DUST AND ASHES. Mm practiced on him rTI her wnss Till in love's silken net she cuughft him And showered on him her sweetest smiisi When to her lectshe captive brought him. But when he pleaded with the maid To be regarded as her lover, ■be sighed a little, blushed and said, "Please wait until ths summer’* over,’ Aad then began love’s golden dream; To every picnic, every dance he Took her, bought her femon-creum And other things that maidens farcy, At beach hotels with herb* hopped, For she was quite an ardent daaesr— At length the youth the question popped And waited for the maiden’s answer. It drew the eweetnees from his life, It burnedandjscorchedhimlikeabllster; Twas this: “I cannot be your wife, But I will be to you a sister." Boston Courier. besertedIoyeks. **Our ship! our chip! See, Henry, she *» sailing away without us. What can It mean?” The speaker, Lucy Morril, waa a beautiful girl—a dark-eyed brunette; the person whom she addressed was bar lover—Captain Henry Cavendish young man of twenty-si*. They had left the vessel in the dingy, only an hour before, to visit one of those isles of the Pacific ocean, near which the ship was then lying “off and on.” Tha noma rtf iVia /*rnff. waa fVi* Aval. low, and she was the joint property of Cavendish and of Lucy’s brother. She contained a valuable cargo, which the two owners expected to dispose of at Sydney, Australia, at a profit of many thousands. His share would, the captain had an* ticipated, afford him the means to com snerce married life with, and he had already won a promise from the sweet fhi, who had accompanied her brother on the voyage, to become his wife as •oon as the cargo was sold. Now, at Lucy’s exclamation, her lover, who was in a small valley, gath ering flowers for her, ran to the sum mit of the hill on which she stood. “Aye, what can it mean?” he cried, In surprise and dismay. The ship had made all said, and, be. lore a fair wind, was receding from his faze at a rapid rate. He gesticulated—waved hat and kerchief in vain. On went the vessel, •nd at last her hull was invisible, and Only her upper sails could be seen. Gradually these dipped lower and lower, until every vestige of the craft oas lost to view in the distance. The two looked at each other with blanched faces. Here they were, left by themselves On this far away isle of the Pacific, ohich they knew wae out of the track Of passing vessels. “Something is wrong,” said the cap tain sadly. "I fear I have lost every thing. I was in a fair way to be hap py and prosperous. Now I am poorer than abeggar.” Tears rose in Lucy’s eyes. I advised you not to go into partner Aim nrSfVi rmr KmfVioi* ** utio qqw) I did not beliove he was dishonest. I thought he was only wild and reckless. Sow I do not know what to think.” “It has spoiled our happiness,” said Cavendish. “Probably we will never eeethe craft again, and as I am thus penniless, I cannot think of obliging you to fulfil your promise of being my wife.” For several moments Lucy’s dark ms were veiled by their long lashes; then she threw herself weeping on her lover’s breast. “Can you believe me to be mercen ary?” she said. “Oh no, Henry; I am yours the same as ever.” “But,” replied Cavendish, “we have wo money to live on now, if I should make you mine.” “We hardly need money here,” said Lacy, smiling. “That is true; but wo will want bod." “We would want that whether we •ere married or not,” said Lucy softly. “And so you are willing to be my bride—to marry me now?” “I—I did not say so,” she answered shyly. “It is for you to say.” “Who is here to marry us?” "True enough; but—but—I don’t know—I have heard that missionaries are sometimes on these far away is land*.” “We will go and look for one,” said Cavendish, offering bis arm. They had not proceeded far when t bey net a native—a dusky, wildly-clad nan, with long, black hair. He show •d surprise on seeing them, and mini them many questions in broken hug ieh. From him the lovers learned that (here was a missionary on tin- island. Us guided them to that person • house, a small budding, with a thin-'Iwd roof. Th# missionary, an aged man. rs Mini litem kindly and heard then (lory “It is seldom that vessels pass thU •ay.'' he said "lam afraid yon w ill Save to stay here for moulds Vmi will ha veto live pnmipatl) on fruit and u»h ‘‘ “Can we get plenty of that m<|Uir al Cavendish It you have a boat, you i n go out aod > aleh all I he lid* )uU want h |B Intit, it grow* Wild on mill* parte sf th* Mk, hut to nake sure ol gel Him pnnw.li vow had better cultivate * plantation of your own w Th* young hmm Ivad no difficult y in bibihgl tli* missionary to |«nh>rm ■t* Snatriage «event onV n| I.* ll>s».. | man. the* »1» •• i mil • tmg a hat* I- was rtimlw-l in a lew >iavs, Wto- -ii try h*imd tint young • l • His-.« i to oiaineu- • »i4- siii> For a porks* •a b«——. which eh* bod oh tained, in exchange for fruit, from [the master of an English vessel that had once anchored on the island. These dresses, Lucy, who was skillful with i the needle, soon altered to fit her per ■ son. And now, while Cavendish never ceased to 1 egret the loss of his vessel and cargo, he and his pretty wife could not help enjoying their island life. The captain eventually had a thriving plantation, on which he cultivated not only fruit, but also vegetablee. In his boat—the Dingy—he would row miles away from the island to ob tain fish, and often Lucy would ac company him. Happy in eachotlier’s society,the two at last became r/t ached to their snug little island home, which stood, with its thatcned roof, perched on a rising bit of ground above the beach, where the sea waves came rolling in white and high. One morning, after they had lived there almost a year, Caven dish left his wife to go on one of his usual fishing excursions. It was a calm, still day, and the young man, rowing far from the isle, was soon lost to the gaze ol Lucy—who wAs watching him—in the misty dis tance. An hour later a terrific gale sudden ly came sweeping over tho ocean. The wind and the sea t ogether roared with a din that was almost deafening, and it seemed to Lucy that thegreat waves, scattering sheets of spray that filled the air like white clouds, were as high as mountains. Terrified and anxious on her hus band’s account, she watched ia vain for his return. “He is lost! He is lost!” she cried, wringing her hands. “His boat could not live in a sea like that. Ob,Henry! Henry!” The old missionary mode his ap pearance. He strove to console her, Dut he could give no hope, for he, too, could not help thinking the captain was lost. The spray and the rack of the storm covered the raging water for miles, so that no object could at present be seen through the cloud-like curtain. KfrainSnir tlipir PVM fhfl utmost’,. the two anxious watchers vainly en deavored to pierce with their gaze rush ing masses or vapor. All at once Lucy fancied she saw something UJf. a black speck tossed and hurief Along towards the island. “geel What is it?” she gasped. “An overturned boat,” said the missionary, when the object had drifted nearer. “It is his boat!” Lucy cried in agony. Such was indeed the case. Broken and battered, the dingy in which Cavendish had left the island, was at length hurled high upon the beach. It seemed as if Lucy would lose her reason. With wild eyes she gazed upon the boat. Not a sound escaped her. She stood like a statue, staring at the broken dingy, as if she could not tear herself away from the spot. "Come, child,” said the missionary; “come. It is hard, but you must try to control yourself.” "I will stay here. I will watch for his body,” she groaned. “It must soon come.” But she waited in vain. The waves refused to give her the remains of her husband. She tottered to the little house, and, throwing herself down on a rustic lounge there, she gavo way to her grief. “To think that I will never, never see him again!” she cried “Oh; I wish that I, too, was dead!” There was a bright, hectic color on each check, and a restless gleam in her eyes. The words of consolation offered by me missionary icu unneeueu on ner ears. A delirious fever was fast tak ing possession of her brain. The old missiona ry went outside of the house, and walked to and fro, his mournful gaze turned seaward. The violence of the gale had now abater! and the atmosphere had cleared. Far away the watcher beheld a large ship, apparently headingfor the island. "Here conies a vessel!" he called, hoping thus to turn the young wife's mind a littlefrom the grief. She was on her feet and out of the house in a moment. With eager in terest did she gaze on the approaching craft. "I know that ship.” she cried, in a voice of agony. "It is my husband's and my brother’s—the swallow. But it has come too late'—too late! My Henry has gone, and 1 w ill never leave the island. I will die here, anil when 1 die I must be buried in the sea, where i he lies.and there uesliall meet again.” Wildly shone her eyes as she spoke, and the missionary feared that Iter mind hail already Isguit to w ander. Meanwhile on came the ahip, until she was within a mile of the bench, when a boat was lowered and pulled : shoreward As it drew nearer, there was a slut ( lilt uncoil* cry of toy from Lucy ami : the missionary, for tltey recognized Captain Cavendish, standing in tlie | bow wav list his hat to them. "He lias been picked up and saved!" rricd (any a companion "Aye, ate, »of» ami well"' shouted the captain, hearing the word*, i tt*toll j fief the taint'* ini grated on I Its I lent h. amt I nicy threw herself into her hu*hand a arm* H ite yon no giietiiig for ms**'saa| I a vose near them. | |nicy look'd up to s«wi Iter brother, i » hum stat had no' rt* 'gliaut on an ! fount of his tbs k Is aid kalletaplaln NkoMsikn it* owi hraced au.l\itsU bavs a mind to, you •all Hint out • what "old Bourbon' is when you ret urn I tn the shaded veranda. You walk to stuns knoll, and from it* summit cast your eye over I he *!»•■* id mead ow. th hi amt forest The m-:ro<-i areful lnwicg the ploughs down tie tong rows of tiie young Indian com 'It . -hul < Is of the nrt|«rr Is heard Ml the w I teat Itehl tin ihe dtsf ,tnl hillside, and i he faint m-ream of a locomotive as it rushsw along tits hanks of the winding river, t ■•ad wind sweet with the, odor of | wild mw and rider bloom, with them I lultrnm* smell of fnwlih cut • Ittvwr. or 1 new ly ploughed earth blow • frviu this j •inarter amt limn i hat AUai you is j tci* d«i p senate blue, w it h whilst'hutds ! drilling over I'inter you g thwdesfi green of the idol turf Around you 1 is an ii,».»pl«te lb* most ho moo us ,i d • ry • • illoie 'I'o y<»u com# ths | coo of huthlmg doves, I he notes of ths •|ss kw> hr-usted lark, ths shriek of tbs imtateu tduw Jay. ths drowsy Istlos of the woodpecker, driving his biff agaUist the top of a dyuig walnut. Vmi think of lw Inal and dust ami dm and weariness id ike great stir, ami thank your stars that you wM ii Iks Wu* grass region of Kentucky. ^—■—— TOCTH. Ohl strange inconsequence of youth, ~ When days were lived from hand to mOdtl And thought run round un empty ring In foolish, sweet imagining. We handled love in childish fashion— The name alone and not the passion— The world and life were things so small, Our little wit encompussed all! We took our being as our faith For granted, drew our easy breath And rarely stayed to wonder why Ws were set hers to live and die. Vague dreams we had, a grander Fat* Our lives would mold and dominate, Till we should stand some far-off day More godlike than of mortal clay. Strong Fate! we meet thee but to And A soul Hiid all that lies behind, We lose Youth's Paradise and gain A world of duty and of pain. —The English Illustrated Magazine. IIIS BROTHER S KEEPER. Prom tho Youth's Companion. "I’m not good for much, am I mother?” The question wns naked playfully but tho young mun Hitting at tlx breakfast-table, from which a rod-arm ed girl was carrying tho dishes, throw down his paper, and springing up,Huid, with a flushed face,— "No, Dick, you’re not good for any thing!” "Come now!” was the angry re eponse, and Mrs. Barnes hurried for ward nervously, for it Heemed as if the two brothers would light. "It's a fact. You are living on us ?’ou are lazy—and you’re almost twen y years old,” said Tom, tho eldest "0 boys! hoys!” protested the worn an, holding out her hands. “Youncv er quarreled in your life. Don’t bo gin now!” "It’s time he heard the truth!” mut tered Tom. "But, mother, haven't I tried?” asked the boy, turning to her, and his voice trembled just a little. "You know, Tom, that Dick is deli cate,” pleaded the woman. "Yes, and that's been his shield long T liA*._4. A._ delicate to go to all the merry-makings, and eat his share, and when he get* a 5ood chance in life, ho don’t know it. ’ll never try for him again, never!” and out he went, slaming the door be hind him. "I don’t see what's got, into Tom!” said the widow, distressfully, “I nev er knew him to act so before.” “Oh, it’s been in him some time,” muttered Dick, hoarsely, “Ever since he got acquainted with the Mosses. That’s what’s the matter.” “Do you really mean it, Dick?” “Of course I do. Helikes Miss Anne, and he wants to marry arid settle down. I’m in the way. I wish father had lived, or I had died with him.” “Dick, darling, don’t talk so!” “I say I do! Everything was going on ]ust right. I liked my studies, and meant to make a man, though in a different way from Tom. Ho likes hard work, and can do it. I hate ev erything but hooks, study and law. I don’t see why Tom should be so hard on me. I’m trying my best. Lawyer Bates said that in less than two years I can make my own way.” "My, poor, dear boy! You are do ing your best I know you are.” “Yes, you think so; you feel so; I’m sure of your sympathy, but you see, Tom wants me to be making money. He begrudges me the food I eat, and thinks I am shirking, and trying to get along without work. He never said so before, but I have seen it of late. I can read it in the way he looks at me.” “My dear boy! try not to mind It!” said the widow distressfully. “Ihavetriedjlaughed at his hints,and swallowed my chagrin. But I can’t do It any longer, my self-respect is hurt. All is, I must throw up my place with Lawyer Bates, and go out to Oregon, and buckle down to hard work.” “Dick, I never will consent to it!” said his mother, growing pale. “You, with your delicate constitution, to go away so far from home,—from me,— when you have always needed to be watched over nnd canid for! Try not to mind Tom!” “1 havedone so, mother, but I can’t pretend to try any longer. Tom wants to be married—to the silliest girl in the family, too, because she has a pretty face and dresses so stylishly. I titj n iitib nr i 'i'lllit;, lit? n i n nivj ’ five years old, and doing a fair busi ness. It’s only I um in the way. He has to help me to clothes, you know, end of course my board costs some thing. 1 might as well say ye*. The journey will do me good, maybe, and there’s a chance to make money. It’s s new place, you know." The conference closed, and Dick went to his other, leaving Ins mother al most broken hearted, it was such a rlinnge from the tender ears of her husband, to dc|Mtndencs upon the strong, self willed innn whose word had begun to he law. And it was embar rassing to feel that before long she would only lot second in his heart and home For he called the hums his. though his mother had bought it with her own money years before, and fur nished it herself Hot now she was tell so iiii|siirn4i«l that site had no Kiestis to pay tlie tales, and iter health was poor If Toot would only wait! Hut no, Tom believed that |h*k was buy; that Ins studying law was I tot t fares; that h# should I* no more exempt from hart! work titan himself AimI Its had uut had siii h a »pl< mud situation of Iwwl tor bun. that it angered him be rood measure when I»t. k da lined. 'iHllltllMIl Ihckas b» sUserUtgly railed him He*t»l*s, he did wish to marry, but would not whits bs fancied Dak au ttu uiobranc*. That night ths broliisrw mst for a isw momenta, tbs mother was awt In I lbs room "(lavs you written your friend m Orwun!" asked Dak. and something In H*S handsome, iMsths tu*d lo»* re buksd his eider broths* as he su •wsrsd. - ••No, I shall writs to him tonight ” Mt’wU huu lmv.pl, saidDtek, short ly, turned on his heel and left thi room. "Come to his senses at last," sail! !* Tom, reflectively, yet with certain un easy twinges, as he remembered thi most unnatural brilliancy of thcdarlt pathetic eyes, so like his father’s •‘Pshaw! it will do the fellow good tc knock round the world a little. Hi has been tied quite too long to hii mother’s apron-strings. And—as tc law—there are too many lawyers al ready. He will thank me before thi year is out, and mother, too.” Dick broached tho idea to his friend Lawyer Bates,who tried all in his po wu todissuade him. "You’ve the making of an excellent lawyer in you," he said, “and you an getting along wonderfully. If you will go off so far, why don’t you wait till youget your diploma? That's tho business you were made for." But all the talk did no good, and in wardly calling him a fool, the man turned to the papers before him How could Dick tell him that he was an unwelcome guest in his mother’s house? "Die in a year,”thelawyer muttered afterwards, when somebody spoke to him about it. "The boy isn’t made for hard work, and lie'll find it out.” The year passed. Torn had beensix months married, and bad brought his pretty, helpless bride to bis home, hired ext raservants, and seemed as happy as a lord, lie did not notice the in creasing pallor of his mother’s face, the heart-broken look that told how sh* missed t bought less, wurm hearted, lov ing Dick. lie had always mado such a pet of his little, gentle mother, and now she felt as if she were almost for* gotten. Her son and his wife were kind to her—but 0)1, she wanted the clasp of lovingarrns about her neck, and the kiss of a son, sometimes. Her only solace was the reception of tho letters that came at first every week—but of late there had been great gaps between. He laughed in his let ters, but sobbed as lie folded them; she never should know—never! He had enjoyed the novelty of the trip, and the new associations among which he was thrown, for a time. The work which he-was expected todo was entirely beyond bis strength, and the .....i_i.„ ........ __ contact were rough and uncultivated. He had been accustomed to delicate and nourisning food; that which he tried to eat wan coarse, badly prepar ed and unholesome. i)uy after duyhe labored from early morn till late at night, leaving for his place of.lodgment so exhausted that the best meal would have been distastful. As the weak ness increased, he fought bravely against it, and yet the longing for home—the almost agonized desire to look upon his mother’s face once more —added to his physical sufferings. “That boy looks like a ghost," said some one, to his employer. “Yes; not fit for the business," was his reply, “but the poor fellow is try ing very hard." “O mother! motherl I am coming home. I must come home," he wrote, at the conclusion of the year. “I thought so,” said practical Tom, with a clouded brow, when his mother read him the letter, her voice trembling. “You made a baby of him for all time —he’ll never be a man!” Little ho thought how prophetic were his words! The next letter said,— “Expect me by tlw third of next month at latest.” The next—written in a strange hand,— “Dear Madam,—I amsorry to write you bad news. Yourson was getting ready to start for home, w hen he broke down. He was never strong enough for the work, and I told him so, months ago, but he would not give up. Thera was good metal in him—but—I think he mourned toomuchforhishomeand his mother. Just before he died, he said, ‘If I could only see my mother for one moment, I could die happy!’ ” Why need we follow the letter? Tom broke down, for once, when the news forced itself upon him. The mother went rapidly to the grave, and to this day there isalook in Tom’s face, which neither care nor bodily suffering put there—only consciousness that having been his brother’s keeper, ho failed in /luftr iiti/l n fTii/>f (/.ri iid/1 f n (• t Ka rest of his life must pay the penalty. The Course of True Love. From the Heruklstmry (Cal.) Knterprise. It was one day Inst week, and in ths city of Cloverdule, that a wedding had been given out to take place; all ths necessary preparations hud been made and the guests had all assembled, when lo and behold! it wasdiseovered that the license hud been issued by the Clerk of Mendocino county, in place of Bo noma- It hud so hap|H'tied that ons of llealdsburg’a ministers had been en gaged and was on tlu> ground ready to perform the ceremony, and it can be tuner miiiKittcu man w>ktiun me con*tcrnatton that wa* produced when the divine Informed the ConlritttiM parti** that a luurriagv llrcnee l •will'd In l ktali waa not ju«t the proper au thority to la-rform the mar ring* iww* luuiiy Inlloverdaie, «*that hunt hap |wn«d to ha in another county. At that time the dinner * aw almost on tin* table, and many of tha ipimti •«r« »t audio* on tbair ti|ii«M> of «• riteineut. and what an* to tie done waa on the tongue of every one. The thoughtful lit.nlater informed them that it wae only three mil*e to the Mendocino county line, ami whenthat |m tin t was the (voting iltMU' inaivt Would n**un.e I*-; it authority, Ae eoon aetlwee words turd fallen from th« iiiiiiMitei • h|M a nodi lor the livery •lahlve l uinlneieid. ami team* follow el team* ui t|uk k iikeweiun until all thegtteete were on dying wheel* in the direction of Mrid>* ine line When IhU wae crowned and a friendly shade had Unu found. Ilie party alighted ami the happy temple were made one Thau all rviunud to the tdme altare the tablee were headed wii U the chon* •*. daliit lee of the land A lent log n Mut'd wu» lm|Hr»»»*d u|w>n th* nunde of thoae |wnnit that threw an lew make a w undetful dial erne when on th« • ruogt'l* of I he county line AMERICAN GIRLS. An Eminent Divine Seym They Are We* Mere Appendage, to Saratoga Trunk*. Prof. Swing in Chicago Current. The girl of to-day, with rare excep tions, is industrious and with a breadth of invention and execution. The ironi cal and often mean essays on the wom an of the present often picture her as good for little except for accom panying a Saratoga trunk on iis wan derings in summer and for tilling fash ionable engagements in winter. Much of f 11 I <4 Mfl M'll Mfl I 1M 1 I V* t 111* fl»lV but when the millions of girls nre tnought of ns they are ornamenting their mothers’homes in the villages and cities, the honest heart enunot hut confess tlmt the word “girl” never meant more than it does to-day. This being, when found in her best, estate, can go gracefully from her silk dress and piano to a plain garb and to work among plants, or to the kitchen, or to a mission school class. In the city she can easily walk three mill Lan guor has ceased to ho fashionable; sleep in the day tune not to be en dured. The soul is thought to be action, not repose. All cun contradict thc-e words of praise; because all who think a mo ment, can find except ions in girls who are ulways just dead wii h a headache, or as averse as a mummy to any kind of conversation or activity; girls who who are pleased with nothing and no body. These exceptions are so disa greeable that they seem to mar the whole world and make the beautiful characters invisible. In matters of this kind one can only offer opinions. One dare not assert with confidence. At a popular summer resort, where quite u number of t hese 10-year mor tals were met and observed daily, it appeared in evidence and in common fame that to be full of obedience to-> ward parents, of kindness toward allr persons and tilings, to be industrious, to be full of inquiry and rational talk was not the exception, but the average of condition. \\ hy should a few girls of marked vanity and of giggling tendencies cast into reproach that multitude whose hearts are as innocent as th® June flowers and June birds? Much of the ruin of character comes in th® later years of woman, when the im jjrudence of late dancing, late supper® and the mental anxiety, and,perhaps, sorrows which come from the vain ef forts of the heart to create a paradise of pleasure away from duty, make th® cheek fade early and the eye lose it® luster in the morning, like sun that ?;oes behind clouds before noon. As or noble girls of 10, the Western con tinent is full of them. They are in the cities,in the villages, in the farm houses. We meet them on all streets, along all paths in the lone and lovely country. They are ready for all duty and hap piness, and constitute to us older and fading hearts the most beautiful and divine scene on earth. *.. ■ —w First Confederate Buttle Flags. From Mrs. Burton Harrison's‘‘Rec ollections of a Virginia Girl in theFirst Year of the War,” the following is tak en: ‘‘Another incident of note, in per sonal experience during the autumn of ’01, was that to two of my cousin® and to me was intrusted the making of the first three bat tie (lugs of the con federacy, directly after congress had decided upon a design for them. They were jaunty squares of scarlet crossed with (lark blue, the cross bearing stars to indicate the number of the seceding states. We set our best stitches upon, them, edged them with golden fringes, and when they were finished, dispatch ed one to Johnston, another to Beau regard, and thethird to Earl Van Dora. —the latter afterward a dashing cav alry leader, but then commanding in fantry at Manassas. The ban ners were received with all th® enthusiasm we could have hoped for; were toasted feted, cheered abundantly. After two years, when Van Dorn had been killed in Tennessee, mine came back to me, tattered and smokestained from long and honorable service in the field. But it was only a little while after it had been bestowed that there arrived one day at our lodgings in Cullpeper a huge, bashful Mississippi scout—-on® offtlie most daring in the army—with the frame of a Hercules and the face of ■ l . ■ 1 , I 1C (I 41 lilililun f A OAltlU filters® by bis general, he said to ask if I would not give him an order to fetch some cherished object from my dear old home—something that would prove to in® 'how much they thought of the maker of that lla#!’ after some hesitation, I acquiesced, nlllioTjdi thinking it a jest; V week later I wan the as ton inlied recipient of a lamented hit of finery left within the lines,’a wrap of white ami azure brought by Dillon bimseif, wit b a beaming face, lie bud gone through the I'ninn picket* liiountisl on a loud of firewood, and, while im (Idling poultry, bad presented bimseif at our town bouse, whence be curried oil bis prise in triumph, with a letter in its folds, telling us how rel atives left Isdiiml longed to Im sharing the joys and sorrow* of those at largo Ui the confederacy." Allen Thorndyk* lla-#, the propria tor of the North American Hvvlew, ie said to b® the fortunate jsmsesor of •a.OOO.UUO—a very comfortable sum to have at one * coin m,t n4 Sir. If ice knows how to use o to hi* own enjoy ment and t< *tn< enjoyment of otfu i * lie ie a young man. not ttS, it k aanl, with olive u*nq«l« »n«n, dark hrowit hair, targe hare) »n», H good slra%nt hum ami a **il t»ru*b«d, nines it •ward in . rbuitg bv Dial hu> to!lies alt) not have the appeal ale e of hating just cum* Iruat the tailor Mr Hu* t* a very bu*jr maw, for U-1-U-s lakmg care uf bta [ uvumjr he butks after the mierwwts ut the Sort it American Hevtew. engage® esttlkelnrt, ami when he ia In Near , York lake* entire < barge uf the editor 11*1 ftfwiiiunit wpuw hta »howlders.