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f u Z: w. '- 5A.- BEYOND RECALL. â€"-Publlshed by special arrangement from advance sheets of Chambers'JournaL CHAPTER XXXI. in Win "sun r0 can. My wife had not touched the bread I laid on the table. She had eaten nothing now for nearly four-and-twenty hours. That did not disquiet me. I had known prison- ers who tried to starve themselves in order to get on the sick list, but their resolution invariably gave way before the pan of hunger had injured their health, and rea- soned that a woman could not succeed where a dogged convict failed. “ She is preparing another mortification for herself,” thought I. “ It will all help to break her spirit." After bolting the trap and taking away the steps, I went up to the loft and fell asleep in the hay, fairly well contented with the day's events. “ You can come down,” I called, when I had set up the steps and unbolted the trap the next morning. Then I lit the fire, made a cup of coffee, and cooked a rasher of bacon for myself. After that I raked out the fire that Hebe might have to light it again for her own pur- pose. But I might have saved myself that trouble. She did not come down. When I had finished my breakfast I call- ed to her. She made no response. I had heard no movement overhead and felt an. easy. Going up the steps I put my shoulders against the trap and opened it costly enough. She had thought to secure it by wcdging an old nail in the opening. My wife was seat~ oil at the other end of her room in an atti- tudo of dejection. She rose hastily and stood in an attitude that was almost defiant as I thrust my head above the floor. “ Do you want me to bring your food up to you ‘3” I asked savagely. “ Leave mcâ€"that is the only favor I have to ask of you,” she answered. “ That’s easily granted. I shan’t have much trouble with you if that‘s all you want.” I picked up the nail I had forced out, and, looking at it with a laugh, Went downstairs. In the bag of tools there was an old bolt. I took it up with the neces- sary tools and a. few screws and fastened it on the upper side of the trap where the other had been. “ There,” said I, when the job was finished; “now you can lock yourself in if you like.” . I expected fully she would come down in a few minutes; but after waiting an hour, meditating what I might say to humiliate her upon her defeat, I grew \veary of inaction. “She will beat me at this game,” saidI; “she’s used to doing nothing; I’m not." So I looked about for occupation. Accustomcd to the order and ncatncss of a prison, the state of the room displeased me. " Rule Twenty-three,” said I to myself : “ ‘ prisoners shall keep their cells, utensils, clothing, and bedding clean and neatly arranged, and shall sweep the yards, pas- sages, and other parts of the prison as may be dizected, unless provision for the per- formance of these duties is otherwise iuadc.’ As provision don’t look like being executed to-day, I must do it myself.” Pleased with the notion of doing some- thing, I set to work with a will: sweeping, brushing, polishing, and setting everything in ordcr with something of the satisfaction I had found in the old “good-conduct” days when I made my cell a model for the ward- ers to show to visitors inspecting the prison. Nevertheless it irritated me to remember that I had resolved to force my wife to pcr~ form the offices I was now doing myself. I consoled myself for this disappointment by reflecting that she could not hold out much longer, and that my triumph would be all the greater when she did yield to my direc' tions. To show her that I was not in the least alarmed by her voluntary starving I made an effort to sing, but breaking down in that by reason of my disused voice being as tunolcss us a crow’s, I had recourse to whistling. Even this, however, was a fail- ore, and degenerated into the hissing noise with which grooms rub down horses. lly about three o’clock there was nothing more to be done. Everything was in its place as neat and clean as hands could make it. I had not heard or seen a sign of Hebe all the morning. When I knocked off at midday to fry myself a maker of bacon, I called her without getting any response Her prolonged obstinucy exasperated me ; her endurance perplexed me. I had never heard of a convict holding out longer than forty hours against the temptation to eat, and I was too dull to perceive that a refined woman has infinitely greater fortitude in supporting physical suffering than a brutalis~ ed man. I went again up into her room. She had not- troubled herself to secure the bolt. It was liken stove, for the sun had been shin- ing down upon the slates, and thc sky-light was closed. Hebe lay upon the bed : she did not move as I put back the trap noisily. The four that she was dead dismayed me, and I drew near the bedside with a forc- boding inexplicable to me then. “’liy with- losing her ‘3 The only explanation I can find ; is that in losing her I must lose the sweets of a revenge 1211'. had formed my only hope for six years. She lay with her face to the wall, her head bent back, her chock pillowcd upon a tumbled mass of dark, so?! hair that throw . . .. . . up lll fclicf tho demonic line of her whith throat and chin, her period lips, and wintcl Ht“? Cb’wll '1’” illlib‘kl. llcl‘ b03031 3 loose in the walled enclosure intended for a tooth. l l l 1 . . . i out a spark of tender feeling did I dread 3 the nose. not to see through you. lieve in you nowâ€"think it was innocent sim- plicity that made you prefer to lie all day in an oven like this when you were free to get fresh air. 1 know your motive. You’re trying to make yourself ill. You expect to frighten me into fetching a doctor, through whom you could communicate with that old rascal the major and get a release. But I’m not to be frightened. You‘re not ill, and I31 take care you shan't make yourself i s), lVith that I pushed up the skylight and secured it, to let a current of air pass thrOugh. ' “ You’ll know how to shut it at night when you feel chilly and the trap‘s bolted,” I said, going back to the bedside. Her eyes were still closed, her features un- moved. I had made noise enough to awake any ordinary sleeper ; her immobility changed suspicion to conviction. She was shamming. “ You have made up your mind to get away from me where Kit may find you,” said I, speaking still louder. “ I‘ve made up my mind you shall stay here till you find him. We shall see Who wins." The foreboding that I must lose in a struggle with her indomitable spirit en- raged me. Her unmoved face seemed to mock me with its placid calm. I doubted the advantage to myself of the passive policy we both adopted. Hers was moral strength ; mine purely physical. I was half minded to shake her out of her [pres tended sleep, and force her to go down be- low. But that in itself was a tacit admis- sion of defeat in one direction that I could not reconcile myself to. And, after all, if her will were more inflexible than mine, how couldIforce her further than that? She might compel me to restore her to her friends, or seek medical help, which would result in the same thing, by persisting in, starving herself into a dangerous condition, and that within a few days. As I turned away from her side in savage impatience, I caught sight of an empty glass upon the table; beside it stood the water pitcher; that was nearly empty. She had not been able to overcome the cravings of thirst. I saw at once the power this discovery gave me, “ We shall see who wins,” I repeated, with savage cxultation. I took the pitcher away with me, dropping the trap with a bang that shook the floor, and bolting it underneath. . I saddled the pony as if my life depended on expedition, and rode over the moor to a small farm on the outskirts of Newton. A man stood in the rick-yard. He came slowly towards me when I hailed him. “Have you a cow to sell?” I asked. He shook his head slowly. That did not discourage me. A careful dealer is never in a hurry to sell. “There are cows in the meadow over there ; whom do they bolon g to 1’” “Me.” “Well, can’t you let me have one ; I don’t mind what I pay ‘2” “What are you? You ain’t a farmer, I know, andyou don’t look like u. butcher. ” “I’magentlcman’s servant,” said I, an assertion which my shaven face might, I thought, bear out. “The young missus is down here for her lungs, and the doctor’s ordered her to have pure milk. The gover- nor seems to think she’s going to be cured the moment she gets it. That’s why he’s sent me off with orders to be back again in a couple of hours. If you can’t let me have one I won’t waste your time or my own, master.” I gave my pony a. nudge with my hccl. “ Hold hard. If it’s to oblige some of the gentry at Newton as I hear are in a bad way,” he said (I nodded acquiescence) “why I daresay I could part with one, but they are that good it gricves mc sore to let ere a one go, it do.” He turned down towards the meadow, with another shake of the head, and I fol- lowod. The cattle came towards him when he called. “ There they are, and as its getting on towards milking time you can see for your- self that ‘ choose as you may, you can't go astray,’ as the saying is." I chose one which, of course, happened to be the very “ flowor of the flock,” and the most hard to part with ; but eventually, a price being named, I counted out the money, and going off' with my purchase, left the farmcrbcttcr pleased than I found him. The sun was setting when I reached the cottage'aftcr the tedious return journey. I milked the cow, and filling the pitcher, carried it up to my wife’s room. She was scafcdbcsido the bed, but her head rested on tho.pillow. She rose as I came up. “'l‘here’s something to drink,” said I, putting the pitcher on the table. She stepped forward eagerly as I turned away. When I looked buci.‘ from the stops she was taking the half-emptied glass from i all“?! trying some 8‘1"“ ‘90 escape. her lips. The light was beyond her; she stood out in silhouette, with the glass in her hand, motionless and silent. It seemed to me she had just disorlvcrcfl that wind She had drunk so Cugcl‘ly was no: water, and that she was doubtful whether I had not substituted poison. l was content to leave her in that terrible uncertainty for the night. C'II;\I"_l'l'll‘. XXX”. l nu'ruM' MVsELI-z To house the cow 1 had to turn the pony A fine fist Kit must have been Perhaps he’d be- l l 1 Mi "Wâ€"â€"~ ” gt“ com omens Ed “ Presently I found a resemblance to her face in the outline of the stain I had been drawing. The upon the dark polish. Beside me lay the pen-knife with which I had sharpened the s penciL I took it up, and almost as idly as I had begun I continued the sketch. It was apple wood varnished to look like maho~ gauy. The lines cut with the knife showed up clearly, and the likeness became more evident. Gradually my interest grew in the work, developing at length into an artistic ardor that impelled me further and further. I out deep into the wood, bringing the out~ line into relief ; got light and shadow into the face, and gave softness to the hair by a trick that I once thought was my own. I tried to reproduce the profile asI had seen it in the afternoon ; the eyes closed, the lips parted, the head thrown back, giving an unbroken line from the chin to the spring of the throat. I wished it to be faithful to her beauty that in the end I might have the savage gratification of burning it out with a hot iron. “If I rub paraffin into the wood and set light to it," thought I, “I shall see the beauty eaten away as if vitriol had been thrown into her living face.” But as I worked on, this malignant feel- ing gave place to one of aching sorrow as I recalled to mind the old days when I first attempted to carve a likeness of the belov- ed fscc ; how I dreamed night after night of the work I had laid aside with regret when the light failed ; with what feverish eagerness I returned to it when the slow sun rose; with what reverent love I strove to give the touch that should express the inefi‘able sweetness and purity I found in her features ! When I got to that stage when an artist doubts whether he is doing good work or trembling. It was so long since I had used it to such work, and I had sat over the thing too long. Sick and giddy I went to the open door for air. “ What shall I do with it?” I asked my- self, going back to the table. I felt a cer- tain affection for the work in itself ; it was good. I no longer thought of defacing it ; that was a brutality against _ which the awakened sensibility of an artist rev‘olted. It was a. bit of wood curvingâ€"nothine‘ more. There was no sentiment in it as it was ; there mightbe if I disfigured it. I swept the chips OE and put them in the stove; then I turned back the cover as I had found abruptly, covering her face with her hands. it. On examining the stable in the morning, I found that I could make room for the cow by removing the partition at the end and ‘ taking in a piece of the shed beyond. The job was three parts done, and I was nailing up the crossbars in their new position, when the light from the door being blocked lpleasant subject.” out, I turned and saw Hebe standing there. “Oh, you've comedown at last,” said I ; .could forgotâ€"” she paused. adding after I had driven home a. nail, “Going to try another game iii-day?” “I, want to speak to you,” she said, quietly, ignoring my sneer. “You can come in. You are only stop- his mind when he tried again and again to ping out the light there.” » She came in after a moment’s conflict with her pride, and stood resting her hand on the corn bin. 1 “Well, what is it?” I asked, picking up a. board and putting it in its place. “I will wait till you can give me your . attention.” “I can listen to you without wasting time. You can talk till I begin hammer- ing and go on again when I stOp. If I . don’t stop, you may take it as a. sign that I don’t want to hear any more.” She did not accept this invitation at once. I nailed the plank top and bottom without getting a word. Suddenly as I stuck some nails I had selected for the next plank in my mouth, a. suspicion seemed to strike her. “ I thought you were a. watchmaker,” she said. “ So I was, but I learnt carpentry at Dartmoor. Preferred going into a work- shop to doing the work of s_ horse in the quarries: that‘s where I met hit.” “ You can’t carve wood.” “ \Vith a saw, Ican,” said I, after nailing e the plank which gave me time to think of the evasion. “ But not as my husband did. I shook my head as I dragged out a fresh 5 plank and set it up. There was another in- terval of silence. When I turnch to select more nails I said-â€" “ Is that all you’ve got to say She raised her head quickly, as if to change the current of her thoughts. I drove in three nails, with a pretence of whistling. “ When did you last see my husband '3” she asked. ‘ “ I was drafted to Portland May twelvc- I month, and I saw Kit the day before I went.” ,5: "When did you first come to know him?” ’ excitement. “ In '82, when I was put in the carpcn‘ , ters’ workshop.” u when you last saw him was he think. of me as I was to him in those days.” ing of escape?” “ Why, he was always thinking of it ; being i caught, and put in punishment for it. bloat! all the old hands get some mad notion ; that was his.” “ You knew him six years ; did he alterl much in that time ‘3 ” “ \Vcll, that is a silly question ! Do you think there‘d be a trace of goodness left in i you after being treats-d all that time like a l beast.” g “ I'm only n. woman; he is a man ! " “ Don’t see much choice bcthxt the two. Any way. all the goodness and manhood too was knocked out of Kit.” There was a contemptuous smile on her face as she met my. eyes and shook her head. “ You're like that fellow who went to ‘ ' I o v t - ‘ y ‘ I . rose and foil to a tcgulm reszizraizvn, and lgarncn. l in: ronundcd me that I must en- ; sleep over so many years and couldn I. no and her cyr-s were closed. fie-r tranquility was a fresh aggravation when I found I had when the rough weather set in. nothing to fear from it. “ You're a clcrcr woman." I said cloud, as I bent over her. “ iii: told me all about _yeu, and I didn’t stand. in need of this But you're noi clever enough to de- proof. ceivc me as you deceived him with your acting. I'm not such a mi: muff as he was. Oh, you're no: :5le ! You'd have bolted ,llirgc the stable to shelter both animals' def-stand the change that 'had taken p i l 1 3 So when I had finished my supper, cleared away the things, and lit- the lamp, I turned back the table cover to make a unit'ng of the alter‘ utiou to be made. That was an affair of five minutes. but long after it was done I still hung over the table, idly tracing the outline of a stain on the white wood. My thoughts ran continually on the worn- thc trap before lying down if yonr motive -au upstairs. Her dark figure standing out for it was to get a done. You knew l should come up, and you leftlhhouted mo. Bu: it wasn‘t. against the l' ht as 1 had seen her last ‘Ihat was she doing up there the trap open that I might come in and are in the dark! What visions did she see in you with your head in a pretty pose, and 'our hair artfully arranged to IIf0“' your p \Vhat voices came to her Was she trembling with the darkness? from the silence? ace at its lost. ‘1 m: thought that if you I fear of the husband who should call her to had made a fool of one man makes fool of another. makes no more in: you could. Bur, you see, I’m not a greenhom of :wemy, and your beauty ion on me than u accountâ€"weepi for the children she should never take into or arms again! In some form she must be suffering. For the first tin: that reflection failed to give me de- they were all dead. I'm not to he led twilight, ’. when he woke," said I. “ But you’ll havci to understand it. You won’t find Kit! pretty nor pleasant, nor pliable ‘neithcr ;, make up your mind to that. He ain’t what. he was when I first knew him.” “ No, no," she said, mournfully. Then in an instant, plucking up spirit, she addedâ€" ou last knew m." nearer a conclusion after nailin'ra p auk top and bottom, I changed the subject. " Was the cow in the garden when you came through!" “ Yes. You got that for me." 0 I routed, and hammered afresh. " t was good of you to think of that," she said when I stopped. you," she repeated, as if to convince herself that I was not altogether a villain. pencil mark was indistinct own money.” bad, I left off. My hand was wet all I but not without betraying myself. ‘, one thing, anyway,” said I ; “ liit's out.” 1 young again. I continued. lips. l generous.” she said, bending her brows. dain and spirit, ” I wonder if anything on earth could make you like my husband.” lac.) 1 There’s never a rose in all the world There's never a wind in all the sky “But happilyhc is not what he was when N0 r°bin bl“ may “well some hem". l I did not understand her, and bein no 60d Riv“ “5 0-” 80m mm". “'0” my “ I could not . eatly. eat; I must have died. It was good of: I And the young man had been there three h “I promised Kit I'd look after you, didn‘t I! Besides I bought it with your â€"-â€". on Second Thought llo Didn‘t Want to Rule Post on a Texas Raul. Jay Gould once made a tri to Mexico to inspect the International andP Great North. ern Railway. It was in the autumn of 1373 and, as usual, the millionaire was in a hurry. Meeting the ntleman who had the sale of the roadin and, he said : Pulling out a new plank, I lost her re~ ponse. ‘5 How long have you been up.” “ A.» long while.” “ What have you been at?” ‘,‘l have been down to the stream for water. You are not afraid of my running “f?ylu‘$d Pd look after you. but . “I'mabgsy mamandlwant foboback I didn’t promise to watch you night m Now iork “on week‘ RM” m° through.” A special train was made up and put in charge of Jake Lauer, one of the pioneers in Mexican engineering. “ Rush him ” was the order, and Mr. Lauer did some hard thinkin . He knew that the roadbed was in a terri ile condition, and that to run over twenty miles was tak- ing desperate chances. Lauer had lots of nerve, but he felt the responsibility imposed on him by the officials in placing Gould in his hands. He concluded finally to use his own judgement, take no chances, and stick closely to the schedule time. Between Marshall and Galveston the schedule called for 3‘25 miles to be made between dark and daylight. J uy Gould did not retire early, and on that night seemed particularly wide awake. He sat reading a newspaper by a dim light, and every once in a while glanced out of the win- dow impatiently. It was evident that the great man was becoming angry. Finally the storm burst. Turning to one of the officials accompanying him, he remarked testin : - " If this were a funeral train it couldn't possibly travel in a more decorous manner. Steam up and let us go along.” The gentleman spoken to was aware that the night ride had been specially arran ed. in order that the condition of the road ed could be copcealed from Gould, but thus forced he had nothing to do but to order an increase of speed. The order was given, but the train moved along at the same speed. . .' “ Send the engineer to me,” said Gould. “ I’ll talk to him.” At the next stopping place Lauer was summoned and given to understand that he was not capable of driving a car horse, much less running an engine. “ Get along ! Push her ! Let’s see what the machine can do," urged Gould. Laurer dcmurred and the railroad mag- nate canoluded thatrhc was afraid. “ He’s a coward," he finally said : “ put another man in charge.” Laucr overheard the remark and flushed up. “ All right,” he said : ” we’ll open her up. 21 In 3. few moments the little special was speeding through the night at the rate of forty-five miles an hour. It was a ride to be remembered. The cars rocked from side to side, creaking in every joint, and now and then lifting as if about to leave the track. Everybody clung to some support, those who knew the condition of the roadbed expecting to be hurled into eternity every minute. Lancr satatthe throttle, watching the rails as they gleamcd like silver threads. He was as pale as those in the train behind, but, as he and days, You know pretty well what the consequences would be if you triep to cross the moor. You can try if you like, butâ€"” “I don't intend to try. I believe you were right in your conclusions. though you put them in such a form that I could not at first reconcile myself to accept them. But I have since thought a great deal about my position and what course I ought to take, and now I see that there is no sacri- fice of self-respect in accepting even your guidance when it is reasonable. ‘ “ Well, you haven’t misspent your time, anyhow.” Her chin was on her breast, and she seem- ed absorbed in meditation when I looked at her awain. “ Ifave you had a look round the place? ” I asked. “ I have been looking everywhere,” she answered, quietly. “ What for ‘2 ” “ My husband.” The reply startled me. I We”, my finger on the nail, the hammer half raised, for an explanation. Her attitude was un- changed. “ I wanted to make sure whet-her he had been here or not,” she said. “ I thought you had settled {hat by the pictures on the wall.” “ I believed they were his at first, but notwhen I have examined the wall.” “ \Vhy ?” ~ “ Because there is no sign in them that he had thought of mo.” “ That’s a good ’un,” said I, With ahoarso laugh. “ Did you expect to find a flatter- ing portrait ?” , “No, I looked for what you led me to expect. You told me of the horrible sub- jects he chose in prison. I expected to see myself being strangled by himâ€"anything,” she spoke with Vehcmeuce and broke off “ You expected to see your destiny re- vealed as a picture of merit rewarded, ch 1’” 1 muttered, driving in the nail with a sin- gle blow. I turned to look at her. Her fingers still trembled before her eyes. “ It didn’t strike you that he might choose to forget you and think of a more “Oh, he could not forget me. No man “ Such injuries as he owes to you,” I sug- gestcd. “ You havo proved that he did not forget me. Oh, I know what must have been in escape. I could notJfope that he had for- iveu me, that he could pit-y me, that his live (iould outlive all, and I wronged him in t at. “ I doubt it.” “ I am sure 1” she said, firmly, dropping her hand and raising her head proudly. “ Wait till you see him. ” “ I will wait cheerfully.” “ Ah, you may have to wait long enough : for, according to your own showing, there’s no proof that he’s out of prison yet. " ” I’d have gone up with pleasure before I would have given that little cuss the chance to say I was a squealcr.” Once he looked back at the swaying train and said : “ He won't stand it long.” The engineer was right. At a particular- ly bad place the bell-cord was jerked and the train brought to astandstill. Jay Gould in But them is WOOL I know he has es_ was picked from under afloat, where he had . ,, been thrown and angrily faced the engineer, “$301,232”,'figflfitpleflfi‘gfi? mu yon'm who had come back to the car. “Come with me and I wih‘ Show you “ \Vhat, in the name of all that is good K t . .: = - v and holy, do you mean '2” he demanded. zigzagolzpte found, she and, going towards ,, Do you want to kl” us an Sn I threw down the hammer and followed “ You said you wanted me to pan he: . t , - - ' open” replied Lauer quietly. her, no yet perceivmg what had happen Goiild glared at the man for a moment ed. - y and his manner changed. hozsh; crossed the enclosure and entered the ,, My man,” he mid, ,, you go back them and use your own judgment the rest of the trip. I know how to manipulate a railroad, but I guess you know more than I do about running an engine." Then he was assisted to his berth. W- Blaok Something of Something. The man was in a brown study when he went into the drug store. "‘ What can we do for you ‘3” inquired the clerk. “ I want black something of something. ” he said “Have you got any '3 ” “Probably We have, ” replied the clerk, “ but you'll have to be more definite to get “ There !” she exclaimed, triumphantly, pointing to the table. The cover was thrown back revealing the work I had done over night and forgotten in the occupation of the last three hours. “ It is my face,” she said, as I went round and looked at it with feigned curios- ity. “ Not as you see it now, but us he saw it years and years ago. An artist often fails to see the fault that is obvious to the first critic ; and now [saw what it was in my work that had displeas- ed me when Iglanced as it before sitting down to breakfast. Unconscioust I had reproduced in the character of the faco the work I had done in my workshop in the old days : guided, may be, by the subtle in- it.” flueocc of the memories that recurred to me The customer thought for a moment. in doing it. “Got any black sheepskin of something ‘3" “No hand but his could have done that,’ he asked. she continued, her voice trembling with “No, we don'tkeep sheepskins. Wohavo ” And I have reason to think Chamois skins, though." of him as he wasâ€"n. man, generous and “Thatisn’tit, Iknow,”said thccustomcr. tender, since that shows that he still thinks “Got any other kind of skins '3" H No 7’ “Skins, skins, skins,’ repeated the man, struggling with his slippery memory. “Calf- skin sczms to be something like it. (lot any black calf skins of anything '.’" “No, not n. one, " and the clerk laughcl. The customer grew red in the face. “Byjovc,” he said, “if it isnlta skin, what in thunder is it ‘: ’ , “Possibly it is a hide?" suggested the ‘ clerk kindly. “"hat’s it! That's it 1" man. “Have you got any black hides of some- thing or anything 2’” “Not that lam aware of,” and the cus- tomcrbccamc thoughtful again. “Hide, hidc, hide." be repeated. “Got any rawhide of anything 3" The clerk shook his head sadly as the man trumped up and down the store. “Got any black cowhide of anything 2" he asked after a minute's thought. The clerk's face showed a gleam of intelli- gence and then broke into a. smile. “Possibly it is black oxide of manganese you wont?" be said quietly. The customer almost threw his arms around the clerk's neck. « “Ofcourse, that's it," he exclaimed. “I knew there was a skin or something some- where about the thin , " and he calmed I could have uudcccivcd her on this point ' “ \Vell it looks as [I you were right in A smile crch over her face, making it “ And maybe he’s gone soft, that’s true,” “ P‘raps he fell sick.” The smile passed in an instant from her “ I wonder if sickness could make you exclaimed the " I wonder,“ she added, with growing dis- “ Not if he’s the fool you take him for," I answered. (To us CONTINUED.) -â€"-â€"â€"â€"-â€"-â€".â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€". Ever Rejoicing. But makes some green spray sweeter; But makes some bird wing fleeter ; There's never a star but brings to heaven Some silver radiance tender, And never a rosy cloud but helps To crown the sunset splendor ; His dawnlight gladness voicing. To set the world rejoicing, down and waited for w t he wanted. 3‘? T°°‘.‘ “w Hm" . Bad Heard Him Once- They were discussing the labor question. . . “ I believe in shorter hours," said My, Billieâ€"“Conic up and hear our minister Lin er. lo'd‘ '" . “ 0 do I," replied Miss Keedick, earn. No beâ€"" No, thanks: I heard lam once " I think an hour and a half a and always regreth it." . “ Why, I guess you no matches." “ Not a bit of it; he is the m who married as." plenty long enough for an evening call." ours. remarked in telling the story the other day : -