Almonte Gazette 1869-10-09

The Almonte Gazette.

MEDIO TUTISSIMUS IBIS.” [EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL. II.—NO. 52. ALMONTE, COUNTY OF LANARK, CANADA, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 9, 1869. $1 PER YEAR

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BEAUTIFUL HAIR, Nature’s Crown. You Must Cultivate it GRAY HAIR Is a certain indication of decay at the roots.

New Style. Important Change. A REAL HAIR RESTORER AND DRESSING Combined in One Bottle.

MRS. S. A. ALLEN’S HAIR RESTORER Will Restore Gray Hair to its Natural Life, Color and Beauty.

It is a most delightful Hair Dressing. It will promote luxuriant growth. FALLING HAIR is immediately checked.

Mrs. S. A. ALLEN’S ZYLOBALSAMUM, another preparation for the Hair ; clear and transparent, without sediment. It is very simple and often produces wonderful results. Its great superiority and economy as a Hair Dressing over high cost French Pomades is acknowledged by all not only in this country but in Europe. The Restorer and Zylobalsamum should not be used one with the other. SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. Proprietors, S. R. Van Duzer & Co., Wholesale Druggists, 35 Barclay St. and 40 Park Place, New-York.

W. H. STAFFORD, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST, DEALER in Drugs, Chemicals, Perfumery, Toilet Articles, Patent Medicines, Dye Woods and Dye Stuffs, Paints, Oils, Varnishes, Brushes, Coal Oil, Lamps, Chimneys, &c. ALMONTE.

Professional Cards.

EDWARD G. MALLOCH, BARRISTER, ATTORNEY, SOLICITOR in Chancery, Notary Public, Conveyancer, &c. OFFICE—In Cannon’s Block, Almonte.

JOSEPH JAMIESON, BARRISTER, ATTORNEY, SOLICITOR in Chancery, Notary Public, Convey- ancer, &c. OFFICE—In Bennett’s Block, Almonte.

DONALD & MACDOUGALL, BARRISTERS and Attorneys, Solicitors in Chancery, Notaries Public, &c. OFFICE—Over Dr. Mostyn’s Drug Store, Almonte.

F. A. HALL, BARRISTER, Attorney, Solicitor in Chancery, Notary Public, Conveyancer, &c. OFFICE—In Pittard’s Block, Hawkesbury.

W. W. DEAN, M. A., BARRISTER, Attorney, Solicitor, &c. Grad- uate of Queen’s College, Kingston. OFFICE—Over Dr. Mostyn’s Drug Store, Almonte.

DR. MOSTYN, M. D., GRADUATE of Queen’s University, Kingston, and Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons, Kingston. OFFICE—Next door to the Post Office, Almonte.

D. ALLEN, PHYSICIAN, Surgeon and Accoucheur, Li- centiate of the Royal College of Surgeons, England; Member of the Royal College of Sur- geons for Canada, Ontario. Dr. Allen may be consulted personally or by letter on all diseases peculiar to women and children.

BIDDY McCARTHY, THE MURDER OF THE SHARANS.

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ENGLAND STILL IS DEAR.

The following beautiful lines by Gould, imbued with a regret for public virtue, Will be read with interest in this country:— “Oh England! dear old England ! say I As onward to thy shores I steer, With joy I view thy chalky cliffs, Oh, God, a vision of my home Upon my sight doth burst! But as I turn my weary head, With grief my heart is pierced.

England, dear England! land of my birth! I love thee still, though changed thou art; Thy lakes, thy hills, thy valleys green, The haunts of childhood dear, Are near and nearer to my gaze, As to thy shores I steer.

Oh! that thou wert as once thou wert, Ere foreign follies crossed the main, And English hearts were English still, And English manners plain. Oh! that thou wert as once thou wert, Ere thy daughters learned to paint, And thy sons to strut like monkeys vain, And lisping sweetly faint.

Oh England! dear old England! say I, Would I could see thee as of yore, With all thy sturdy yeomanry, And good old customs hoar. Alas! these sights I ne’er shall see, For English hearts are changed and cold, And English manners bold and free, Are bartered now for gold.

Oh! when will England be herself? When will she wake to freedom’s call? When will her giant strength come forth, And break corruption’s thrall? When will she see the worth of men, And scorn to barter soul for pelf, When will she be what once she was, Dear England, be herself?

Oh England! dear old England! say I, Though changed thou art, I love thee still; My heart clings fondly to thy shores, To every rock and rill. There still are hearts of English mould, And English worth has still a name; Then rouse thee, England, from thy sleep, Be England still the same.

Oh! John, my husband’s come at last, Thank Heaven I shall have peace; He’s lain now nearly seven long years, Beneath the broad deep seas. I’ve mourned and wept, and wept and mourned, But now my grief is o’er, For John, my dear, my long lost John, Has come to me once more.

It does my heart good to see his face, His voice sounds sweet to me; And he has brought me presents rare From countries o’er the sea. Now I shall be so happy, John, With you to share my lot; Oh, England, land of liberty, How blessed is woman’s lot.

But John, my dear, what makes you stare? Why don’t you speak to me? You look so strange, so very strange, I scarce can think ’tis thee. My goodness! gracious! mercy me! Why John, you’re not my spouse; You’re not the John I married, sir, Get out of this here house.

I know’d your beard did grow very thick, But this beats all I’ve seen; You’ve got no legs, you’ve got no arms, You’ve grown uncommon lean. You know you went a voyage, John, You know you went to sea; But hang me if I think you’re him As went away from me.

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“Biddy,” said her husband, in a tone of deep reproach, “can’t you see I’ve been shipwrecked? I’ve been cast away on a desert island, and I’ve had to live on raw fish and seaweed these seven long years.”

“And is that the reason why you’ve come home without any legs or arms?”

“That’s just it, Biddy. The sun in them tropical countries is so hot that it dried up my arms and legs, and they dropped off.”

“Then why didn’t you stick them on again?” “Because I couldn’t catch them, having no arms,

you see.” “John,” said Biddy, with a sceptical shake of

her head, “I misdoubt me you’re a humbug. You’re not my John at all. My John was a decent man, and you look more like a bundle of old clothes stuffed with straw and stuck upon the end of a mop-stick. Get out of my house this minute, you villainous impostor.”

“I tell you I am your husband, woman. Don’t you know your own lawful wedded spouse?”

“I know’d my own lawful wedded spouse well enough, but you ain’t him, that’s flat. My John had a large red mark on his left cheek.”

“So have I, woman—look here,” and John pointed to his left cheek.

“Nonsense, you fool, there’s no mark there.” “No more there ain’t,” said John, looking

rather puzzled; “but I’m sure there was one there when I left home.”

“I dessay there was,” said Biddy, “but that was seven years ago, and it’s wore off since.”

“To be sure—to be sure,” said John, brighten- ing up, “that accounts for it.”

“No, it don’t account for it at all,” said Biddy, “for if you was my John the mark ‘ud be there now.”

“But I tell you it has wore off.” “Then you tell a big story,” said Biddy, “for

that mark was put on with gunpowder, and couldn’t wear off if you was to live as long as Methuselah.”

“I forgot that,” said John, looking rather confused. “The fact is, Biddy, when I was ship- wrecked I lost my memory, and I can’t always recollect things as I ought.”

“A pretty excuse, indeed,” said Biddy. “I tell you what it is, Mr. What’s-your-name, you’re an impostor, and the sooner you make yourself scarce the better, or I’ll send for a policeman and give you in charge.”

“But, Biddy, my dear—” “Don’t Biddy me, you rascal. I ain’t your

Biddy, and I won’t be. So just take yourself off, or I’ll throw a pail of water over you.”

“Won’t you listen to reason, Biddy?” “No, I won’t listen to no reason. There ain’t

no reason in the case. You ain’t my John, and that’s all about it. So be off with you.”

“But where am I to go to?” said John, piteously.

“Go to the workhouse,” said Biddy. “That’s the proper place for such rubbish as you.”

“Oh, Biddy, Biddy, is this the way you treat your poor husband, who has been shipwrecked and lost his arms and legs?”

“You ain’t my husband, I tell you,” said Biddy, “and I don’t believe you ever was ship- wrecked, or ever had any arms or legs to lose. You’re nothing but an old scarecrow, stuck up on a pole to frighten the birds away. Now, will you go, or shall I fetch the policeman?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” said John, moving slowly towards the door. “But, oh, Biddy, this is worse than all the shipwrecks I ever suffered. To think that my own lawful wife should turn me out of doors, and all because I’ve lost my arms and legs. Oh, Biddy, Biddy, you’ll be sorry for this some day.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Biddy. “I ain’t your wife, and I ain’t going to be sorry for nothing. So just toddle.”

And Biddy, suiting the action to the word, seized the mop and made a lunge at John, who disappeared through the doorway with remark- able celerity for a man who had neither arms nor legs.

“Well, I never!” said Biddy, as she closed the door and returned to her household duties. “To think of the impudence of that fellow trying to pass himself off as my John. But there’s no knowing what tricks men will be up to nowadays. I only hope my real John will come back soon, for I’m getting mighty tired of living alone.”

And Biddy heaved a deep sigh as she resumed her labors.

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again. I’ll come back, and I’ll come strongerthan ever. Don’t you forget that, if I go downto-day, I’ll get even with you sometime. I neverforget an injury, and I never forgive.”

“Ah !” said I, “you are looking for some-thing.”

“Yes, I want some fuses for that infernalfire-arm of mine.”

“Here they are,” said I, giving him a box ofpercussion caps, and at the same time looking athim carefully. I recognized him then.

“May I have a drink?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I replied, and I told McGradyto fetch him a bottle of whisky, which he did.The ruffian put it to his lips and drained itwithout taking it from his mouth.

“Well, good-bye,” said he. “Good-bye,gentlemen. I shall see you all again.”

When he was out of sight I said to McGrady :

“Do you know who that is?”

“No,” said McGrady, “I never saw him be-fore.”

“It’s Bill Farrell.”

“Great heaven !” cried McGrady, “is that theman who has sworn to kill me?”

“It is,” I answered.

“Well,” said McGrady, “I must fight it outwith him to-night. He’ll be in it, sure, and Imust face him. I can’t run away from my fate.I must stand up and face it.”

“I’ll stand by you,” said I, “and the boyswill do the same. But we must make prepara-tions for him. He’ll come prepared, and wemust be ready for him.”

We discussed the matter in all its bearings,and then, leaving McGrady in a state of agita-tion, I went off to talk to my wife. I found herlooking at the children, who were playing on thegrass-plot in front of the house.

“What do you think, Mary?” I said. “Far-rell has come.”

She turned very pale, and sat down in thegarden-chair.

“Are you sure it’s him?” she asked.

“Yes, I am quite sure. I know him. Whatare we to do?”

“I can’t tell,” she answered; “but, Henry,I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll never live under thesame roof with Bill Farrell.”

“We must kill him,” said I, sternly.

“You’ll be killed yourself,” she answered.“He is a desperate man, and nothing will turnhim aside from his purpose. We must go away,Henry. We must leave this place.”

“We can’t do that, Mary,” I said. “We can’tdesert our friends.”

She threw her arms around my neck, andcried, “Henry, for my sake, and for the sake ofthe children, do not remain. Let us go awayand leave this man and his vengeance behindus.”

“It is impossible, Mary. We must stand upto him and defy him.”

She said no more, but she wept bitterly. Ifelt that my resolution was wavering, and thatI should give way. So I left her, and went backto McGrady’s.

We were joined there by Larry Hogan, whowas one of the most determined men I ever met.He was very cool and collected, and he proposedthat we should go over to Farrell’s cabin andattack him there.

“No,” said McGrady; “we’ll let him comehere, and we’ll meet him on our own ground.”

So we all went down to the saloon together,and sat there waiting for the man who had swornto have McGrady’s life. We were all armed,and we resolved to shoot the man who made thefirst hostile movement.

The place was full of men, and Andrew Jack-son, who was the best man in the whole settle-ment, was with us. I felt that if Farrell attempt-ed to carry out his threat, he would have shortshrift.

We waited there for two hours. It was mid-night before we heard the tramp of horses’hoofs outside. Then the door was flung open,and in walked Farrell, with three of his friends.

They were all armed, and looked very deter-mined. Farrell’s eyes glared with fury, and hestrode straight up to McGrady, and shouted,

“Now, McGrady, we’ll fight it out. One of usmust die to-night.”

“I’m ready,” said McGrady, and the wordshad hardly left his lips before Farrell drew arevolver and fired. The bullet missed its mark,and before he could fire again, McGrady drewhis pistol and shot him dead.

Farrell’s friends made no attempt to avengehis death. They seemed rather again. I’ll come back, and I’ll come strongerthan ever. Don’t you forget that, if I go downto-day, I’ll get even with you sometime. I neverforget an injury, and I never forgive.”

“Ah !” said I, “you are looking for some-thing.”

“Yes, I want some fuses for that infernalfire-arm of mine.”

“Here they are,” said I, giving him a box ofpercussion caps, and at the same time looking athim carefully. I recognized him then.

“May I have a drink?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I replied, and I told McGradyto fetch him a bottle of whisky, which he did.The ruffian put it to his lips and drained itwithout taking it from his mouth.

“Well, good-bye,” said he. “Good-bye,gentlemen. I shall see you all again.”

When he was out of sight I said to McGrady :

“Do you know who that is?”

“No,” said McGrady, “I never saw him be-fore.”

“It’s Bill Farrell.”

“Great heaven !” cried McGrady, “is that theman who has sworn to kill me?”

“It is,” I answered.

“Well,” said McGrady, “I must fight it outwith him to-night. He’ll be in it, sure, and Imust face him. I can’t run away from my fate.I must stand up and face it.”

“I’ll stand by you,” said I, “and the boyswill do the same. But we must make prepara-tions for him. He’ll come prepared, and wemust be ready for him.”

We discussed the matter in all its bearings,and then, leaving McGrady in a state of agita-tion, I went off to talk to my wife. I found herlooking at the children, who were playing on thegrass-plot in front of the house.

“What do you think, Mary?” I said. “Far-rell has come.”

She turned very pale, and sat down in thegarden-chair.

“Are you sure it’s him?” she asked.

“Yes, I am quite sure. I know him. Whatare we to do?”

“I can’t tell,” she answered; “but, Henry,I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll never live under thesame roof with Bill Farrell.”

“We must kill him,” said I, sternly.

“You’ll be killed yourself,” she answered.“He is a desperate man, and nothing will turnhim aside from his purpose. We must go away,Henry. We must leave this place.”

“We can’t do that, Mary,” I said. “We can’tdesert our friends.”

She threw her arms around my neck, andcried, “Henry, for my sake, and for the sake ofthe children, do not remain. Let us go awayand leave this man and his vengeance behindus.”

“It is impossible, Mary. We must stand upto him and defy him.”

She said no more, but she wept bitterly. Ifelt that my resolution was wavering, and thatI should give way. So I left her, and went backto McGrady’s.

We were joined there by Larry Hogan, whowas one of the most determined men I ever met.He was very cool and collected, and he proposedthat we should go over to Farrell’s cabin andattack him there.

“No,” said McGrady; “we’ll let him comehere, and we’ll meet him on our own ground.”

So we all went down to the saloon together,and sat there waiting for the man who had swornto have McGrady’s life. We were all armed,and we resolved to shoot the man who made thefirst hostile movement.

The place was full of men, and Andrew Jack-son, who was the best man in the whole settle-ment, was with us. I felt that if Farrell attempt-ed to carry out his threat, he would have shortshrift.

We waited there for two hours. It was mid-night before we heard the tramp of horses’hoofs outside. Then the door was flung open,and in walked Farrell, with three of his friends.

They were all armed, and looked very deter-mined. Farrell’s eyes glared with fury, and hestrode straight up to McGrady, and shouted,

“Now, McGrady, we’ll fight it out. One of usmust die to-night.”

“I’m ready,” said McGrady, and the wordshad hardly left his lips before Farrell drew arevolver and fired. The bullet missed its mark,and before he could fire again, McGrady drewhis pistol and shot him dead.

Farrell’s friends made no attempt to avengehis death. They seemed rather relieved at hisfate, and after a short consultation they left thehouse. We never heard of them again.

Larry Hogan went up to Farrell’s body, andstood looking at it for some time in silence.

“Boys,” said he, “he’s got what he wanted,and so let’s make the best of it. I’ll go andfetch the doctor.”

He went out and returned in about half anhour with Dr. Howard. The doctor looked atthe body, and then turned to us, saying,

“Boys, you’ve done right. He was a danger-ous man, and you’ve rid the world of a scoundrel.But now you must prepare for the consequences.There’ll be an inquest, and it’s likely there’ll betrouble. I advise you all to stick together, andto be prepared for whatever may happen. I’lldo my best for you, but you mustn’t expectmiracles.”

We all thanked him for his advice, and aftersome further conversation we went back to ourhomes. When I got home I found Mary still up,waiting for me.

“Well?” she asked, anxiously, “what has hap-pened?”

“Farrell is dead,” I answered.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, and then shefell upon her knees, and prayed fervently for ourdeliverance.

I never saw Farrell’s face again. He wasburied the next day, and his friends went awaysoon afterwards. McGrady lived for many years,but he was always a changed man. That night’swork left its mark upon him, and he was neverthe same again. But we never had any moretrouble in the settlement, and after a time thingswent on as before.

THE CURFEW BELL.

When the world was younger, when twilightfell over hills and valleys, when the sun sankbehind the purple hills, and the stars peeped outone by one from their homes in the deep blue sky,a bell was rung in the steeple of the church, andmen and women, who had been working in thefields all day long, hurried home to rest. Thebell was called the curfew bell, and it was rungevery evening at sunset to tell the people that theday was ended and that the time for rest had come.In those days the people were simple and pious,and they always listened to the sound of the cur-few bell, for it told them when to leave off work,and when to seek their homes and rest. It toldthem also that the hour for prayer had come, andthey all knelt down, and asked God to watch overthem through the night. In those days therewere no clocks or watches, and the people kepttime by the sun and the stars, and the curfewbell. Every village and every town had its cur-few bell, and it was a solemn sound, for it toldthe people that the day was done, and that thetime for rest and prayer had come.

But times have changed since then, and nowthe curfew bell is almost forgotten. The peopledo not listen for it now, for they have clocks andwatches to tell them the time. They do not leaveoff work when the sun sets, but they go on toil-ing far into the night, and they do not kneel downand pray as they used to do when the curfew bellrang. The world has grown wiser and richersince then, but it has also grown more worldly,and there are many who think that the simplefaith of those old days was better than all the wisdom and wealth of the present time. relieved at hisfate, and after a short consultation they left thehouse. We never heard of them again.

Larry Hogan went up to Farrell’s body, andstood looking at it for some time in silence.

“Boys,” said he, “he’s got what he wanted,and so let’s make the best of it. I’ll go andfetch the doctor.”

He went out and returned in about half anhour with Dr. Howard. The doctor looked atthe body, and then turned to us, saying,

“Boys, you’ve done right. He was a danger-ous man, and you’ve rid the world of a scoundrel.But now you must prepare for the consequences.There’ll be an inquest, and it’s likely there’ll betrouble. I advise you all to stick together, andto be prepared for whatever may happen. I’lldo my best for you, but you mustn’t expectmiracles.”

We all thanked him for his advice, and aftersome further conversation we went back to ourhomes. When I got home I found Mary still up,waiting for me.

“Well?” she asked, anxiously, “what has hap-pened?”

“Farrell is dead,” I answered.

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, and then shefell upon her knees, and prayed fervently for ourdeliverance.

I never saw Farrell’s face again. He wasburied the next day, and his friends went awaysoon afterwards. McGrady lived for many years,but he was always a changed man. That night’swork left its mark upon him, and he was neverthe same again. But we never had any moretrouble in the settlement, and after a time thingswent on as before.

THE CURFEW BELL.

When the world was younger, when twilight fell over hills and valleys, when the sun sank behind the purple hills, and the stars peeped out one by one from their homes in the deep blue sky, a bell was rung in the steeple of the church, and men and women, who had been working in thefields all day long, hurried home to rest. The bell was called the curfew bell, and it was rung every evening at sunset to tell the people that the day was ended and that the time for rest had come.In those days the people were simple and pious,and they always listened to the sound of the cur-few bell, for it told them when to leave off work, and when to seek their homes and rest. It told them also that the hour for prayer had come, andthey all knelt down, and asked God to watch over them through the night. In those days there were no clocks or watches, and the people kept time by the sun and the stars, and the curfew bell. Every village and every town had its cur-few bell, and it was a solemn sound, for it told the people that the day was done, and that thetime for rest and prayer had come.

But times have changed since then, and now the curfew bell is almost forgotten. The peopledo not listen for it now, for they have clocks and watches to tell them the time. They do not leave off work when the sun sets, but they go on toil-ing far into the night, and they do not kneel down and pray as they used to do when the curfew bell rang. The world has grown wiser and richer since then, but it has also grown more worldly, and there are many who think that the simple faith of those old days was better than all the wisdom and wealth of the present time.

“Is it possible,” cried Larry, “you’ve been thinking about all those trifles I talked of?”

“To be sure I have,” replied Kate. “Did you not tell me the Grand Mufti was the man who first took the measure of a lady’s waist?”

“I never said anything so absurd in my life.”

“And yet you repeated the assertion twice yesterday.”

“Not so, Kate.”

“Do you forget so soon?”

“I must have been dreaming, Kate. Why should the Grand Mufti concern himself with the waist of any lady but his own wife?”

“Indeed, I do not know; but when you declared that your grandfather had bought a Grand Mufti’s turban at a second-hand clothes shop in the Rue de Seine—”

“Oh, I remember,” interrupted Larry. “It was not my grandfather, but my great uncle who purchased that identical turban.”

“Was he aware of its value?” asked Kate.

“Of course he was,” replied Larry. “He sold it to a Jew in Houndsditch for a fabulous sum.”

“What, the identical turban?”

“Kate, I could tell you a story of that turban that would make your hair stand on end.”

“Pray do.”

“But you must promise to keep it a secret.”

“I promise.”

“Well, then, my great uncle was coming home from the Turkish bazaar, when he was suddenly stopped by a stranger, who demanded the turban.”

“For what reason?”

“That he might present it to the Grand Mufti, who had lost it on the previous day.”

“And did your great uncle give it up?”

“Not he. He was too shrewd for that. He declined to part with it, unless he received a consideration.”

“What did he ask?”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss!” cried Kate. “How romantic!”

“You must remember that my great uncle was a very eccentric man. His conduct was often unaccountable.”

“I should think so,” said Kate. “But was the stranger satisfied?”

“Not exactly. He offered a bag of sequins instead.”

“And what did your great uncle say to that?”

“He declined the offer, and walked away with the turban.”

“And what became of the turban at last?”

“It was lost at sea.”

“Lost at sea!” echoed Kate. “Oh, Larry, how could your great uncle be so careless?”

“It was not his fault,” replied Larry. “The ship in which he sailed was wrecked, and the turban went to the bottom.”

“What a pity!” cried Kate. “But could it not have been recovered?”

“Impossible,” replied Larry. “The sea was so deep at that place, that nothing could be brought up from the bottom.”

“And so the turban was lost forever?”

“Forever,” said Larry, solemnly.

Kate mused for a moment, and then said—

“Larry, I don’t believe a word of that story.”

“Not believe it!” exclaimed Larry. “Kate, you are very incredulous.”

“Well, perhaps I am,” replied Kate, smiling. “But I cannot help it. You know I am a woman, and women are not easily deceived.”

Larry sighed, and then said—

“Perhaps you are right, Kate. But I assure you there is some truth in the story.”

“Some truth!” cried Kate. “Oh, Larry, I thought you said it was all true.”

“Not all, Kate,” replied Larry, “but as much of it as is credible.”

Kate laughed, and then said—

“Larry, you are a sad deceiver. I shall never believe you again.”

Larry smiled, and then said—

“Kate, you have no right to accuse me of deception. I have only been telling you a romance.”

“A romance!” cried Kate. “Oh, Larry, what do you mean?”

“I mean, Kate,” replied Larry, “that the story of the turban is a fiction.”

“A fiction!” cried Kate. “Oh, Larry, how could you trifle with my feelings in that way?”

“I did not mean to trifle with your feelings, Kate,” replied Larry. “I only wanted to amuse you.”

“Well, you have amused me, Larry,” said Kate, “but you have also made me very angry.”

“Angry! Oh, Kate, do not say so. I would not offend you for the world.”

“Then why do you tell such ridiculous stories?”

“I won’t tell any more, Kate. I promise you I won’t.”

“Do you mean it, Larry?”

“Indeed I do.”

“Well, then, I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Kate. You are very kind.”

And so the quarrel was made up, and Larry and Kate were as good friends as ever.

A STRANGE STORY

One evening I was seated in my little study, when I heard a knock at the door. I rose and opened it, and there stood a tall man, dressed in a long cloak, and holding a lantern in his hand.

“Will you allow me to come in?” he asked, in a deep, hollow voice.

“Certainly,” I replied, and I led him to a chair by the fire. He sat down, and then, after a pause, he said—

“You are a lawyer?”

“I am,” I replied.

“And you are not afraid to hear a strange story?”

“Not at all,” I answered.

“Then I will tell you one,” he said. “It is a story that will make your blood run cold.”

“I am ready to hear it,” I replied, “but I must warn you that I am not easily frightened.”

He looked at me steadily for a moment, and then said—

“Have you ever heard of the Black Knight?”

“The Black Knight!” I echoed. “Who was he?”

“He was a man who lived many years ago, and who committed many crimes.”

“What was his name?”

“No one ever knew his real name,” replied the stranger. “He was always called the Black Knight, because he wore black armour, and rode a black horse.”

“And what became of him?”

“He was killed in a duel, and his body was buried in a lonely spot, far away from the haunts of men.”

“And what is there strange about that?”

“Nothing,” replied the stranger. “But the story I am going to tell you is stranger still.”

He paused for a moment, and then continued—

“Many years after the death of the Black Knight, a young man was passing by the spot where he had been buried, when he suddenly saw a figure in black armour standing by the grave. He was much startled, but he was not a coward, and he determined to go up to the figure and speak to it. But as he approached, the figure vanished, and he could see nothing but the grave of the Black Knight.”

“Very strange,” I said. “And did the young man see the figure again?”

“He did,” replied the stranger. “The next night, as he was returning from a party, he saw the figure standing in the same place. He stopped and looked at it, but he did not dare to speak. The figure remained motionless for a few minutes, and then slowly disappeared.”

“And what did the young man do then?”

“He went home, but he could not sleep. He was haunted by the figure of the Black Knight, and he resolved to find out who it was that haunted the grave.”

“And did he succeed?”

“Yes, he did,” replied the stranger. “He watched by the grave for three nights, and on the third night he saw the figure again. This time he was determined to speak to it, and as he approached it, he cried out, ‘Who are you, and why do you haunt this place?’”

“And what did the figure reply?”

“It replied in a hollow voice, ‘I am the ghost of the Black Knight, and I cannot rest in my grave until I have found my murderer.’”

“And did the young man find out who the murderer was?”

“He did,” replied the stranger. “He found out that the murderer was his own father, and that he had killed the Black Knight in a duel.”

“And what did the young man do?”

“He confessed the crime to the authorities, and his father was arrested and tried for murder. But before the trial was over, the young man died, and the ghost of the Black Knight was never seen again.”

The stranger paused, and then added, “That is the story I wanted to tell you.”

“It is a very strange story,” I said. “But do you expect me to believe it?”

“That is for you to decide,” replied the stranger. “But I must go now, for it is getting late.”

He rose and took up his lantern. I rose also, and followed him to the door. He opened it and went out, and I watched him as he walked away in the darkness.

As I stood there, I could not help thinking of the story he had told me, and I wondered if it could possibly be true. But I never saw the stranger again, and I never heard anything more of the Black Knight.

“And now, Larry, love,” she said, “there is just one thing more I want to say to you, and then I am done. If ever again you feel disposed to quarrel with me, just think of all the foolish things you have said and done, and ask yourself if they were worth the quarrel.”

“Kate,” said Larry, “I am ashamed of myself. I have been very foolish. I will never quarrel with you again.”

“I am sure you won’t,” replied Kate, “and now let us be friends once more. There is my hand, Larry.”

Larry took her hand and kissed it, and then said, “Kate, you are an angel.”

“No, Larry, I am not an angel. I am only a poor, weak woman, who loves you with all her heart, and who is ready to forgive you all your faults.”

“Thank you, Kate,” said Larry, “I don’t deserve your love, but I will try to be worthy of it.”

“And now, Larry,” said Kate, “we will say no more about the past. Let us forget it, and think only of the future. We have had our little quarrel, but it is all over now, and we are as good friends as ever.”

“Yes, Kate, we are as good friends as ever,” said Larry, “and I hope we shall always remain so.”

“I am sure we shall,” replied Kate, “for I am determined never to quarrel with you again.”

“And I am determined never to give you cause for quarrel,” said Larry.

“That is right, Larry,” said Kate, “and now we will say no more about it.”

And so the matter was settled, and Larry and Kate were as happy as ever. They had learned a lesson which they never forgot, and they lived together in peace and harmony for the rest of their lives.

THE END.