The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1883-12-01

Hercules of a fisherman, who could
have made mince-meat of him if it had
come 10 trial of strength, sneak away
home like \ whipped cur, with its tail
between its legs"
81 am afraid he has an unenviable
power of scolding."
ooh, it's not like sSoiding. The
worst things he says are usually uttered
with smile on his face But that
about which he carries his crotchet the
farthest is a lie of any --falsehood
in any shape or form. For anything
of that kind he has no PITY, and allows
no extenuating circumstances. / should
not like-though I'm old enough to be
his father-to encounter his look if 1
had any shade over the clearness of my
conscience"
''Indeed--yes. said Margaret, lit.
tie listlessly, as it seemed, and she
leaned back in her chair, and raised her
tumbler to her lips.
"Yes, he's an odd fellow-very.
That hatred of his for falsehood
amounts to a mania"
Margaret felt relieved when Mrs.
Lascelles changed the subject, saying:
Rupert is so much better that he is
going to be driven down to the pier this
afternoon, and sit there for an hour, If
you will 90 with him"
81 shall be delighted. l am longing
to look at the sea myself" said Mar
garet.
This project was carried out immedi-
ately after lunch. A basket carriage
came round, on seeing which, Mar
garet, in moment of forgetfulness, ex-
claimed:
'Uh should like to drive that pony
If Inay?"
"Can you driver asked Rupert,
abruptly,
"'0h, yes. | used--I used to drive
Mrs. Pierce's children about a great
DEAL said Margaret, which was
strictly true statement so far as ii went.
Rupert yielded ready consent The
m&n-servant, John, who attended him
in these expeditions, placed himself on
the back seat in charge of bundle of
rugs. The boy looked white and hag-
gard, as Margaret observed with
thrill of pity, but appeared cheerful,
aud made no allusion to the events of
last night. AS they drove from the
house, down from the hill toward the
stone bridge, he said, in kind of under
tone:
"Drive fast over the bridge, Mar
garet, while shut my eyes. L never
look at it if | can help. 1t is to that |
owe my misery, and l often think it will
be the death of me at last, though |
don't know how"
"You must put aside such morbid
fancies while you are with me-" she re-
piled, whipping up the pony and career
i Inc H. 4 L
way up the opposite slope. Then Ru-
pert opened his eyes and told her the
way TO drive to the town. He knew
every inch of the road, she remarked,
and seemed to love it. They drove
through the crooked, quaint old street,
and alighted at the pier head. A strong
young fisher boy, who seemed to know
all about them, and who greeted them
with a friendly nod, came and held the
pony's head while John supported Ru-
pert to the end of the pier 1t was a
short old stone pier with stumpy old
lighthouse at the end of it, and the river
flowed between it and similar pier
underneath frowning cliff into the sea.
| The pier they were on was the west
pier; the other was called the east pier.
They formed, as it were, harbor gates,
between which the fishing-boats in
cessantly sailed in and out.
John, having arranged for his young
masters comfort as well as he could,
! left them alone. At the moment no one
else was ON the pier. They had their
backs to the land, and, by turning a
little, could look northward to the long
line of cliffs which shimmered in sill
yer haze and seemed rather to be rest
ing lightly on the sea than to have
their giant bases fathoms below its low
est depths. 1t was glorious panorama
blue sea and sky that was yet more
intensely azure richly colored rock,
whose tones grew gradually into soft,
neutral gray, as distance removed them;
the sea breeze, soft, yet bracing, and
not too rude in its breath; the splash of
the water; the voices of men and chill
dren calling to one another on the quay
at the other end of the pier; sweet
chimes from an old church ringing the
hour of three; for the rest, peace, calm
and solitude such as Nature, and she
alone, can and does give to the hearts
that love her.
| After pause Rupert said:
"You said you could sing bit, Mar
garet l wish you would"
what, herep"
"Why not? There's no one to listen;
and if there We're, they are not critics.
Do sing But let it be something wild
and simple-none of your operate
arias, or tioritura scenas. ~
Dear, dear! How very particular
we are! Well, here's an Irish song"
She sang Samuel Lovers sweet song;
What would you do, Love,
II were going.