Tall Stories.

BEMINISCENCES OF CAItFORNIA. LIFE.

Jay Chaelton, the New York correspon dent of the 'Danbury News,' speaking of 'Gabriel Conroy' and its author, says: ' Brec Harfce owes little to California. He' never made his pile there. After it had refused to make him wealthy, he panned out from himself some sketches and poems that did more for the glory of California than California ever did for him. I haVe heard'him express the same aversion to California that he expresses in his book. He is personally not a popular man ; but I have always liked him. His conversation is as good as his writing. He oncei told me that at a certain time^ hp was in an iUland valley, where sdnsdt! had' takeft"t6 a tavern a number of straggling travelers, of whom he was one. In" a corner sat a little man with his head toowed upon his hands in melancholy meditation. Men were sitting, around and playing cardsrind drinking, when suddenly there rose a tall, strong stranger, who, folding his; arms roared : ••'IV 'lam the manfrom the mountains'!'

There were no. responses. : This was a challenge to fight.' There wasfight inthe aitf. Again he said with words of emphatic

intent: : ' ' ' ' '.' . '.' , 'I am the man from themountains ! He-got'no takers! The affair became Very impressive, and the- man's manner became more obtrusive. Suddenly the little fellow, who had been sitting quietly with bowed head in the corner, softly "rose', and in subdued but earnest tones, uttered i '■- * And—l—am—the—man—from —the

valley !' ' • • ' - ['■■■'' The big bully looked at him a moment, and then took out.' ' , Thisreminds me of a- story fdld^ihe "by General Gashwildei<. One day iv the early times he was standing in a pioneer shanty saloon, in company with' ft"great big fighter, who was the terror ; Of'the camp and town.--There was-nothing that this giant could not w^ipj.wd very little that he had hot whipped: 1-This big fellow was sitting near the bar when a stranger entered. He ' was/ a heW-cdm'er in town. He was not more tliah twenty-five, slender ly built, pale.i'!with big eyes, features, and i i&i I hand like. a girl. He stepped quietly sup-to thenar ahd asked for a glass of brandy. , The glass was placed before him, whereupon, the bully arose from his chair, put' his big,- brawny hand in front of the youngster, took tho brandy and drank it. The young man said nothing, but quietly laid down four bits and said : ■ f ' Give me another glass of brandy. ; The brandy was put out, the fclass was filled, and the bully again reached forward, took the brandy and drank it. The youngster put four bits on the counter and said, easily: ''' . , ' \ ' Give me two glasses of brandy. The two glasses wero putbut.'.filled, and the bully the third time reached forward, took a glass and drank ,it. , The young man paid no attention even.Jo the giant's pistols and knives,. but taking tho other glass drank it and put down a,dollar. Then, with easy manner, ho left the bar for the door, walked five or six steps, turned like a flash ;of lightning and shot the bully throughtbo'keart. As he walked out of the door he : said to one of the by T stsmdcrs * •' \ ! ' '• • '' > ■ .« That fellow1 might have hurt somebody, yet.' "-. ,".'■', Jim Kavanagh, formerly member of Congress from Montana, was telling me the other day thaV on one occasion there were seven men standing on empty boxos, and with ropes round their necks under, the limbs of a tree, just ready to bei hanged. One of them, a German, began to cry bitterly as he thought that. he. was about to die. The man next to him was an Irishman, who was much bothered by ' the German's weeping. So, hitching his foot to one side, he gave the' German's box, a push, leaving! him, swinging in the air, and said, 'Stop,, you big sucker, won't youp' But the,same ,act toppled ovor his own boxj he could not regain his footings and, with a laugh at tho trick he was playing oh the German,'he; too, swung into eternity. '' ' "■ ' I was ono day standing on the platform of the worst of all restaurants of the world -r-at Bawlin's, Wyoming, Territory. A lady and her little girl were sitting at one of the tables inside. On the platform was a hunter with a breech-ioading rifle and a belt full of cartridges. ' In fooling with, the piece it suddenly went off; tho bullet1 drove through the thin clapboard, passed ' through the coat of a man inside, arid whizzed between tho heads of the ladyl and her littls daughter. He _ quietly smiled and put in another cartridge, I was thoroughly maddened at his cool indifference, and under the impulse of the moment said : ' I'd like to be big enough to lick you, you big chucklehead.' He turned around indifferently, slapped me on the shoulder till I thought ; the earth was shaking for miles .yound, and said with a smile : Pard,. yer ain't big enuff, an' yer can't do it. Yer'd better, git yer hair cut, and go West. ■: • Pard, ol'' boy, what'll yer drink ? ■ Nothin'! Not even with me P Then-yer'd better tie a tin pan. ter yer tail and git West. Say, pard,' said he, patting the clapboard. * Ain't that a purty' smuthe hole P Them Henry brich-loaders is—" ' :/''i'\

'When Horace Greeley was on his way to California he met a Forty-niner coming East. ' The Californian was in a dreadful stew about his accommodations. He kept saying, 'I wish I had some n'them.

California pertaters. Them's eatin,' them isl I)ern this yer country ennyways. I'd give; a thousand dollars for a mouthful of ol' Californy air. That's the place to live in—on'y kentry wuth livin' in. Mountings ..and walles—strawbries in winter, ; sparergrass allers, bes- bran' water ennywheres, fines climate on the face ther yerth. Dern a kentry like this done yer. Californy's the only place fit ter live.' Horace smiled that child-like smile of his, and thought he had the Californian bad when ho said : '* My friend, if California is siich a splendid country, why did you ever leave itP' i„: ..;;■ ■ --:;■' <' ;■:■;

•Becorse,' said the Sloper, 'I Wero a— —- folorJ' -! -.!••<■ - ■ ■ '! ■ '. ','■

The 'Bus Conductor.

HE HAD SEEN BETTEE DATS AND MEANT" TO

SEE MOEE

My boyhood's, home was comfortable and genteel .My mother was a widow with a sufficient income. I was an only son, with one sister five or six years older. At four teen I .was. a merry, .mischiefrloving boy, somewhat; of a nuisance,.-I .dare say, to my elders, but thoroughly happyand fcelfr satisfied...Then an evil influence appeared on the seene —a stout, ponderous man, dressed in; black, | with flab by j pendulous cheeks and eyes sunken but like'a pie's. I hated him.from.theiflcst,. andihd returned my aversion with interest. •-He concealed his sentiments, however, till ho had fairly established his footing in our family. When I heard he was to marry my sister Caroline, my rage and indigna tion knew no bounds. I abused him frightfully. I disgraced myself, I dare say, but still, although the. manner might be abjectionable, the matter was true enough. Ho was a beast and, 1 his name was Balker., He was in the drug trade, I believe, and a struggling man at -that timq. Ho had a family* too, being a wid ower. My sister , Caroline's i portion set him up.in business for himself, in which he afterwards amassed a considerable fortune. His eldest boy;came to see us once, andl thrashed him one day.'soundly. He never, forgave me that thrashing. Everybody cried shame upon me for my vonductiu^respect to Carry's engagement} for: people hadn't found hiflaoud as I hade W^hpu he nearly broke his ueok over a cord I had slyly stretched across > the t^arden path, and avowed and' gloried in the, deed, it was generally fsaid that I ought to have been sent to prison. Instead of that, however, mother consented : that ho should give mo a good horsewhip \ ping. |Ho tied mo up with cords and ithrashed mo awfully ; but-.1, have ;the satisfaction of thinking that I managed to j get hold of his leg with my teeth, and | left a mark upon him for his life. When the wedding; day came, although I was forced to go to church, yet I resolutely turned my back on tho proceedings, and made faces expressive of scorn and, contorcipt at the little boys in the; gallery. After the marriage, Balker ruled our. house in everything. My mother was a Igenteel, weak woman, and Caroline wor shipped him. Ono of his first improve-s ments was to send mo to a : warehouse tkq i the city of London, where I,had to sweep | the floors and , make myself generally Useful- I was not likely to do. much ,at. this, and after putting up with it as long; a3 I could, I ran away and went back to mother's house. -There, as luck would' have it, my sister Caroline: —he always made .use of our house as a hospital—was being laid up with an infant. She went into hysterics about mo, and I was hauled off and taken back to London liko a criminal. Then, of course, owing to Balker's suggestions, my employers gave a, very bad account of me, and refused to t,ako me back, so that Balker, to got rid of mc, placed me on board an emigrant ship bound for Australia that belonged to a friend of his. As soon as wo reached Melbourne, 1 ran away to the diggings. And now. I was in a lino that just suited mc. I had no good luck, but was making my living, and enjoyed it first-rato. So' pleased was I with myself that I must needs write homo to mother with a packet of gold dust and « lot of stories about the diggings. I was even so much mollified that I sont my love to Carry and kind regards to Balker. Well, it so happened that my letter reac'ied home just after Carry and mother had fallen out, and mother had mustered up spirit to send 'em out of the house and get rid of them. And sho wrote to mo, poor woman, such a kind letter. I was her own dear, darling boy, and she saw now how that wily Balker had set her against mo. But, if I'd come now and close her eyes, all that she had would be mine, and I should take my place in the world. Added to that she sent mo a bank post bill for £100 to pay my expenses. After that I felt I was bound to go, and yet things kept turning up that hindered me from starting.; I had to finish out a piece with my mates, and then I waited tor a chvm of mine who drove a. 'bus in Melbourne, who was going home, too; so that it was a year or more before I.found myself anchored in the Downs, with the white clifts of England shining in the distance. I landed there and made my way without troubling myself about my baggage, just as I was, half sailor, half digger, across the country to Biddledes, where mother lived. I fancy I see. the place now—a rod-brick house, with bow windovys kept wonderfully bright, wire blinds, and green Venetians : the High street with tuft by the sides, and nice

green trees growing here and there. It looked so quiet and cheerful, with the sun shining brightly on everything, that I said to myself, quite in the poetic vein : 'If there's peace to bo found in the world, the heart that is humble may hope'for it here.' There were beautiful white ;steps upto pother's door, and'l walked up them with a strange, uneasy feeling, half joy half foreboding." It was just 4 o'clock- Mother would be sitting by the fire. She a,! ways had a bit of fire, except in the very j hottest weather- Dinner had just been taken away. There would be two (decan ters on the table in little round stands, a fow biscuits, two or.three apples and some walnuts in dishes of old china. Mother would have her feet on the fender, with her dress tucked over her knees and her black quilted-satin petticoat warming.at the blazo. I would just pop in quietly. *■ Hallo, mother I' I would say, just as if I'd come homo from school, and slip behind her chair and give her a kiss before the old lady knew where she was. 1 Lord, how my heart did beat as I softly opened the door ! This was wnat I saw— the decanters wero there all right, and the desert, and the smell of dinner and wine, j'ttst as- of old, but there was -no mother sitting there. Carry in black on one side of the fire.! Balker in black on; the other ;♦ Uttle.Timmings, the lawyer, in the middle, smackng his. Jip.s, over 'a glass- of port. - X shut% the'.'aoor; gently,,.and went off intp the-kit?hen. ; ! jTher'p;. was-, Patty,;,mother's, old servant, putting away thejsilver.; She was in black, too,' and. crying over the things. . She gave such a scream when-she. saw me. I was'a rough-looking chap, bear in mind, and she didn't know ; me at the moment, 't^n Dick,' I said, : ' Patty, mother P" Oh,' she j cried, putting! her hands on my shoulder and looking., into my. face to make sure I was speaking truth ; '.Oh dear Master Dick, why fiidn't. you come home before P' ~...' • { So it was. Mother had been dead and. buried a fortnight ago. . Balker had smoothed her over long before her death, and ho and Carry between them had made it. right.about the property. I don't know what lies Balkor had told about roe, b,ut ; I saw her will afterward in Doctors'; Commons for a shilling, and there was nothing for me except 100 pounds. .And I didn't "oven get that, for they made out tjiat I had ,been .advancpd the,,jinoney b'eforehand-^th'afl. hundred pounds another, sent me, you.remember—and X know it was np good, fighting palker. about it, me that hadn't a halfpenny^ All the knocking about hadn't knocked the pride out of me. Before 'I'd be beholden to Carry: or Balker Sfoy a p»nny, I'd,starve, ;, : and..l came very near starring, too, .1 .walked" up to London hungry and footsore... I, slept under the troes in the park.-and, earned a few shillings at the docks, .just enough to keep body and soul together, till, one day, I had carried a ship-captain!? bag from Victoria docks to Charing Cross for a shilling, and,l stood at the corner by St. Martin's church, looking ; at the fountains and the big lions, and wishing! one of them was.aliye and would make an, end of mo, when^a yellow 'bus .drove, im. and a chap sings out:,' Hallo, Dick If It was tho.chum. I'd -come home with,...who, was sitting'up.there driving.,,;' Jumß pp,' ? ho said Land! I got upon, .the boxj-seai an(|. we ihad'a long.' talk/rand, '.finding I, was doing no. good,, he offered to got, me, a job i to.loot after the. fiprse,pf the.'bus.^But. ho did. better than' that .for me ; .seeing that i.had some education, tno.manager made a conductor of'me.

It wasn't that gay, agreeable job I opce thought jit. To be suro, the ,lino I :was in wasn't ono that admits of much elocution. ' Toria, 'toria,' and ' 'Tannia,' moaning Victoria station and tho Britannia tavern, you can't mako much o.f a patter of- And as for jokes,, why, ever since they intro duced thoso ' way-bills,' as they call them, that you stick upon,the doors and mark the faros on, you'vo got your pencil in your mouth all day long, and can't mako 'em. Still I was pleased enough at. my job, and it so happened that, one day, I was waiting my turn in the bar of the Mother Shipton, and took up the Daily- TxJiiKGBAPS, and casting my eyes over the deaths I saw announced Mr. Balker's —;on the; very day, too, that I had got my situation-."iThere's no use riiinoing the' matter, I was down-right glad. 'That man,' I said to mysolf, 'didn't enjoy his ill-gotten plunder very long; and what's more, I believe that he was my evil spirit,' ahd that now he's gone I shall make a start in the world.' But I hadn't reckon ed upon his having a son.

I had been at my work for about a; fortnight, when ono evening, on our downward journey, after we had passed Iledcap, I began to collect the fares. < There were only three passengers in the 'bus. One of them was a fresh-looking country-girl, who, as soon as I called 'Fares, please,' began to search her pockets. Then she flushed up quite crimson all of a sudden. ' Dear me,' she cried' ' I've lost my purse !' Well, there was a man.' sitting opposite her, very respectably dressed, with a sallow, waxy face and little pig's eyes, and he looked, at her quite angrily. 'Lostyour purse'1 says he; 'You mean you've left it at homejon the drawing-room chimney-piece,' he said with' a sneer; Well, I saw the poor girl was almost in tears about it, so I spoke to her and told her that as far as the loss of the purse went, it was a bad job for her, but she needn't be troubled about not paying the fare, because she could let me have it the next time sho saw me. With that she began to tell me that there was one pound fifteen shillings in the purse, and that she was going to a

place as nurse-maid at Haver stock-hill, and that the purse contained all the money she was worth. She had been stand ing waiting for the 'bus some time at Cbaring-cross, and supposed somebody had taken it out of her pocket. I was Very sorry for her, and said what I could to comfort her, and when we came to the Shipton I showed her the way to the placo she was going to—l 7 Judkin place. I 'noticed that the sallow-faced man started when she asked me who she should inquire for to pay the money back, and I told her my real name, Dick Maylam. I began now to take notice of the regular customers, and found that the sallow-faced man traveled by us pretty regularly. A spiteful chap he was, too. He'd hit wildly out with his umbrella-handle when he wtnted |to get out, as if conductors had no feeling in their elbow-joints. He always offered me twopence, too, for a threepenny fare on the chance that I'd take it by mistake.

One night, when I went to the office on my last journey, the book-keeper said to me • ' Maylam, you're ninepence short in your sash to-day.' ' I think not,' I said, , for I was always very careful of the cash, , and to keep the way bills right, and I was so 'cute that I always put-a private mark, against.the last fare on each line so that nobody should stick down any figures after !me. Such of you as travel-in your own carriages and don't use the omnibusses imiay'nt know what theso way-bills are. They are a Manchester invention, I believe' jand are slips'of thin paper ruled with cross lines twelve spaces in a row, and as many rows as there, are, different fares. Mine had threo rows, for two-penny, three-penny arid four-pqnny fares. You put them in a little frame that opens with a hinge and is; screwed on, the door of'the 'bus/and every fare you .draw you mark: on the'bill. Well, : 'as soouas thsfbook-keepertold me I was shdrtrih my cash, I said, VWell; let" 'ds joqk at the way-bills,' feeling sure he'd (GKAPA $84& -iSi mistake.;or wanted- to* ','gimmei :,me, but i-lredkoned th%th up all; carefully and' found that the man was'right/ I must havo, lo^t the money. I made it up.puJb of my own pocket, and resolved to be Tuppe careful, another time. But the next day it* was the same ninepence short again.; .Then: for two days I was right, after that another ninepence to the bad. ;* You must be careful, Maylam,' said the .mann^ancli'don'fc letithappen again; for if it does I jrtisvll report you as always 'being 'short-'-u ■■ 'id 1" '•'■ ;1I'"I ,?lV •": '' .

But it did happen again and again; some times, sixpence,* sometimes ninepence, sometimes a shilling,; and - 1' could't tell, how it went. I was well-high "driven mad by it, for I knew/I should lose' my- place iif it happened much dftleher, and brood over it as 1 might'l could fathom it in no way. I was -always particular "in giving change and nobody could get at my money, which I kept in the leather wallet pro vided by the company. At last word came down one day that I was to have the sack at the week's end, and' then I can tell you'l felt downright bad. I didn't know what to turn to, and couldn't see anything beforeme but starvation. These Isort of iieelings don't help a manto get through his work smartly, and I got worse, land worse muddled as the day went On*.' jEeopienabi*sed;-me .for not setting thenl idqwu where iheyitold me, and altogether I was well nigh dibtr&Ctedi r '; ! i'XH was. a damp, dismal afternoon, and !when*we stopped: at the'corner of Oxford' istreet and: Tottenham' Oeurt road there' jwasaigreat rusto-of people'to get into the 'omnibus!, i Among them was a widow lady litis deep black, and with her was our sallow-faced friend. It was dusk, and I couldn't see the faces inside, but a3 I lighted my lamp and the gleam shone into the 'bus I started back and turned my head away from the door. The widow lady was my sister Carry. After that first touch of Bhame, however, I didn't care any more. You get hardened to such jthings when you como to downright want. ,1 took no more notice of her, and whether |she'd recognized me I did not know. !Sho did, sure enough, when she got out !at the'Shipton ; she in her blaok silk and (handsome crapes, all rustling and crack ling, with a sealskin purse in her hand almost bursting out with gold and bank notes, and'me with my tattered, greasy coat, patched trousers and broken boots. Shb flushed up to her eyes, and T think she'd have spoken to me, but I turned my back upon her, and the sallow man hurried her away

. As the old chum got off the box I told him about my getting the sack,' and he said it was a bad job, but there was no use fretting, and he proposed to go into the bar and have a drink. As we were standing there taking our whisky, a young woman popped her head in quite shame faced : 'Can you tell me,' she said, 'whether a Mr. Maylam, a 'bits conductor, comes here ?' ' I'm he, miss,' I said ; and then. 1 recollected-that she was the girl who had lost her purse. ' Oh, i've brought you the money for the fare,' she said, 'Mr. Maylam, and if you wouldn't mind accepting a shilling——" Oh, no, thank j'ou, miss,' I said. And then-we began talking; but she said that she couldn't stop, because her mistress didn't know she had run out- ' And what do you think!' she said. ' That Was my new master who cameup in the'bus with me, that sodderi-complexioned gent!' ' And what's his nameP'1 I asked, 'Why, Balker,' she said. Then I saw who he must be. He must be Balker's eldest son by his first wife—the one I had thrashed so badly a good many years ago. Well, I thought it all over and over again, that night, as I lay awake, and

I couldn't help fancying thattiT Balkers, who had been the ruin o f along, had some hand in this lejt,,? 6' tune. They hated mo badly encu e Uf°' anything to bring mo to distrn h ! although ono would have thought W an omnibus conductor was low eno* sjN them. Then I seemed to recolW i' every time I had been short of casK S Balker had taken the journefu^l still I didn't seehow he couldfc^j mo ;~and even* if he had, itwoQi^yrjj found out now. • I-was done for, gJiT1' was an end of it. *, : ' ''[ -< !r ' ; r*| S Next day, Balker traveled?fbj c t.,'.'', usi getting in at Oxford sfcireet.r.,^ early, about 4 o'clock in the - aftem^1 before the regular stream of bitti^g?^ set in ; consequently, after wefjjftiJ? Redcap, there was no one else insX i had often happened so before. H e ,.i' came home early, not having infol SSj I dare-say, living comfortable, nb Zt on my mother's money. Well, ,ijr e 6 Ja th a canal bridge and passed tmdeHi railway ,arch, and just beyondiwe■■jj& up, of course, to change horses. .I-H made a practice of gining a helping:?]! . during this operation, and Lwaa gS jump off my perch as usual ft..-;! help, when I saw a sort-of wickeiW] in Balker's eye that put MeonsnyS 'Jack,'l whispered to, I^2 running to the front. ' just looVjWl side and see what the mail siiijw jdoing.'' . -; :•/■: '• • - \-rA ,foj ~,A Well, Jack looked over! for h-.jjLiJ and then he jumped off his perchiaS behind. , 1 ran, too, and we ■in time to see our sodden-looking; fnL with a pencil in his hand; jotting\(W a few extra figures on the way;biil gWi he went home, to his frierifaVsfter»»l

looking a deal more disreputable; flun J ! arid I don't think he'll very ■ soon,-forJ ihis trip.that day. He had;. tbsignjjy !£so!to hush the matter up.and-tiutfili 'paymy passage over to Melbottt&e,i!iii .leave me with a few pounds UMBjioeM ISo I fancy, although the 'company, a, i quite willing to keep me on, :ithat:ys : won't hear any. more from ;me?asi| |ill-conducted;conductor. -;--' ' ,P. S.—l think it highly probable till nice fresh-looking young woman tip j j the expedition.—Belgravia.

The Great Bazaar in Freeville.

A BTOE^ WITH A MOBAI.' ; "

They were going to have, aliazsar ,m. th^t town.. There, was a good deal it distress among the n poor, ior.it%,fflS i canie, and hard times. camei.a^Vl manufacturers failed, and .those ...who J 1 aot, reduced their working £arce,,aii|fl great many oneratives were 6ui,(piji|bF| and were .wanting help. .Economy jj i retrenchment were the order ofjbo ai; The ladies, some of, them, did their or' sewing. So,me did with but.one semil' some did without any. They, kept fal daughters out of school to retrench sc!w| expenses; ans the academydismissedcel teacher, a young lady j^ith, an.iM&| mother. ■ The ladies who...kepiJiw managed!, very closelyindeed, anjl d|sep«l| •much credit, •.'. Mrs. Millyuri, jeonMi ■not .fib b ( uy the ten-dollar silk, shi^^l 'for) and took one for four. Evenoonii js lie got a friend to smuggle it from!E|iraj|j jahd jteoateven less t ~.,, jjifflgsj i Everybody said: ' What a goodexjlplif jof economy Mrs.Millyun setsui). '$m it is not at all necessary, only it mawsl easier forus to do it who. are, obliged;tl do it.' .. .... ! .iiJ-.-Mw! ! But Mrs. Jones, the dressmaker, vm\ the patronage of Mrs. Millyon, w\ thought that her work, which had alwsjij! been good enough before, was good enonjl, now. But there was no use to employ»l many hands if she was notgoing to jjflil the best custom, and all of it, too. So|ri| of her sewing girls were paid ofLww before the usual dull season;, and ew then it was not easy, with her sick bus]* and lame little boy, to bring her pMij up to the expense point, let alone .s&vfl anything. ~,,-, 1 Then Judge Eochester set an exaßpl of economy. His barn needed, repaai but although material was low and ,m plenty, it was ; no time to have■'«£ expenses; so he let it go. So.pW Dufftail's little boy had no overcoaf )s if staid ~out of school. It soon,, becjßJ: obvious that something would have to w done for the poor to keep the woOfl the doors, and ' the bazaar' was the.Jw of everybody. The tender gloWf," benevolence pervaded ' society. ; ,Jff, Eochester gave fifty dollars, with a .WW feeling around his heart that'.'siO!l credit.,.. '. Mrs.. Millyuh gaye a hufis tpwjard paying expenses of ,getting. wm and so oh through society. j'Jh The'young ladies worked early'andf1 over fancy-work and the pretty postuWj in which they were to appear.j4f, bazaar. The wisest economy was VtWJm Everybody did every thing herselM could be done by unprofessional.hftEi and when necessity called in skilledlp it was always expected that a haiidsijf deduction should be made, as it^&l 'Charity.'" Sometimes the eiripfS grumbled, but , dared., not offend M patrons ; and so they did it, even .uO. grudgingly. .... -.-^ ' What a blessed thing it is, jai|* George Allen, her fine eyes suffused m moisture, ' that we are getting on sp,w with the bazaar. Everybody seerm willing. Thus, Mrs. Johnson fi^tf to help us, even with her seven chilM and Mrs. Trilobite has lent us her grajj mother's brocade for our ' Marie aW

Evening Star Supplement, July S9 B 18ye