, 1891-08-28

money badly. Every one knew every
cne's business in the neighbOrhood. it
was common talk that payments ON Ger
tain mortgages were due on u certain
date. the doctor being one of the persons
chiefly concerned.
There came a day-a peaceful. ciaud
less summer day-at the close of which
Silas Beaver announced his intention If
visiting the doctor and paying a small
a very small-sum on account.
So Beaver went his way up the hill t
the cozy homestead that overlooked the
gorge just as the setting sun cast its
ruby and golden n y over the spot so
beautified and idealized by nature glori-
flying that already exquisite corner Of
creation as only drowsy sunbeams can
glorify natures own handiwOrk.
Up the hill went Silas Beaver, but
never again to the knowledge of mat
did he retrace his steps.
Were there high words? No one
knew. Perhaps the great eagle whose
nest was perched far over the topmost
rocks on the opposite side of the gorge
could have told, or the rows as they
winged their dusky fight past the lone
ly homestead. No man but those w
Ndh HthA ~ htdA nat Dia5Nu w
debtor and creditor that summers day
SO long passed by.
Inquiries ensued rs a matter of course
Search parties were organized. lnspcc-
ton of the doctors premises brought to
light that his gig was stained with blood,
his horse bearing the appearance of hay
ing been hardly driven the night before,
but DR.. Hoff accounted for these sus-
picious facts with complete GOODNESS. A
long drive, an an ~utatiOn after a evere
accident. Further inquiry ELECTED that
there had been an accident Mt n distance,
that the doctor had been there. that he
had performed just the operation that he
claimed to ave performed.
No evidence. So Silas Beavers dis
appearance remains to this day n mys-
terry.
1t may be that the iron tracks of the
great railway rested on their sleepers
above the murdered mans hidden re-
mains, for what SO easy rs to hide the
likely victim of passion under the great
banks of appraised soil? 1t may be that
amid some tangle of wood and vine,
rock and fern, the missing man was laid
away, hidden forever from earthly eyes.
Time went on; suspicion slept, watch
fulness abated, but never again did the
feet Of Silas Beaver cross the threshold
Of his own door.
Then one night there was a lurid glare
lighting the tree tops of the gorge. A
farmhouse, barns and all their contents
were M great pitiful bonfire. oh, for
the toll of weeks, of months, the slow
gathering Of harvest, the pinching and
saving to obtain stocki Only a black,
ened ruin, a hopeless prospect
The victim had been at enmity with
DIR. Hoff. 1t was he who had been fore
most in the search for the missing man
Beaver. The doctor had been heard to
threaten him repeatedly. so DIR. Hoff
was arrested and lodged in Jail, but be
fore the day of trial came he escaped,
and the neighborhood knew him no
more.
Silent and deserted stood the house on
the edge of the gorge, until one night,
when the storm ragged and the lightning
flashed and glistened in the leaden skies,
the flame shot up from its lonely timbers
and Wed with the flashes of it's kinder,
the electric bolt. When morning came
the sun rose over n heapof charred ruins,
and forest birds piped a requiem over the
scorched trees and flowers.
He who lived in the homestead on the
verge of the gorge had been stormy and
passionate; fit ending to his dwelling to
perish by the fury and the passion of the
storm.
Over the gorge now. By the hand of
the axinan shorn of its pristine beauty,
On its tracks of steel, supported by their
mighty t~restles, hour by hour pass the
trains with slackened speed and painting
breath of steam in curb.
Down below, deprived of the grateful
shade of its verdant friends, the forest
trees, the little brook ripples and gurgles
bravely in the garish sunlight. Alas!
no wary trout sport in its once cool, dark
depths. No timid deer bend their grace
full heads to drink of its waters, but few
birds quench their thirst in its now luke
warm shallow ripples. The beautiful
gorge, the cool, deep brook are things of
the past. Like the homestead which
once overlooked them and its passionate
tempered dweller, like the great eagle
which built its nest on the crags near by,
like the deer and the myriad forest
birds, it remains but n memory, n rem
i%niscence of long ago, told in an hour of
retrospection by the oldest inhabitant."
Does any one ask what befel the poor
young wife of DIR. Hoff? This is what the
oldest inhabitant" told to satisfy the
visitors curiosity ON that point: 1t was
supposed by many people that it was
Mrs. Hof who aided the doctor in his
escape from Jail; however that may be,
she disappeared at the same time he did.
The lonely little grave in the corner of
the clearing no longer had n mourner;
never again did posies of fen and flower
deck its tiny appraised mound. Then there
came n day when sorrow and Indignation
mingled in the hearts of those who had
known and loved the gentle English lady
who had led such n sad life in the home
stead by the gorge. A certain DIR. Hoff.
who had lived for some years in Canada,
but who had lately returned to England,
was on trial for his life for the murder
Of his wife, near London, so the papers
recorded. Later on was sent the news
far across the water that DR.. Hoff had
eXpiated his abominable crime on tho
scaffold. Fiddle Ii. Holland in Toronto
Globe.
Making Use of Her Husband.
An old lady in a Mississippi river town
was "a prartIrany pbil,a,pbi, g,rl md