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A WEEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERATURE AND NEWS. -

EDWARD WHELAN]

nn

Voi. V. CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINC — be ah pineal AD

his is true Liberty, when Free-born Men, having to advise the Public, man speak free.——EURIPIDES. m3 inidhiiiiiahieasitiatilaal lethal ete siie Ria sehen nt

E EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, JANUARY 28, 1856.

. - °- _ | ’ , ; ws ’ . Lar? Fy | rs 34933 Doar, | Literature. James W. Cairns, ...... Proprietor, | rrronewe = = KENT STREET, CHARLOTTETOWN, P. B. I. (From the Dublin I niversity Magazine.) Pleasantly situated, and every comfort afforded at moderate cost. DEATH EF” Horses and vehicles, for hire, in connection with the establishment. | "

September 3. . dableenn Angel, who treadest in the track of Time,

YA, iV Mablohie | Guarding the entrance t cnown cli : JAWS 3 WOR Ss | Whence come no i Commission Merchant, General Agent and | Whenee not a song we hear Auctioneer. | Of triumph or of cheer, QUEEN STREET,

Or sound of happy footsteps passing to and fro. CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND :

Card. Fierce storms thou summonest

(era a VY oe ( rv i rv 3 fs WAR f 4 wl BLA aly From the deep mountain breast ‘1.2 am ‘p me oreast, Ship Brokers and Commission Merchants, Te be thy pursuivants whee thou art wandering. Por the sale and purchase of American and Provincial Produce, | and Dealers in Provisions, Fish, Oil, &e. Thy name is terrible, thine icy breath FERRY LANDING,........ WATER-ST., ST. JOHN, N. B, Stern order to the War-Fiend uttereth, Rerrrences ~~ Charlottetown, P. E.1., Jas. Purvis, Esq. | Who stains the pleasant turf a fearful red, St. John, N. B., Messrs. R. Rankin & Co. Ur dashes in the wave, Oct. &, 1855. 6m A myriad spirits brave,

“Ti a abe TlanvVbalieam a a, ~~ | For whose eternal rest no saintly song is said. VAgAS, BIWOITED OB, yong

=e | Yet I have known thee, Death, with gentle hand Commission Merchants, Lead some poor wanderer to the Sennen land

i —_—— eres.

| Pale as the May-bell trembling in the breeze, Thou makest youthful cheeks, The summer s2as | Lose their calm blue beneath thy waving wing ;

t RUSSIA WHARF, .<.. 0000s BOSTON. | Amid the purple light of autumn eves ; Particular attention is given to consignments of Vessels and | While to the harvest moon Arose a rustic tune .

Prodace from the British Provinees; and the purchase and |

| are the In every etal sube ¢

scniofr.

ind Lamo

osophiea! ha serail to sneure hich the yen mine d pt, would

*

jlege, and lof Albany-

3 Dawson. fe in P. B Dec. 7.

Jibrary 2F@ may 7e re preve nt the

x MONDAY

ME. coLes’

Half x cany

shipment of all kinds of Merchandize, with a general Insurance Agency. September 10.

American Hotel, St. Eleanor’s, P. E. L ALLAN GG. HOWATT, Proprietor, NMHE above would take this opportunity of informing his numerous customers and triends, and the public in general, that he has fitted up his large and commodious house tor the reception of permanent and transient boarders, and trusts by attention to their wants to merit a share of publie patronage. N. B.—Good stabling attached. ile would likewise give notice to those indebted to him that unless their respective accounts are settled forthwith, —" will be ineurred without further notice. Jan. 14.

Excellent Stand for business for Sale at |

Bedeque. TEMLE subseriber offers for sale the following excellent stand for business, situate opposite Hooper's Corner, Bedeque.

There is 2 pie chains, and two chaifs deep. There is a new Dwelling House upon it, a story anl a haif high; it has five comfortable rooms on the first floor, besides a commodious Kitchen and Dairy ; the

weconud floor mav be laid off in four convenient bed-rooms. <A

Store adjoins the Dweiling House, measuring 20 x 30, and is |

well titte«t up for businoss. Another small Dwelling House

adjoins the Store, which will be sold with the other property. The Land will be divided into building lows, and sold separately, if «a required: or 1 all in one block, with the buildings thereon. The sitnation of this property, being in the midst of a fl uurishing wand boantifnl seetlement, and within a very short

distance of tha'rapidly thriving sca-port s°ttlement of Summer- ride, renders it a yery desirable location for the establishment ofa Mereantile Business, or a Boarding Louse. purchase money may remain on mortgage. Further informa- tion respecting terms and other particulars may be obtained on applicatien being made to the subsctiber at Charlottetown.

JOUN HARPER. Charlottetown, January 14, 1856.

Dwelling House and Land near Charlotte- town for Sale. SOR SALE, the newly built and commodious Dwelling

Howse in Charlottetown Royalty, late the residence of the Hon. Charles Hensley, together with eighteen acres of Land adjoining. “Lhe Dwelling House contains—Diniag oom, Drawing Room and Study; two

Kitchens, with Store-rooms, &¢.: and Nine Bed-reoms. There is also Stables, Coach-hogse, Koot-house, Pamp, &e., on the premises. The dis- tance from Charlottetown is rather less than one mile Also to let from year te year, or for a term ef years, as agreed upon, geveral Pasture Lots in Charluttetown Royalty, near the above Dwelling House. For Terms of Sale and Lease apply to the subscriber at the Attorney General's Office, Colonial Building, Charlottetown. July 39. JOSEPH HENSLEY. Freehold for Sale. put wel] known Freehold, of 55 acres, “ EGLANTINE POINT,” Fortune Bay, formeriy owned by Epwanp Axpez., is mow offered for sale, of which a good and valid title can be given. For further particulars apply to W. B. DEAN. Registered book 24, page 878. tf July 23.

— —— me ———

“ Alliance Life and Fire Insurance Company" of LONDON

ESTABLISHED BY ACT OF PARLIAMENT

1824, Capital, Five Millions Sterling. CHARLES YOUNG,

_Aprinvg, Agent for P. E. Island.

. Notice. FPUIE penalty prescribed by law shall be rigidly enforced in future again all persons who deposit snow or any other obstructive nuissnee on the City Wharfs, or on the ice

made over the docks ad jarent thereto. The subserii, uscd w be removed from off the said

harfs cn the close u” the navigation five empty casks, as also &wheelbarrow. Theon

Tecan seye them b ing expenses. CULN KLIS LITRE. Wharfinger.

_ January 14, 1856. Su, Ship for

tt

Regular Trader and first | Charlottetown, P. E. NEW Clipper Ship ‘MA

’ *.1 . _ ; of ground, with a front on the road of five

Part of the}

‘

From sunburnt lusty reapers, binding up their.sheaves.

| And even if, in some teo cruel mood, Thou didst neglect the multitude, Te clutch the fair bride in her orange-bloom, To dim her eyes of light Upon the marriage night, | And bear her pallid beauty to the marble tomb.

Or the sweet child who prattled all day long | Didst toueh with chillness ’mid his eradle song, Yet unrepining, let us hope and pray, he Master calls his own, Up to his golden throne, | When they are gathered there, thou, Death, shalt pasa away.

| i

— * +

{

(From Harper's Magazine.)

| TEE OLD MAN’S REVENGE,

( Conclu ded.)

We entered the room silently, and for a moment were blind- ed by the darkness. But at length the various objects and | persons beeame visible. It was a large room, with high ceil- , Ings and heayy ornamental cornices. The furniture was antique, such, L believe, as was styled Elizabethan. The windows were | lieavily curtained, and dark crimson draperies hung also over (each door, so that when it opened te admit any person it was still necessary to thrust aside the curtain to obtain admission. | A lamp stood in a shaded recess, and attracted my first glance jon entering. It was a small silver lamp of rare and exquisite

workmanship. It gave a dim unearthly light, such as seemed | proper to come from the image of an Egyptian god, for such j it was.

| A large bed stood on one side of the room, draped in keeping with the rest of the room, but the drapery was now looped up on) eneand, as if to admit air freely to the man who lay on the | bed.

} ;

'

| the Moretons. | He was the pro&fiinent object in the chamber, propped up jwith pillows, and gazed on us with a sharp stern eye. He was an old man. Certainly those wrinkles contained the ‘history of not less than eighty years. He was thin, gaunt, and yet gigantic in appearance, as he lay there. He stood six | feet two when strong and well. There was no appearance of ‘sickness about him, no indieation of approaching death, for | bis look was keen, piercing, almost furious, and his eye | glanced from me to the clergyman and back to me with a quick, jrapid, searching glance, that seemed to penetrate the very heart. I had seen dying men, but none like him, though the Doctor had assured me he could not live through the night. | ‘My. Moreton, permit me; the Rev. Dr. Storms and Mr. Phillips. Don’t attempt to speak to them, Sir: you are too jmuch exhausted.’’ | ‘You are determined to kill me before Tam ready. I tell | you J am not dying yet. Be seated, gentlemen.” | We took chairs, rapidly placed for us by a servant, and here for the first time observed in the gloom of a distant part of the room a young man, who advanced while we rose. Dr. | Wilson introduced us to Mr. Moreton, Junior, the grandson of | the dying man.

‘* Gentlemen,”’ said Mr. Moreton, Senior, in a harsh voice, which interrupted our brief courtesies with his grandson, ‘“ T haye requested Dr. Wilson to explain to you my reasons for asking your presence this eyening. But perhaps I can better de so myself. My grandson and his cousin, a young lady who is not my grand-daughter, are to be married in my presence this evening, here in this room. All is prepared for it. This paper is my will, giving my entire property to a distant branch of my family. I wish to execute another will, giving it to m

ndson. Upon his marriage being consummated I will estroy the former. I have requested Mr. Phillip’s attendance to prepare the will, and yours, Sir, to perform the marri ceremony. You will find pens and paper yonder. Dr. Wil- are ye give you the necessary particulars of my wishes in the will.”’

{ immediately commenced my work. Wilson leaned over me. ‘* For Heayen’s sake, hasten, Phillips! The old man is dying rapidly.’’

** Wilson, isn’t there something more in this than we s¢e ?”’

** Go on—go on. It’s all right.”’

“But I am unwilling to be a party to a forcible marriage, and there is something in this which looks very like it.”

“ Write, write, man. There is nothing you will repent of in to-night’s work. But be quick. He is living now only on stimulants, and may drop off any moment.”’

“« What is the young man’s name ?”’

«* John.”

I wrote swiftly for ten_ , during which there was a

rofound silence in the ken only by an occasional ong, deep respiration from the couch of the dying man. The perm was completed, and I h i

e attempted to read it over, k so, and I did, whereupon he sealed it, and Dr. Wilson, Dr. Storms, and myself the witnesses.

This done, he Jaid it on-the table by the side of the other will, and then requested the Doctor to call the ladies that the ceremony might proceed.

Never was there a more splendid vision of beauty then that which entered at thedoer. Two of the most lovely women the eye ever rested on came in side by side. Mary Bolton was

,

to him for execution. uested me to do

.’ M. Watsu, | dark, Alice Stevenson was fair. They were of about the

Commander,—0) tons, A. 1, iron kneed and | same height, and dressed alike in simple white, the plainest

metallo’——has superior accommodations for Cabin | dresses that could well be imagined. It was only in the expres-

aud Stecraze Passengers, and is in-every ‘ta sion of their countenances that any

at difference was visible.

ef ae : ; : : $ wae vonveyanee for fine Goods,—has proved herself a fast | Miss Bolton’s face was fairly radiant with delight, so much % Fon her first voyage—-will be despatched from Liverpool so that I was surprised at it in the presence of the dying old"

the Ist of April, 1856. F vi Apri, L806. For particulars please apply to ao D. Cannon, Son & C0., 52 South Castle Street Lyer- : or the owner W. W. LORD, ys >, 1855, Charlottetown, P. K. Island.

man. But the face of the other was downcast and sad beyond , description. Doctor Wilson with an expression of pain and anxiety that.

lt was a strange contrast to the old country cottage of

Her eyes were tearless, and she looked up at|

‘L could no more account for than for the joy of the other. |

she seemed to be, the other was not a joyful witness.

** Wilson,”’ said I, approaching the doctor, ‘ tell ime frankly what does all this mean? That sad girl, who is she?”

** Alice Stevenson.”

‘« And the other is the bride ?’’

«« She is,”’

“ on Moreten is the unwilling one, I take it?”

+ ¥es.””

**Come, Wilson, out with it. am an actor in?’

“« Wait.”’

Llooked up and met my friend’s gaze. Thero was much anxiety and not a little fun in his eye.

** Phillips, | have known that sad girl yonder, as you call her, from her childhood. Her mother was as pure a saint as ever blessed the world. The child grew up very much like her. I have watched her for her mother’s sake. She is an orphan now, and a strange fate has thrown her into the hands of her father’s worst enemy, and given her a home in the heart of his grandson. The young man loves her. The old man would narder her if he dared. He can not do that, and he strikes her now through the love he knows she has for his grandson. He is determined to have the marriage con- summated before he dies, 69 that Alice shall never be nearer to John than now. Rather than risk the anger of the old man, and the battle which would end his life, and leave John penniless, and Mary dependent on the world’s charity, as well as embitter all their recollections of one they do really love, we have devised a plan to which I do not wish you to be a party inany way. Wait and see the end. But the old man is fainting now.”’

A stimulant restored him, amd thé dimly-lighted room as- sumed a@ strange aspect as the parties prepared for the ceremony. The young man, ayparently unwilling to yield even in this extremity, advanced to his grandfather's side, and addressed him in a tone of earnest entreaty. ‘The first words were inaudible to us, but at length his voice became louder and more distinct.

** Let this horrible scene end here. Do not force me to Semis you at this moment of our parting. Haye I not always been obedient, strictly, faithfully ? I have loyed you as more than my father. Do not, oh do not, enrse my life forever, now that you should leave me your blessing ?’’

The old man only smiled a ghastly smile, and pointed his thin finger toward the two wills which lay on the table.

‘* Look at Alice Stevenson yonder—young, beautiful, worthy of a happy life. You are cursing her too. Is she not the grandchild of your old friend ?”’

The boy knew nothing of the past, or he would have avoided — suggestion. The old man’s eyes flashed with rage as he replied :

te Boy, sixty years ago I wasas young as you are now, and I knew what boys call love. Altice Gray was then young and lovely. She has since been old and dead, and I never ceased to love her from the day 1 saw her. Adam Stevenson crossed my track, won her love, laughed at me in my boyish anger and pain, and I hated him forever after. The love [ had for Alice Gray was fuel to the hate I had for her husband. That child yonder looks to-night as her grandmother looked on her wedding-day, and 1 feel as I felt then. 1 tell you, John, that when, four years ago, I heard the passing-bell toll out the years of Adam Stevensou, dead that night, and as I lay I counted up all his taunts, his smiles, his hypocritical words of friendship and forgiveness, then, then, I vowed again, for the thousandth time, that even in the feebleness of age, if op- portunity came, I would reyenge myself on him and his forall the misery of my sixty years of suffering. And now, disobey me if you dare! Wo as I desire, and you and your cousin are rich to-morrow when I shall be dead ; but if you refuse, you shall be beggars in the street, with my curse besides.’’

** And is this my answer?” .

The answer was that same cold smile. The young man turned abruptly away into the dim corner of the room where his cousin and Altice stood side by side. The old man, ina harsh but evidently failing voice, bade the clergyman proceed.

There was some disturbance in the gloomy part of the room, as several of the servants entered to witucss the ceremony, and at length, amidst deep silence, the reverend gentleman com- menced.

At the very first I thought the bride’s countenance re- markably fair and clear ; but, thinking that perhaps the dim light of the room deceived me, I was not at all conscious of the fact that an exchange of places had been made, and that the bride was not Mary Bolton.

Wilson retained his place near his patient, fanning him, and keeping as well as he might the ebbing tide of life.

” a you take this woman to be your wife?”

7 do?

The old man heard his grandson’s voice, and it appeared as if his overstrained attention were suddenly at an end, and he was fully satisfied. Again that ghastly smile, more hideous now for the swift-coming pallor of death, stule over and took possession of his countenance.

‘The will, Doctor; quick, quick!’? he gasped. Wilson handed him beth.

“Which is which ?”’

** This is the old one.” ;

He held it in the flame of the lamp, which he could reach with his long bony arm, that looked like the arm of a skeleton, as he stretched it out toward the recess where the silver lamp stood. It blazed up, shedding for a moment a new light in the

Let me understand what I

,

But I judged that if the one was a willing or glad bride, as | God on earth, even as we must pass through the grave to the

[EDITOR axp PUBLISHER

SL —

that we may pass through the place of graves to the temple of

temple of God on high.

But the snow was three feet high on all the graves, and tho old sexton had difficulty in telling where to dig a grave for John Moreton. Bunsan, the sexton, was nearly as old as the man he was burying. He had laid the country dead, one by one, in their graves for nearly half a century; and he had done it kindly, gently, lovingly, for he was a good and gentlo old man. Many a young child’s coffin had he -wet with his own tears, as he drew up the cords that were its last bunds to those who lived to remember. Many a maiden’s dark tresses had he laid down gently on their last white pillow ; many an eld man’s weary limbs had he composed to peaceful and long- desired rest.

And now his eyes were dim with years, his memory half gone, and he was tottering toward the corner of the yard that he had long-reserved for his own sleep among his old com- panions. .

There were but two private inclosures in the grave-yard, and these were close together. He thought he knew which was John Moreton’s; and he remembered that that old man had, with curious obstinacy, directed, when his wife was buried, that she should be laid north and south, not east and west, as was the custom. But as the old sexton’s faith in the old eustom was unshaken, and as he had no directions to the con- trary, he determined to bury John Moreton in proper line; and having groped in the snow till, as he supposed, he had found the wife’s grave, he marked the husband’s across the foot of it, forgetting, in his old brain to look at the sun, or to think which way was north; and cutting a narrow path toward it in the deep snow, and clearing off a small space around it to throw up the earth, he dug the narrow resting- place, and there they buried him.

It was a bitter day, and a cold burial. There were no tears shed then, nor even by Abraham Bunsan ; and when they threw in the earth it was mixed with ice and snow. and there was no feeling of rest or comfort about it, as there sometimes is, when the earth is laid gently over an old man’s body. It did not seem that he could ang there. But had they known where he was lying, they would have thought his old bones would have shuddered in their coffin. For in an hour after all was over, the wind had drifted the inclosure full again; and it was not till the spring came, and the flowers were blooming on the hills, and the myrtle blossoms were out all over the church-yard, that, on a Sunday noon, an old lady, who re- mained till the second service, bringing her dinner with her always, and sitting, in pleasant weather, on some grave to eat itand to moralize, walking up and down among the country dead, discovered that they had buried Juhu Moreton at the foet of Adam and Alice Stevenson !

4-eot>->» ?* e7e- +

SAM SLICK’S HORSE STORY.

Hlere is Sam Slick’s last, and one of his very best :

“ T shall never forget a rise I once took out of a set of jockies at Albany. [ had an everlastin’ fast Narraganset pacer once to Slickville. I was considerable proud of him, {do assure you, for he took the rag off the bush in great style. Well, our stable help, Pat Monoghan (him I used to call Mr. Monoghan), would stuff him with fresh clover without me knowing it, and, as sure as rates, I broke his wind in driving him too fast. It gave him the ‘ heaves,’ that is, it made his flanks heave like a blacksmith’s bellows. We call it ‘heaves,’ Britishers call it ‘ broken wind.’ Well, there is no cure for it, though some folks tell you a hornet’s nest, cut up fine, and put in their meal will do it ; and others say sift the oats clean, and give them juniper berries in it, and that will do it, or ground ginger, or tar, or what not; but these are all quackeries. You can’t cure it, for its a rupture of an air-vessel, and you can't get at it tosewit up. But you can fix it up by diet, and care, and proper usage, so that you can deceive even an old hand, providin’ you don’t let him ride or drive the beast too fust.

“ Well, I doctored and worked with him so, the most that could be perceived was a slight cold, nothin’ to mind, much less to frighten you. And when I got him up to the notch, I advertised him for sale, as belonging to a peison going down East, who only parted with him because he thought him too heavey for a man who never travelled less than a mile in two minutes and twenty seconds. Well, he was sold at auction, and knocked down to Rip Van Dam, the attorney- general, for five hundred dollars ; and the owner put a sadd!e and bridle on him, and took a bet of two hundred dollars with me he could doa mile in two minutes fifty seconds, He didn’t know me from Adam, parsonally, at the time, but he had heard of me, and bought the horse because it was Sam Slick owned him.

“Well, he started off, and lost his bet; for when he got near the winnin’ post the horse choked, fell, and pitched the rider off half-way to Troy, and nearly died himself. The umpire handed me the money, and I dug out for the steamboat, intendin’ to.pull foot for home. Just as I reached the wharf, I heard my name called out; but I aida’t let on I noticed it, and walked ahead. Presently Van Dam seized

room, and making everything startlingly distinct, and Wilson caught the blazing paper as the dying man’s grasp relaxed, his fingers loosened their convulsive clutch, and as the solemn words, “‘T pronounce you man and wife; whom God hath joined let no man put asunder,’ sounded through the room, he fell back on his sion, his eyes closed, and his stern features relaxed into a cold, calm look, devoid of all expression save only that bitter smile that lin d yet around his thin, old lip. He heeded nothing now of the sudden advance of all in the room toward him. He did not know of the rayers of his grandson who knelt by his side. He heard nothing of the storm that wailed in the trees without.

bearing — blessi to all the weary—whether that angel aoe in his old ear, and to his old soul, any word of gentleness, any word that might soften his hard heart, any

kind and forgiving face of Alice Gray, before he wrapped him in the cloud and carried him away, we may never know.

of apeeerreee: or love, or hope ; and the smile was there still, and t

clouds, through tempest and gloom, up elduds, beyond storms, the proud man’s soul, now conseience-spurred and driven by remorse, sought the judgment of a faith and love avenging God

and their prayers were at the throne before the soul of the dead old man had knelt to receive its doom.

as well to end it here; but a strange accident oceurred in the burial of John Moreton, that is worthy of record. Again the old belli sounded mournfully over the hills of the

hen, and then, up through eres through winter : ; ou bet I did ? yond J

There is but one scene more in this story. Perhaps it were | Said ‘ Read that.’

me by the shoulder, quite out of breath, puffin’ and blowin like a porpoise.

“* Mr, Slick,’ said he, i

“« Ves,’ sais I, ‘whatg left of me; but, good gracious,’ sais I, ‘you have got the ‘heaves.’ I hope it ain’t catchin.’ «No I haven't’ said he, ‘ but your cussed hoss has, and nearly broke my neck. You are like all the Connecticut men I ever see, a masty, mean, long-necked, long-legged,

narrow-souled, lantern-jawed Yankee cheat.’

«+ Well, sais, I, * that’s a considerable of a ‘long name to

Whether in that mo-| write on the back of a letter, ain't it? It ain’t good to use ment the angel of peace—that blessed angel, Azracl, blessed | such a swad of words, it’s no wonder you have the heaves; though so dreaded by some, abhorred hy some, blessed and | byt I'l] cure you; L warn't brought up to wranglin’; L hain’t time to fight you, and besides,’ said I,‘ you are broken- winded ; but L'il heave you over the wharf’ to cool you, boots

memory of long-forgotten childhood, or of the never cold, ever | 294 all, by gravy ?

“* Didn't you advertise,’ said he, ‘that the only reason

He | you had to part with that horse was, that he was too heavy made no sign. He never epoke again. Once he opened his/for a man who never travelled slower than a mile in two eyes, gazing steadfastly upward, but without expression either | minytes and twenty seconds.’

« « Never,’ sais I, ‘I never eaid such a word. What qill

“* Fifty dollars,’ said he.. ** Done,’ said I, And Vanderbilt, (he was just going on

é board the steamer at the time)—* Vauderbilt,’ sais 1, + hold a” lay mend. toes “ae couch, niet, ae mate Id |these stakes, friend,’ sais 1; +1 won't say you lie, but you in death as in life—and his grandson and grand-daughter knelt ly like the way I do when J fic. by his bedside with bowed heads but with interlocked arms, - Sy a Tia

Now prove

, *

“« And be pulled out one of my printed advertisements, and « Well, I read it. ‘Lt ain't there,’ suid I.

“* Aiu’t it?’ saidhe. ‘T[ Jeave it to Vanderbilt.’

“* Mr, Slick,’ said he, ‘ you have lost—it is here.’

.

country parish, summing up the story of another long life. And the old house of the Moxetons was for the last time opened | ; to receive its old master.

The village church-yard lay close beside the church, and | even partly im front of it, 60 that Sir Thomas Brown's remark was fully met, that a church should stand in a graye-yard. 50!

“© Will you bet fifty dollars,’ said I, though you hsve seen t, that it’s there ?”

««¢ Ves,’ said he, ‘1 will.’

+ Done,’ said I. * Now how do vee ssTae - . oe

an

3 % ; * +

5 pee wie