The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 18, 1898, Page 22

] [} THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, S DAY, DECEMBER 18, 1898 sententious of the printing press are numbered,” friend Everett the other evening, as we walked )f one of our great morning dalies, whence past the pre oom the muffled roar and hum of the vast and complicated machin- ery in the basement issued with an impulse that made the air k vibrate youn I asked. “Do you apprehend such an imme- \ to barbarism that there will be no more ne left to tell the tale, and no subs rs left to tell it to? nd i ed of curious notions, which a morbidly pessimistic st pronounced. ed gravely. “We shall have our papers with our morning milk, but they will sm ig not one of the By no means,” he r and our news as w not product of the printing ¥ Oh, indeed! Then perhaps you will < f ¢ nto vour service than steam and iron and printers’ ink” I 1 Possibly the cathode ray,” 1 added with a tinge t emb ent of scientific omnipotence is vague ed upon it within have anything father ¥ enough to pered ir de tne printing busine vith th 5 returned Everett, slowly d that is hat I am going to do, d impressivel e same time pausing in his walk and looking T full in th u needn’t laugh.» You spok than you knew. Youd w at a venture and struck between the joints of the harness an no 1 in perfecting a method of known as the of what is commor 1ear all along known my vy developed into something ictim to the delusions which ds through pondering over to look serious. d this peculiar , fallen 2 anced m " went on Everett, as if civining -, but mean every word I say. If you for an hour or so come up to my place in earne .r impressed me, and as it was now I decided to a.company him to Knowing Eve as I did, to be turn mind; usua menting in a y in any field that struck his y—chemistry, Wwhat not—and having some small private means 5 jcient to enable him to gratify his whims in that it was within the bounds of possibility, I reasoned, that he n something original in connection with the lates et him, . in the cars brought us to my friend's abode on passed into the house, and then into ok, a sort of nondescript combination of labora- filled with a heterogeneous collection of mechan- ic apparatus, litter shelves, tables, stools . I had been in the den often enough to .e perfectly used to the 8 tively looked round for something new. Y ther wall of the big apartment h I did not remember having ef There were, for instanc e large ognized as Crookes tubes pended from the \ foot above a rectangular framework, which looked ter's composing table with the top removed. Within this there rested on the floor a massive bow-shaped object, ird in length, evidently of iron, bound round with coils of of the bow projecting upward to & height of from either end of the bow led to another part T Wires lverett, noticing my magnet below—good come over here and remarked and he isn't it? paratus. table upon which stood what had \g press, such as is used in business 3 » 1id of this he raised by turning the h operates the , and then, detaching the lid, asked to look inside. I tt saw what seemed to be a semi-transparent tinous fi , imbedded in an oblong frame and presenting a flat oth as glass. The frame struck me as being about big mmodate one of the forms used in printing an ordinary 1ewsp: r, an ithpression further confirmed by the fact that a composing sle close by there lay four of such forms, which rther inspection showed were already locked and ready for the press. “Why, you seem to be going into the printing busi in earnest,” all the appliances, I see,” I continued as a row h I had not previously noticed in the dim »xcept the press he returned testily. “Didn’t I tell you the g pre were numbered? That is what I brought vou. Help me to get one of these forms into this lid.” f the copying press, as I shall still call it for convenience, was set upon its back on the composing table, and together we laid n within it face up, clamping it securely down. We then laid i with the form in it, face down and cro se, upon specially prepared projections from the sides of the press bed, just filling the ies of the chase, so as not to disarrange the type, and havi sted the mortise in the back so as to catch the lower end of the , We turned the latter till it engaged securely with the lid, when ised the whole by the wheel, till the form rested directly above the oblong bed of the press. The screw was then rev lowered till it found rest. A few sharp turr necessary till no amount of force would dri then the lid was® again raised from the press-bed, and laid to one side. tt then reached down into the pr taining the film previcusly descrit at I could examine it. The sight was a b learly cut as if stamped by a die, as in think tubes ay purpose: 1e more of the a led the way P of Now Y pying let I said of type caught m "t W s of the | and nscrewed from its s and drew therefrom the d and held it up to the utiful one. Each act it had been. We have now got to back this film to give it stability,” said ett, as he placed the frame upon a t of plate glass which lay ready, and to w h the film wa peedi transferred. While a fresh film was being inserted in the frame I had an oppor- tunity to examine it. I was surprised at its tenacity and toughnes While not more than the sixty-fourth of an inch in thicknes: seemed possess the elasticity and resilience of metal. * sparation of my own,” remarked my friend, in answer to a ques combination of experim nd accident. Totally im- pervious to » cathode ray—more 80, in fact, than many 1s, and much more suitable as a matrix, in consequence of being more easily worked.” Three more films were taken in quick succession from as many forms, and then Everett intimated that everything was ready for feReReRoFeFaFeReR=ReFeReFeReReFoFegeRaFeReFoFogegSogageFoF = LOVE! IN THSE DAYS ERE WE DID TwAS WINTER DREAR. 0 T BVT THOU \AST NEAR. 50 SV/"\/"\_CH’ REIGNED WATHIN MY HEART WHAT THOUGH FEACH TREE, A N £ o THAT BLOSSoMS | Ntz ot BYSH, W5 BAY [AY HEART .1 TROW, BEARS THORNS "WHER® THEN BLooMED ROSES FAR 8 THOUGH DARK AND TEMPEST LADEN SKI& /,sf \VORE ANGRY HVE T LACEN KIS, %w THE SVAMER' BLVE ; FOR MF SHONE EVER IN THINE EYES Robert Duncan Milne. Skotched From Life. printing. This was what I was particularly curious about, so I watchéd the proceedings narrowly. Returning to the upright rectangular frame first desecribed, with the Crookes tubes above and the horse-shoe magnet below, Everett proceeded first to place a planed deal board within the frame, just 4 the ends of the magnet, resting it on knobs projecting from the Upon this platform I as ed him to pile ream after ream of L quality printing paper, such as is used by our best weeklies, until the top of the frame work had been reached. There were in the pile, I should judge, newhere in the nighborhood of 5000 she The sheets of pl )lding the type-punctured films we aced symmetric: paper. This done, Everett stepped aside and touched the keys of the Crookes tubes spended above, which instant.y became filled with a soft lambent light, at the same time taking out his watch and noung the |ilmc>.1 ‘When four minutes had elapsed he declared the operation completed P Together we lifted off the plate gl forms, and what w my astonishment to see that the top sheet was beautifully ted—as typographically perfect, indeed, in outline and finish as could have b been done on the at first, I was utt t equipped press extant. But, surprised as I was y dumfounded when Everett proceeded to remove an armful of papers from the pile, and I saw that the one then at top was as accurately perfect as the first. “Aren’t you going to help me?” he remarked somewhat quizzically, us he reached for a second bundle. “This is only the first side, remem- ber, and I want to print the whole edition off this evening.” Thus admonished I assisted him to remove the rest of the papers from the frame, noting with increased astonishment that the very lowest in the pile was as typosraphically excellent mn every respect, and the ink of as intense a black, as the first. “And why not?” queried Everett, as I commented particularly on this point, as the last impression lay now on the top of the pile. “Why not? Haven't you always understood that no obstruction, save abso- lute or partial non-conductors, can impede the passage of the cathode ray Is not that the very principle wherein the X ray differs from the ordinary light ray, or so far as is known, any other ray? It is for the very reason, and only for that reason, namely, that it is not a light ray, but an electric ray with a peculiar chemical action, that the results you have just witnessed can be produced. Suvpose, for instance, you had put your hand between the lowest and the second lowest paper in that heap. Would not the bones of your hand, and the flesh to some extent, have been clearly defined above the printing of the sheet, the intervening sheets above, being as powerless to impede the passage of the ray as a deal board would be?” 1 could not help admitting the cogency of my friend’s logic. “But,” I objected, “‘granting all that, you have not yet accounted for the action of the ray upon the first, let alone the last sheets, which the ray encountered on its penetrating passage.” “Ah!” returned Everett, smiling, “that is my secret. Of course the paper is prepared, and though I will not tell you outright what ingredients I use, I will give you some hints as to the pfocess. But personal observation is much better than explanation, so if you will give me a hand again with some more paper you can see for yourself.” So saying Everett stepped over to another pile of paper lying on the floor and picked up an armful, I following suit. He led the way across the apartment to what looked like a large wardrobe, or safe, motioning me to open the door. As I did so I was nearly knocked down by the sickening vapor which issued from the opening. “Don’t be frightened,” he said in reassuring tones, at the same time pushing his bundle of papers edgewise into one of a series of up- right compartments, which stretched, pigeon-hole like, across the interior of the safe, and whi.li were open beneath, save for a slat or two on which the edges of the bundle rested, some free space being left at the bottom of the safe. ‘“The gas is rather overpowering at first, but not dangerous. Shove your bundle into the space next mine.” In a few minutes we had the compartments full. Everett then poured some colorless liquid from a demijohn into a large shallow earthenware vessel which stood by, and which he then introduced into the empty space at the bottom of the safe, and closed the door. “That,” said he, “is the preparing chest. The paper we have just put inside is now undergoing impresnation with the gas from the liquid in the vessel at the bottom. In two hours it will be fit for use. This gas renders paper as sensitive to the cathode ray as the salts of silver do to the photographic ray. Now help me to go to press with the second side.” It took but a minute or two to pile the sheets that had already been printed above the platform just above the great horse-shoe magnet. The sheets were piled carefully printed side down, so that t ime the blank sides were exposed to the action of the ray. Two fresh plate glass forms were laid on top of the pile and the light of the Crookes’ tubes turned on. When four minutes had elapsed by Everett's watch, as before, the operation was pronounced complete, and an inspection proved with the same result. The whole edition lay there ready f r binding. “Considerable saving of time and trouble, isn't it?” remarked Everett, sententiously. “And there’s no reason why an edition of a hundred thousand shouldn't be printed as eas..v as five, with tubes and magnets of adequate power. My present apparatus is, of course, crude, but any improvement on it would not affect the principle—it would be merely a matter of detail. For instance, in practice and on a large scale, it would be much more convenient to box the paper up, ream by ream, in a specially prepared case, sensitize it in this shape and then expose it horizontally to the action of the ray. Thus editions of from five to ten thousand apiece could be turned out with very little trouble and in short order.” “There is another thing about the process.’” T remarked. “that I do not understand. How is it that the dark, or electric, ray affects only the side of the sheet of paper nearest to it, without affecting the other side? Under all known laws of chemistry paver which is sensitized, as this is, clean through, ought to be affected clean through also by a ray which penetrates it in a compact mass from end to end.” “I have studied ove: that anomaly,” returned Everett, medita- tivel but have come to no reasonable conclusion regarding it. I am | ined to think that the reason why only the surface upon which the vay directly impinges is chemically affected is because, infini- tesimal as the distance separating the two surfaces of a sheet of paper is, still it does constitute such a tangible separation from an electrical point of view as to cause a distinct change of polarity The cathode ray, for instance, proceeds from the negative pole, in contradistinction to its complement, the anode ray, which is positive in character. Now, on the supposition that the paper surface pre- sented to the ray is positive in character, while the obverse surface is negative—induced, it may be, by the action of the magnet at the opposite end—it is quite conceivable that only the electrically receptive surface would be decomposed—in other words, the tissue of the paper would only be affected to a certain depth upon the exposed surface, not more s0, as a matter of fact—and as we can ourselv see from the specimen before us—than would be done by ordinary printers’ ink. That, however, is a problem I should like to refer to Edison or Tesla.” GOSGUODTOVUOVUNGUO OO VOOV OO O TN NNONOORCROO0ORROUSN DOV ONOONNY . (Copyrighted, 1898.) E had often called ourselves hard up, Johnnie and T, and we had joked each ‘other and with our more intimate friends about living on the edge of a razor, and had, more than once, forecast our fate in the uncangenial lines of a workhouse, wondering gayly enough, it must be owned, how long we should be able to go on before that extremely unpleasant haven was an accomplished fact. But we had never really known the actual pangs of real and bitter poverty until that dreary November day, just three years ago, When Johnnie announced to me, with a very .long face, that his Uncle had given him the key of the street, so far as the office was ed, and that we had now nothing between us and starvation but a month’s money, our wits and our valuables. Poor old Johnnle; he added that last clause in a spirit of bitterest sarcasm, for valuables we had none, if you take exception to our few wedding presents, which had seemed very smart at the time and had made a very good show at our wedding break- fast, but which, on close examination, proved to be mostly plated. His John, after whom he had been named, and who had, by common Iy, been expected to provide for him from that time tr iven us a present which was above reproach in for he had presented us with a check for a hundred hing our first modest home, and he had also concern: Uncle consent of the forward, had, it the matter of v lu pounds, to be used for furn X given me a keeper ring, set with three good-sized diamonds, which I had put on my hand while our wedding breakfast was in progress and had dutifully worn every day right down to the time of his finally quarreling with Johnnie and turning him straight away out of his office. When Johnnie told me the news I must confess that I just sat and stared blankly at him with my mouth open and my eyes, I am sure, looking very full of the dismay which I felt. “Turned you out, Johnnie!” I exclaimed. “Why, what on earth shall we do? And—and—" “Yes, I know,” he said, savagely. “And that's what makes me so sore and hurt about it all, It isn’t as if I had upset him or gone against him v way, but simply because you are—well, as you are. He had the im- > to tell me, too, that he had always thought there were too man; at he did not mean to be any party to over- puden people In the world, and t stocking this particular ty. “1 don’t understand, d, and it was true. “Well, he says that he forgave us for being so improvident as to have one baby on three hundred a year, and that, as we have chosen to go in for having another, I had better go and look for a berth with some one who can afford to give me a bigger salary than he can. ‘I have made a lawyer of you, he added, ‘S0 now you can turn your position to better ac- count than you can with me.’ ” “*And what did you sa I asked. “Say!” my poor Johnnie echoed. ‘“Why, I said everything that I ought not to have said, and I left unsaid everything that I ought to have said. T have done for myself with the old man forever, and as long as he lives he will never speak to me or look at me again.” “Well, it is done and it cannot be undone now,” I managed to say, “and the only thing we have to do is to decide which course we had better take.” S “Is there a choice?” inquired Johnnie, with a faint shade of satire in his tones, . "'A\'e'll keep Uncle John's ring and pawn it for our Christmas dinner,” sajd. I pulled it off my finger where it had been ever since my wedding day and looked at it. ) “But never your other ring,” he said fiercely. He meant my engagement ring, poor darling, and I smiled as I re- placed the two rings on my wedding-ring finger. “No, we will hang on to that a bit longer yet, Johnnie, dear,” I said. “But, if ever I had any sentimentality about Uncle John's wedding pres- ent to me, I have seen it melt away during these past few weeks. We will Jet that go, dear boy, it has no value for me.” Even then he gave a tacit consent with extremest reluctance, and very much as if the money the ring would eventually fetch would assuredly burn his fingers. I laughed outright, and, let me tell you, I did not find n\a.n)"‘ (hinfii g) amuse mde ghllhcse days. “We wi ave a gOO ristmas dinner out of Uncle John, at all events,” I sald, with a brave show of keeping up my spirits. “I suppose - B & Wi he won't ask us this year.” Ve shall not go if he does,” declared Johnnie, promptly. Well, do you go and see what the tea-spoons will fetch,” I remarked. And w. are you going to do, sweetheart?” he demanded. “I am going out for a little while,” I replied. *“Don’t bother about me, Johnnie, I shall be all right.” He went off then, though evidently rather reluctant to leave me. Perhaps he thought that I meant to take baby and put an end to her and myself also by slipping over the bridge, as I had jokingly suggested to him when Uncle John had first turned him off. Dear old Johnnie! he need have been under no such apprehension, for that was the last of all thoughts in my mind. Perhaps I had never been much of a helpmate to him, but a coward I never was and hope I never shall be to the end of the chapter. I dressed myself in my best—for we had not yet got to that stage of poverty when we had begun to look like beggars—and giving baby over into the care of our young maid, T sallied forth and took my way straight to Uncle John's office. The little boy clerk who sat in the outer office was quite alone.. He looked rather surprised to see me, and eaid that he was not sure whether Mr. Bryant was engaged or not, would T wait a minute while he went to see? I replied that of course I would do $o, and I sat down on the nearest chair, for 1 was feeling as if my heart was certainly coming up into my mouth from the excitement and Dervousness that pervaded my whole being. Then the boy came back and said that Mr. Bryant was disengaged, and would I walk ‘“this way?"” I did walk that way, and the next moment found myself in Uncle John's dread presence. “Oh—good morning,” he said, rising stifly and standing, looking very forbidding, by the table. “Good morning,” I returned. “I—I daresay you are very much sur- prised to see me, Uncle John?” “Not at all-not at all,” he made haste to reply. for you?”’ I am sure that he forgot for the moment to whom he was speaking, and that he simply used the ordinary formula with which he persuaded all his lady clients to open up the business which had taken them to him. “I came to speak to you about Johnnie,” I said boldly, plunging headlong into my subject. “About Johnnie. Yes? I hope he is well.” I felt at that moment as if I would dearly have liked to box Uncle John's ears. “No, Uncle John, he is not well,” I said in a very severe tone. ‘“How can he be well, poor boy, when you have treated him as you have done—when you have ruined him and broken his heart?” - : “Ho_)zly-toltyl" he exclaimed—“and when did I commit all these crimes?” “When you turned him so unjustly out of your office,” I replied. I felt that it was no use for me to have gone there and not say all that was in my mind. ‘“And they were crimes, Uncle John.” "{_he Wur{‘d is lwt'l?e'”Bhe remarked. “Yes, perhaps it is. But you must know quite well that the w not wide in a small place like Lettle Plumpton, and that, by agting 3:‘3.0‘3 have done, you have as surely branded Johnnie as if you fiad accused him of theft.” “Do you mean to say that he cannot get anything to do?” He asked the question with an air of surprise which fnade my very blood rise to boiling point. “Uncle John,” T said, making a desperate effort to keep myself calm and collected, “if a young man, the nephew, say, of Mr. Johnstone, were to come to you asking for a berth, what would you say? Why, you would naturally ask him why he had left his uncle. And as he could hardly glve the true reason, that, having sanctioned his marrfage, he had turned him out because his wife was going to have a baby, you would very naturally think that there was something wrong about him, and that suehla ;ireplodstm;m;s excusfi cfi:‘\ld nmlbsitthehu‘i‘f Ee“m of the parting.” “I should at least as! e uncle e had anythin nebhggy” Sa{g Ungle“;lc{{m, L ¥ g against his “Oh, would you? Well, none of the lawyers in Lettle Plumpton ha; to feel ke that. They each and all jump to the conclusion that thece must be something against Johnnie, and they will have none of him." “And you have come to me—" he began, in a questioning tone. “To ask you to reinstate him—to take him back—to take away this stain which your action has cast upon him and to let the world of Lettle Plumpton believe that there was some quarrel between you For a few moments Uncle John sat quite still and quiet, and seemed to be thinking deeply. “I think not,” he sald at last. “You refuse?” I asked. “Yes; I don’t feel like having my nephew here again. I am sorry to sa,yrcl)c;ltoa.l fi’l’t 1 cried in di “Oh, spare me that,” I cried in disgust and rising from my c spoke. “I came as a last hope, thinking, praylnggthat as )I h:l?]hb::nl though unwittingly, the means of parting 'rou, you would let me be the means of bringing you together again. I will go; but first let me tell you that Johnnie knows nothing of my coming here to-day. I have deceived him for the first time In my life; I have done something on my own re- sponsibility, and I am very sorry for it. It shall be the last time. As = “What can I do it ts, I will bid you good-by, and in doing so let me say one thing: It * will come home to you—mark my words!—one of these days, in need of Johnnie, you will want him, and you will have 'vovhgg vyv‘flxh’ol\l;tt3 mmfi For Ztshall t’leove‘ eyvers;hl;eivghto keep him from you now.” e rose too. “Don’t you thinl af S him?"e;le D&lt m't o t you had better wait till I do ask I turned and went out of the room without another word. on the point of asking him to keep my secret, to beg that he wg“}:da flm;)veeel:‘A never let my poor Johnnie know that I had so far humbled myself as to ask a favor of his uncle; but in the face of %lz cruel, jeering manner, I lftorgnt gl(} that %?,2"’},‘“12‘4" ott h}; presence celing that all was not as seemed, an e ot rid o 14 [eberd o R othems B ohnnie for some special private 1L ‘What a time it was that followed on my visit to Uncle John’: My poor Johmye, feeling that there was not the very !mn?lelzh;‘hsanoe?c;f r g in Lettle Plumpton agon i w;e?:ggnhge i:a]é?p:&lnflnd something to do mleimt Hlnaj‘?:—smi“;?th!i’;‘\élu ular et her B oold do, poor dear, and was. Teady 2o "oy oo N3 onght Jhacthe should o s aitnbugh:ne gyas: & BESC SUSHOE ond, Sieht %o have been his uncle's partner by that tme. Bh o lyohing ™ “I hate 1o o ke etk him, and he left us but.a few SHIUEE o leave you like this, dearest,’ he said to me on the morning that he left what are you to do else? I am me. et }bhr{nf:“:xfiffl the very best thing that T can 6 1¥ (o scll off the furniture and come {0 join you S SO0 B ks and even if 1 were % g:z':g'on‘ %o su?le'xg(:m' Inc\‘-";hifigs 3 Would cost a lot of money to remove y pre ¢ rid of them. free to do the best you can for us in Lettle Pl ton again.” i mOtM;! Dgor‘eboy‘!lm;-’lp did not find London to be any better in in t of luck than Lettle Plumpton had been. Fe wrote st b Se spirits; he was sure, or nearly sure of a berth i e ever 80 ma that fell through, and this was only a sample of €Y S which came after. Meantime, Christmas drew vc.“ l)fl ‘%0 o join termined to get away from Lettle Plumpton anc i3 B5 o o London. After all, we might as well be l-J[;'_A’lh‘(\‘jl" ;&d ke no. longer afford to keep my good little maid Mars; A only staving on without wages until she heard of & DIACG 80 5y b (G days before Christmas, she came in one afternoon anf = oy tic i was going to a situation on the following T}yur.«}n:; ing and Teaving yo she said with suspiciously dewy eyes, “I don’t like Boing RNC Fp, 0 and dear baby all alone—and master away, too. I thin _— ¢ill be best if we ge R s covering a breaking heart, my poof boY: ;5 please God, I mever set my 2 few T've changed my mind. - o el e oy et Ty des¥ good ginl.” I exclaimed, “1 cannot, let vou, & that! Besides, I'm going to join your master in Londoa. tell_you this very daj : IE was not auite true, but T knew that ! ess one. However, I went out, and I to e B dsconcy hand shop.at the corner of the Grey’s road that he could come the i‘..'é"‘fie Ihg morning and value the furniture as it stood. He did come, BEE, OO cheated me shamefully in the price he offered me. I, of course, o ane in a position to stand out for my price, so T was, perfo! oblige B R cept his offer; and so with the value—alas! the second-hand shop ¥ElICS P ar little home in my purse, I turned my back on Lettle Plumpton Set my face toward London, the great city of the world. e d That was but four days before Christmas. I had meant to have Keps Undle John's ring to provide our Christmas dinner. But it had all melte long before, and we agreed, baby was so little and did not as yet knoyv WrE day_from another, that we would make no difference, and that we would not spend a single penny on seasonable fare, or what they call sea- Somable fare. It was a wretched time: but we were together and we were happy in everything but wordly goods. “T can’t wish you a merry Christma sat at breakfast on Christmas Day. * ¢ little fib was a very harm- o T Tord th u;rt\n who Képt the big second- ** Johnnie said, as we ve done you to death, my poor little love, but not wittingly- s 5 Y4 rather be here with you, e s we are’ I made haste vo reply, “than be in gilded halls with anyone eise in all the world. John- don’t know what i And If that is not a real preity thing to s nie, what was that? DId you hear anything? o 'He turned his head to listen. “No. what was it? : e terGort of noise, See if there is anything. I mean anyone at the door.” 2 o room was at the top of a tall and rather shabby lodging house, and O et and opened the door, which gave on to a narrow landing- place. ““There’s nothing there,” he said. to his place .at the table. “I feel that the tide i turn v soon,’ he said. “When things get to the worst they generally mend, I helieve things are going to mend with us. Eh, what? 3 “It's there again,” I replied. Johmnis Bot up and went to the door again. “I tell you there is noth- ing' there,” he declared. I had followed him, however, and in my turn 1 peered out on to the dimiy-lighted landing. “Johnnie,” I cried, “there is sometbing. W who can have sent us a_hamper, I wonder? Not not know our address. Drag it in and let us see us. 5 : Johnnie laid a strong hold of the hamper and quickly the stronger light of our room. By Jove, this claimed; “but'{t's not meant for us all the same, | is. “To the pretty lady in the top room of No. 13, « b e T R DTty lndy, and this is the top room of No. 13, Upper Tar: feot. Perhaps it is meant for you. Can it be the old man. after all? No," 1 replied, promptly, though in spite of my anger against him, I wished with all my heart it might be. . Jonnmie cut the strings which were laced through and through the wicker-work of the hamper and the lid, and disclosed a packing of straw. This he lifted to find a hollow place underneath, and there, at the bottom of the hamper was a fine baby fast asleep. - We both pressed forward to look, and we each uttered a cry of astonishment and dismay. : “iGood heavens!” Johnnle cried, we are by way of having babies He closed it again and came back going to turn nr(’“«\i an. it’s a hamper. Now, vour uncle, for he does if it is really meant for dragged it in to erious,”. he ex- little woman. Look at Upper Tarbet street.” enough of our own without being show by them in tnis fashion. We must shunt the creature as soon as we can . ‘At that moment the child awoke and very naturally began to cry. Poor little soul,” I exclaimed, ‘‘we can’t be brutal to it. Let us see whether there is any explanation.” I lifted the little creature from its nest of soft 2 note was carefully pinned to its little white frock ill you, for the love of heaven, take charge of my baby for one week?" the letter read. “I am driven by circumstances to leave her for a few days, and have not a friend in all London to whom I can turn in my present need. I encloso notes for ten pounds, and in the little sealed box at the bottom of the hamper s evidence sufficient to show my baby’s parentage, supposing that anything should happen to me during the week. Please do not open it till the week is over. I shall fetch my baby m @ There was no name, not a word not a clue to the sendei “She must be mad,” cried John “And how came she to fasten on you of all peo- ple? I won’t have you mixed up in jt, 'm hanged if I will. ‘She is paying well for the liberty she has taken' T remarked. 1 was still holding the little creature in my arms. and, as T spoke, my eye caught vet another line of writing at the back of the letter which my hus band held in his hand. “There’s something else there,” I said. Surely enough, we found a large bottle of Wedgeham's Food, and als an elaborate feeding-bottle carefully packed away in the hay, which e a soft cushion under the wool on which the babe had lain. “T would like to keep her for the week, Johnnie,” I said. I felt as if it would give me something to think abouf if I undertook this work and Justified the trust reposed in me by this stranger. So Johnnie said no mare about his objection, and T took the stranger babe to my heart and shared with it the care that I bestowed upon my own, “Johnnie,” T said, “you won’t think me silly >r fanciful—" “f feel as if this litfle babe has been sent from Heaven to tlde us over a bad time. Let us have something extra for our dinner to-night; it's our Christmas dinner, you know.” He did Avhat T wished. He went out carrving one of my five-pound notes with him, and he bought a ready-cooked chicken, some slices of tongue, and a small bottle of champagne. 1 dare say it was extravagant and foolish of us, but I never enjoved a feast better in my life. It was a dear babe. I got, during that week, to love it almost as well as my own. And on the day appointed there came a soft little tap at ths door.-and then a pretty young girl came shyly in, her eves full of tears, her face all blushes, and her whole manner full of apology “I don't know what you will think of me,” she said. “I feel so b so actually brazen, to have cast my poor baby on you a stranger. forgive me. 00l to find that a Do I was afraid to leave her with the peaple across the way, and 1 had to go down to my husbandjf people—and they don't know that we and Jack was' there with his father to go down at once and pay an ordi- o are married or_that we have bab) who was ill, and he wrote that I waj nary visit as if my uncle had as #$0 you have an uncle, t0o.” claimed, in my surprise. “Oh, I have,” she cried. “But he is dead now, poor old man, and T need not keep things back any more. I'm so happy, though I wondered all the time if you would take her in or turn her out, or what? I've been almost frantic with anxiety, and yet I was sure that my instinct would never lead me wrong. That was why I was afraid to leave her among those people opposite. Say that you will forgive me.” I laughed. “Well, little mother, there is nothing to forgive. I don’t know that I would have done the Same with my little glrl. but certainly your instinct was right; and ave not ill-used your See, how wide awake she is now Joucsdeary LEU6 Datie. . . + . . . . . . ‘We became friends from that day, that little mother and I. she brought her husband to see me and to thank me for what I tfi'}iddg::ee? and then they wormed our story out of us, and, in the end, he offered Johnnie a place in his office, for he, too, was a lawyer. And, after a little while, but a very few months, just as we were beginning to forget that we had ever suffered as we had done, Uncle John died, and, like lots of lawyers, died without a will; and Johnnie came in as next-of-kin for all his property, and we had no more need to worry as to#vays and means, for Uncle John had been worth a good deal more than anyone had sus- pected. After that, Johnnie went into partnership with my little friend’s husband, and I have often since had cause to bless the day when she took it into her head, in her emergency, to trust blind fate and her own instinct and to send me such a curious Christmas hamper. . [THE END.] AS IT MAY THEN LET WINTER RAGE °R SVMMER BVRN WILL: HILL