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About The Sioux County journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1888-1899 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 22, 1895)
J.Vn W II r L. r m DAVID MARLE'S STORY. I I NEVER qrarreled with my broth er John until we came to settle up busluess In the year of 1S(5. We bad been partners teu ynm, evor since, we bad been Wmi, Indeed, but some changes made It at length advlsuble that we should separate. Ho hud made his fortune and wanted to return EusL I, also, was able to live with less care., and so we sold every acre of our land ed property, and were settling up the books, when there arose dlssuiisluii. John wi married and hud had a family to support, while I was unmarried. HU expenses had been three times as much as mine. Moreover, I bud taken the burden of the labor and responsi bility this having been tacitly agreed upon, I being the youngest man. While be had lived comfortably with his wife and children among the farms, with horse, men and money at his band, and absolute control of the farming Interests, I had been beating about over the country, from the Denver to the Florida glades, buying and selling land, timber and stock living anyhow, ami sacrificing all personal comfort to our mutual advantage. It la rough traveling In the West Twice I bad warn the Missouri when every stroke endangered my life; once I bad been captured by hostile Indiana, and es caped by strategy. I was overtaken by a prairie Are and nearly burned to death, when taking up claims In Nebraska, and my periods of weari ness and discouragement were Inde scribable. I grew gaunt, and pale, and hard, making money, while John waied fat and merry. I had all the hard ships, and I bad decided I ought to have more than half the profits, taking everything Into consideration. John refused this; and It was true, as be aald, that this had not been the con tract "John Marie," said L, "look at the difference between us. All the trouble you have bad In getting this money Is to take It from my hand. Tou hare never lost a night's sleep In getting It; you have had full sway in making these farms as profitable as you please, and when you have made a miscalcu lation In a tenant or a crop, I have nev er blamed you. You have bad a com fortable roof over your head, while I bave languished with yellow fever In the Houth and sickened with ague from exposure In the West. Two-thirds of this money Is Justly mine. You have spent more than I, and you have a right only to one hundred thousand dol lars." "I will have one hundred and fifty," he said, doggedly. "You never shall!" I answered. I had the books. They were In the office of a life Insurance company, for whom I wad agcut This business had been privately my own. I had worked It In with other pursuits and It paid me well. I had dealt In It only for the last year, but during that time I pur chased for myself, out of Its profits, a fine library, and had made several valuable presents to a favorite old maid sister, living In the East. These expenses were In the books of the. firm four hundred dollars for books, fifty for maps, seventy for a set of furs for Margaret, and forty for an easy-chair for her. I knew I must take these off the books before John saw them, or he would claim that they had been paid for out of the general fund. As I have said, they were In my private room of the Insurance company's building. In 8t Joseph. When 1 left my brother's house In Kansas I started directly for this point; but at Atchison a dispatch met me requiring me to wait there un til I received further directions from the directors of the Phoenix. I saw no actual danger In waiting, and so re mained In the city nearly a week. I received some policies then to be car ried Into the country. As soon as they were delivered to the specified parties I returned to 8t Joseph. I hurried to the office; somehow, I felt as If something was wrong. As I unlocked the Inner door Major Hawley looked up from bla newspaper and aald: "By the way, Marie, your brother came yesterday and got some books from your desk." "Home books!" I aald. And I felt myself growing pale. "Yea. Ledger, you know, I knew he was your partner, and so I let him take them. Nothing wrong, la there, Marter "No," t aald, and went Into my office and abut the door. My first movement was to open my desk hurriedly. Yea, they were gone. John bad the books. I denounced htm for a villain. After a white I grow cooler. I was very much surprised at what ha had doM. It was not Ilk him. It was plain that 1m thought 1 meant to cheat him lo iosss way. Nor tit I Indtaod to troat Ma. I did not belief e that he would make charges against me on the books, but I knew he would reckon that five hun dred and sixty against me on the gen eral account, nor believe my story that these outlays were never made with his money, or moneys on which be had a claim. Nothlug burns up confidence like the love of gold. John and 1 had never before bad a word of difficulty or a hurd thought, and now here we were, ready to call each other thieves and 11b rs. In the first place, I felt Insulted by his suspicion. 1 meant no Injustice; I merely wanted what I considered my right what I thought I had well earn ed. Then this movement of his, which bad the look of outwitting me, I men tally anathematized. It was a mean, sly thing to do. Of course he would transfer the ac counts to bis own possession and re turn me the books. There were five of them. If he had worked all the night before, he could not have thor oughly examined more than one. This private account of mine waa entered on the latest. So the thought came to me. Anally, to regain Immediate pos session of this one at least. It was not the mere five hundred and odd dollars I cared for the lose of; It was the right which this gave John to Infer that I apent more than I acknowl edged, and that my personal expendl t tires were not so Inferior to hie that I could claim more tho,u half the contest ed profits; and more. It was the disa greeable Idea of being defeated. That Vfi-y night I atarted for Marle Tllle, I arrived the next day. I went sTalght to John's house. He received me alone, bis face set In unusual lines, and his eye meeting mine burnlngly. "John Marie," aald I, "you have done a mean thing. You have Insulted me." "You refer to my taking the books In which our accounts bave been kept?" be said, quietly. "I do." "I bad a right to see them If I wish ed." he said. "But you had no right to come like a thief In the dark and take them, until I told you they were prepared for you to examine." "What preparation did they need?" said be with a sneer. This was too much. Before I knew what I was doing I struck him. He was a large man, but be reeled and clutched at the piano to save himself from falling. Ills aim missed and he grasped only the rich crimson cloth, and he dragged It with him as he dropped Into a seat He was very pale. I was almost ready to beg his forgive ness when he looked at me with such a gaze of hatred that I turned Instead and walked out of the room, kicking an etnbroldered stool out of my way as I went This Interview had not been satis factory, and I was at a loss what to do next An amicable settlement of the matter was now out of the question. I was Hissing the hoti.se that even ing when I saw the family ciirrliige. containing my brother, his wife and bis four children, drive away from the gate. I decided Instantly thut they were going to evening meeting In the town two miles distant. Then the house was left alone, comparatively and the books were they there? Could I not enter, find them, and take possession of them as unceremonious ly as John had done? It was growing dark. There was no light In the front of the bouse, but I saw one gleaming from one of the low er ones at tbo back. It waa the family sitting-room. I approached It and looked In. It was a large, comfortable apart ment with a fire upon the hearth; and before the Are sat a young lady rock ing an Infant , Tho child was probably the last-comer, the little nameless one I had not be fore seen, and which John wrote me a month before was to be called David, If I approved. But who was Its nurse? this sweet-faced girl who han dled It so dexterously, feeding It from a silver porringer, and then laying It over her shoulder and patting Its back with her pretty, ringed band, to make It go to sleep, aa she rocked back and forth before the dancing blaze? I could sec the gloss on her braided hair, and the glittering buckle upon her little slipper. The child seemed uneasy. It walled, and she rose and walked the floor with It soothing It In a low, cooing tone of endearment now and then singing a lullaby. At laat It waa asleep, with lU bit of a face bidden In ber neck, and aba tat down again before tbo Are. I stood and watched her; Indeed, I had forgotten all ekes. She had aoft brown eyea; 1 doo't know toy other word to tree; thoy worn tender and quiet She looked quite happy In a silent wsy. As she swayed back snd forth, the lamplight snd then the firelight touched her forehead, snd cheek, and sweet mouth, and white neck, with their different tinting the firelight making her rosy and radiant, the lamplight showing the lovely fait In a paler guise. I thought. "What If this were my home? What If that was the darling wife I had longed for all these years, and that my child? What If i might move now, and she would turn her head and listen for my step?" The thought made me tremble. I retreated to the road, and walked back and forth there, trying to think to some Iiurixwe. Or course I could not enter the house, though it would probably not be difficult to do so. I might get the books with little difficulty, for that young girl was piobably all the person under the roof; but somehow I did not want them; the current of my mind hud changed. I walked half a mile down the starlit roud and came bark. Once more I went to the win dow. The child was awake and cryl"K Khe was walking the floor with It again. I forgot to be cautious, she was so unconscious, and quite leaned ou the stone sill as I stood. Turuing In her walk, she happened to glance tow ard the window, saw my face as the light fell upon It. and, uttering a scream of terror, fell to the floor. I rushed to the door; It gave way to my hand, and I went In and raised her. She was quite senseless, but she still cliuqied the child, who screamed frightfully. I laid It In Its cnidle and tried to revive her. She scarcely seem ed to breathe before she broke Into hysterical sobbing. "Don't ciy, don't cry!" I said, awk wardly. "I did not mean to frighten you. Look up! I am David Marie. You must bave beard of me. I meant no harm In the world. I was only looking at you because you looked so pretty." She did not seem to see the ludicrous ness of this explanation. Khe caught her breath and looked at me with di lated eyea and the utmost anxiety for some time. "You are Uncle John's brother?" "Yea." And then I knew who she was Aurella May, a favorite niece of my brother's wife, whom I bad never seen. "I waa very foolish to be so fright ened," she said at last; "but you looked like a f boat" "Shall you tell them?" aaked I. "Uncle John and Aunt Susan? No; and don't you," abe aald, with a blush She had taken the poor baby from the cradle, and, aa It soon hushed Jta cries, we concluded that It waa not hurt Before the family returned, Aurella bad regained ber natural col or and eompoaure, and I had reason to be thankful that It waa so, John started when be saw me, and looked bewildered when I arose and offered him my hand; but he took It, and bade me alt down again, cordially. Perhaps some good word which he had heard In the bouse of Ood had softened him; certainly the pure face of that girl had changed my heart We sat together, a pleasant party, that even lng, and the next day John and I en tered Into calm discussion of our busi ness, lie waa Anally willing and even anxious to give me two-thirds of the money, but I would not accept It "No, no, John," said I, "we will di vide evenly, and, If you want to do anything more for me, Just try to make ) Aurella think that I'm not a monster." "Aurella?" repeated John. "Why, she don't know that there has been a word of trouble, and doesn't dream of such a thing. If you want her, go In and win; the coast Is clear, and may God bless you!" I wa not much used to wmnen, but she liked me, and Anally I got her. It frightens me to think how wretched 1 should have been If I hadn't I have only to add that she Is Just as good as I thought she was when I first saw her through the window; and If (Jod prospers us, I may, before another year, see her rocking a baby that Is mine, the firelight and the lamplight again on ber sweet face. Pennsylva nia Grit An Editor's Correspondence. Editors especially know bow heavily the tux bears upon one's strength and time. ln .-rll..r .lv.i whn il, o ,.H .9 u.,.t,i.n.a .i....ici,.,i.wi goou ueai 01 circumiocuuoii, me writ- UJK 01 it leiwi uji uj iv-u i luiiiinimjii: task. N. P. Willis, the poet, and one of the founders of this paixT, abridged this task by Inclosing In his hurry- ifinnh letters the following nrinted ex- planatlon of their brevity: "Men In this , . , , . , , ... lanu 01 uever-iei-up are ever mueii wuu laoor in as many miiereiu ways as there are vocations by which they get a living; but to an editor the last ounce which breaks the camel's back Is the ..riiin r.riv. h.ttr Vn t-imf i.i. ,i,..t,.,wt k ,..! r.r '. . " . ' . tne luxury 01 wnung lor one reader ton tne contrary, me vaiue 01 u is eu - hanced by rarity); but he looks upon It as the leg-weary postman looks upon the liiinrv of an evenlntr walk. Now.! here la vour letter to answer. Either a cheerful and appropriate letter to you or an article for my paper would bo as much of a morning's pen-work as would be agreeable; but both together would dwindle the latter of the two In to flat-footed plodding. In choosing between those which to neglect, you see, of course, that It Is a choice be tween minding my business and writ ing to you; and you will forgive me, therefore, If In the least words possible I Jot down what must be aald, and tmal tn hfa nHntJut fnlanftttnn to ht. plain my brevity "-New York Home me In a visit to the dentist with poor little ' ' ( Bea, and we are to ransack Cretner s for journal. somv reward to encourage her drooping Oharlea-What makes you look no 'PWU But, about four, yon will find ns glam. H.rryT Harry-ldaud SweeUer has thrown mo over. Charles Oh, I joo.ntght." wouldn't mind that; a woman norst, -t j0 think yon are looking so 111, hit where she dmmm to when sbs .Nora," said Mrs. L'Eet range, when be throws. Boston 'Transcript f-X. ' Vik r 7TV.VT CHAPTER XII. (Continued.) Still the wealthy widow held on sur prisingly, but sfter this second attark. re covery was very glow, and the doctors complained of want of vitality. All this t me. in Kray t-wgy ixuuon. Marsden's wooing pnsered. and Nora grew quite accustomed to His aaiiy pres ence. 11.. u'flu himju If cautious and self-re strained. He took care not again lo siar- le hnr bv such a uassionate outburst as had disturbed her on the day she hud ac-1 pted him. He watched with infinite; care ana tner nis opuonuuu ........... a caress, and flattered himself he was daily advancing in her affection, and be coming more necessary, yet there came at intervals torturing spasms of doulit. when it was borne in upon him that he was ouly liked, endured and slightly feared; su.h moments made him savage, exacting, un reasonable. He strove bard to resist these moods, knowing well how much of what he had built up with infinite care they undid. Through all, Nora was so sweet, so pa tient, so compliant, that he grew more pas- ionately fond of her day by day, even while he lomted for her to show hiiu some caprices, some little tyrannies indicative of pleasure in her sense of power over him. She did not love him yet not yei but she would he true to him, and love him, and love would come. On one point Nora was steady; sne would not marry till she had attained her twenty-first year, and on this Marsden was obliged to give way. As their mar riage was not to take place immediately, he was anxious It should not be talked about There was no use in bringing s storm of congratulations and questions upon them before the time, but he prom ised to speak to Lady Dorrington on the subject as soon as he could Intrude on hei duties to her sick guest. "You ought to tell her before anyone else, Clifford," urged Nora. A fortnight had slipped away, and as yet no whisper of Msrsden's engagement had got abroad. There was no one in town, and Mrs. and Misa L'Estrsuge were scarcely known In Msrsden's world. , Mrs. L'Estrsnge was much and most urtMblr occupied with her ltttle daugn ter, and pleased with her surroundings. makini- ouietlv the meanwniie prepsra tions for the anticipated event and had little time to notice how pale and thin Nora had grown, that her face looked all ves. that she started nervously it sua denlr spoken to, and that her hands held nothing very steadily. All seemed to oromise fslr and well. In the midst of this contentment Wlnton arrived from Florence, irsver snd gaunter tnan ever, It happened that the day he first called Marsden hsd received from his sister an earnest request to go to her at once, and he bad started, intending to visit .ves teigh on his wsy back. Mrs. L'Estrsnge bad been a little puszled by Marsden's wish to let Eveslelgh; she had no Idea that retrenchment was so necessary to him. Still, neither she nor her step-daughter saw anything to object to In tne proposi tion. Indeed, Nora thought she would prefer traveling with him to settling down in the country; she was moreover most anxious that he should clesr his estate and retrieve his fortunes. It seemed to her, she knew not why, fortunate that Clifford should have been railed awav as Mark Wlnton came. She longed to hear him talk with her step mother, once just once in the old, quiet, sensible way, without interruption. When j Marsden was present she Vas never quite at ease: she felt he was watching ner that he was ever on the lookout for her notice or her avoidance. She dreaded slighting him, and feared the passionate delight which any little show of kindness on her Dart excited. To be still and tran- nuil for an evening or two was very charming; though she was distressed to find what pleasure it gave her to hear Winton's deep, somewhat harsh voice, to listen even to his most trifling remarks. When when would he speak to Helen, and nut another final barrier between them? The all-absorbing topic of her 'OH engagement nan prevented any am- mauversion on niium-iw-i,ii)inMri, ,p(iJn it Nora diu not like to broach subject n was late, and Bea was beginning to say good-night a process which usually lasted some time when Wlnton appear- ed. lie had only arrived mat evening, n,d '"j for 'ntrudit,8 lae- Beatrice, of course, greeted him rap turouy an(j her departure to the realms of leep wag postponed. When she had disappeared, and they were quiet, Wlnton looked round the room and said "It is almost like being at Brookdaie only I miss some of the furniture and ornaments. I "And the room is smaller," added Mrs iyj5trange 1 "Uave y0u been 111?" were his next words, addressed to Nora, with an earnest look. "No! Why do you ask? Do I look ill?' "I think you do. London does not agree with you." "I have a slight cold, scarce worth men tioniug, she returned. Wiuton slowly withdrew his eyes from her; and, after looking down for a minute in silence, began to talk of Mrs. Hutb ven and her illness, her relapse, and her final recovery. Then he spoke of going to see his uncle la Yorkshire; and they glided easily from one subject to another. On rising to say good-night he asked Mrs. L'Estrange at what hour he should find ber next dv. "I don't think I shall be In much before noon. I have a dreadful business before bad Ji A . . IVvU fM .i " WM0 'IV. ! no: it was only Mr. inton s There is nothing really the matter with me." As soon as Mrs. L'Estrange with Bea and her governess had departed, after an early lum-heon, Nora took a book and a comfortable corner of the sofa, deter mined to think only of the story, which was interesting and well told. She felt unaccountably weary, and was not at all surprised that Winton should have thought her looking ill. What an ungrate ful, unacrotintable creature she was! How happy most girls would be, in her place! Hut she was going to read, and not think about herself. So, with an effort, she fixed her attention on the page before her. She had not read long, when the unexpect ed announcement of "Mr. Winton" made her heart stand still. Why why had he come so early ? She started up in haste, and went to meet him, reading in his ob servant eyes the same questioning ex pression which had struck her the evening before. "I urn afraid Helen will not be in just yet," said Nora, wirh a friendly smile. 'i, I know I sm rather early, but f I don't interrupt you, I will wait" re turned Winton. speaking more rapidly than usual. He drew a chair near her sofa, laying his hat on the floor, but still holding his stick, with which he seemed to trace the pattern of the carpet. "How is your cold better?" "Yes, thank you." "When do you return to Brookdaie?" "Our plans are very uncertain," return ed Nora, coloring, for she knew it was Marsden's wish they should remain in town and have a very quiet wedding. How she wished some one would tell hiin she wss engaged to Clifford! There us a pause while Nora sought in vain for something to say. Did Mrs. L'Estrange tell you I was inclined to go off straight to India with Colonel and Mrs. Homer?" "Yes, she did." "But I felt I could not go without trying my luck In London. May I tell you why?" "He Is going to confide in me, thought Nora. "Certainly, Mr. Wlnton," she said very kindly. "Perhaps I have some idea why already." W inton looked at ber steadily, with sur prise. "You may have, though I doubt it." Another pause, then with an evident effort Wlnton began, growing more composed and collected as he went on. "You may think me a presumptuous ass, but I will not lose the faintest chance for any false pride. Miss L'Estrange, though we have always been good friends, especially when I first knew yon, I acknowledge you have never given me any hope that you would ever let me be more than a friend. And lately I have imagined, or rather felt, that you were changed in some way; perhaps that ought to have been enough to silence me, but, you see, when a man's future hangs on 'Yes' or 'No,' it is hard to be content with uncertainty, and there Is a degree of sympathy between us on somo subjects. In short, I cannot leave with out asking If there Is any hope for me. for," looking straight at her with sol emnity, "I love you well." "Me!" exclaimed Nora, who had listened in increasing amazement. "Are you sure you mean me?" "Who else could I mean?" "Mr. Winton," rising to her feet in the agony of that terrible moment, and white even to her lips, "I have promised to marry Clifford Marsden In February." Winton also rose and stood before her, a grim, dark expression gathering in his face. "I never anticipated this" he broke off abruptly. "Then I have only to apologize, which I do most humbly, for having in truded myself and my feelings on you. I shall trouble you no more." There was a moment's silence. "I am grieved to grieve you," said Nora, in a voice so low and trembling that she scarce heard herself. "I believe it you have a kind, true heart. I was presumptuous in hoping to wiu it. God grant Marsden may make you happy! None can wish you all possi ble prosperity more warmly thun I do. Pray forget that I have momentarily dis tressed you." He paused, and looked at her intently. "Nora, you are faint? You tremble, you can hardly stand." He made a movement as if to catch and support her. "No, no!" she exclaimed. "You must go you must leave me!" "I must indeed," returned Winton. rie took and gently kissed her hand, said soft Iv, "I will never intrude on you again. Good-by, dear, good-by!" seized his hat, and was gone. Theu Nora Bunk upon the sofa and buried her face in her hands, her heart rilled with the blackest despair. If he had come but three weeks, even a fort night ago! What was to become of her? Was there no escape? Could she bring him no comfort? The pain in his voice still vibrated on her ear. Even if she could break with Clifford he, too, loved her well, and she would not willingly hurt him; but oh! how her heart ached for Mark Winton! There was no music in his voice, but what a ring of truth and sincerity! His words were few and sim ple compared to Clifford's eloquence; but what earnestness they expressed! How did she come to believe so implicitly In Winton's attachment to Helen? Surely Clifford Marsden, who knew both before Helen was married, be ought to know the real facts. Could Mark Winton have forsaken Helen for her? No; that was impossible! And various imporymt trifles, indicative of his Interest in herself from the very beginning of their acquaintance, recurred to her painfully excited memory. Why why did she allow herself to be so easily misled? How did Clifford come to be so deceived? Did he indeed believe what he asserted? Was she not base, to sus pect her affianced husband of trickery be cause she wss miserable herself? And if, as she believed only yesterday, Helen was attached to Wlnton, the round of wretchedness would be complete! Why had she been so precipitate? Turn which way she would, ehe was hemmed In by the misery she bad caused others. How waa she to bear ber life? She must let Wlnton believe In ber Indifference to blm, her lore for Maredea. After all, her doty and consideration ought to be for the man ah had prom lead to marry, when she thotiKlit another was preferred by the man she loved! Where run Id she turn fof CHiiusel or comfort? None could grrs It to ber. Her wisest, justest course, woCld lie strictest silence as to Winton's idi in? avowal. Then there would be no dia turoance. Helen would remain on the same friendly terms with Winton, per haps he might learn to love ber. At any rate, she had always heard that men never suffered long from such disappoint ments. , It was all. all too cruel! To think that through a mistake so slight, so easy to have avoided, she bad missed the road that led to happiness happiness full, com plete, soul-satisfying and made him she loved so well suffer as bitterly as she did herself! It was an hour of intense, blackest de spair, a night of anguish to which there would be no succeeding dawn. To the sor rows, as to the joys of youth there are no to-morrows. In grief it indignantly rejects the idea of consolation, of being so heartless as to forget, while the sug gestion of prudence in pleasure, lest dark days may come, is resisted with scornful certainty of permanent bliss. To Nora the only possible mood that could succeed her present suffering would be the numb ness and indifference of mental death! In the bitterness of her remorse for her own hasty action, she wrung her bands, and the splendid engagement-ring, which Marsden had placed upon her hand in ad dition to the signet he still wished her to wear, fell to the ground unnoticed. At leugth she tried to thiuk what she had better do to hide herself from the kindly inquiring eyes of her step-mother. She conld think of nothing more original than the inexhaustible excuse headache; but it would not do to lie down in the safe solitude of her own room. No; she dared not so indulge herself. She would go out and shop. There was plenty to do in that way. She rang and called for the ever ready Watson, and explained that she thought the air would do her good, and sallied forth leaving a message for Mrs. L'Estrange to the effect that Winton had called and could not come to tea. It was dusk when she returned, feeling utterly worn out "My dear Nora," cried her stej-mother. "here is a letter from Mr. Marsden. I wonder what he would say If he know that you had let the beautiful ring he gave you drop, and had not taken the trouble to pick it up?" "Did I ?" with a bewildered look. "Yes! Bea trod on It as she came in. It is fortunate she is so light." "Ah! my fraulein. It is not a good omen!" cried the little German governess. "Oh! we must not talk of omens! How did Bea behave at the dentist's Helen?" "Like a little heroine," cried Mrs. L'Es trange, proudly, "and she has chosen a proportionate reward a monstrous Noah's ark. with the most accurately cor rect animals ever made out of wood, and fnr, and papier-mache. But Nora, were you wise to go out?" "Yes, quite. My head ached fearfully, now It Is better." "It may be; but you look wretched. I do not know what Mr. Marsden will say to me when he comes back. I wish you would read his letter I am anxious to hear what Lady Dorrington says." "Nothing very pleasant, I fear," said Nora, with a sigh. "Why couldn't Mr. Winton come this afternoon?" "Oh! he was obliged to go somewhere else. I Imagine he Is going away to see his uncle to-morrow." (To be continued.) CHAMPION SWEARER. He Was Cured of the Habit by a Simple Stratagem. Among the outre characters of Ayr more than 100 years ago there was none so remarkable as a little oldish man who was ordinarily called the "evil Almighty." He had acquired this ter rific sobriquet from an Inveterate habit of swearing, or rather from that phrase being his favorite oath. He was no or dinary swearer, no mincer of dreadful words, no clipper of the King's curses. Being a man of violent passions, he had a habit when provoked of shutting his eyes and launching headlong Into a torrent of blasphemy, ttuch as might, if properly divided, have set up a whole troop of modern swearers. The custom of shutting his eyes seem ed to be adopted by him aa a sort of salve to his conscience. He seemed to think that provided he did not ";i w'th his eyes open" be did not sin at all; or It was perhaps nothing but a habit. Whatever might be the cause or pur pose of the liabit It was once made the means of playing off upon him a most admirable hoax. Being one evenlug In a tavern along with two neighboring country gentlemen he was, according to a concerted plon, played upon and Irritated. Of course he soon shut hie eyes, and commenced his usual tirade of execration and blasphemy. As soon as he was fairly afloat and his eyes were observed to be hard shut his compan ions put out the candles, so as to In volve the room In utter darkness. In the course of a quarter of an hour, which was the common duration of his paroxysms, he ceased to speak, and opened his eyes, when what was bis amazement to find himself In the dark. "How now? Am I blind?" "Blind," exclaimed one of the company; "what should make you blind?" "Why, I can see nothing," answered the sinner. "That Is your own fault," coolly ob served his friend; "for my part I can see well enough," and he drank a toast as If nothing had happened. This con vinced the blasphemer that he had lost his sight, and to add to his horror It struck him that Providence had In flicted the blow as a punishment for his nin1nIi.iKL uttMr Ai-lflMCt TTn1a 4kle ln lUlUlt'i a 1'iv.; tv m J si.s7S IUIO IsJI" presslon he began to rave and cry, and he Anally fell Into praying, uttering such expressions as made bis two com panions ready to burst with retrained laughter. When they thought they had punished htm sufficiently, and began to fear lest his mind be affected If tbey continued the Joke any longer, one of them went to the door and admitted the light The old blasphemer waa overwhelmed with shams at the exhibition ho bad neon compelled to make, which had such an effect that from that time forward ho entirely abandoned bla abomlnahta habit Kilmarnock Standard. It to aald that good then- musie, whlls bad