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VOLUME VII. PROFESSIONAL CARDS. Lawyer*. ROBERT A. MASSEY, Attorney at Law> Douglasville, Ga. (Office in front room, Dorsett's building.) Will practice anywhere except in the County Court of Douglas county. yy a. james, Attorney at Law, Douglasville, Ga. Will practice in all the courts, State and Federal. Office on Oourt-honse Square. yyM r. Roberts, Attorney at Law, Douglasville, Ga Will practice in all the courts. All legal bus iness will receive prompt attention. Office in court-houoe. 0 D. CAMP. Attorney atlaw, Civil Engineer and Surveyor. • Douglasville, Ga. g Q. GRIGGS, Attorney at Law, Douglasville, Ga Will practice in all the courts. State and Federal. JOHN M. EDGE, Attorney at Law, Douglasville, Ga. Will practice in all the courts, and prompt y attend to all business entrusted to his care. J ». JAMES. Attorney at law, Dougiast ille, Ga. Will practice in the courts of Douglas, Camplx li, Douglasville, Ga. Doctors. pn. T. B. WHITLEY, Pbywiaian and Surgeon. Douglasville, Ga. Special attention to Surgery and Chronic die eaacif in either sex. Office up stair* in Domett’s brick building, p & VERDERY, Physician and Surgeon. Office st Hudson A Edge’s drugstore, where he can Im* found at all hours, except when profeNdoually Special attention given to Chronic uaxes, and especially all cases that have been treated and are still uneured. JanlK ’HS ly J B. EDGE, Physician and Snrgoen. Chronic diseases of all kind given special attention. Office at the Drugstore of Hudson A Edge, Hoard street, Douglasville, Ga. Den ist. !J R. COOK, Dental Surgeon. Has located in Douglasville. Twenty years' experience. Dentiatry in all it* brane Uh* dons tn the most approved style. Office over post office. Painter. Fp 8. BUTLER. House Painter, Douglasville, Ga. Will make old furniture look as well a* new. Give him a trial in this line. Will also do house carpeaterinn work. Buret in the Water. On the 28th of October, 1840. pcr- NM present at the Northport camp* ground, in W» do County, saw a me teorite fall into the water near (bo vamp. As it fe I it burst into fragments, or that was the conclusion drawn bv those who wit e*s *d its desc uL Search w;i* mask at the time for fragments, but none were then ivuud, the tide at all time covering the spot where the meteorite struck the w ater. Two yearit ago one who witnessed the fall agaiu made the -earvh, and >ome *ma I frag ments were recovered. Fro<n time to time t e search ha« tn-eu continued and other fragment' base lx* u brought to light, on ’ of »h ch wa* considerately wnt to Protestor F. C. Kobin-on, of Bowdola College. More recotly quite a large mat*, weighing perhaps twenty pounds, wm ncoifirJ* and this mass Pru’easor Robinson has now in his pos •eestoa, mm bto ni* gratification. Ho will proceed to analyte it—JfruntsricA (Ataowj T.itgritph. The Wee HR 1 Star. 1 Bereft. Touch with thy virgin lips these flowers; then twi Them in thy hair and lay them on thy breast. Among them thou wilt weave this heart of mine. And near thine own it lovingly may rest. Thus for an hour my bliss shall be supreme; And, dreaming in thy smile, I may forget That as these flowers fade so ends my dream, So fades my hope, and thou hast no regret. Ye blossoms pure! return her stainless kiss; Your fragrant breath give to her sweeter sighs; Her haughty soul entrance till radiant bliss Reveals the love look in her joyful eyes. O cruel raaid! cold art thou as one dead With whom my love eternal lieth urned. Thou vanished star! whose light my spirit led. But not a spark of all its warmth returned. Some day, perchance, in dreams thou wilt re call A sweet remembrance of my love and woe. And say: “I was bis queen and be my thrall. My knightly lover in the long ago.” These parting flowers—then but a faded wreath— The emblem of my withered heart will be; Their perfume and its passion lost in death. Gone like the visions I have dreamed of thee. —Alfred Wheeler. EXPERIENCE IN ARIZONA. Charles Parker, being a voting naan from the East, and a newly-fledged graduate of the Military Academy, was not looked at with sublime awe by the frontiersmen around his Arizona post, and certainly not with a fearful respect by the military. The frontiersmen from their proud height of dyspepsia and dirt recognized tidy Mr. Parker only as a “tenderfoot,” while the older officers and soldiers were naturally slow to concede mili tary merit to a youngster who had es caped death or court-martial for a short er period than themselves. In reality Lieut. Parker knew very little of the energetic West as it mater ialized around Fort McDowell, and what little he did know did not swell him with pride. It was his idea that if knowledge is power, knowledge of Ari zona was only mule power and not to be coveted. He was not in deadly fear of that truculent creature, the Arizon ian in a rod shirt, but if he had chosen an individual to stand betwixt the wind and his nobility, the gentleman in the carmine camisa would not have obtain ed the situation. His life was not to tally without ch;trm, for he was in love with his Colotfel’s daughter, one of those charming young ladies found only. Parker that when hi 4 could gev a leave it should be for a wedding jour ney, It was the peculiar charm of this arrangement that it was made without the Colonel's assistance or knowledge. Lovers must have their secrets. A lov er without a weighty secret would cut as poor a figure as a sccretless states man. However, the chances of Park er’s getting a furlough were dim. His Captain was on an Indefinite sick leave, having a splendid time and entering heartily into business, while his First Lieutenant was engaged in Washington on some onerous duty which required peculiar talents anil considerable “in fluence.” The morning when history finds him, the lone Lieutenant, acting as Post Ad jutant, was sitting at his desk in the Colonel’s office, gravely referring offi cial papers to himself in some of his many capacities, such as quartermaster, commissary, ordnance officer, post treasurer, chief of scouts, overseer of schools, or perpetual officer of the day. By his formal words one would have thought him on very frigid terms with himself. Instead, for instance, of say ing, “Parker will vou take a squint at this!” he wrote: "Respectfully referred to Lieut. Parker, who will take the ac tion required.” Meanwhile the Colonel was knitting his brows over an order from head quarters. “What do you think of that?” he said at la»t, handing the paper to Park er. The young man read the order, but made no answer. He liked to have his opinion asked, but he did not suppose that his crude ideas would be of value to an officer of so much greater exper ience. “What do you think?” repeated the Colonel mildly. “I suppose it’ll have to be done,” said the Lieutenant vaguely, not know ing on what point a reply was wished. “Yes,” mused the Colonel,“but how? : This says he is supposed to be at San- i font but the description is vague to I tqake a search on.” “O. that,” said Parker, “why I think I know the man already. I saw him > last summer when I was surveying the i , line from Gila Bend to Tucson. He , ; keeps a saloon in Hanford.” The Colonel shook his head. “I was ' going to send for an older officer, but i if you can identify the man you'll i have to go. * Humph! not a very I pleasant or easy duty 1, -and he looked ’ hard at the voung man's smooth face; ; “it’s w orse than Indian fighting. May- ' be I better have an older officer gv with you.” “If vou think it necessary.” “1 don't,” said the Colonel, instant- > ly determined by Parker’s look; and he i ■ wrote in pencil ihe draft for an order: ; “Lieut. C. Parker will proceed imme- I ! diately to Sanford. Ari., with a detail ' of six* men. and arrest escaped military I I convict John lb’vine.” “Just have that published.'* Parker hesitated; but as the respoa- . I ribiiity of the arrest was to be upon • ; him hie determined to speak. “If that ■ | order is published, word of it will go j to this convict by the 'underground, 1 I and be will give me the slip.” “Suppose you were to go away with out an order. ” said the Colonel, "that would excite suspicion a* well.” DOUGLASVILLE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY. SEPTEMBER 10, 1885. “Let it be a false order.” “Let it be a false order.” “It wouldn’t do any good. When those fellows see a soldier they are on the alert, order or no order. They know the soldier is after some one, and they send the word on by their under ground for the benefit of whom it may concern. You will have to take the chance of traveling as fast as the news of your coming.” But Parker had an idea. He thought he could entrap an Arizonian as easily as if he had worn a red shirt from in fancy. ‘‘l learned some thing, ’ ’ said he, “last summer when I was down there. When they knew I was surveying, I could have had as many blacklegs in my society as I wished. Mr. Devine waited on me at his saloon. Send me down on telegraph business “Good!” cried the Colonel. “Make out an order to examine the line and publish it here. You will have the real order and warrant in your pocket.” Tn half an hour the ambulance rolled out of Fort McDowell into the long road across the desert. The soldiers were in good spirits over their holiday. Very true, they carried carbines and revolvers, but in Arizona carbines and. revolvers are as readily associated with good spirits as cheerfulness with beans and big grocery bills in New England. The roads were deep, but the six-mulu team of “shave-tails” slided steadily on, and by night sixty-five miles of sage-brush on each side of the way had received an additional layer to its cen tury-old and hoary coat of alkali. This travel brought them to Sacaton on th* Gila, where Parker had been the sum mer previous. When the people learn ed his present errand he was hospitably entertained, and no warning of his com ing was sent forward. But in* a consul tation with the Indian Agent, to whom he revealed his true orders, he learned that the convict, frightened with previ ous rumors, had soul his saloon and was about to leave. This rendered an arrest a matter of double difficulty and danger. Under the circumstances, al though the next day was Sunday, Park er determined to push on. At 6 o'clock Sunday morning the ambulance was on its way with a drive before it to San-j ford of eighteen miles. Half a milo from his destination he put off his un concern and ordered the driver to stop. Then he pulled Ms true orders from his pocket and read them. The soldiers exchanged glances. They thought the young Lieutenant would not take AfeMMgLgo easily if he fepew the desper- "We will drive into the plaza in front, of Smith’s. Devine will probably be in some saloon opposite. If people ask our business, it's telegraph. We have come twenty-three miles out of our way by the telegraph line to make them be lieve it. I shall go fleross the plaza to the saloons. You will loaf along fifty yards in the rear with your carbines. I’ll let you know when I want you. Now, drive on.” Arrived at Sanford *.hese directions were carried out to the letter. A small, but hard-looking crowd gathered around the ambulance where it halted. “Hallo, Lieutenant!” said Smith, the town shyster, coming out. “What is it?” “Telegranh,” replied Parker for all to hear. "I’ve come out to see what you folks can put up for it.” "Good,” said Smith, while a murmur of approbation went through the crowd. ‘Til take you around to see the people. Have the man put up the rig.” "Can’t stop long enough. I’m going on to Florence to get their ideas. That’s the short way home, and I must get back to make my report. Driver, keep the team here. You men can go where you please, but be back in time to start.” The ruse havingsucceeded so far, Park er and Smith walked across the plaza to the saloons (Sundav or Monday the heart of Sanford business) while the men followed aimlessly along, carrying their carbines on their hips. The Arizonians considered this a very peaceful spectacle, but they did not know that in every carbine there was a bullet of 405 grains with seventy grains of powder behind it "Come in and have something.” said the hospitable Smith when theyiiKd crossed the square; "help you talk bus iness.” Parker accepted and they went in. The saloon consisted of two rooms, i front and rear. In the front room were . two or three loungers, but from the i back room there issued through an i open door at the end of the bar various I sounds which gave evidence of acrowd- ■ed table of gamblers. Parker gave his ' order and placed himself so dial by , turning his head he could command a ; full view of the back room. Then be i looked for his men. They were already i at the saloon door leaning on their car- ' | bines. They played their parts well, i 1 for they seemed only waiting for their superior before they took a turn at the ■ bar. Parker poured out a generous Arizo na glass and took it up; but instead of | replying to Smith's bacchanalian salute ! ; of "Well, Lieutenant, here’s how.” he turned hie eyes and glant'ed into the | back room. Directly in front of him at the oppo ■ sit side of the table sat Devine. At the word “Lieutenant” the convict raised his eyes and met Parker face to face. His hrst instinct being to escape recog- , nition, he resorted to the clumsy device , of dropping his glance and slouching ; forward his sombrero. Parker looked I at him absently, turned to the front of I the saloon, and still holding up his glass, made the signal. Then, arinkitxg, he set (be glass walked direeth to the door of Hing-room. fie did not X. • <! ioilow £ A. <h FAWNING TO IN ONE—CHARITY TO ALE. said*. “"John Devine, I want you.” A dozen pair of eyes were turned to ward him and a dozen hands sought for the ever-ready “guns;” but the pistols were not drawn. Almost im mediately the men assumed a look of welcome, and seemed tacitly to ac knowledge that they had mistaken the intruder. “Hullo Lieutenant!” cried two or three in a frantic effort to set them selves right. “Hullo! Come in, come in. Glad to see you. Barkeep, some thing for the Lieutenant. Come in.” “Thank you,” said Parker, wonder ing what deceit this greeting was meant to cover. "I’m on business,and business comes first Come, Johnny, I want you.” "What! want Johnny? What’s he done?” they cried in grieved surprise. "Now, Lieutenant, you don’t want Johnny, do you?” Parker made no answer, but he kept his eye warily on the crowd. Devine threw down his cards, as if in despair. “All right; I’ve got to go. This thing has been hanging over me tor a year, and I’m glad it’s come.” “But don’t be in a rush,” cried the others; “don’t be in a rush, Lieutenant. Have a drink. Come in and sit down. We ain’t seen you in years.” Parker was so dumbfounded by this continued politeness that he looked about for the cause. It was evident. A big Sergeant stood behind him with two cocked revolvers aimed at the crowd; on each side of the door were soldiers with pointed carbines. The Arizona desperado understands the doctrine of chances as well as the rest of us. Devine arose to follow. He looked mournfully at his big pile of chips. "Who’s banker?” asked Parker,who, being a pretty “stiff” poker-player himself, understood Devine’s feelings. “Banker, cash Johnny’s chips. Sorry I can’t let him stay so that you can have back at him, but the money’s his.” The disappointed banker made the exchange. While the party were taking Devine to his house, where the convict wished to say good-by to his wife, a horseman passed them at full speed going toward Florence, a little town five miles to the east. The incident did not escape the unsophisticated Lieutenant. . He sent an orderly for the ambulance and hurried Devine* through his fare wells. When the wagon drove up he |xa<lv- Everybody was mounted. We had the appearance of be- WSjjptly hopeless. way?” said the driver. iwl|jg|||k>ked Devine keenly in the face and answered, “Back through Sacaton.” The convict dropped his head, and his hopelessness was no longer as sumed. “Our friend on the horse will prepare his ambush for nothing, won’t he?” asked Parker. “He just will,” replied the convict with a laugh. That night at 10, having driven eighty-three miles since 9 in the morn ing. the detail arrived at the Fort and Devine was secure in the post guard house. The Colonel was delighted and sur prised. “I spoke,” said he, “of having an other officer come here. I think I bet ter have him come now and give you a leave.” “Thank you,” said the bold Lieuten ant; then he explained that leaves were best for wedding-journeys, and so led up to a full revelation. “In that case,” replied the Colonel, with a dusty, Arizona wit, “I will send for my other daughter and give Helen a leave too.”— Chicago Tribune. A laxly correspondent, writing to us fromMest Point, Miss., relates the following: "During the administration of Mr. Buchanan, the daughter of a Senator was married in Washington. The President, Cabinet and many mem bers of Congress were in attendance. After the ceremony Mr. Buchanan step ped forward to present his congratula tions to the bride—a prominent feature of which was a hearty kiss. A mem ber standing in close proximity inquir ed: 'ls it understood that I am to fol low suit?’ ‘No, sir,’ replied the Presi dent, ‘it is understood that I kiss for the Nation.’ ” The bride was a daughter of General Toombs, of Geor gia, the member of Congress was Gen eral McQueen.of South Carolina.—A’eu> Orleans Times-Deinocrat. An English doctor says that a person who can move his ears at will is a sus-, j picious character and cannot be trusted.! ' Shoddy Aristocracy. If you will take a historical telescope ♦ and look over the social horizon for the past two cMituries, you must observe I that every decade brings the idea of ar- ' istocracy lower and lower every year. The status and the idea are growing very much the same, too, and the time ; must come when all the requisites that I dance attendance on social life in Amer | ica nnder the name of aristocracy will be nationally recognized as shoddy. Martha U ashington and the mothers of the republic were content to live plainly and respectably, and the dis gusting practice of referring to women as the leading ladies of the land palls | on the taste of sensible people. In the social circle, prescribe within the bounds of the home, is woman’s sphere. In this country we worship women be- ! cause they are mothjjs and wives, but the people raisinganv He Stopped the Car. The car was going down French’s hill, and there were a few jovial pas sengers aboard. At Prospect street a lady got out. A young man, who, with a few of his friends, were having a bit of quiet fun and had evidently en joyed themselves, said: ."I’ll bet ci gars for the crowd that I’ll stop the car without ringing the bell, speaking to the driver or conductor or asking anyone to stop it.” “Oh, you’ll go outside and slap hold of the brake. You’re too smart, you are,” remarked one of his companions, smilingly. “You’ll cut yourself if you* don’t mind.” “No. siree, I’ll do no such thing 1 . I’ll neither touch the brake nor ask anyone to touch it for me, and I won’t ask anybody to stop the car.” The bet was taken. Up jumped the car-stopper, and seiz ing one of the straps, tugged at it as hard as he could. The conductor saw him and conclud ed that the man was a greenhorn who wanted to get out and was yanking at the wrong tag. He stopped the car and threw open the door. The man had sat down again. * "Don’t you want to get out here?” said the conductor. “Oh. dear, no.” “Then why did you pull the strap?” "I was only trying to see if it was firm enough to hold me if I happened to come along iu the car some night when I couldn’t get a seat.” The door slammed, aud the conduc tor said something as he leaned against the rear brake. It was something not very complimentary to such darned fooling. But the man had won his bet. He had stopped the car.— Fall River Ad vance. Plantation Philosophy. ? " De man whut ken ask de most ques tions ken answer de fewest. De pusson whut is de last ter laugh wider joy is de soouest ter groan wid er sorrow. Ter some pussons slander is nachul. De hog would ruther waller in de mud den ter lie down in clean water. I doan b’lebe dar eber wuz er man whut didn't sorter dodge the truth at some time durin’ his life. Ez fur my se’f. Use told many a tale whut I knowd wa’n’t so. When I wuz er boy, er lie come so nachul dat when I got ter be a man. I couldn't altogether break off de habit. Yer’ll tin’ many er mail whut’ll say dat he neber tolfc er lie, an’ yer may say so at de same time, but bof o’ yer knows dat ye air a couple o’ liars. Doan talk ter me ’bout dis heah human nature, fur I’se er chile o’ de same school myse’f.— Opio P. Read. A Judge’s Little Joke on His Friend, Since the great Chief Justice Lemuel Shaw, no Judge in Massachusetts has been so celebrated for his power and Eeculiarities as the late Judge Otis P. ord. During the sixteen years that Judge Lord sat upon the Superior bench it was gall and wormwood to him that his hurried decisions at nisi prius were to be carefully scrutinized and often overruled by the Supreme Judicial Court. His complaints were constant and at times were loud over what he considered unfair treatment by the higher court. At times he could not or would not speak of that honor able- body with patience, and his hostil ity to certain of the Judges was well known. It was supposed by most law yers that should opportunity come to him he would refuse a promotion which would necessitate sitting upon the same bench with Judges for whose legal at tainments he had so often expressed contempt; and when, in 1875, his name was sent in as successor to Judge Wells upon the Supreme Court bench many looked to see the honor declined. For a number of days, indeed, it was gen erally reported that Judge Lord was hesitating in the matter, and even his intimate friends had doubts about his acceptance. One morning, as the late Stephen B. Ives, who probably possess ed more of Judge Lord’s confidence than any other member of the bar at least, was entering the court-house, he met the Judge, coming down from the lobby. “Well, Judge?' he said, “have you decided about going on to the Su preme bench?” Looking him squarely in the face. Judge Lord gravely re ’ plied: "Stephen, I have thought the matter over as to where I could be of ■ the most use, and have concluded to re i main where I am.” “But, Judge,” , expostulated his friend, “you should I not be hasty in this matter.” "It’s no use, Stephen,” interrupted the Judge, : "I tell you 1 have absolutely made up my mind to stay where I am.” "But, ' Judge,” continued Mr. Ives, “I am terribly disappointed, and you will grieve all your friends if you insist upon I this course.” “I think not, Stephen, I think not,” said Judge Lord, as he laid his hand kindly upon the shoulder of ■ his tried and trusted friend, “for,” he i continued in an exultant voice, "I have 1 this morning qualified as a Justice of j the Supreme Judicial Court, and,” he added more gravely and quietly, “I hope I shall live long enough now to show them that I do know a little law.” —Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. Many British manufacturers enter tain the notion that anything is good enough for the colonies, and Mr. Ar thur Clayden, writing from New Zea land, says: "I have again and again had pointed out to me the vast super iority of American work to English. A coach builder assured me that he had stood out against American fit- MUgLbut had at last to yield to neces- - English manors would nut, the A NUMBER 31 V enice. We arrived in Venice last evening, latitude 45 deg. 25 min. N., longitude, 12 deg. 19 min. E. Venice is the home of the Venetian,’ and also where the gondola has its nest and rears its young. It is also the head-' quarters for the paint known as Vene-; tian red. They use it in painting tho town on festive occasions. This is the town where the Merchant of Venice used to do business, and the home of Shylock, a broker, wfoo sheared the Venetian lamb at the corner of the Ri alto and the Grand canal. He is now. no more. I couldn’t even find an old neighbor near the Rialto who remem bered Shylock. From what I can learn of him, however, I am led to believe that he was pretty close in his deals.* and liked to catch a man in a tight place and then make him squirm. Shy-. 1 lock, during the great panic in Venice many years ago, it is said, had a chat-’ tel mortgage on more lives than you! could shake a stick at. He would loan! a small amount to a merchant at three; per cent, a month, and secure it on a| pound of the merchant’s liver, or by » cut-throat mortgage on his respiratory! apparatus. Then, when the paper ma-l tured, he would go up to the houss| with a pair of scales and a ’pie knife and demaud a foreclosure. Venice is one of the best watered! towns in Europe. You can hardly walk! a block without getting your feet wet,! unless you ride in a gondola. The" gondola is a long, slim hack without wheels and is worked around! through the damp streets by a brunette! man whose breath should be a sad warning to us all. He is called the! gondolier. Sometimes he sings in a! low tone of voice and in a foreign’ tongue. Ido not know where I have! met so many foreigners as I have here! in Europe, unless it was in New York’ at the polls. Wherever I go, I hear aJ foreign tongue. Ido not know wheth-; er these people talk in the Italian lan-' guage just to show off or not. Perhapa! they prefer it. London is the only! place I have visited where the Boston; dialect is used. London was originally settled by adventurers from Boston.; The blood of some of the royal families' of Massachusetts may be found in the veins of London people. Wealthy young ladies in Venice do! not run away with the coachman.. There are no coaches, no coachmen and no horses in Venice. There are only four horses in «Venice and they are j made of copper and exhibited at St? Mark’s as curiosities. 1 < ■, The Accademia delle Belle Arti of Venice is a large picture store where went yesterday to buy a few pictures' for Christmas presents. A painting byj Titian, the Italian Prang, pleasea me very much, but I couldn't beat down the price to where it would be any ob-l ject for me to buy it. Besides, it would! be a nuisance to carry such a picture! around with me all over the Alps, up; the Rhine and through St. Lawrence county. 'The Italians are quite proud of their smoky old paintings. I have often thought that if Venice would run less to art and more to soap, she would be more apt to win my respect. Art is all right to a certain extent, but it can be run in the ground. It breaks my heart to know how lavish nature has been with water here, and yet how the Venetians scorn to investigate its bene fits. When a gondolier gets a drop of water on him, he swoons. Then he lies in a kind of coma till another gon dolier comes along to breath in his face; and revive him.— Bill Nye in N. JT.‘ ilercury. The Secrets of Ventriloquism, An excellent ventriloquist is now per forming in our variety theateia, writes a New York correspondent of the Al bany Journal —a woman, and therefore without the mustache behind which most performers in that line conceal the slight movement of their lips. Im nothing connected with the magical! show is there more radical humbug than in ventriloquism. There is no such thing possible as "throwing the voice,” and all the old stories of Wy man, or anybody else, doing astonish ing ventriloquiai feats in the middle ot a crowd are fiction. The auditor must* be at a little distance or there can be deception. This young woman uses! manikins, curtains, a trunk, and the other usual aids; but her unshaded mouth is absolutely still while she i> talking. Her lips are slightly parted.! but they do not even quiver when she is singing in a very loud, strong voice. The whole art consists in speaking with out stirring the mouth, and in a divert ing power of mimicry. As to the seem ing distance given to the voice, that isf done by decreasing the volume and at the same time indicating, by pantomine or otherwise, the direction desired. P asked her how long she had been ac quiring her skill. “I always had it,” she replied. "I used to be a mill-hand in Manchester, England. A ventrilo quist came along, and I found that he couldn’t do as much as I had, as long as I could remember, been perfectly able to do. I showed him that I could’ beat him at his own business, and he put me into it. There wasn’t anything to learn, except to work the figures, do the patter (dialogue), and get used tsi an audience. I formerly earned 83 si week working twelve hours a day; now 1 get sls, and the whole doesn’t amount’ to that much time.” Were she rid of her English provincial accent and coarseness, so as to be acceptable to re- i fined audiences, she would easily muD tiply her present income. According to statistics, novela con» stitute nine-tenths of the books read in England, and nineteen-twentietha ol the books read in the worid. —•—