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very mysterious manner, “and if you knew
what I know—”
“And what do you know about my
friend that I do not know?” I said, begin
ing to lose my patience.
“Take the Niagara, for instance.”
“The what?” I exclaimed.
“The Niagara!” he repeated.
“What do you mean? "What is the
Niagara?”
“Oh, I know very well what I mean I
The Niagara is—well it is the Niagara.”
Joe had succeeded in exciting my curi
osity, if that had been his onject. As I
looked at him I could only come to the
conclusion that if he was not losing his
senses, he was entertaining me with some
creation of his prolific brain.
“See here, Joe, will you explain what
you are trying to get at?”
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked, ig
noring my question.
I shrugged my shoulders with annoy
ance; my patience was at an end. My
manner, which was not wholly free from
contempt, seemed to hurt Joe’s feelings.
“Maybe you think I do not know what
I am talking about, but I can convince
you.”
“It will take more than mere words to
make me believe any such stuff as you
have been telling me.”
“Come, then, and see for yourself!” he
exclaimed ; and taking a key from one
of his pockets he went hurriedly towards
my friend’s private room. In another
moment he had unlocked its door and,
opening it to its fullest extent, he stood on
the threshold as he pointed towards the
rear of the room, in an attitude that was
highly dramatic.
I looked in the direction in which he
pointed, and saw, stuck upon the wall, a
large sheet of paper upon which was a
drawing, made in ink. Notwithstanding
the fact that I knew I was committing an
act of impropriety in thus prying into my
friend’s private affairs, my curiosity was
such that I could not restrain myself. I
went quickly up to within a few feet of
the drawing and examined it. It appear
ed to me to be nothing more than a fishing
float, such as is used in angling, drawn
perhaps twenty times its usual size.
“Well,” said I, looking inquiringly at
Joe, “what has that got to do with my
friend’s loss of reason?”
“Don’t you see what it says on the top
of it?”
“Certainly it says Niagara', but what
then ?”
Joe seemed to grow angry at my want
of penetration. He ran close up to the
drawing,and with a rapidity of speech I had
never thought him capable of, he went on,
his index finger in turn touching each
component part of it.
“You see this top is on hinges, and opens
and shuts as the lid of a trunk; this sticking
out of the top is a tube to let the air into
the inside; these rounds are bull’s eyes of
glass a foot below where the lid closes, so
tight that nothing can penetrate the in
terior; this band just above the bull’s eyes,
or windows,is to be of rubber, which, upon
being inflated with air will expand in
shape, like a life preserver; these two pad
dles, one on each side, in shape like the fins
of a fish, are to be used to propel it back
wards or forwards; this ball at the bot
tom is to be of solid iron, for the purpose
of keeping the machine in a perpendicu
lar position ; to this ring here, on the side
just below the lid, is to be attached the
rope that holds the anchor; the inside is
to be lined with thick woollen stuff heavily
padded with curled hair—” he paused to
take breath, and looked at me with staring
eyes, as if in wonder that his words did
not affect my calmness; for, beyond the
indisputable fact that the drawing was
treated in a masterly way, I could see
nothing in it, or in Joe’s vivid description,
to justify his fears in regard to my friend.
“But what on earth has all this got to do
with Inigo’s loss of reason?” 1 asked,
making a movement towards the door.
“Do you not see I” he exclaimed as he
held me back by taking my arm with one
hand, while with the other he pointed to
the drawing in a manner more excited
than ever, “that that is an invention for
going through Niagara Falls ? Do you
not understand that this being drawn to a
scale of one quarter of an inch to the foot,
the other one will be just four times the
size of this one and that it will easily hold
four persons ?”
“The other one! what other one?” I
asked, quite bewildered.
“Why the one that the boss is having
constructed —the one that he is going to
make the first trial in himself —the one
which he claims will render the shooting
of the falls a delightful pleasure trip !”
Before I could get over my great as
tonishment the noise of ascending foot
steps on the stairs was distinctly heard.
“Quick, quick, the boss is coming back,”
said Joe, pulling me out of the room and
then locking the door.
Joe’s words proved true, In another
moment the studio door flew open with
great violence, and Inigo entered, with
anger depicted on every line of his pale
features. He took off his hat with an
angry jerk, and banged it down on the
drawing table with such force that it sent
pencils and brushes and papers flying all
over the floor.
He was too angry to speak; he paced
up and down the room, his eyes darting
wild, passionate glances. Poor Inigo I
how sorry I was for him. After all his
work, his enthusiasm, his hopes, to be so
suddenly, cruelly disappointed ! I saw
clearly that Joe’s information had proven
but too true.
“The work is gone then ?” I asked my
friend when he appeared to be a little less
excited.
“Gone ? gone ? Oh yes, of course it is
gone I” and stopping right before me, his
eyes flashing with anger, he recounted to
me in loud, vehement tones how ill fortune
had always followed him relentlessly
through his miserable life! Then he spoke
of his present disappointment. He would
never more place any faith in the promises
of the rich; he had ever worked and toiled
for them, to surround them with what is
beautiful and true. For what ?
He had been asked to get up their de
sign ; he had spent much time and patience
upon it; his idea had been admired and
warmly approved by the lady who had
ordered it; the work had been given to
him; the lady had promised that no one
but him should doit; and then, without
a word of warning, without any reason,
she had cruelly, heartlessly given the work
to some one else! Perhaps to some man
who was not even a painter ! Oh it was
enough to make a man go mad!
Then he directed his words against all
those who had of late years come into the
profession. He was loud and bitter in his
arraignment of those men who, with noth
ing but audacity and humbug, backed up
with other people’s money, were gradually
and surely driving the legitimate decora
tive artist from the field ! “What kind of
art could such men ever give creation to?
Men whose sole ambition was money?
Men who did not know that decorative
art had any other mission on earth than
that of filling their pockets?
“Shame I shame! on those to whom the
creator had given the means to encourage
art, to permit such a crime! Shame I
shame ! to the press of the land which did
not cry against such a desecration of art
principles 1 But neither the former or the
latter'bad any real sympathy for true art I
They whose solemn duty it was to en
courage only what was true and elevating,
chose rather to encourage harlequin
istic effects, and tin and putty smeared
over with cheap bronzes and what not?
Such, and such alone, was received with
open arms, and the crafty men who were
responsible for all this were paid with
ridiculous generosity, while the true
artist, looking for nothing beyond the ele
vation of his art, the man content to work
night and day to surround his wealthy
fellow beings with his best efforts, he
who gladly devotesjhis life,” he cried in the
climax of his rage, as he suddenly grasped
his design from the drawing table, “to pro
duce such work as this—he, I say, can go
to the dogs for all the rich care!” and
seizing one corner of the design, he tore it
madly from the board upon which it was
gummed and then flung both to the floor.
Joe and I, who had divined his rash in
tention at the same instant, it seemed,
sprang simultaneously towards him, but
not quick enough, alas! to prevent its con
summation. Just as I was remonstrating
with my friend for his abject folly, and
Joe had begun to put things to rights,
we heard the noise of heavy footsteps
coming in the direction of the studio door.
Was it a policeman, I thought,sent by some
of the tenants to discover if some violent
altercation was not in progress ? The
footsteps stopped at the door; then followed
a number of unceremonious knocks upon
it, such as might be given by the knuckles
of a tough hand.
TO BE CONTINUED.
It has been said: “The fireside is a
seminary of infinite importance.” Few can
receive the honors of a college, but all are
graduates of the home. The learning of
the university may fade from the recollec
tion, its classic lore may moulder in the
halls of memory, but the simple lessons of
home impressed upon the heart of child
hood, defy the rust of years, and outlive
the more mature but less vivid pictures of
after years. Those of you who are best
acquainted with the world, or who have
read most extensively the histories of men
will allow that, in the formation of charac
ter, the most telling influence is the early
home. It is that home which often in
childhood has formed beforehand our
most celebrated heroes, our most devoted
missionaries, and indeed, the faitfifql toil
ers in all worthy vocations,
WOMAN’S WORK.
Fer Woman’s Work.
ANSWERING AN ADVERTISE
MENT.
Two girls sat in their bed-room in the
sleeping department of a large boarding
school. The rain was falling heavily out
side, and the occupants of the room looked
listless and disconsolate.
Maria Lewis sat by the window, idly
looking at a newspaper in her hand. Kate
Somers was beside the fire, with an un
read book upon her lap. Presently she
got up, and yawning wearily, came to the
window and gazed out at the muddy
street.
“It’s too provoking,” she said. “Here
it is, the only day in the week on which
we are allowed to go out, and it must pour
down all day, just to keep us indoors. It is
enough to anger a saint.”
“And Kate Somers is no saint,” said
Maria Lewis.
“No, and don’t want to be,” answered
Kate. “I’m just dying for some fun. I
wish something would happen to make
a break in this horrible old school life.”
“As to that, so do I,” replied Maria.
“I feel o that if this day after day obedi
ence to rules and consciousness of being
all the time watched, lasts much longer,
I’ll stagnate or petrify or some
thing—l don’t know what,” said Kate,
with more force than elegance, as she
watched a wet pedestrian tramp along the
sidewalk.
“I’d be willing to trudge all the way
from here to Jericho in the rain, to hear
something beside the tiresome prating of
the teachers about propriety and improve
ment.” Kate’s eyes fell casually upon the
paper in Maria’s hand as she finished her
complaint. Her face brightened with in
terest as she read.
“Why Maria,” she cried, “here’s the
very thing, and I don’t have to go out
into the rain to do it, either.”
“ What is it?” asked Maria.
“Look and see.” Kate pointed to a
card in the advertising column, and then
read aloud:
“A young gentleman wishes to enter into
correspondence with a young lady for mutual
amusement. Address Harry.”
“Would you dare do it, Kate?” asked
Maria, startled.
“O! I’ll answer through the paper. It
is in the reading room every day. I’ll
just sign ‘Kate,’ and nobody will be the
wiser. It will be lots of fun.” . So, with
out a moment’s thought she sat down and
answered the advertisement, bribing the
housemaid with a small present to mail
the letter. For a few days the girls
scanned the paper eagerly, every morning.
At last they saw:
“Harry has received Kate’s answer. She will
please tell where a letter must be sent to her.
Harry.”
The girls carried the paper to their
room, a little embarrassed how to proceed.
Maria was frightened and wanted the
whole affair stopped, but Kate vowed the
fun had just begun.
“You know the little dressmaker around
the corner, who does our sewing,” she said
to Maria. “We are allowed to go there
once a week to carry the clothes we wish
mended or altered. I’ll write to him to
send the letters there. It’s only a little
fun,” she urged to the evidently uneasy
Maria. “I can stop it any time I wish,
and nobody will be hurt.”
So the answer was sent, and the girls
waited until the next afternoon they were
permitted to go to the dressmaker.
She was by no means a suitable associate
for them. Herself ignorant and romantic,
she entered readily into the plan of re
ceiving and delivering the letters. The
first one was already in her hands—an
epistle full of poetry and high sounding
phrases, and reading very much as if
copied from "The Model Letter Writer."
The three read together, Miss Pinson,
the dressmaker, declaring it “was just too
lovely for anything.” Kate took the let
ter home, replying to it and again receiv
ing the services of the maid in mailing it.
As this went on for some time the maid
soon came to own nearly everything in
the way of ribbons, laces, etc., which Kate
possessed, her demands growing more ex
tortionate with each request for aid and
secrecy.
Each letter that came contained less and
less of “the Letter Writer,” and more and
more of Harry, himself, as he became
bolder. At last there came a photograph
of a flashily gotten up young man with an
unmistakable air of vulgarity, and with it
a request that “Kate” should send hers in
return.
Even Kate did not need Maria’s earnest
protestations to keep her from doing that,
but with a thoughtlessness which could
not be excused, she took from her album a
picture of one of the teachers, and sent it,
laughing gleefully at the thought of what
Harry would say when he saw the wither-
ed face and corkscrew curls. When next
the girls went to Miss Pinson’s for a letter
she told them there was none.
“But O !” she said in a flutter of delight,
“Harry has been here himself, and he is
the most beautiful young man you ever
saw, with such lovely clothes and rings
and a diamond breast-pin. He says he
knows that wasn’t the picture of the girl
who writes to him, and he was real mad
with you for sending it.”
Then she began an earnest talk with the
girls, which, although there was no one to
hear it besides themselves, she felt im
pelled to utter in a whisper. The amount
of it was that Harry had determined upon
seeing the Kate of his letters, and before
the girls left she had secured a promise from
Kate to meet Harry at her house the next
Friday afternoon. Maria, though vowing
never to betray Kate’s escapade, was too
frightened to take any part in it. -
“I think it has gone far enough, Kate.
I am afraid you will get into trouble.”
“O! no,” laughed Kate. “Besides, this is
the last of it. I know ‘Harry’ is some
green, awkward youth, who will be fright
ened to death when he sees me. I’ll just see
him once, and then turn him over to Miss
Pinson. She’s evidently in love with
him.”
At the appointed time Kate was in Miss
Pinson’s parlor, that lady waiting with
nervous delight for the coming of her hero.
Kate smiled as she thought of the timid
youth she expected to meet, and at whose
greenishness she would find vast amuse
ment. The door opened and Miss Pinson
ushered in, not a timid, awkward youth,
but a bold looking man, who, advancing
to Kate, seized her hand and exclaimed
with mock adoration:
“At last, at last, the Kate of my
dreams!”
The amazed and thoroughly frightened
girl wrenched away her hand, rushed from
the room and out of the house.
At an unfortunate time, she thought, but
perhaps a most fortunate one for her fu
ture good. The maid, irritated at Kate’s
refusal to accede to some of her demands,
had betrayed the whole matter to the princi
pal of the school, and told where Kate was
in the habit of going. Accompanied by
.another teacher she had hastily gone in
search of the misguided girl, to meet her
just as she ran from the house. She was
taken home, and no excuses or protestations
on the part of Kate or her friend Maria
availed to prevent Kate being sent from
school.
The principal believed that the girl had
meant no wrong, but wisely concluded
that she who could be so easily led into
imprudence, had best be at home under
the control of her parents.
Kate had said lightly that it would all
be fun and no one would be hurt. Apart
from the injury to herself, there was a
wrong done the innocent teacher whose
photograph she had sent away.
The man, who was an adventurer and a
well-known gambler, was one day exhibit
ing the picture in a spirit of ridicule, when
it chanced that some one knowing the
lady, recognized it and reported the mat
ter to the principal of the school.
Only by the man being compelled
through threats to tell how the picture
came into his possession was she enabled
to escape blame and retain her position in
the school.
M. E. 8.
One fretter can destroy the peace of a
family, can disturb the harmony of a
neighborhood, can unsettle the councils of
cities, and hinder the legislation of na
tions. He who frets is never the one who
mends, who heals, whorepairs evils ; more,
he discourages, enfeebles, and too often
disables those around him, who, but for
the gloom and the depression of his com
pany, would do good work and keep up
brave cheer. The effect upon a sensitive
person of the mere neighborhood of a
fretter is indescribable. It is to the soul
what a cold, icy mist is to the body—more
chilling than the bitterest frost, more
dangerous than the fiercest storm. And
when the fretter is one who is beloved,
whose nearness of relation to us makes his
fretting, even at the weather, seem almost
like a personal reproach to us, then the
misery of it becomes indeed insupportable.
Most men call fretting a minor fault, a
foible, and not a vice. There is no vice
except drunkenness, which can so utterly
destroy the peace, the happiness of a
home.— H. H.
A silent look of affection and regard
where all other eyes are turned coldly
away—the consciousness that we possess
the sympathy and affection of one being
when all others have deserted us—is a
hold, a stay, a comfort in the deepest
affliction, which no wealth could purchase
or power bestow,
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