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JOHN HENRY SEALS. )
and > Editors.
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PROSPECTIS
TIMPIAII CRIIDI,
m TEMP EitANCE’ BANS El!.
ACTUATED by a conscientious desire to further
the cause of Temperance, and experiencing
great disadvantage in being too narrowly limited in
space, by the smallness of our paper, for the publica
tion of Reform Arguments and Passionate Appeals
we have determined to enlarge it to a more conve
nient and acceptable size. And being conscious of
the feet that there are existing in the minds of a
large portion of the present readers of the Banner
and its former patrons, prejudices and difficulties
which can never be rejnoved so long as it retains the
name, we venture also to make a change in that par
ticular. It will henceforth be called,. “THE TEM
BERASCE CRUSAbER.”
. This pld pioneer of the Temperance cause is des
tined yet to chronicle the tr umph of its principles.
It has stood the test—passed through the “fiery fuV-
and, like the “Hebrew children,” re-appeared
unscorched. It has survived .the nempaper fanzine
vfhich has caused, and is still causing many e<x&el-’
lent journals and periodicals f.o sink, like “bright ex
halations in the evening,” to rise tfomore, and it has
even heralded the- “death struggles of many contem
poraries, laboring for the* same great eivd-with itself.
It “stilllives,” and “waxing-bplder it grows older,”
is now waging an eternal “Crusade” against the “In
fernal Liquor Traffic,” standmg likc'the “High Prfest”
of the Israelites, who stood between the people and
the plague that threatened destruction.
We entreat the friends of the Temperance QnuSe
to give us their influence in extending the usefulness
of the paper. .We intend ['resenting to the public a
sheet worthy of all attention atid a liberal patronage;
for while itis atriotly a Temperance Poifi-tiftl, we shall
endeavor to ke,ep- ite,readers posted oo ail the eun-ent
events throughout the country. >
IgpHPrice, as heretofore, sl, strictly in advance. ’ ‘
‘AT’ ■ ‘ JOHrif.-gfeO#
’* Editor and’Proprietor.
Qa., Doc.J* 185fc “
§Wwrt& to Centperaitct, |poral% literature, faeral Intelligence, Betas, Ac.
From Graham’s Magazine.
SITTING IN ONE’S BONES.
15V GEORGE W. GRIMSBY.
‘•There mbit a young man in all Rich
mond who works as hard as my George—
no, not one.”
S > said old George Grantlmm, one oft he
mogt respected citizens of Richmond, Va.,
a goodmany years ago. The old man had
once heei wealthy; hut a series of-misfor
tunes and gradual decline in the value of
his property had impaired his circumstan
stances;'and instead of leaving his only
son a competency as he had once ex
pected to do, he now looked forward with
considerable anxiety to his prospects of
success in the profession he had chosen.
Young George was to be a doctor. liis
father could not afford to send'him to Eu
rope to study, nor indeed was it then
thought necessary; but no expense was
spared to procure for the young man the
laiesfc works and the best instruments and
other paraphernalia of the craft. As for
George himself, he was like all young men
of his age. He was anxious to work, and
quite resolved in his vague way to succeed
in life, and make a name for himself; but
he djd not thirst for medical knowledge
sufficiently to enjoy many hours consecu
tive reading. If the truth were told, he
preferred a hard ride in the country with
bis friends the Lindsays, or a tramp thro’
the woods in search of game. Better still,
the rogue liked to spend an hour or more
of an evening by*the side of pretty Lucy
Prime, who —I blush for the first families
as I write —having been left destitute by
the death of an extravagant father, had
courageously hired a small room for herself,
and stuck on the door a little sign, “Miss
Prime, Dressmaker.”
But of all these liking’s, of his “boy
George,” old Mr. Grantham, in the inno
cence of his heart, knew nothing, So far
as he saw, George spent the whole of his
ieisure hours in reading. So sedulous did
he seem, that at times it flashed across the
kind old father’s heart that his.‘boy’ might
be over-working himself; and on these oc
casions he would himself insist on George’s
cret of his frequent visits to their place.
There was however one person who was
less easily deceived than the old gentleman;
and that was George’s aunt, Miss Betsy
Grantham. As common place as her neph
ew, Aunt Betsy’s sojourn on this planet
was divided between thednty of worry
ing Mr. Grantham, his son and the ser
vants, and the pecreatiop of dispensing
charities to the poor with cross words and
a vinegar aspect. If Mr. Grantham had set
his heart upon seeing George a great doc
tor, Aunt Betsy had set hers upon develo
ping in him the noble Christian virtues of
patience and endurance. Never fop an
hour did idie suffer liiip to rest iU peace-lie
could not act, speak or pvcp look but she
found in the deed, speech or glance, mate
rial for a sermon. Only when he was at
work could he hope to escape her, as his
lather had forbidden the household to dis
turb his studies.
His room was in a small building in the
rear ot his father’s house, communicating
with it by a gallery. Opposite hi§ window
was that of Hie aged spinster’s bed-room.—
In the exercise of her authority as house
keeper, she had placed his table in such a
position in his rob n that she could see from
tier window whether he was at work or not;
and wo betide the luckless youth if Miss
Betsg’s sharp eye fell upon *ah untenanted
chair, when George was absent from the
family circle. When this a|raqg£meni was
first made, George had reused himself to
protest and even to make a show of rebel
lion against if: but latterly he had submit
ted, and Miss Betsy was forced to confess
s4n l i t i^npr\ v te t . ever -I lOU r °f the evening she
r eq riej-spir viilivu
and she flattened hpr old bony nose
against the window at least half a dozen
times before she went to bed, and got up
once or twice in the night to repeat the op
eratipn—George’s ample dressing-gown,
and lus smoking cap were to be seen in the
right place.
It was some time after this victory of Aunt
eve hmg between nine and'ten
—that Mr. Grantham made the remark quo*
ted above, to his friend and neighbor, old
Dr. Timms. It brio be feared that the sim
ple old gentleman had a sordid object in
view in making it—for Timms had the
largest practice in the place, and'was an up
right and highly respectable citizen, More
over, ns he had recently married a young
and rather giddy wife from New York, and
was beside comfortably rich, everybody
said he ought to take a partner. Dr. Timms
had half admitted as much, as the two old
fellows prosed in Grantham’s drawing room,
adding:
“If l were a bachelor still, Grantham, I
shouldn’tmind it. But you see Mrs. Timms
is a good “deal younger than you or me—
she Hires society, and I don’t blame her for
it; but L sometimes think it’s not right for
her to be going to parties’With young fel
lows whom 1 hardly -know from Adam,
while!,am out visiting my natiqnts,”
“Mrs. Timms; is-yerv Jqk^ 1 of. gayety,”
said Gt'aiitha*hr|jrav;eLy? ‘’ ‘
- “Why, very 1 fond indeed. In. our-
PENFIELD, GA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1856. “*“**”
time, we should have said, perhaps too fond.
But then, Grantham, we’re old fellows; the
world’s gone ahead precious fast since we
were young’men. And I haven’t the heart
to speak to her on the subject—poor child,
yoked to an old fogy like.me.”
And the old doctor cleared his voice once
or twice with energy.
“I sometimes think.” said Grantham, has
tening to change the subject, “that George’
works too hard. I darn’t tell you the nunrCr
her of hours he reads a day.”
“Medicine,” replied the doctor, senten
tiously, “is a science which cannot be mas
tered even in a lifetime of study.”
“No doubt; but you will admit that very
few young men of George’s age spend their
evenings in poring over scientific books.”
“I know youngmen study much less than
they used to do in my time.”
‘You must except George, doctor. It’s
not possible to work harder than he does.
Now just come here,” added the old father
rising, “and you shall see him.”
And despite a remonstrance from Timms,
Mr. Grantham dragged him into Aunt Bet
sy’s bed-room, even to the spinster’s win
dow. Sure enough, there was George;
wrapped as usual in his dressing-gown, his
head buried in his smoking-cap and leaning
on his hand. His lamp was burning bright
ly, and though his back was turned to the
observers, it was plain he was immersed in
the perusal of a book.
“He’s been there some time already,” said
his father, triumphantly, “and he’ll not stir
till past midnight, I’ll be bound.”
“Has he seen much practice?” inquired
Dr. Timms.
“He’s always visiting some sick person
or other,” replied Mr. Grantham; but he
could tell you more about that, than I. I’ll
send for him,”
“Pity to disturb his studies.”
“Oh ! not at all. He’ll be -delighted to
see you. Jane.” hq called tq a servant,
“just st§p to J\f r. George’s room, and say I’d
like to see him.”
The two old gentlemen returned to the
drawing-room. They had hardly sat down
when the servant returned with the answer
that George didn’t say anything when she
gave him the message—didn’t even turn his
head.
“You see, dqqtay” qrie4 Grantham, de
hinn him I want’to see him?’
“He must be reading very hard,” said Dr.
Timms, kindly.
In a few moments a shriek was heard, and
the servant came running back, as pale as
death, and hardly able to speak, from agita
tion.
MW(iat ? s the matter, Jane?” asked Mr.
Grantham hastily.
“Oh, Lord ! sir,” gasped the girl.
“Speak, woman, has anything happened?”
“Mr. George, sir—”
“Well, what of him?” cried the father, in
great alarm.
“Hfl—hfrs sitting in his bones, sir,”
# f ‘ # * t * *
On that same evening, some time before
this startling announcement, George Grant
ham took his seat on a stool in the modest
work-room of the dressmaker, Lucy Prime,
and began with more zeal than skill tq put
her work-box to rights
“Where qo these skeins of silk go,, Miss
Lucy ?” sai4 he.
“Oh ! dear me,” replied Lucy, impatient
ly; “do let them alone. You always leave
everything in such confusion, that it costs
me an hour to set the box to rights when
you are gone.”
“You see I think so much of you when
J’m here.”
“Mr. George, if you ta||v §o foolishly, I
won| Igt YOU in again,
. “Mayn't I say I think of you, dear. Miss
Lucy?”
‘“You know very well I don’t like it.”
“Very well. But I do, all the same, —
When I saw the sun rise the other morn
ing, just tipping those dear old mountains
-rrith gutd, H.O lilts sejng says, d<> you know
what was my first thought ?”
“How should I know ?” replied the young
girl, with a downcast glance.
“I thought it would have been a delicious
sight, if yoq had been there to share it with
me.”
“Mr. Georgp J”
“Oh ! you needn’t say Mr. George,” re
plied, the young man with warmth;. “I can’t
help it. I’m always thinking of you. When
I sit down to read those prosy old books
about physic, I find my mind wandering
away from fevers and lotions to you. When
I ride to the Lindsays, and talk to Kate, I
always fancy I am talking to you; pv.e
even caught myself being civil to aunt Bet
sy, under, the impression that, she was trans
formed into rny pretty Miss Lucy.”’
“If I didn’t know that you were talking
nonsense, Mr. George, I should be very un
happy. But you’ve made me waste ever so
much time, and Ive got this dress to finish
by .nine. I promised it for four o’clock this
afternoon, but I lost the day going to visit
those poor people you told me of, and Mrs,
Timms was so angry.”
“Mrs. Timms.* It’s for her ?”
“Yes. Now let me work, do.”
“ Very odd that Mrs, Tirffips should want
a at pipe okfiqc.k qt night. ‘lt’s not an
evening dress, f see?’
“No. But vvhat do you men fibuut
dresses ? teu ‘yofc by qme, I shall
per, anq gpe’s-nay best customer,”
“I wish I could sew/’said George, with a
sigh.
“I think you’d better go home—it’s get
ting late.”
“JLate? Oh ! you’re quite mistaken. It’s
very early, on the contrary. And I can’t
go yet.”
“Why not, if you please ?” inquired Lucy,
raising those beautiful eyes of hers, and look
ing searchingly at George.
“Because I’ve something to say to you.”
and “Say it at once, then—no,” she added,
correcting herself, and sewing very ner
vously, ‘ perhaps you’d better not say it”
There was a pause. George walked a
cross the room hastily. Then Lucy broke
the silence by observing in a firm voice :
“I change my mind. What you have to
say, Mr. George, I am ready to hear now.”
“I love you.”
And he seized her hand and covered it
with kisses.
She was violently agitated and grew very
pale. A minute or more elapsed before she
could speak. At last she said 5
“Now, Mr. George, that you have spo
ken, I will tell you, frankly, that—that you
must not come here again.”
“Lucy, do you love me?”
“You must not come here again.”
Just at this moment, a rap was heard at
the door. George had just time to hide him
self in a closet, when the door opened, and
Mrs. Timms entered the room.
“I’ve come for that dress, Miss Prime,”
said she, in a tone which seemed very
strange to George.
“I’m very sorry,” replied Lucy, “to have
kept you waiting, ma’am; but I was delay
ed. It will be ready in ten rqinutes, if you
will take a seat,’*
“Nevermind,” said Mrs. Timms, faintly,
“I’ll take it as it is.”
Lucy looked at her customer, and did
George, frarp his hiding-place. She was
strangely pale, and seemed ill.
“Wont you sit down, ma’am? In five
minutes it will be finished. I’ve only a stitch
or two to make. I was in hopes you would
not want it till the morning.”
“No,” said Mrs. Timms, hastily, “the doc
tor and I are going to the country to-night.
He’s waiting fqp jug qt home now?’
George hqd some difficulty in Suppressing
an
had broken off her thread, and was folding
up the dress, and looking very wretched*
“Never mind folding ip” cried Mrs.
Timms. And after a pause, during which
George was convinced hq heard her teeth
chatter, she asked Lucy if she could give
her a glass of water.
Lucy rose, and passed into her bed-room.
Mrs. Timms, apparently too nervous to sit
still, followed her. The moment they loft
the room, George sprang from his hiding
place, and hurried down stairs,
At the door he saw a traveling carriage,
lie hesitated. Could it be ? She J had been
the town talk for weeks ; her name and
young Melville’s, who had followed her fro.m
New York, were in every one’s mouth.—
Yet to blunder was ruin. He tore his hair
in his perplexity.
The night was very duvk, yet he could
see the carriage \yas empty, ‘ A black dri
ver sat upon the seat, and looked anxiously
at George. The latter walked to the door
of the carriage, with the intention of accost
ing him. He had hardly done so, howev
er, when he heard hasty footsteps approach
ing along the pavement. He turned apd
looked. In a moment or t\yq, the new com
er and George, saw each other. George
would have sworn it was Melville. The
latter--seeing a man at the door of the car
riage—stopped short, and appeared uncer
tain how to act. A few seconds elapsed;
then he moved toward the carriage.
His mind thoroughly made up, for he was
certain he held the clue to the mystery,
George boldly seized the handle of the car
riage door, and opened it.
The new comer stopped again—seemed
lost in doubt—then crossed the street.
At that moment a female figure rushed
out of the house. George held the carriage
door while she stepped in. Then, whisper
ing to the driver, he sprang in, seated him
self beside her, and the carriage rattled over
the pavement.
Within, all was dark.. Neither spoke.—
George could hear the quick breathing of his
companion, as he held his own breath.—
Those minutes seemed centuries to him,
At last the carriage stopped,
. “Where are we cried the lady, spring
'ing fopvyurd.
“At yo.qr own home, Mrs. Timms, where
your husband, the doctor, will soon join
’ you.”
“Saved—saved !” gasped the poor wo
man.
Leaping out, George lifted Mrs. Timms to
the ground, bade the driver drive home as
if old Nick was after him, and in half a min
ute was seated in the Doctor’s study. With
perfect coolness he untied Mrs. Timms’hat,
unpinned her shawl, and divested her of
both articles of dress. She hqd qqt tainted;
hut she see.iped in u torpid state, indifferent
tq what vyas going qn. A glass of water
revived her. ‘
“What a havriWe drqam !” she muttered.
“Bu,t I’rn at home, at I not f”
Qf course you are,” replied George, gay
ly M You’ve got the dress, and Miss Prim©
will be her© in the morning to finish it.”
“But.ifTm at home-—” whispered Mrs.
Timms, with a vacant gaze.
“You’ll wear it the next time you go out
with the Doctor. Now, I must be oft'.—
Good-by, dear Mrs. Timms. How odd
that I should fiave met vou at the dressma
ker’s !”
“You met me ?—”
“Yes, just in time to see you home, wasn’t
I ? I must say, dear Mrs. Timms, you’re a
model of punctuality. If you’ll allow me to
say so, I think the idea of driving to a dress
maker’s at nine o’clock at night, on purpose,
to get a dress, quite original. Ha !ha! ha !
I beg yourjpardon for laughing, but our Rich
mond ladies are not such sticklers for exact
ness, by any means. Good night!”
And taking leave with as much formality
as if he had made an ordinary visit, George
ran down the steps of the doctor’s house,
and hastened home,
**■**#*%
When Mr. Grantham and l)r. Timms
heard the servant say that . “Mr. George
was sitting in his bones,” they burst into a
roar of laughter.
“What do you mean?” asked the former,
as soon as he could speak.
But the girl was too much agitated to re
ply, S?he trembled, and began to cry, and
shook her head ominiously.
“Come along, Doctor, we’ll soon see what
this means,’ said Grantham, leading the
way out of the room. “First let us sec
whether the hoy’s there.”
And the two old fogies, quite excited, has
tened to Aunt Betsy’s window. There was
George as before; not a muscle had moved.
( “What the deuce did the girl mean?” said
Grantham.
Before the words were uttered, an excla
mation from Dr- Timms drew his attention
once more to the window. What they saw
there might well astound them. They saw
distinctly a man leap into the room, appa
rently by the window, seize George by the
throat, and with one powerful jerk, lift him
out of the chair, and throw him to the other
end of the room.
“Murder!” roared Timms,
“My poor boy!” groaned grant ham. .
Surely two old gentlemen, of their size
and age, never fan so fast as did they to
the scene of the outrage. Gasping for
’ —*-—. -V- vA - - vjl:_
worst.
“Pbansy their feelings,” as Jeames says,
whqn thqy saw George standing in his shirt
sleeves, in the middle of the room, as cool
AS a diploma,—and on the bed, honor of
horrors ! a skeleton ala Beauchene, recent
ly imported from Paris, draped in George’s
dressing gown.
“What is this large, air?” roared Mr.
Grantham, ...
“Hush? hush!” said old Timms; “we’re
sold, and the less said the better. Let me
advise you, as an old friend and a medical
man, to be careful of your son’s health; he
evidently reads too hard.”
Long and bitter was the lecture George
had to endure at the hands ol Miss Betsy
; next morning; and far worse to bear were
the few words of reproach which fell from
the lips of hi§ kind old father. “You have
lost, sir,” said he, “an opportunity on which
I have been counting for years, “it was the
hope of my old age.”
And when, a few days afterwards, old
Timms called on his friend Grantham, and
told him that he had talked the matter over
with his wife, aqd that sho and he were both
of opinion that he had better take a partner,
and that they knew of no one. with whom
he would sooner associate himself than
“your boy George”—old Mr. Grantham
was fairly petrified with astonishment.—
Stranger things than this came to pass. For
the old doctor complained—in a very cheery
tone, however—that lie had no sooner ta
ken a partner, so as to go out with his wife,
than that lady abjured society, and insisted
on spending every evening reading and talk
ing to “an old fogy like me.” And Mrs.
Timms, with whom George had become sud
denly intimate, came over one morning,, and
notified Mr, Grantham that her husband's
practice would be ruined if George remain
ed a bachelor, adding that she had found
him a wife—Miss Lucy Prime.
“What! a dross-maker.!” screeched Aunt
Betsy,
But when Mrs. Timms gave out that she
would cease to know any lady who forgot
to call on the future Mrs. George Grantham,
and when George assured his father that it
was, useless to talk of his marrying any one
else, all obstacled vanished, and the marri
age was. duly celebrated —the old Doctor
giving away the bride, Even Aunt Betsy
was reconciled to the match, by the assu
rance that at least one of Miss Prime’s an
cestors had come over with Captain John
Smith.
HOW TO BE HAPPIER.
Said a venerable fanner some eighty
years of age to a relative who lately visit
ed him, “I have lived qn tins farm for
more than half a oentury. I have no de
sire to elmuge my residence as lung U 9 I’
live on garth. X have no deslrer to be
richer than X now am. * I have worship
pod the God of my fathers with” tho same
people for more than forty years. Dur
ing that period I.lnrve. beerr rarely absent
from the sanctuary on the Sabbath, an,d
have never lost but one coinqpotiiofl sea
son. I have never beei£ acxntined to my
bed by sickness a single day. The bles-
f TERMS: #I.OO IN AD VAN
) JAMES T. BLAIN,’ I
V. ‘ PRINTER. ;
VOL. im-NUMBEi
sr g* of life have been richly spread arflH
ok-, and I made up my mind long ago,Bß|
if I wished to become happier, 1 must Hjjjjf
more religion . . ,
’ CHARACTER*?” THB I-ION. H|
W hat a lion may do, even after his sh|B
der is broken, may be gathered fromHH
following story—one of the best of HU
French sportsman’s: BHHj
- A lion had worried a tribe of Arabs HH
yond endurance, and they had saught I A::
. Gerard, and besought him to rid themHH
their male factor. They discovered BSE
lair, which was in the side of a moun&flS
and obedient to the Frenchman’s ordiSJl
led out a goat, and tied it to a tree on tH|
outskirts of a wood near the lair.
took up a position in the wood, and
tne satisfaction of seeing the lion
as the goat was being made fast. After B§
moment’s observation he disappeared.-HB
Gerard lay quiet, watching; soon the goH|
began to trimble and shiver, and its eaH|
to jerk convulsively. The lion was
ing. He ascended a ravine between tlßi
lair and the hunter, slowly, and
capital target; but Gerard was so strucßj
with his grace and magesty that he woulH
not fire. mb
If he admired the lion, the latterseemeß
to return the compliment. He stopped isl
i)is career, lay down, winked at Gerard!
and eyed him with a benign expression.—l
He seemed to be saying to himself,
saw just now a man and a goat here. Th!
ruan is gone, and there is another mar*
there strangely dressed, who looks as if hel
wanted fco speak to me. Dinner time hfl
near; which would be best to eat, the lionl
or the goat ? Sheep are better than goats,l
but they are so far off. Men are fair eat-l
ing, but this fellow seems thin.** 1
The lion decided in favor of the goat,!
and advanced toward the poor trembling I
creature, At twelve paces Gerard fired, I
with a steel-pointed bullet at his shoulder; I
a second after, he again fired at the same I
spot. Beyond, a doubt both shoulders I
must be broken. The lion, however, ©s- I
caped into his thicket. Impossible to pro- I
vent the. Arabs following him,
Gerard gave his second gun to an Arab,
directing him to hold it in readiness, and
rolnr-tantlv oAminrwl Thar
upon thorn. Every body fired. All mis
sed but Gerard : and his shot was not so
effective, blit chat the lion seized a poor
wretch and began to tear him. Quick as
lightning Gerard pulled the trigger of his
ocher barrel, but for the first time in ten
years it missed fire. He held ont his hand
eagerly to his gun-bearer for his other
weapon,- but his heart sickened when the
Arab replied, “Not loaded. He bad fired
with the others. Most providentially, the
throe shot's which the lion had already
received told at last. He expired before
ne had quite killed the poor fellow who
was in his clutches.
We cannot better conclude this rambling
account of lion-sla} T ing and man eating
than with the story of the “lord with the
Large Head.”
Gerard had again been summoned to
free a district from leonine exactions.—
Having heard the story, he hastily laid
his plan, and announced that he would set
out that night alone. The Arabs endeav
ored to dissuade him: but he laughed at
their remonstrances. Finding he was re
solved, the sheik took him aside and said,
“My child, if the lion come to-night, the
lord with the large head will come first.
Do uot mind the others; they will rely on
their father; do you look after the lord
with the large head. If your hour is come,
you will be eaten by the others, but you
will be killed by him.”
With this advice Gerard started, and
the tribe accompanied him to the position
he had resolved to occupy. On leaving
him, the sheik whispered in his ear, “The
robber has taken my best mare and ten
oxen.” “What robber?” asked Gerard.
“The lord with the large head,” answered
the shiek in a very low voice, hastening
away. The night and still, and about
midnight the lions came, Gerard shot the
foremost, killing him with the third ball;
but he turned out to be only a cub, and by
morning news arrived that the lord with
the large heiad had that very night stolen
the finest ox in the douar.
A year or more elapsed before he paid
the debt of nature. One day Gerard was
sitting in his tent, when an Arab entered,
saying briefly, “I have found him; come.”
Gerard rose and went. His guide led him
to a secluded spot in the wood, where lay
the carcass of a freshly-slaughtered bull.
Gerard made a screen of branches to hide
himself, and sat down quietly to wait for
the lion. Several hours passed; at last,
about eight in the evening, a branch crack
led in the wood. Gerard listened, rested
his elbow on his knee, pointed his gun in
the direction of the bull. Then came a
roar, and in a few minutes the lion was
crouched beside the bull, licking the car
cass and casting sidelong glances at Ge
rard. As he looked, an iron slug somehow
struck him near the left eye. Be reared,
and a second slug brought him down. He
died hard; it took, two more shots to finish
him. B.nt hq did die, and there was at
last an end of the lord with the Large*
Bead. 1
1 ■ ■” “ ■
PT* It’ yon feel angry, beware lest yon
become revengeful.