The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1878-12-14

loT Tlue. lie was 1ull OF MS pleasant
reception, and anxious to become per-
sonally acquainted with those who had
so interested themselves in him.
Oh! you'll know them soon enough,
my friend said. shouldn't wonder if
you find when you go back, that half
the community has been calling on you"
And sure enough, when he returned,
there was his table heaped high with
visiting cards. his eyes glistened
GIVE heard that people abroad were
hospitable," he said, "but, upon my
word, this kind of thing [ didn't ex-
pect."
My friend glanced over the heap of
cards.
"Ah!" he said, "The most infuen-
tial names. They don't often call on
newcomers. [ suppose you impressed
them favorably yesterday. Sharp set of
fellows, too! You had better lose no
time in returning their civility"
" / will make my return calls this
afternoon" he said, warmly, "Can you
give me an idea of the addresses"
mo need. Everybody knows every
body here. You have only to ask. |
wish could accompany you, but | shall
be busy this afternoon"
So shall l." said /, "but we will
look in upon you later"
cob! and stay to dinner, dol" re-
piled our young friend, and we readily
agreed.
To one of us, as it happened, the offer
of dinner was not thing to be lightly
treated.
We were not surprised when, a. the
proper hour, we made our appearance, to
see the young newcomer look weary and
depressed. He frightened when he saw
us.
So kind of you to come" he said.
And presently" Either must be STUPID
at understanding directions, or every
body does not know everybody in your
settlement. Such goose chase as
| had this afternoonW
What" cried my friend with we'll
assumed surprise. ''You didn't find
them~ Ana his voice so clearly COM
mented, You must be a foolish felloww
that the young mans color rose.
" must have another try" he said.
But was not this strange? | showed
one of the names to member of your
police force. He directed me to the road
leading out of the settlement, and |
walked on for aboro an hour, expecting,
of course, to rea 4 some house. All at
once | found myself at the cemetery"
My friend laughed. "That man was
wag; not doubt of it, However,
wait a few days til! you know the place
better
As you may have guessed, more than
half the cards, dropped by our orders at
the young mans door, bore the names of
men either dead or departed. But a
long time passed before he found this
out; he might have never found it QUE
at all, but for-however, | must not an
ticipate.
To give in detail the practical Jokes
we played on our newcomer would be
impossible. One [ must tell you, for it
very nearly had a tragic ending.
Two or three of Us had started with
him on a shooting trip up the river. 1t
had pleased one OF us, his first friend, to
feign deep melancholy, from which
our newcomer sought in vain to rouse
him. The young fellow spoke to me in
private on the subject. "Our friend"
he said Fought to be watched. Men in
his state of mind have been known to do
strange things" l, of course, encouraged
his fear. We were neither of us then
much surprised when, one evening, the
melancholy man, after hastily wringing
our hands and murmuring that Z" it
could be borne no longer" leaped into
the river. What followed helped me
afterward to understand the sequel of
this story. Without a moments hesita-
tiCn that brave young fellow threw off
his coat and boots and dived after his
friend. He was not strong swimmer,
however, and that little trick was near
being our last When we fshed him up
he was half drowned.
He rose in our estimation from that
moment, though it was not in the nature
of things that we could give up our di-
version, and we were still plotting
against his peace when hazard called me
away from our settlement to a little
place at some distance. [ went willing
ly, for the house at which | was to be
entertained was presided over by young
lady whom it always gave me great
pleasure to meet. She was the daughter
o: the merchant | went to seer a bright.
clever and intelligent girl, and to my
taste peculiarly handsome. 1t had
struck me, mOreover-no harm in con-
Tossing it now; there is an age, you
know, when we read volumes in a smile
it had struck me then that the beauti-
full Eleanor Hartley had special kind
ness for me.
But on this occasion it seemed to me
that something was wrong with Miss
Eleanor. She sustained her part in the
conversation only with effort. She was
languid and depressed.
"This detestable climate is telling on
her" was my conclusion, and | outdid
myself in my efforts to be amusing.
At such times, as we know-if, that is
to say we are not born takers, like our
friends.of the Emerald isle-1here comes
tt . moment when everything is used up.
Neither joke, nor pun, nor Lively anec-
dote will visit the distressed brain.
Nothing remains but to choose between
naked commonplace and doleful silence.
To me, one evening at dinner, such a
moment came. Up to that time (for
our host was a silent many had done all
the talking, and Miss Eleanor eyes had
often mutely thanked me. [ could help
her now no longer. In the silence that
followed on this dreary conception she
raised her gentle voice. What a plain
tive lCok there was in her face! How
hard she was trying to be animated; and
how I felt for her! Happy thought
Had | been alone | should have cut a
caper. 1t struck me all at once that |
had not yet told them about our new
conner and the tricks which we had
played upon him. This, if only properly