. “Well,” said Gibbons, taking no notice of the other’s insinuation, “you don’t need to come here for permission to visit Sart- wWell’s office. I suppose you have often been there befcre.” “I have not been there since the strike ae “Ob, haven’t you?” “No, I haven't. Do you mean to assert that I have?” “I assert nothing. It merely seems strange to me that you should come bawl- ing here, saying you are: going to consult Sartwell. Go and come as you please for all I care.” ‘The members of the committee murmured approval of the chairman's firm stand, and Marsten, seeing there was little use in fur- ther delay, turned on his heel and left them. The men lounging around the door nedded to him in a friendly manner as he went out, and the committee presumably ecntinued its deliberations, untroubled by the interruption. ss The young in walked down the street, looking neither to the right nor to the left, sick at heart rather than angry, with the fatuous pettiness of <3ibboas’ resentment, who would rather wound and humiliate a man he disliked than accept help when it was freely offered. “How different,” said Marsten to him- self, “is the conduct of Sartwell. He has more cause to detest me than Gibbons has, yet he asks me to confer with him. He does not despise the smallest card in his hand, while Gibbons may be throwing away a trump, if I were mean enough and trai- tor enough to the men to refuse to teil what I may learn. Sartwell, parting with me in anger, halls me on the street, merely because he thinks he can use me to serve his employers. That he likes me no better than he did when I left him is shown by the sting in his talk, yet he puts down his personal feelings, hoping to win a tric! while Gibbons, the fool, although approach- ed in a friendly way, does his sneaking little best to drive a man over to the ere- my. I wonder what Sartwell wants to dis- cover. I’ll-tell him nothing. But what a man he fs to fight for or against.” “Hold hard, youngster. Where are you going?” cried the picket at the gate. fill the shops with genuine workmen, ai = — has no money now to bribe them with.” “If I tell the men all this there will be a riot. They will mob 1. the workmen who have taken their money. “Oh, no, they won't. I have told the bo- gus workmen just how Fong the money would continue to be paid if they held their tongues. With last week’s reduced payment the loafers have scattered. The men mob Gibbon: richly deserves it.” “They will be much more likely to attack ‘ “They are welcome to try it. Now, I think that is all I have to say, Marsten. I have required no arswer from you, and I ine I have given you some interesting information. I am ready to get to work with the former employes of the firm, or without them, just as they choose. The best friend of the men will he he who ad- vises them to call off this foolish strike and buckle down to business once more.” Chapter XII. Albert Langly found himself compelled to search for @ cheaper room. The thin young man bitterly regretted that good money had to be wasted on food, clothes and rent. A person cannot live without food; Langly had tried it, not a3 an eco- nomical experiment,but ‘arzely iJ.rougis for- getfulness, and he found to his astonish- ment that hunger actually forced itself upon his attention, after a sufficient lapse of time. The changeable English climate, not to mention the regulations of that moral body, the pelice force, compelled him to cover himself, and a room he needed mainly to keep his stacks of music dry. The Church of St. Martyrs-in-the-Rast af- forded a very good living to Its rector an1 @ very poor one for its organist, although if people were paid according to profes- sional efficiency in this world the salaries of clergyman and musician might have been reversed. Those who entered the church door came not to hear the sermon, but to listen to the music. Langly never applied tor more rerauner- ation, because deep down in his musical soul he knew he was already taking ad- vantage of the generosity of the church authorilles, and he Mved in constant fear that some day they would discover this and righteously dismiss him. - To be al- lowed to play on that splendid instrument, erected at the cost of an _ unbelievable amount of money, was a privilege which he felt he ought to pay for, if he were the honest man the deacons thought him. He tried to soothe his troubled conscience by telling it that he would refuse to take money were it not that sheet music were so dear, evén when bought from the man who gave the largest discount in London, to whose shop Langly trimped miles once a week, but thus the guilty have ever en- BRAUNT STOOD FOR A MOMENT WITH FALLEN JAW, HIS HANDS MOVING LIMPLY BY HIS SIDE; THEN HE SANK INTO HIS ARM CHAIR. “T’m going to see Mr, Sartwell.” “Oh, no, you're not. “It's all right, mate. I’ve just come from headquarters. I am going with the com- mittee’s consent and Gibbons’ permission. ‘What's on?” asked the picket in a whis- per, while others of the strikers crowded around. > ‘Is the jig up? Are we going to give in?" ‘Ther+'s nothing new.. I'll know more when I come out. Perhaps Sartwell hi something to propose. We haven't.” ‘The men drew back, with a simultaneous sigh, that may have indicated relief, or per- haps disappointment. The sternness of their resolution to hold out did not increase under reduced strike pay. Their organiza- ‘tion was disintegrated, rotting. Each man krew it and was suspicious of his comrades. The heart had gone out of the fight. Marsten, crossing the deserted and gllent yard, mounted the stairs and rapped at the manager's door. He found Sartwell alone, standing at his desk, with some papers be- fcre him. “Now, Marsten,” began the manager, brusquely, turning from his desk, “you think I've asked you here to learn some- thing from you, and you have firmly re- solved to tell me nothing. That's right. I like to see a man stick to his colors. We save the ship if we can; if she sinks we go down with her. You may be surprised, then, to know that I am not going to ask you a single question. That will relieve your .mind aad enable you to give full at- tention to what I have to tell you. I hope, however, that you will keep your word, and remember the promise you ade me a short time since on the street.’ ‘What promise?” ‘Have you forgotten it? Perhaps you theught ft was a threat. You said you would give the men the information you received. I hold you to that. To tell Gib- bons ts not necessarily to tell the men. You said you would let the men know.” “I will repeat your ccnversation to Gib- bons and the committee. “Ah, that’s not what you said. Neither Gibbons nor the committee were mentioned in our talk this morning.’ ‘As near as I can recollect, I said’ I would what information I received in the in- terests of the men.” ‘Quite so. I am as anxious about the n’'s welfare as you are, and what I have te sav to you must reach them. If you tell it to Gibbons and the committee, and they do not pass it on to the men, as they will take precious good «are not to do, I shall | then learn whether you are a man of your word cr not. The strikers meet tonight at the Salvation Hall. If Gibbons does not inform them what he will then know, I shall expect you to stand up in your place and add to the enlightenment of the situa- tion. When you were here last I showed you a sheet of paper, at the top of which was written the resources, for the moment, of the union. The remainder of the sheet was blank, but it is now filled up. It shows the expenditure, week by week, up to te yu will last payment made to those on strike. you cast your eye over this sheet see that the union is now bankrup} “If that is all you have to tell me, Mr. Sartwell, it is no news. The men already know they are depending on public sub- ey still believe in Gibbons as a leader?” “Yes. “Very good. Now, I come to what is news—news to you, to Gibbons and to the men. Most of this money has gone to loaf- ers from the east end of London, had such un'imited confidence in Gibbons’ fool- ishness and In the stupidity of the commit- tee that I have sent through the gates, not workmen like you, but such unfortunate wretches as were out of work and willing to absorb strike pay merely on condition that they would keep their mouths shut. It never seemed to occur to Gibbons that if I were able to fill up the works with kos transported to our gjver stepa on a steal I could either have fed and lodged them here, or taken them back and forth in the same way they came, He gathered them into the union with a whoop, which was just what I expected him to do, but he never tried to find out whether they were genuine workmen or not. “You mean, then, that by a trick you haye bankrupted the union.” Sartwell shrugged his shoulders. “Call it @ tric! deavored to lull the inward monitor, . well knowing while they did so the sophistry of their excuses. The consciousness of deceit told on Langly’s manner; he cringed before the rector and those in authority. Never Gid one of the kindly but deluded men. ac- cost their organist without causing a timorous fear to spring up in his heart that the hour of his dismissal bad arrived. Yet let moralists say what they will, the wicked do prosper sometimes on this earth when they shouldn’t, while the innocent suffer for the misdeeds done by others. ‘There ‘was the case of Belcher, for exam- ple, and, although it must in justice be ad- mitted that Beicher’s nard iuck cused the organist many twinges of conscience, still, of what avail are twinges of conscience when the harm is wrought? If, in our selfishness, we bring disaster on a feliow creature, after regret can scarcely be called reparation. Belcher was the hard-working, industri- ous man who pumped the organ in St. Mar- tyrs, and, besides laboring during the regu- lar service, it was also his duty to attend when the organist wished to practice the selections which afterward delighted the congregation. This was Beicher’s griev- ance. Langly had no ‘“mussy,” as the overworked pumper told his sympathizing comrades the “Rose and Crown.” He would rather follow the vestry cart all day with a shovel, would Belcher, than suffer the slavery he was called upon to endure my the unthinking organist, who never’ considered that bending the pack to a lever was harder work than crooking the fingers to thp keys. Besides, Langly could sit down to Ris labor, such as it was, while Belcher couldn’t. Naturally the put-upon man complained, and Langly at once admit- ted the justice of the complaint, at the same time exhibiting a craven fear that a rumor of his unjustifiable conduct might reach the ears of the church authorities. The honest Belcher now regretted that he had borne his burden so long, for the repre- hensible organist immediately offered to compound with the blower by paying him something extra each week, if he would say nothing about the additional labor. It was Belcher’s misfortune rather than his fault that mathematical computation was not one of his acquirements, and he failed’ to appreciate the fact that there was a limit to the musician’s income, a limit very speedily reached. He was an ill-used man, and he knew it, so he struck oftener for higher pay, and got it, up to the point where Langly insisted that there was not enough left to keep body and soul together, not to speak of the purchase of music. Belcher yearned for the tail of the vestry cart, and threatened to complain to the rector, which at last he did, not mentioning however, that he had received extra re- muneration, because he did not wish to exhibit the organist’s culpability in all its repulsiveness. He told the rector that he would rather accompany the vestry cart in its rounds than accompany an organist who had no “mussy” on a “pore” man. He was always ready to pump a reason- able quantity of air, but if an organist knew his trade so badly that he needed to practice so much, it was hard that the man at the lever should bear the brunt of his incompetence. The rector thanked Belcher for his musical criticism, and said he would see about it. While the virtuous Belcher took. his walks abroad with his chin in the air, as befits one who has done his duty, the trans- gressor crept along byways, and _ scarcel: dared to enter the silent church. He dodged the rector as long as he coi bi length run to earth. The Ray oat — hand on the culprit’s shoulder ang “You have been overlooking Belcher, I hear. oes shall be more thoughtful in future, cuse, “I’m afraid I’ve been playii much, but it is a difficult at acecine “Of course it is, “I have made blower, which we should ago. You will find it » great convenience in your practice, Mr. Langly, for it is al- ways ready and nevér complains.” The organist but his throut seemed not at his comman for other effort than a ‘or two. The ith ths f that ‘the rector might wal wi! a e rr it have: einought him ude and man ichew the ter than the ‘music! murmured the nervous organist in ex-|_ to thank the rector, | ungrateful; but: — ‘unexpécted cart, the young man from the encountey and felt that uneasiness which is termed troubled con- science. ~ “Call that Christianity’ Belcher would say to his mate when their rounds took them near St. Martyr’s—“a-puttin’ a squirt- in’ water-pump in there to tyke th’ bread out o' a pore man’s mouth, an’ a-cuttin’ down o’ ‘ts livin’ wyge! Yus, an’ the lawr a-forcin’ us to support the church, too.” But Belcher was’ really of a forgiving spirit,-and should hot be judged by. his harsh language toward the establishment which he was under the impression rigor- ous legal enactment compelled him to sub- sidize; for he so far overlooked Langl?’s conduct as to call’upon him occasionally and accept sa fews pence as conscience money. - “i “I don’t blime ‘L said Belcher, mag- nanimously, over hi8 pot of beer, “as much as I do the mean ‘6ld duffer wot preaches there. 'E put me on the cart.” * Langly, as has béen said, found it neces- sary to secure cheaper lodgings, and this was his own fault as much as it was the fault of his limited’ income. A London landlady in the more impoverished districts carries on a constant fight against circum: stances. Her tenants pay her as seldom and as little as they can; sometimes they dis- appear and she loses her money;-while if they stay, there are no chances of extract- ing extras, those elastic exactions which often waft a West End boarding house keeper to affluence. Terms are close and invariably ‘twclusive. The organist’s con- duct toward his numerous and successive landladies admits ~f'no defense. These good women, when he had taken his departure. gpoke bitterly of his sneaky and deceptive ‘ways, as indeed they had just cause to do. On first arriving at a new place he was so apologetic and anxious not to give any trouble, so evidently a person who did not really live in bustling, elbowing London, but in some dreemy mental world of -his own, that his geod.hostess, merely as an experiment and entirely without prejudice, as the legal man puts it, tentatively placed on his bill for the week some trifling item that, strictly speaking, was merely. placed there to be taken off again if complaint were made, or allowed to stand if overlook- ed. Of course, under these circumstances, the landlady was in expectation of @ row, during which epithets reflecting upon her financial probity might be hurled at ‘her, when she, with voluble excuses for her un- fortunate mistake, would correct the error and assure the lodger that such a thing would not occur again. After a few essays of this kind, all perfectly just and proper in @ commercial céuntry, and, in fact, the only means of discovering to what extent the lodger could be depended upon as an asset, Ife would flow on with that calm serenity which adds so much td the comfort and en- jcyment of a furnished apartment in the berough or a palace overlooking the park. But Langly never took a straightforward course with his landladies. Instead of find- ing fault at the proj time, he meekly said nothing and paid the bills as long as he. able—bills which mounted higher and-hi®her each week. Thus the deluded woman had ro chance, as she could not be expected to know when she had reached the limit of his weekly income. At last the organist would take his bundle of music under his arm, and would sneak away like a thief in the night, in search for a cheaper abode, after leaving a week’s money in Heu of notice, wrapped in a piece of paper, in conspicuous place, for he never had the courage to face a landlady and boldly tell her he was going. Id Rose Garden court there was more than one family that might be likened to an accordion, because of the facility with which it could be compressed or extended. The Scimmins household could occupy the three rooms it rented in the court, or it could get along with two, or even one, if need be. The spare space was sublet whenever opportunity offered, and here Langly found lodgings that had at. least the merit of cheapni The policeman at the entrance of tne ert looked suspicious- ly after the newcomer, nd resolved to keep an eye on him. Thegorganist had a habit of muttering tru to himself as he walked the streetg/ his nervous hands were never a moj at rest, the long, slim fingers playingsimaginary keys or chords, inaudible outglde of his own mu- a imagiration. en the already swspicious policeman the entrance of the court saw the musicion come out, clawing the empty air with the two forefingers of-either hand crooked like talons, a fearful frown on his brow, and an ominous mines in his throat, the officer said to himself: “There goes a hanarchist, was one,” inward if there evar not knowing that the poor little merely pulling the stops of a organ, immense in size and heavenly in tone. ‘Phaspolice always looked askance at y,! when he moved into = new: locality, until "learned that he was the organist at St. Martyr’s-in-the-East One night, shortly after ‘he took the back room two flights:up at No. 8, Langly came down the common statrway, and paused amaze at the landing opposite Braunt's door, He heard some one wjthin slowly and fearfully murdering Chopin's “Funeral March,” part first. ‘The sound made him writhe, and he crouched by the door, his fingers mechanically drumming against the panel, repressing with difficulty a desire to cry out against the profanation of a har. mony that seemed sacred to him. The drone stopped suddenly, and next instant the door was jerked open, causing the Sinazed listener fo stumble into the room, , seemed to him, a giant d d his shoulders, and thee torted with rage, trate man. “You miserable, sneakin, er cried Braunt. “Se that's why you took a room with the Scimminses—to ferret and Spy on me. I've seen you crawling up these stairs, afraid to look any hi the face. Sion _— know hi ? I'm up to his tricks. You're GI x Spy, and he has sent you to live witlt Gast other sneak, Scimmins. Scimmins himself aight or mek ail knows already the x n land. Now,” it Braunt,” rolling up his slesvés, <S7utnued you as I did Sct over the banisters, and sou ag, threw you to Gibbons, Jessie clung to her fat! in tears not to hur Tee off, but “Sit thee down, Jessie, lass, ani s worrlt me. I'll but drop the bag e one on . the stairs and serve him right for a Langly, encouraged by his anta; change of tone in speaking to the eit ventured to falter forth: 2 “I assure you, sir—’ “Don’t sir me, you hound,” turning fierce] cae sad beseing him man. not unkindly, nate erfd Bra: upon him, “and don’t ae to deny you one of Gibbons’ spies. I epee at Ha remember.” “TH deny nothing if it displeases you: I never heard of Gibbons in my life’ out Ym only a poor organist. 1 stopped at the door on hearing the harmonium. For no other reason, I assure you. I know I ovghtn’t to have done it, and I suppose I .2m a sneak. I'll never do it again, never, if you will excuse me this time.” . There was something so abject in the musician's manner that Braunt's resent- ment was increased rather than diminished by the appeal. He had a big man’s con- tempt for anything small and cringing. ‘Oh, you're an organist, are you? Likely story! Organists don't live in Garden Court. But we'll see, we'll see. -Get up.” Langly gathered~ himself together and Tose unsteadily toihis feet. Every move- ment he made ‘augmehted the other's sus- picion. ‘Now,” said Braunt/with the definite afr of a man who has his épponent in a corner, “sit down at the! hermonium and play. You're an organist,’ refaember. “Yes,” proteste® Langly, “but I don’t know that I can play,on that instrument at all. I play a church organ.’ iy organ's an orgdn, whether it ts in church or out. If yougan play the one you can play the other,” _;, The young man hesitgted, and was nearly lost. Braunt’s fingers itched to get at him, and probably only the presence of the gir! sop nate him so ie ‘cine “Have you any niusit?” asked Langiy. “No, we haven’ Stie plays by ear. “will you allow’ rmé'to go upstal: Was a@ littleitoo Transparent. “Now, Brauni and thee down, an’ don’t interfere. The man plays or he doesn’t. I knew he was a Mar, an’ From Texas Siftings. | H2OB@ " _ Ayer’s Argument. If there is any reason why you should use any sarsaparilla, there is every reason why you should use Ayer’s. When you take sarsaparilla you take it to cure disease; you want to be cured as quickly as possible and as cheaply as possible. That is why you should use Ayer’s; it cures quickly and cheaply---and it cures to stay. [lany people write us: “I would sooner have one bottle of Ayer’s Sar- saparilla than three of any other-kind.” A drug- gist writes that “one bottle of Ayer’s will give more benefit than six of any other kind.” If one bottle of Ayer’s will do the work of three it must have the strength of three at the cost. of one. There’s the point in a nutshell. It pays every way to use Ayer's Sarsaparilla. Send for the “Curebook.” x < 100 pages, 16 half-tones, bound in Royal Holland. Free. Address: J. C. Ayer Co., Lowell, Mass. 29OUSDESO POMPSCDDOORO: OPSOSSS0SOS00G00000' @é OSGOGO00006 : @ S588 sorbed ecstasy, oblivious to every surround- ing. He played harmony after harmony, one apparently suggesting and melting into anctber, until at last a minor chord car- ried the music into the solemn rhythm of Chopin’s march; then the organ, like 7 sentient creature, began to sob and wail for the dead. The girl's eyes, never mov- ing from the wizard of the keys, filled with unshed tears, and her father buried his in his hands. fvhen at last the organist’s magic fingers slipped from the keys, and the exultant light faded from his face as the dying mp- sic merged into silence, Braunt sprang to his feet. = + c me for a brutish clown!” he crie 5 ‘To ‘think that I mishandled thee,,lad, an’ thou playest like an angel. I never heard ic_before.” “| me laid. his huge hand on the a4 shoulder gently and kindly, although the youth, hardly yet a —_— his dream, ly shi 1k from the touch. Seroreye taney lad, I misdoubt I” hurt tNNo, no; it is all nothing. So you like ‘or the Pulmasie! I shall never forget it: never. That march rings in my pend eee y. The id seems tramping Z bea we man for the first time looked up at him, the light of brotherhood in his = “ "I feel it, too,” he said, “that there is nothing around us but good music. It smooths away the ruder sounds of — or uses them as undertones—as—a back- ground. I sometimes fancy that the gates of heaven are eft ajar, and we—a few of us—are allowed to listen, to compensate = for any trouble = = to show us the viality of everything else.’ aimeoeane man’s thin face flushed in con- fused shame at finding himself talking thus to another man, although what he said was merely tho substance of a former soliloquy. With a hasty apologetic glance at the girl, who regarded him like one ina trance, with eas bo inking eyes, Lang- hurriedly: Eas is difficult, and should not be attempted except after many lessons. I shall be pleased to teach your daughter, | it you will let me. She has a correct ear. Braunt shook his head. ss “We have no money for music lessons,’ a sare very little myself. I am poor, and therefore need none,” said the organ- ist, as if that were a logical reason. “The poor should help the poor. If they don’t, who else will? The poor have always been kind to me.” He thought of his many landladies, and how they had robbed them- selves to sustain him, as they had often ad- mitted, little thinking he would deser! them one by one. ‘Aye, and the rich, too, he added, remembering the hydraulic mo- tor in the church, and of the continued en- durance of the authorities with their or- it. veil, lad,” said Braunt, with a sigh, ‘come in. when you can, and if nowt else, you'll be sure of a hearty northern wel- “(To be continued next Saturday.) fg See Sees ‘The Husband's Soliloquy. month from today we were wedded, "a o'er. eeseesasengeceses 67 22080 2096" = pitcher and the child satisfied her burnin thirst. Her brother overhearing what wai going on, rushed into the room, exclaiming: “You wil kill her,” but it was too late. eee New Jersey's Stone Roads. From the Philadelphia Ingulrer. The statement of the Mount Holly, J, Mirror that there is urgent demand in a number of places for the speedy repairing of the expensive stone roads built under the state law accords with the observation of all persons who have occasion to use these roads. these excellent and expensive roads should be allowed to disintegrate for the lack of a little timely care is an exhibition cf shameful shift! ness for which nobody in particular i blame, but which comes home to the whole local community. The truth is that the general public in New Jersey is not yet educated up to the point where it fully appreciates the ston roads. Hostility toward them has large ied out, but they have not yet come to be regarded as a community institution, and consequently they are not watched an! cared for as undoubtedly they will be when the expense of neglect has been bro fully home to the taxpayers. The state law provides for the building of the roads, and there its operation ceases. The townships have been slow to take up the care of the roads, and some of the towns, like the county seat where the Mirror is published, have seemed to over- look the very important truth that where these stone roads enter a town it has ihe best and cheapest street paving that it can ever hope to attain, and that purely selfish town interests call for the proper mainte- nance of the roads within the town limits. The present reasoning on the subject ap- Peard@o be that, because the stone roads are in the nature of a gift, and not ti creation of the town authoriiies, they ne not be cared for, the presumption being that if the town had built the roads and paid their cost they would have: been Watched jealously and mended prompily. This is very short-sighted, of course, and in time, no doubt, the folly of the neglect will be generally appreciated. Experience has shown that the wi to Preserve stone roads is to roll them afier rains with a steam roller, or where that is undesirable with a heavy horse roller. The steam rollers can be bought for about $3,000, and the expense, if each township owned and operated its own roller, would be slight. Weak bridges are sometimes an obstacle, but it is certain that, without EARLY DOCTORS, How the Young Physict of the Last Century Were Educated. During the last century in America the medical education of a young student was generally what he picked up by serving as an apprentice to some noted practitioner, which combined the duties of a student with many menial affairs, says the Amer- ican Magazine. He ground the powders, mixed the pills, rode with the doctor on his rounds, held the basin when the patient was bled, helped to adjust the plasters, sew wounds and run with vials of medi- cine from one end of town to the other. It was a white day when such a young man enjoyed the rare good fortune of dissect- ing a half putrid arm. So great, indeed, was the difficulty of obtaining anatomical subjects that the medical school of Har- vard Coliege made a single body do duty for a whole year. Under such circumstances, the doctor knowledge was practical, and derived from personal experience rather than from books. The advantages of study were sparingly er joyed. Few physicians boasted of a li- brary of fifty volumes. His apprenticeship ended, the student re- turned to his native town to assume the practice of medicine. At that period, with the exception of the minister and the judge, the doctor was the most important per- sonage in his community. His genial face, his engaging manners, the sincerity with which he inquired after the carpenter's daughter and the interest he took In the family of the poorest laborer, made him a favorite for miles around. He knew the names and personal history of the occu- pants of every house he passed. The farm- er’s lads pulled off their hats to him, and the girls dropped courtesies as he passed. Sunshine and rain, daylight and darkness were alike to him. He would ride ten miles in the darkest night over the worst of roads in & pelting stcrm to administer a dose of calomel to an old woman or attend a child in a fit. The drugs were stowed away on the shelves of the village store, among heaps of shoes, Rohan hats, packages of seeds apd fitches of bacon. The physician was compelled to com- pound his own drugs, make his own tin: ture and put up kis own riptions. His saddle bag was the only drug store within forty miles. Each spring the blood must be purified, the kidneys excited and the damsel who fainted profusely bled. Large doses of senna and manna, and rhubarb and molasses were taken daily. It was safe to say that more medicine was taken every year by the well than is now taken by the sick in the same time. Water was dented the patient tormented with fever. In its stead was given a small quantity of clam juice. Mercury was taken until the lips turned blue and the gums fel laway from the teeth. The writer has a vivid recollection, when about eight years old, in a raging fever, pleading for water, the nurse handed the rolling at the proper time, the best stone road is bound to be destroyed by the sun, wind and wear and tear. pa to meet him dovn town tonight, and pa said he would if he could get away from the old spook.” 4 PRIVILEGED CHARACTER. ‘From Life, How delightful the da, Hand f1 thron; wing rre, (Great. Eeott! how longed for Broadway, And thought that of ennui I'd die.) How vert wore spore long eer: evenings, rt! ABU! fo mar. Be en ae ene ee get At whist ard a pipe or cigar.) sorry I that it’s ended; oat our Eien has faded from sight. (But, thank fortane! F'm sure of a dinner ‘That's fit to be eaten tonight.) gel mete eee Mere Than Estimated. From the Boston Courier. Pryer—“I notice that young Frayman is still paying his attentions to the daughter yr old Senator Coffers.” *Dyer—"T believe he still persists in that direction. Pryer—“I am told he’ relative of hers—- a cousin twice removed.” Dyer—“Twice! Say, the old man told me himeeif that he'd removed him seven times already, and if he has to do it again it will Erobably be to a cemetery. S se A Prodigious Memory. Spinster of Uncertain Years (to young debutante)-“I remember well, my dear, what a sensation I produced when I made my debut in society. Why, it seems only yesterday.” = seu stat manny ever yercat TAG you over LSeSelath Batata Gries ere? t seem ter make farmin’ pay. “Maybe you haven't tried the right way.” “Yes. T've done T've tended ‘The Eattor’s ‘Wife—“Oh, I don't know that.”