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celled count tho cost erf their acoommo-
SMML He fcfsred * bed room nod sit.
ting room on UaethM loo*. Ibim u
old puin. «nd hli health 10 precartons that
WHuESSilds time indoors, leaving
Ummw only on the warm, dear days.
taw Mere) a few days, Um lady who had
1 111# .sol# of T r * mn f‘ immediately
1*1* )ift for the continent, tad
can engaged the## for# friend
t on the way to London. The
l Arrived, and two highly respectable
ntiemen way now Installed
other. The lint arrival—
> agy Mr. A—left a considerable ram of
’ anon. In i&«<n»i» bank notea. In the earn
ilnfthe manager of tbaboteL In the
i of aotne car mil conversation with
ansger, he subsequently save the
I to understand that ha was n Chi-
lwajr man of great wealth. The
r Man every reason to beltovs him,
. A, so far from trying to obtain
“ ; at the hotel, or to cash
igo, had deposited a quan-
Sy money In the safe, and paid
i each week without even drawing
Co Ab tnl -In doe coarse the manager
-learned that Mr. A'edaughter was about
• to be married, and Mr. A consulted him
, aa to where he ahonld go to hoy her
' * amOcieptly valuable, set of diamonda
ho he went by a rich man’s daughter,
•Who was 'marrying - another rich man.
V,' The mniiagcr, with his fat commission
iinrlCTr, arranged to go with Mr. A to
rwovof the largest Jeweler* in Bond street
’And assist him In selecting the stones. He
-was himself, he said, a connoisseur, and
Mr. A admitted that he knew very little
“*■—* -*■—landwxnd that his eyesight was
As luck would have it, Mr.
l grew worse dally, and the time
(d when he wanted to dispatch
i to Chicago without his having
twenablato'go to Bond street The man
ager ventured deferent tally to remind him
Of this, aniMr. A said that ho bad about
made np Ms anted .to let his business cor-
ssnandent In New York boy the stones at
Tiffany’s, even'll they were a little more
expensive than they would bo in London.
The manager .saw:that .little commission
«f his receding .toward the conversance
.Of rim lines of -perspective,.and proposed
to Mr. A that the man in Bond street
should send annnfi some stones for him
to look at. Mr. Aexpressed .a doubt as
to whether tha man would be dispoeed to
send round* large .assortment.of really
finagooda.
The manager eatd there -would be no
trouble about tha^nnd he himself went
round to see the jeweler, made .an .ar
rangement about tha percentage, which
was satisfactory to both parties, and the
jeweler promised not only to.send around
the best sets he had, hat likewise to get
a larger assortment on approval from the
diamond brokers, according to their .usual
practice, and submit those also.
It should he noted here that Me. A
had told the manager that he did not care
to much for enormously large stones as
for stones of great brilliancy—real old
Brasilian and Indian diamonds. His in
tention was to let his daughter have them
aetln such forms as she might herself
prefer, unless, Indeed, the jeweler should
happen to have something very striking
tn the way of hair ornaments, bracelets or
necklaces already set.
Tha man of Bond street was a good, old
fashioned, conservative west end trades
man. and when l.e saw what an enormous
sum the assortment of jewels which were
going to the hotel aggregated, instead of
■sending a man with them he went him
self, accompanied by a porter who carried
tha Imtlwrlmg containing the stones, and
who was, more as a matter of habit than
because any special precaution seemed
necessary, armed with one of those fearful
and wonderful English revolvers, which
are About as convenient to carry as an 80-
ton gun, and take about as long to cock
and fire. It was, Indeed, more because
the jeweler wanted to conduct the nego
tiation in person and nee Us own judg
ment as to how stiff a price he could insist
upon than beeanse he had any misgivings
about the good faith of the purchaser that
ho went to the hotel himself.
Arriving there, the manager accom
panied Um and his porter to Mr. A’s
room. Mr. A was reclining on a sofa be
fore the lire. The jeweler unlocked the
hag, which was chained round the porter’s
waist, and the manager removed a num
ber of books and papers from a small
table which stood by the sofa. On this
table the jeweler arranged a tempting dis
play of set and unset stones, worth In the
aggregate, at his prices, some £18,000, of
which he hoped to be ahle to sell about
one-fourth, judging from the way In
which the manager had spoken of his ens-
Now, what was the position of affairs?
Around the table were the jeweler Um-
self, Us armer porter and the manager of
tha hotel, a man of unimpeachable integ
rity. Aside from the prevumption that
Mr. A was a most highly respectable Indi
vidual, which in this case seemed to
amount to a moral Certainty, he was a
weak man, attenuated by long illness,
about which there could be no deception.
The odds were, in reality, far more than
three to one, and a pull at the bell would
have made them more than that. The
jeweler pointed to the various sets and
stones, stating their weight, character and
price; and in the instance of one superb
necklace telling Mr. A a curious history
of .the great nobleman who had been re
cently obliged to dispose of It among hie
fondly jewels. Mr. A listened with great
interest, and then said:
‘ill must be a nervous sort of business
handling these things. I should be afraid
ihe devil would fly away with them, I
think!”
The jeweler smilingly assured him that
-.0 did not worry very much about that,
any rate.
Me. A. tlien excused himself while he
'.tent into his bedroom a moment, remark-
iag that he expected a friend of his who
"• 7 qs in the hotel to come up there in a
moment, and wanted his advice in making
ilie selection.
As the door Closed beliind him, the
jjweler smiled at the manager and the
• lanager at the jeweler, The jeweler
t long tit of his profits and the manager
•nought of bjs commission.
A moment later then was a little noise,
like the sharp closing ot the lid at a box,
—• w - -
Shi'
r hours tha jeweler waa
of thi confidential in
quiry agents, who have frequently beea
described as “crooks'* agents,” and a few
days later be recovered the stones by pay
ing the broker £9,000. If be had gone to
the police instead of the broker he would
probably have never succeeded in bringing
the artists to justice and certainly would
have lost the stones' altogether. The po
lice have never haard anything about tha
operation. The manager had excellent
reasons for not advertising his own blon
der tn having been .hoodwinked, and, as
the jeweler had compounded a felony, he
certainly wanted to keep his month shut.
The Americans were, it need hardly he
said, first class artists. They had perhaps
in all invested £130 in the job, although
when their trunks came to be examined
they were found to contain an amaring
number of newspapers, which, with all
the respect In the world for the periodical
press, can hardly be regarded as valuable
xt— 1 in The English honk notes locked
in the safe, with the exception of one at
the top of the roll, were like the old Bank
of Elegance notes; they were some of a
quantity of advertisements having the
general appearance of bank notes which a
theatrical manager in Liverpool was In
discreet enough to distribute through the
streets of that city not long ago, and
which were seized by the police as soon as
they were called to their attention, but
a good many of which bgd found their
wayto London in the meantime. The
manager lind, of coarse, not scrutinized
the notes, as ho merely saw Mr. A put
them in an envelope and write his name
oti tt-.'
This is a story from the outside. How
let us look- at it from the inside. A few
days before the robbery Mr. A’s friend
had bought for him a carious antique
table, which Mr. A intended to take to
Atoeritef with them, and which, for the
time being,, be had in Ida sitting room,
covered with a cloth to prevent its being
scratched.
It was on this table that jhe diamonds
had been laid, and, as a matter of fact,
this table was the devil that flew away
with thaqt It had been made, or rather
remade, from a curious piece of old furni
ture by a manufacturer dt stage conju
rer’s appliances in Paris. It waa* small,
round topped table, and from the top it
sloped in .and titan spread ant to>
ward the floor, something like -the trunk
of a tree or an hoar glass without its
waist being ftaehad In vary tightly. The
top of the table was Inlaid, the pattern
consisting of a number of pie shaped
pieces and radiating from an enameled
medallion in tha middle. From .the top
to the floor the table wae hollow, when
tbs flat piece at the bottom of it was un
screwed and a lead weight which made it
as heavy as a solid table was removed..
Through this hollow there ran a stoat
piece of heavy fish line, fastened to the
under side of the medallion in the top of
the table.
Before the jeweler’s visit this medallion
had been replaced by a wooden ping, in
which waa set a little iron ring. On the
over side of the cloth a piece ot stoat
dogjtidu was securely glued and the ring
sewn to this. When the oonl was sharply
jerked the top of the table collapsed to
ward the middle, the pie shaped pieces
being binged at the outside and arranged
so that their paints would drop in when
the cord pulled down the ping. There
fore, when the cord was pulled the cloth
w*uld be drawn down into the hollow
pert of the table, wrapping in Itself what
ever bad been lying on it when the cord
was polled.
The two crooks bad quietly cut a hole
through the floor of Mr. A’s sitting room
and the ceiling in the room below as soon
as tbe two sitting rooms had been cleaned
up by tho hotel servants that morning.
In Mr. A’s room the hole was of coarse
concealed by the table, bat tbe room be
low had to he kept locked and unentered
during the pioming.
This the partner had easily arranged by
saying that he ifos writing tetters and did
not wish to be interrupted. When Mr. A
went into his bedroom from the Bitting
room he went ont of tbe bedroom door to
the corridor and down stairs to his part
ner’s room. His partner was in readiness,,
and when be knew it was time to act he
stood on a chair under the hole and held
his overcoat ready to catch the tablecloth
and . the. atones. Mr. A stood with the
cord in bis left hand and an open knife in
his right. Hs jerked the cord. His part
ner’s ulster received what it was waiting
for, and he' quickly cat the card dose up
to the doth.
The ulster was hastily doubled over its
contents, and with it on tbe partner’s arm
they walked quickly down the stairs and
were In the hansom before the people up
stain realized that the stones were gone;
and even when they saw that the top of
the table seemed to have fallen in it took
them a moment to discover that it was
not in that room that they must look for
the vanished diamonds. The two artists
must have got fully live minutes’ start,
and three minutes was all they needed to
be lost.—London Cor. San Francisco
Chronicle.
Tbe Uou Trade in London. *
Is the trade brisk in lions? Yes. The
week before last I sold one to the Antwerp
Zoological gardens for £200. Imported
forest bred lions are always worth their
money, boh those that are brought np in
gardens and menageries are not nearly so
valuable. They become stunted in their
growth and deformed. The system of
breeding lions in one family is responsible
for this degeneracy, and what should be
done is to mix the breed by means of im
ported lions. The principal source of sup
ply is Africa. The war in the Soudan put
a stop to tho traffic in them, but I can
still import plenty. A good male lion is
worth about £209, and the value of a
female is something like half that stun.—
Pail Moll Budget.
Suspects He Is a Yankee.
There’s a fellow, I think he is a Yan
kee, stopping at a boarding house not very
far from here, and I took dinner there
yesterday. This fellow sat next to me,
and everything went well until thedcsscrt
was brought in, when he asked for a fin
ger bowl. It was brought him. Sud
denly I heard a peculiar click, nnd, look
ing at mv friend, I saw him deliberately
remove his false teeth and drop them into
the finger bowl to be cleaned.—Cor.
Florida Herald.
bitterly. Upon a little taMe, drawn doee
to tbe side of tbe aaochys. clean napkin
bad bees placed ml two lighted tapers,
for they were awaiting the arrival of tbe
priest, coming to give extreme unrvisn
thst sdr ot despairing adtomr, peculiar
tbe chambers of the dying; rials of me
cine stood about open the furniture;
linens were heaped In tbe comes* either
the foot or the tooom, and tbe chairs,
ordered and huddled la groups, seemed
as A affrighted, asd .death was there,'*an-
The history«f these Osiers was a very
sad and touching cate, aid talked of for
and near through the neighborhood.
Suzanne, the eldest, had been devotedg
loved in her youth -by a young man, band-
some and good, and te whom she also was
much attached. They were ttancees aud
only watted the day fixed by the contract
to marry, when suddenly Henri de 6am-
ptaxe was taken ill sad died. The despair
of the young girl was frightful. She
swore that she would never marry, aud,
putting on tbe drees -of tbe widowed,
which she never again left off, Mile, tie
TheccHes kept her word.
One morning as she was sitting In her
room thinking sorrowfuBy of the trouble
that had fallen upon her so cruelly tbe
doon opened, nsd Marguerite, at that time
not yet 15 years of age, threw herself iute
her sister's arms, murmuring between
hersoUe “Bo not cry, Suzanne. Oh, do
not cry. ft breaks my heart .to see yon
grieve. Surely you will notary all your
life, for I—1 will uever leave yon; never.’.
Like you I will never many, bat remain
with you always. ’ ’
Suzanne embraced her tenderly,
touched to the heart by tbe d&d’.s devo
tion. Nevertheless, she did not believe
her; tbe day would <come to Marguerite
that had come to her—she would love,
and then she would be alone again.
Suzanne, however, was mistaken; years
passed on, and the little one held to hex-
word. In spite of the prayer* of ter fn~
rentaand the supplications of her sister she
resefntely refused to marry. Beautiful,
cliarnfing aud a general favorite among
tbe young men of the neighborhood, noth
ing aould alter her decision—she would
never qnit her sister.
Aud thus they , lined together side by
side in Inseparable iwwpwiionthip. But
Marguerite was always rod, more dejected
and melancholy, if possible, than Suzanne
herself. It seemed as if the sacrifice she
had made, sublime as it was, had literally
crushed her. She grew old faster than
her sister; her bair turned as white ns
snow before she was 80, and, constantly
suffering, she. seemed like one struck by
some strange disease which always preyed
upon her.
Now she was dying, and dying first. In
twenty-four hoars she had spoken but
once, and that only to <tsk for tne care.
“Bid him come,’* she whispered
hoarsely, “bid him come, and quickly.”
Suzanne had obeyed. Lying upon her
back, her haggard features drawn by
frightful spasms, her Ups moving without
uttering a souud, her eyes fixed and
sunken, Marguerite Ue ThereUes was
hideous to look upon. Sobbing bitterly,
Suzanne still knelt beside her.
Suddenly there was the noise of foot
steps on tbe stairs, a moment later a priest
in his surplice entered the room nnd
leaned above the dying woman. As soon
as she saw him she began to toss rest
lessly about the bed.
“God pardon yon, my child,” said the
old cure tenderly; “God pardon you and
give yon peace! The hour has come—you
must speak!” . ‘
Marguerite shuddered from head to
foot as she heard the cure's words. Again
and again she struggled to obey, bnt ber
voice broke and died away in a stilled
rattle.
“Sit by me, Suzanne,” she whispered
at last; “sit by me that yon tuay hear and
listen.”
Suzanne. astounded, rose to her feet
and seated herself beside her sister.
“God give them strength and send upon
them thy healing mercy,” said the old
cure solemnly, lifting the hands of thetwo
women and holding them in his own.
Then Marguerite began.
“Pardon me, Suzanne,” she cried;
“pardon your wretched sister. Ah, if yon
oonld only know how I have suffered, how
I have dreaded this boor, dreaded it aU
my life long!’’
“Pardon yon, my Uttle one!” Suzanne
repeated; “butwhatam I to pardon you
for? Have yon not sacrificed yourself'f or
me? Have yon not been an angel?”
“No, no,” said Marguerite wildly, “be
*Qent, I beg. I will tell yon all. It Is
frightful, frightful; but do not stop me.
Speak I must, even to the shameful end.
Do yon remember Henri, Snxanne?” ap
pealing abruptly to her' sister. Sazan uo
started and turned pole. Remember
Henri? Would she ever forget him?
“Yes,” she answered, “I remember
him.”
“He died,” continued Marguerite, “be
fore I was.15—yes, before I was 15. How
spoiled I was! How determined to have
my own wayl Bnt never mind that now;
let ns return to Henri. Yon remember,
do you not, the first time he came? It
was to bring ns news of father. I saw
him dismount from his horse. He waa so
handsome, so noble looking! I waited in
the corner of the salon all the time he was
talking. Children arajo strange, so ter
rible 1” she murmured, in tones of agony.
“After this he came almost every day. I
watched him always, always. I was for
more artfnl than yon knew, my sistor, for
I thought only of him, and, child as I was,
I loved him.
“When they told me he was going to
marry you it was a blovp—a blow so ter
rible that night after night l spent the
hours in cryiug that should have been
given to sleep. Yon remember, Suzanne,
that every morning after breakfast lleurl
■would come to spend the day With us, nnd
that frequently you made for him a plate
of thoso littlo cokes of which he was eo
extravagantly fond—I can see him eating
them now, and afterword drinking a gloss
of wine.
As the day for your marriage ap
proached, how jealous I became—how
terribly, cruelly jealr.i-sl At last, abouta
fortnight ljcfore the wedding tlay, 1 think
I must have lost my senses. ‘He shall
never marry,’ I said to myself; ‘above aU,
he shall never marry Sr-vaune!’
“One evening, a day or two before the
him—to
•Once,” continued Marguerite, draw
ing her breath la sheet, quick gasps, “I
had eee* the gardener preparing what be
told me were ‘ballets'for stray doge that
wet tbe chateau at night and dam
aged his plants. They were simply little
balls <ot meat, mixed with glass, the frag
ments c* an old kettle pulverized to a
powder. -
**L too, had an <dd bottle that came
front tbe drnggdriX and, crushing it with
a hammer, 1 concealed tbe guttering par
ticle* In the pocket of my drees.
"“Tbe next day, -when you made as
usual Henri’s Uttle plate at cakes, I sum-
aged, without poor seeing tne, to break
them open aud qprinkie them with the
P«tnded glass. Henri ate several -of
them; I ate one; the rest I threw away.
I, tbsaigh always suffering, escaped with
my Ufa Henri died.
•“Ah, my sister, my sister, how I have
suffered! What agonies ot pain, what
tonmwnte ot remorse! 'But 1 wfll never
leave Suzanne,’ I said to inyself. ‘I wiU
watt on her, < will love her, and on my
dyhtg bed I wtBfceU her alL* This mo
ment has been always before me. Morn
ing and night I have thought of the time
•when I most tell pan this terrible secret
—of the time, whem-dead, I would hove to
meet him. Pardon me, Suzanne, pardon
me, I beseech jon. Beg her, Mous. le
Core, teg her tong that she pardons me.
Iptmuot, I daze not die without it!”
Marguerite was silent; she conhl speak
no more, bnt lay with her eyes upon her
sister’s face, the wasted fingers picking
and scratching at the:sheets.
.-Suzanne did not move; like a figure ot
stone she sat with her head bowed upon
her breast^ the foeeot the man she loved,
the happy days that -might have been
-spent with him, rising -before her in a sad
•zeriew. Andffhcse memories of the cher
ished dead, how they lore her tortured
heart!
Suddenly the old care .-started to his
feet. “Mite. Suzanne."* said he in n voice
strong and vibrating, -your ulster is
dying; is she to go without the mercy
which God himself has not-refused her?”
Far* moment Suzanne hesitated; then
tlirewmg herself upon her knees beside
the-conch of Marguerite, she clasped her
In her arms, murmuring between passion-
Ate kfam .
“I pardon thee, my Uttle one; with all
my heart I pardon thee!’ ’—Translated for
The Cincinnati Enquirer from the French
of Gay de Maupassant by E. C. Wag-
gener. ' -
A Darfog Reporter's
I knew of * city editor who had a pet
bugaboo to score off flash young applicants
, for positions o* Ida staff. Whenever one
would present himself the C. E. would _
sign him to write np the “City HoU Cel
lar.** About twenty-five graduates, each
of wfiom was imbued with the idea that he
was nn embryo Dickens, were scared away
liy that apparently hopeless task.- Some
never attempted it, and those who did
were unable to puss tbe watchman who
guarded entrance to tbe mysterious place
aud never permitted strangers to pass.
Otic day a commonplace looking young
man came along and mode tbe usual ap
plication. He was not a college bred, and
it was supposed that the bugaboo would
scare the reportorial idea out of him In
stouter. In about an hour after he bad
been given an assignment^ returned and
wrote quite.nn interesting article upon
the appearance of the cellar, the roanuer
in which it was being utilized, and what
use its various compartments would be
put to in the future. When asked how
he got into the cellar he replied: “I low
ered myself down through a coal hole by
means of a rope and bribed tbe engineer
to show me around for a couple of good
cigars.” The young man was engaged
immediately, nnd is a reporter on a prom-
incut daily paper in this city to-day. The
lity editor had to secure a new bugaboo,
and has never qnito forgiven the young
man lor despoiling him of his pet scare
crow.—-“Observer” in Philadelphia Call.
* A Few New Definition*.
Music—A polite art which serve* its
highest usefulness as a stimulus to con
versation.
Duty—An obligation that rests entirely
npon one’s neighbor.
Advice—A superfluous article which
everybody Is eager to give away, bnt no
one cares to receive.
Consistency—A jewel which frequently
needs resetting.
News—Old women’s gossip; ealocions
scandal nnd secrets of domestic qnd con
jugal life; anything in the way of rumor
that does not relate to public affairs.
Civility—An ancient form of behavior,
popular in feudal times, but unsuited to
the exigencies of modern civilization.
Artist—A man of subtle (esthetic per
ceptions who obtains proficiency in some
such useful art as hair dressing or negro
minstrelsy.
l’oetry—Any metrical composition
whose merit is unrecognized by the aver
age magazine editor.
Economy—A habit of life which ena
bles a woman to save money in her do
mestic expenditures in order that her hus
band may keep np his end at tbe dub.
Culture—The pursuit ot social folly
having its origin la the love of singular
ity.—Life.
A Leek of Ooethe’a Hate.
In tbe collection of the Goethe-Carlyle
correspondence just published there is one
episode of ludicrous interest not altogether
without its pathetio side. It is that in
which Mrs. Carlyle, in the year 1829, sent
Goethe a lock ot her hair, “concerning
which I am to say,’’ writes Thomas,
“that except to her husband she never
did tbe like to any man.” In exchange
she begged for a lock ot Goethe’s hair, and
this “for the heart that honestly loves
yon.” “I, too,” wrote the husband,
“hope that you will do so much.” Goethe,
who was then in his 81st year, found him
self in a painful predicament, which he
thus explained: “The incomparable lock
of hair almost alarmed me. The contrast
was too striking, for I did not need to
touch my skull to become aware that only
stubble was left there; nor was it neces
sary for me to go to the looking glass to
learn Uiat a long flight of time had given
it a disconsolate look. The impossibility
of making the desired return smote my
heart and forced thougfits upon me which
one usually prefers to banish. In the
end, however, nothing remained for me to
do but content myself with the reflection
that such a gift was to be most thank
fully received without hope cf any ade
quate requital. ’’—Chicago Herald.
The amount of chocolate annually con
sumed is 60,009,000 pounds, the market
list being headed by France.
Amt ■»«* UN *lr •
AndaelkWMMdi
Why ara their aaoc* tod
bit that each a menace caocht
Aa o'er the atactec wire* weak!
For ha who Cre
''Sweetheart, to wed! Sweetheart.
“Thrloeobdead! Thylotoladeodr
—Wank Dmatwter Sherman to OouMpoScia.
SLOW AND SURE.
James Iingsrd. an old and solid city
merchant, had in hie employ two neph
ew*. who had every opportunity of study
ing in the coanting room the secret ot a
successful business career. These were
John Warren aud Stephen Grey. Both
attained the age of 25 the same year, and
both on the first of May were summoned
into Mr. Ungard’s presence. He thus
addressed them:
“Yon have been in my employ eight
yean: you know how my busineee U
conducted, and I consider you competent
to manage a business of your own.
Though I should be glad to retain you
longer as clerks, I will not stand in the
way of your advancement. I have
placed to the credit of each of. you, at
my banker’s, tile sum of £5,000. This
will supply you with a sufficient
for embarking in business. With econo
my in your personal expense*, and pru
dent and judicious management, yon
will succeed. Success to your
This was a long speech for tbe old
merchant, yet after a moment’s pause be
added:
“I have one thing more to say. This
Is all I purpose to rlo for you. Yea have
five times the capital I started with, and
with it you must sink or swim. You
have my best hopes and wishes, hut need
look for no farther pecuniary aid.*
His nephews thanked him heartily,
and at once took measures to go into
business. John Warren securedamodeat
Shop at a moderate rent, and determined
to do business oo a cash basis, contenting
himself with such a stock as his own
capital would' buy. He made his pur
chases judiciously, and oveelooked every
; detail of his business personally.
Stephen Grey had larger ideas. He
hired a sliop at three times the tent,
pushed his credit to the utmost, and
made a great show at the outset.
Both young men were engaged, and
both soon married. Here, again, a differ
ence was manifested.
John Warren hired a small, neat cot
tage just out of London, and furnished
it in a cheap, inexpensive manner. One
servant only was employed, who together
with a boy to ran errands, was found
sufficient for a small establishment. But
Stephen Grey tamed np his nose at the
cottage, and hired a city house at four
times the rent, which, of course, re
quired more servants and a larger scale
ot expenditure.
“Fra not going to live like a pauper,"
be said loftily.
“But can you afford such a house.
Stephen?" asked his cousin.
“My badness profits wfll be much
greater than yours,” be answered. “I
begin where you will be five yean
hence.” '
“Perhaps so,” said John shrewdly;
“bqt when will you be then?”
“Don’t fear for me." said Stephen con
fidently: ‘Tin ashamed of you for not
showing more enterprise. You’ve im
mured yourself in an obscure . shop,
where you will do next to no business.”
“I don't know about that. I’d rather
be slow and sure. It's better to hug the
shore than get: wrecked in mid-ocean.”
“Perhaps so, but I know I am on the
way to fortune. Ten years from now I
shall have turned my five thousand
pounds into a hundred thousand, while
you may possibly have fifteen.”
“I see you are not to be convinced.”
“Nor yon, I suppose.”
“No, my motto is, ‘slow and sore.’ *
“And mins, ‘nothing venture, nothing
have.’”
“Y.'cll, the future can akrne decide
which of ns is right.”
So the two cousins separated.
I am bound to confess, though my
own feeling is that John waa right, that
circumstances seemed to justify Ste-
plien in his course. It so happened that
the particular classes of goods of which
be had bought so largely, rose rapidly,
owing to a state of thiags which needn’t
be explained, and ‘as his stock waa
large, his profits were also very large.
Indeed, notwithstanding his personal ex
penses were three times as great as his
cousin’s, his balance sheet showed, at
the end of the year, a clear profit of
£3,000. In other words, he had doubled
his capital, and was now worth £19,000.
John had profited, too, by the rise, but
on account of the more limited extent of
his business, advanced to but £8,000.
But with this he was well pleased, ami
counted himself fortunate.
“How about our different matters?”
said Stephen one day about this time, in
rather an exulting tone, to his cousin.
“I have no reason to complain of mine,”
said John, “it has served me well.”
“But not so welf as mine.”
“It is hardly time to feel sure of that
yet,” said John.
“I don't agree with you. I shall keep
on os I have begun. Indeed, I shall ex
tend my operations. I am in treaty for
a larger store, and”
“For a larger store?” exclaimed John,
surprised.
“Yes; it may suit you to poke along at
a snail’s pace, but I boost a little more
enterprise.”
“You can’t expect things will always
“It is too large for me.” h*
am not yet ready to enlarge to’
tfc>ns beyond my present limit,"
“Weil, it's good ad vies I'm giving
yon. whether you take it or not."
“I’ve no doubt you think so, Stephen
I hope you will meet with no reverses to
shake your faith in your motto.”
So the two cousins again separated,
and each continued to do business in hie
own way. Not only did Stephen In
rtf r Mfi Ire amisame* eXDetUM bv O06KDT
Inga store at a higher rent, requiring an
additional number of decks, but he alar,
moved into a larger bans* and set np «
But circumstances still favored Ste
plum, Th# rlfi hi prtr# rontfnufwt. ihoagL
not toas great an extent, and M» stock
being larger, ho cleared another five
pnnfylf> H* began fco think oi
Mwwtif mirtntincOflei W lucky,**d is
no danger of any reverses. But at tbe
end of the third year, which, was ieet
favorable, he burefy hekl his own. Still,
he waa worth fifteen thousand pounds.
The tide had turned, and hotbould have
taken in Bail. Bnt this ho saw noneces
sity for doing. So foe two- years longer
he kept on his way. In tint time- goods
fell very considerably. His stock was
very largo, and his losses afco-vury large.
His property bad shrunk to eight thou
sand dollars, while John's had increased
to uine thousand, and ho waa now the
richer of tho twa John how felt author
ised in renting a somewhat larger shop,
while Stephen remained in hi* own.
I shall not be able, no*-would it be in
teresting, to detail tho varying fortunes
of the succeeding years. Suffice it to
my, that at the end ot ten years John
was worth fifteen thousand pounds, and
waa carrying oo a sate and profitable
business. Stephen found himself at a
paint where failure was inevitable unless
be oould obtain tbe immediate use of ten
thousand pounds. His personal extra va
gancs and ill judged expansion may ao-
count for tblw,
frt this dilemma be bethought himself
of bis uncle. He made Ids way to the
well knosm counting toom, and was
shown Into Mr, Iiogard's private room.
“I hope everything- Is going well,
Stephen,” said the merchant.
“O yes,” said Stephen, “that is, pretty
welL But, to tell the truth, I’m In
tight place just at present.”
“Indeed: I'm sorry to hear it."
“You see my operations ere pretty
large, and I am afraid I shall have to
suspend unless I con raise tea. thousand
pounds within a week.”
“That’s a large sum.”
“Well, my business is large.'
“What do you estimate your stock at?”
“Twenty thousand pounds,"
“Will ten thousaud pounds set you
free entirely?”
“No," said Stephen reluctantly. “I
have bills to theamouutof eight thou
sand more maturing in six months.”
“Deducting the proper margin, it is
doubtful if your assets equal your liabili
ties.”
“A loan of ten thousand pounds would
give me a chance to right myself. Will
you come to my help. Mr. LiugardT"
The old gentleman shook his head.
“Frankly, no. I resolved when I start
ed you in business to leave you to your*
self without further help. Observing
how you started, 1 foresaw how, things
would turn nut. You have hold out
longer than 1 anticipated.'
“Then wlrnt mn l to do. air?” asked
Stephen, gloomily.
“1 advise you to call your creditors
and make a frank statement. If they
allow you to go on, contract your opera
tions, take a smaller store, and begin
over again. \t you prefer, however, I
will give you a clerkship at five hundred
pounds salary. I presume my partner
will not object.”
“Your partner, sir? Have you *»l««
oner
“Yes, I find I am getting old and need,
rest” >
“May I ask who he is?”
“It Is John Warren.”
Stephen sprung to his feet in amaze
ment, anger and envy, John Warren to
be placed so far above his head!
“Why is this?” be asked in an un
steady voice. * •
“It is because John Warren is a good,
reliable business man. Had yon shown
the same good judgment, sagacity and
moderation I should have taken you
also into partnership; bat I tell. you
frankly, I cannot trust my business in
your hands.”
Stephen left tho office abruptly, angry
and mortified. Ho was glad eventually
to accept the clerkship, being utterly!
wrecked in business. John Warren is
at this time, his uncle being deceased,:
the head of the great firm, and a very rich
man. Stephen is a disappointed man,:
but he has only himself to thank for it,
—Horatio Alger, Jr., in Yankee Blade; |
Population in tho South. !
Recently gathered statistics show that
the present population of the southern
spates is 19,489,150, aagHinst 14.638,838
in 1880,being an increase in ten years in
the whole sonth of over 83 per cent The
white population of the sonth has in
creased a.little over 3,200,000, being now
12,218,430, while tho colored population
shows an increase in ten years of about
1,600,000, being at this time 7,270,720.—
Frank Leslie’s Newspaper.
■ - !
Wnj of tho Transgressor Te Hard.
Wilson (who calls on Tommy’s sister)—
How did you get that bump on your fore
head, Tommy? 5S 3
Truthful Tom
and sister through (
night, and I struck i_
door knob.—Yankee.
mtmBM
H
