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THE DES A TBAGI C STORY. INTRODUCTION. It was my regular habit, while I resided in M intreal, Canada Eist, to spend six or eight weeks cf every summer in travelling in Cicada, or in the United States. I had in this way, visited the greater portion of j the Upper Province, Niagara Falls, Sara- toga Springs, the City of New York, Phila- delpnia, and the capital of “'ashington ; and, no one occasion, had penetrated into the Far West, until I reached Kansas. One summer I resolved to change my rout. and instead of going westward I de- termined to make a tour through the eastern- districts of Lower Canada, where the French Canadian inhabitants still retain the peculiar characteristics of their ancestors. Norman j With this obj set in view, I travelled along the southern shore of the St. L iwrence until I reached the little village of Si. Claude, whereat I resolved to sojourn for bree or four weeks. 3:. Claude consists of one long street of wooden cottages. There is the usual wheel- wright's a black smith's,andcarpsnter's shop, and a general store. A short distance from the main street stands the little tcylike, white-washed, red-roofed Roman Catholic church, near which is the residence of Mon- sieur 1e Cureâ€"the largest and neatest cot- tage in the village. The residents of St. Claude (like those of Lower Canada generally) are certainly a primitive people. With the exception of M. is Cure, scarcely a dozau among themâ€" and they number some four hundredâ€"have ever journeyed fifty miles from their homes. The villagers all dress alike in the ancient costume of Normandy. The young women and girls, however, displayed their abund- ant ebony trezses, uncovered by cap or bon- net, and being very neatly arranged, they present a very attractive appearance. As a rule, these people are in a state_ of l perfect ignorance, not one in fifty beipg able to read or write, or caring to acquire the knowledge. They are, in fact, well satisfied to follow in the footsteps of their forefathers-chiefly to make their own gar- ments, to cultivate their small tenures m the old-fashioned style, and to live and die in their native village. I did not find it an easy matter to procure lodgings in St. Claude; there iii no hotel, and most of the cottages contain but two rooms. However, after much difficulty, I obtained apartments at a farm-house of the superior class, occupied by one Pierre J unot, his wife, and family. On the fourth day of my sojourn at the farm-house, Istrolled away towards Cape -St. Anne ; and having clambered to the summit of the lofty clifi' which overhangs the river, stood a long while gazing around me at the fine and majestic scenery I was enabled to survey from the eminence I had blocked up the parlour doors on either side, and I saw that the staircase was broken, and the stairs were in such a rotten condi- tion that they were unsafe,if not impassable. The walls, like the outside of the house, were over grown with fungi, and pools of water, whiih had dripped rom the broken roof. were visible on the flier. A si:kly, mouldy, death-like smell prevaded the place, and I was glad to turn away and breathe the fresh air, after having stood in the pas- sage for half a minute. As I passed the open apertures which had once been Win- dows, I looked in through one of them, and saw that the room was large, and that the walls and ceilings were ins. similar condition to those of the passage. What, however, struck me with amazement, was the discov- ery that the abundant, and apparently once handsome and costly, furniture of the apart- ment still remained within it ; the chairs and tables, the large mirror over the mantel- piece, the sideboard loaded with china orna- ments, and the pictures in gilded frames on the wall-dare things t) be met with, even at the present day, in this remote ortion cf the provinceâ€"remained as they ha been placed when the house was tenanted; but were cov- ered with dust and dirt, and blackened by damp and ago. On my return through the front garden, I remarked, with surprise, a large, almost circular spot in the centre, which was per- fectly denuded of grass, or vegetation of any description; the soil having, apparantly,baen calcined by the action of fire, and which pre sented a strange and startling contrast to the luxuriant, though rank, vegetation by which it was surrounded. On again consulting my watch, I found that I should barely have time to retrace my my steps to my lodgings before the dinner hour; and, to tell the truth, I was not sorry to get away from the singular spot into which I had ponelrated. I hastened, therefore, to climb the steep bill which led to the sum- mit of the cliff and the road to St. Claude. As I passed through the valley on my re- turn, I could not help remarking the strange absence of animal life. Not a bare, rabbit, squirrel, or weaselâ€"th 'mgh these creatures abounded in the neighborhoodâ€"crossed my path. I did not hear the song or chirrup of a bird, not even the buzz of an inseot. The only audible sound was the whispering of the lofty pines and cedars; and to my excited fancy, there was something unearthly in the sound, heard amid the strange solitude, as though evil spirits were whispering in the upper air. The utter loneliness in which I found my- self weighed upou myopirits,and itwas with a feeling of positive relief that I was once more ole ir of the valley, and on the summit of the cape ; then turning; about, and gazing again for a minute at the deserted farm, I made the best of my way homewards. On my arrival there, 1 found that I was :i’télc parish church the next Sabbath, think- E T E D . friend'hiwf “1° procure an invitation to visit his cottage, especially as I had been inforde that he was always glad to receive the visits of the few strangers who came to St. Claude, and to hear the news from the outer world, from sooner petisiug repast, after which weladjournod to a little summer-house in the garden, whither the housekeeper brought a bottle of excellent Wine. wine of the best quality, though I never in- dulge in it save wnen I have visitors.” ics, I ventured to introduce the subject which chiefly occupied my thoughts. host. the spot? You would learn its history! Ah, my friend i ’tis a sad and painful story. Still, if you care to listen, I will relate it to that the most likely way to secure the good father, and perhaps wdbich be, good man, had been so long seclud- e . The next Sunday, accordingly, I made appearance in the church, and was politely accommodated with a seat near the altar, although the edifice was througed to such a degree that many of the wo rshipners could not find standing room, and were compelled to wait outside the church doors. After service, and when the good priest had heaped blessings on the children of his parishioners, he perceived me, and step- ping forward, cordially welcomed me to St. Claude. “ We seldom see strangers," said he. “ A strange is a rarity in our remote village, and therefore we ought to welcome them all the more gladly when they do us the honour of visiting us. D )es Monsieur intend to remain long at St. Claude ‘f" “ Three or four weeks," I replied. “ Then," said be, we must become friends. I shall be happy to see you at my humble dwelling; and as your time is limited, the we become friends the better. Will you do me the honour to dine with me to morrow ‘3 ’ This was just the sort of invitation I had hoped for, and, of course, I gladly accepted it. “ I shall regard it as an honour or. my part to make acquaintance of Monsieur le Cure," said I ; and with this we wished each other good day. Toe next day, at four o’clock in the after- noon I tapped at the door of the curs's cot- tage, and was admitted by his housekeeper, who conducted me to the dining-room, where I found the good father apparently anxiously awaiting my appearance. CHAPTER 1. BETROTHAL AND ms sLor-ssiss'r. M. Dubois’s household consisted of him; self, an aged female, his housekeeper, and a little girl of ten years of age; the former the widow, and the latter the orphan daughter of a fisherman of the village, who had per- ished in the exercise of their perilous occur pation, to whom the good priest had given a comfortable and happy home. We sat down together to a plain but ap- “ Come, fill your glass. You will find the After a brief conversation on various top- “ Ah} the aocursed farm 1" exclaimed my “ So, then, you have already visited little Louise was just three years his junior â€"a golden-haired, blue-eyed child, with pretty, delicate features, a graceful form, and an expression of countenance in which the arohness of girlhood was mingled with a sweet pensiveness rarely seen in one so youthful. ciare that she was the very Madonna which stood in the niche about the church porch. in parenthesis, with a smile, “that the garded as a source of wealth, and the larger a man's family, the greater be accounted his riches. The poor fishermen and farmers fearod lost a daughter adopted by the weal- thy Daiarnisrs should become proud, and forgetful, or neglecsful, of the authors of her being. ” There was one sweet little girl, who bade fair to grow up the bells of the village, upon whom, especially, Madame Ds:jarniers looked with a feeling of envy that she could not claim the child as her own. This girl‘s name was Louise Legris. She was the only child of a widowerâ€"Pierre Legris, who was one of the poorest fishermen in St. Claude; but not for ten times the wealth of the Des- jarniers, twice told, would he have parted with his little ewe-lamb, his only earthly treasure. for whose sake he toiled night and day, and often went forth to sea in times of storm and danger that kept his brother fish~ ermen at home in their song cabins, that he might increase his store, and provide a dowry for his darling against the time when she would arrive at a marriageable age. “ Alas 1 poor Pierre Legris dared the els~ ments once too often. His little bark was caught in a heavv gale in the estuary of the St. Lawrence, and neither he nor his little vessel were seen or heard of more. Poor little Louise was left an orphan at nine years of ageâ€"an orphan, without near re- lations, but not friendless, for there was not a family in the village or parish of 3:. Claude that would not have gladly sheltered the poor little child, and adopted her as one of their 0 win. “ Now, however, there was no obstacle in the way of the gratification of M idnme Des- jarniers' desire. Willing as they were to adopt the little orphan themselves, the fathers and mothers of the village perceived that the would be standing in the way of the child’s est interests should they put in a claim in opposition to the wishes of their wealthier and kind hearted neighbor. Most of them already had daughters of their own ; M adame Desjarniers had none ; and, there fore, with the general approbation of the community, the little Louise Legris became the adopted daughter of the wealthy farmer and his wife. “ Felix Dssjarniers had at this period just completed his twnlfth year. He was a noble, manly boy, with dark eyes and hair, and a fine open expression of countenance. The " The good, simple villagers used to de- image of the " I can only say," said the worthy priest, image of the Madonna whiohlthen adorned the village church must have been very much handsomer than the present one, or the good folk must have sadly maligned the child. “ It was, moreover, a common remark that no two children could have been found better suited to hold the relative positions of brother and sister than were Felix anl â€"â€"â€"â€"r- - » .â€" _..-.._.___... -.-._... ~ ~‘- nsving arranged for the reception of G 0“- tie on his farm, he was about to in NI to Nova Siotie in order to brin “m'homol when Felix, who probably sit the time wear-ironic as the d of his marriage drew near, and wished e intervening space to pass over as speedily as possible. expressed his earnest dzsire to proceed to Nova Seeds in his father's place. It was expected that it would occupy four monthsto complete the journey to and fro, and that would bring his wedding day close at hand. (ro ns OOS'HNUKD) Geronimo, the Train Robber. “ Of all the smooth and slippery outlaws now loose and enjoying perfect. freedom, the smoothest and slipperiest is G arouimo, the train robber of Annual and Mexico," said A A. Herring, the mining man, of Castle Dome, Ari. "I do not refer to the wily Apache chief, who, a short time ago, led in so many depredaticns on the frontier, but to the white namesake of his, who, if any- thing. possesses more cunning. " Not much seems to be known of Gor- onimo in many Pacific Coast States and Territories outside of Arisina and the mountainous region to the south. Ho files from one side of the szican line to the other in a few hours, and is as hard to get sight of as a will o‘the-wisp. He goes into the most civilizad towns of the frontier whenever he wants to. and nobody seems to have the nerve to tackle him. “Geronimo was connected with two or three of the heaviest robberies on the Archi- son, Topeka and Sluts Fe road a year or so ago. He lent a hand in the latest hold-up on the Southern Pacific. N o detectives are after him, or if they are they make no headway in capturing him. He seems to have the right to go anywhere unmol- sated. “His finances are considerably improved by his robberies of Wells, Fargo «k. O). Mine owners, too, caught out with well-filled pockets, as well as numerous travellers, have paid tribute to him. Mexican and American cattle and horse owners have sufi'irad. These dcpredations have been carried on for three and possibly for five years. A very round sum must have gone into Geronimo's exahequer in cousequsnce.Psop1e most inti- mate with the circumstances of his plunder- ing figure his gains at from $100, 000 to $200,000. Perhaps not less than twouty men have been killed also, yet he has been rernarded as a myth by many who have only heard about him in a cursory way. “I assure you he is about the liveliest blood, muscle and bone myth, however, that there is ageing, There are no flies on him, and evidently it is a cod man who will get him -â€"a second Bob Garland or somebody of that sort. He knows the mountains as well as Billy the Kid ever did and better than any other outlaw uoâ€"v living. He came to Tombstone first about t-‘v‘cc years ago and went under the name cf White. “He stayed for a the l time around the gambling houses. He never was known to enga e in honest lao :r. He was a fair gamb er, though he never played for big stakes. He seemed to play for pastime more than anything else. In a short time gained. . , late. nnq til“ Old Juno”: Md hi5 Wife and you. Come, let us go iu-doors. It is grow- Louise who soon came to love each other as he disa. cured and went to Clifton. Then Long 1 “00d watchmg the 8630“ 0‘ hghh elder Oblldmn’ wereâ€"Wm) the French C‘m' i118 3M1! and the air is always chilly after dearlyhsa real brother and sister could have be 1393:: his open one“ of Grimm His and shadow upon the water, where not a ves- adian politenessâ€"waiting dinner ; although the younger children were already seated at their own little table, busily occupied in discussing their postage. I apologized for my tardiness, and express- ed my regret that they had waited for me, and in five minutes we were all seated around the table, which was spread with an abundant and wholesome, though humble, meal. “M'sieur must be fatigued. He has walk- sunset, at St. Claude. We shall find a fire in my study. Gertrude will bring us another bottle of wine, and I will tell the story.” In the course of a few minutes we were seated by the fire in the good cure’s cosy little study. We both replenished our glasses, and M. ls Cure, having settled him self comfortably in his easy chair, proceed- ed with the narrative of the “aocurssd farm.” loved. Happy had it been had this brotherly and sisterly love never been disturbed by a live more passionate, and still more tends r. Happy, perhaps, had it been if M. and Madame Dssjarniers had remained content with the one child whom heaven had be- stowed upon them, and not craved so long- ingly after a daughter, whom Providence had seen fit to withhold from them. Often- timcs, alas l the boon which we poor, short- last hauls were on the Atohisou and South- ern Pacific roads, where, it is believed, he got not less than $20, 000 each time. Then l he went to Mexico and was captured by the regular troops while driving away some horses. But too Sonora jails were not strong enough to hold him, and he is now back in Arizona. He often visits Tombstone, and a short time ago was seen playing billiards in the Comet saloon there. sol could be seen, save, perchance, some ice- bound wreck upon the rocky shore, and where the country in the rear, new green and fertile, and rejoicing in the beauty of summer, would be shrouded beneath_a pail of glittering snow, from amidst which the trees, denuded of their new brilliant foliage, would rise like so many spectral objects scattered over the drear landscape. At length, I turned aside, when my atten- 1-" tion was arrested by what appeared to me to be a ruined and deserted farm-house of a de- scription very far superior to any at present existing in this part of the provmce. It stood in a deep valley, a mile or more distant. Several outhousss were seemingly attached to it, and it was surrounded by large fields and pasturo‘grounds ; but, so far as I could perceive, the place presented a singular aspect of gloom. Not a human being, not even a solitary animal of any do- scriptit n, was to be discerned from.the emi- nence upon which I stood, and which com‘ mended a perfect view of the entire estate. Altogether, the place presented a strange and startling contrast to the generally bright and smiling summer landscape. buih a sight would have been remarkable in spy part of the world, but it was especially sin- gular in a comparatively new country, in which ruins do not form one of the attrac- tions in the eyes of travellers and strangers, and in which, as yet, nothing has been left to decay. I looked at my watch. It was yet early in the day, and i resolved to descend into the valley, and discover whether the farm was, in reality, 'lio desolate spot it appear- ed to be viewad from a distance. As I drew near the house, the absence of any troidcn pith-way seemed to confirm the opinion i had formed while gazing upon the spot from the summit of the clifi". EVident- ly there had once existed a tolerably broad road. leading, apparently, from the valley to the village, and several wide footpaths crossed and recrossed each other; but all had been long disused. I turned the angle of a copse, the trees of which were surrounded with undergrowth, and entwined by parasites, and came into full view of the house. It was alsrge, roomy structure, which might have served, in the earlier days cf the province, for the country seat of a nobleman. Vestiges of carving and other ornamentation were still visible over the door and windows. The palings sur~ rounding the garden bad rusted and fallen ; the paths and flavor beds were overgrown with grass and weeds ; the roof of the house and the chimneys had fallen in: the win- dow frames and glass were shivered to atoms, not a single entire pane of glass re- maining ; the whole front of the house was blackened by age. and overrun with fungi, and every surrounding object presented a sad aspect of ruin and desolation. The out. houses, barns, kc, were in a similar state of dilapidation ; the large kitchengsrdcn and orchard in the rear of the dwelling, and the large fields and pasture grounds, had evidently been uncultivated for many years, and had become a many wilderness; cveu the neighbouring words appeared as though I :haritablc man, indefa they had long been left to solitude, shunned both by man and beast. My curleaity induced me to enter the gardenâ€"the gate of which lay deeply em- bedded in the soilâ€"and peer into the house through the windows or the doorway, the drcr itself hanging half open on one rusty hinge. . I would indeed have entered the house, but the passage was strewn with the debris . while I was strollingin the garden. that had fallen from inc ceiling, ed far '2" said the motherly Madame J uuot. “Yes, madame,” I replied. “I rambled a considerable distance beyond the Cape. Nevertheless, the day is fine, the walk was pleasant, and I am not at all fatigued." And then, being curious to learn the history oflthedeserted farm,I related my adventure. Eiada bombshell fallen through the roof of the peaceful cottage, the listeners could scarcely have appeared more -diacoucerted. Pierre, J aunt and his wife dropped their knives and forks, and raised their eyes as if in appeal to heaven. The older son and daughter almost started from their chairs, 83d even the younger children licked amaz- e . At length madame found utterance. “You nave truly, then, visited the acute- ed farm 3 ' she exclaimed. “Yet what mer- cy that you have returned safe. Never should i have pardoned myself had any evil befallen you. It would have been my fault. I should have warned you. I should have warned you. I should have told you to avoid the much dreaded spot. You are a stranger, and Providence has protected you; say, then, you will not go thither again." I hesitated to make any promise. howe rer, and requested my worthy hostess to give me the history of the firm and its former énhahitattr, and to explain to (me by what means it became forsaken, and reduced to its present ruinous and desolate condition. Pierre and his wife and his son and daughter, howover, alike hesitated to grati- fy my curiosity. In fact, to a certain de- gree, they professed ignorance. “ [here are many stories," said Madame. “ We do not speak of it. H: is regarded as unlucky to allude to the subject. We avoid the spot which has for many years been acoursed. Yet stay," she added. ,‘ If M sisnr is really curious to learn the history of the odious place, the cure will no doubt be willing to gratify his desire. He is so- cure from the machinations of evil spirits." With this I was content, since a subsequ- en: endeavour to obtain the information i sought from the eldest son of my host and hostess proved to be a complete fail- ure. The young man evidently did not like to talk on the subject. My curiosity was all the more excited in consequence of this strange reticenoe on the part of my host and his family, and I resolv- ed, if possible, to solve the mystery from the lips of the cure, whose acquaintance, how- ever, I had not yet made. Monsieur Dubois, cure of the parish of St. Claude, was a short, stout, fresh-coloured man, of about sixty years of age. For twenty- livc years he had oflisiatcd as cure of the parish. He was a cheerful, kind-hearted, tigable in the perform~ ance of what he considered to be his duty, and beloved as well as revered by the simple- miuded, honest people with whom his lot to him not only as their spiritual pastor, but also as their advis~ was cast, who looked up er in all temporal difiiculties. Hitherto I had merel hi. Dubois’l polite salutation, as he the house at which 1 lodged menced M. 10 Cure, “ though already the province has passed from the possession of France to that of Great Britain. since Au- toine Dssj irniers, and his wife, Lisette, im- migrated into Canada from their native Nor- mandy. ior to the ordinary emigrants from France. fellow immigrants. a much larger tract of land than they, with y bowed in return to passed one morning I made and had 1 up my mind, however, to attend mass at the “Neain a century has elapsed," com- “ Antoine Dssj arniers was of a class super- He was, in fact, a small landowner, and when he had sold his farm and stock in Normandy, he found himself in possession of a considerable capital wherewith to commence operations in the new country of his adoption. “ This gave him a vast advantage over his He not only purchased their more limited means, were able to secure to themselves; and supplied himself abun- dantly with cattle and sheep, and every var- iety of necessary agricultural implements ; but he waslikewise looked up to with respect by his less fortunate countrymen. And well. according to all accounts, was he worthy of the respect and regard voluntarily accorded to him. He, and his fair young wife, to whom he had been wedded only a few weeks before he qviitted France, Were kind and generous to the sick and aged ; were always ready to extend a helping hand to the poor and needy ; and wore prepared at all times to take the lead in every movement that seemed calculated to tend to the welfare and happiness of the little community. “ They prospered, as the kind and good deserve to prosper; and within ten years from the date of his'ssttlement at St. Claude, Antoine Desjarniers created a large and commodious dwelling, with barns and out houses adjoining: and imported furniture, and pictures, and various costly ornaments from France, which caused his house to be regarded as the wonder of the surrounding country, and as a fitting residence for the proudest and wealthiest seigneur in the province. “ Alas l house and furniture, outhousss and farm, have been alike, for many, many years, neglected and deserted, and left to ruin and decay. “ About twelve months after the arrival of Antonio and his wife in their adopted country, their mutual happiness was in- creased by tbs birth of a son and heir, who was named Felix, after his maternal grand- father. Fellx grew u to become a fine, handsome boy, alike 1: e delight and pride of doting parents, who now only craved for a daughter to crown their felicity. This craving, however, Providence, doubtless for wise reasons, saw fit not to gratify. At length they resolved, if ible, to adopt a little girl as their own ; at this they found no such easy matter as they had anticipated. Although the community consisted chiefly of poor farmers and fishermen, there was not one father or mother among them who was willing to part with any one of their own little daughters, even in favour of the Dnjarniers, much as they were loved and res cred. There were none so poor as to fin the,cost ofsnpporting a family a burden to them. On the contrary, in that young and thriving community, children were re- sighted mortals moat earnestly crave, proves to be the fertile source of our future great- est affliction l ” To proceed, however, with my story. “ Years passed away, and Felix and Louise â€"â€"who had assumed the surname of her foster parentsâ€"were already on the verge of man and womanhood,â€"-â€"the one nineteen, the other sixteen, years of age, and were universally acknowledged to be the hand- somest youthful pair in the parish of St. Claude. Both had been well educated for this positionâ€"Felix at the college at Quebec, and Louise at a school at Trois Riviercs ; and both had returned home, for good. About a twelvemonth after their return. a great change had taken place in their feelings to- wards each other. They no longer appear- ed as brother and sister, but regarded each other with a stronger and more tender affec- tion. In fact, they had secretly become be- trothed to cach other, and looked forward to the day when they should become man and wife. Nor were Monsieur and Madame Desjarniers blind to the change that had taken place in their children’s sentiments; and though they were ignorant of the fact of their secret betrothal, they were far from being averse to their future union. The fair Liuise had been to} them all that a daughter could possibly have been; nor could they have loved a daughter of their own more dearly. They rejoiced, therefore, at the thought that Louise's marriage would not separate them, but that the youthful couple would still continue to live with them at the farm-house, until death should remove them to a happier world, where they would await an eternal reunion with their beloved children. “ Monsieur and Madame Deejarniers had continued to prosper, and their wealth had increased to such a degree. that there were few few in the province who were possessed of greater riches ; though M. Desjarnisrs assumed no upstart airs, but still continued to live the simple, quiet life of a humble farmer. Nothing, meanwhile, had occurred to disturb the even tenor of their way ; and and it appeared as if heaven had exempted them from the ordinary sorrows and troubles which afflict oor mortals in almost every condition of l fa. It had been at length ar- ranged that ths marriage of Felix and Louise should take place when the former bad com- pleted his twenty~first year, and when Louise would, consequently, be eighteen years of age ; and a public etrothal, followed by a grand jets given to all the villagers by M. Desjaruiers, soon afterwards took lace. Felix would have been better please had the wedding-day been fixed at an earlier riod ; and perhaps Louise was secretly on er lover's side. Both however, were con- tent to abide by the wishes of their parents. “ Everything, infact, seemed to gosmooth- ly int... the Desjarnlersâ€"sged and youthful ; yet a terrible calamity was swiftly approach- ing. which would shatter all their dearest hopes, and blight their happiness for ever. But- I must not anticipate my story. It lacked but five months to the day appointed for the wedding of the youthful couple when M. Derjirniers came back from Nov. Scotis, whither be had gone to purchase cattle. He had made a large purchase ; and “ He has no headquarters, and his devices to elude pursuors are always successful. Nothing is known of his presence till the day after he has left a place, and there is no doubt that those who know where he is keep still about it, for fear of death” at his hands. His companion is a renegade Mexi- can, uamod Federico. It has been said that Geronimo is a Mexican, but this is a mistake. He is white, or very nearly so. “ Geronimo is a dead shot, and olli rare or anybody else are not in a hurry to try their skill against him. S)mc still" rewards have been offered by the railroad and express companies for bin, and private parties have also offered bonuses for him. "The (l viewers of Ariz'ina and Sonora have offered something like $3 00.) each. There is money in his scalp, if it can be got- dut to get it is the trouhlJ.” .â€" - -- --v.‘.â€".___._- A RIGHT KIND OF BOY. The Young Canadian Who Speaks ol' Ills Office as "We." DJD’G laugh at the boy who magnifies his place. You may see him coming from the post office a with big bundle of his employer's letters, which he displays with as much pride as if they wore his own. But he is proud of his place. He is attending to business. He likes to have the world know that he is at work fora busy concern. One of the Law- rences.ofBoston,onoosaid: "I would not give .nuch for the boy that does not say ‘we' be- fore he has been with us a fortnight." The boy who says “ we " identifi s himself with the concern. Its interests are his. He sticks up for its credit and repetition. He takes pleasure in his work, and hopes some time to say "we" in earnest. The boy will reap what he sows if he keeps his grit andsticks to his job. You may take off your hat to him as one of thcfuturc solid men of the town. Lot his employer do the fair thing by him; check him kindly if he shows signs of being too big for his place ; counsel him as to his habits and associates, and occasionally show him a pleasant pros- pect of advancement. A little praise does an honest buy a heap of good. Good luck to the boy who says "we." Two Points of View. “tht a haughty, dignified lady MmDoe. little is l” “Hanghty? Why the only time I ever saw her she was the picture of humility." “Really? When was that i" “A week or twa ago. She was talking to her servant girl.” A Dollar Easily Earned. First Trampâ€"“ Hello. Jerry, come in and have a cocktail.” Second Trampâ€"“ What ! Cocktail l You must be livin' on Buy street now." First Trampâ€"“ Yes, I rather guess I am. I’m gettin' a dollar a day for settin’ in a show winder to advertise a new toilet soap." Second Tramp-J“ Rate 2" First Trampâ€"“ Yes, I am, on the dead rquarc. I represent the ‘ before usin‘.’ ”