Birmingham age-herald., 1894-08-05
GOSSIP FROM BOOKLAND.

"Suddenly shadow fell across his desk. He rose from his dream of the past, and turning saw the half moon quivering aslant through the diamond panes of the lattice. For minute he listened, but there was nothing to be heard except long, low, melancholy vail. Then he buttoned his coat, his best Sunday black, and was ashamed to find the empty cuff wet as the bib of an infant, but with the tears of moth- erlcss old age. < **% Determined to know what the meaning of it was, he groped for his hat and stout oak staff, and entered the church yard by the little siron gate, the private way from the school premises. The silence was as deep as the stiffness of the dead; but, by the light of tho Westerlng moon, he made his way among the white tombstones and the rubbish of the builders to the eastern corner, where Sir Thomas Waldron lay.
 "His old chiefs grave was fair and smooth and the crisp earth glistened in the moonlight, for the wind had fallen and frost was setting in; but small black hg.. ure lay on the crown, close to the bunch of flowers. .8 9ss A low growl met him and then dismal ? wall of anguish beyond any power of words . or tears trembled along the wan alleys of the dead and fingered in the shadowy re- cesses of the church. Good little Jess, thou art truer than mank1nd, said the sergeant, and marched away to his lonely bed. U
 ".Oh, passon, is 1t? Well, what have e got to sayk to me?' Her voice was hard and pitched rather high, and her gaunt jaws worked with a roll of wrinkles in- tended fey playful grin. Mrs. Tremlttt, Twas told that you wished to see me, and that it is h solemn moment with you; thut now you Tii stand stand in the iapp presence een,, of gwain' to die yet, she said. I be only nine-ty-one, and my own moother wor ninety five afore her lost a tooth. reckon shall see e out yet, Master Passon, for 'e Wants little drap out O my bottle. con- zider. Mrs. 1remlttt, Twill, with your permission, offer few simple words of prayer, not only for you, but for myself, me if you feel disposed .Stop!' she cried, 'stop!' and threw out both hands with great vigor as he prepared to kneel. Why, you ha' mt gi 'en me the zhiilen' yet. You always gives Betty Cork zhillen afore 'e begins to pray to her. Ban't my soul worth every penny of what Betty Cork's be?, # Nevertheless he pulled out the shilling, which she clapped with great promptitude under her pillow, and then turned her back upon hun. 'Goo on, now, passon, as long as ever 'e wull; but not too much noise like, lease might drop oil to sleep.'
 "'Hush, hush, my good young lady!' pleaded the old solicitor; but hls Client gazed heavily at her accuser, as If she could scarcely apprehend, and Christie thought that she did not care.
 s'You have done most wicked thing, Miss Fox continued, in a lower tone; as bad in it's way as the great wrong done to you. You have condemned an innocent man, ruined his life to the utmost of your power and dTefused to let him even speak for himself. Is that what you call justice?'
 '' He was not innocent. He was the base miscreant. We have proof of the man who saw him. Lady Waldron spoke slowly, in a strange, dull tone, while her lips scarcely moved and her hands fell on her lap.
 'Tbere is no such proof. The man owns his mistake. My brother can prove that he was miles away. He was called to his father's sick bed that very night, and be- fore daylight he was far upon the road. He never returned till days aiterward; {; then he finds this black falsehood, and you for it's author.
 After long silence since his last novel R. D. Blackmore has given us another de- lightfui story of Devon and Devonshire life, which 1 predict will become even a greater favorite than "Lorna Doc ne, ' although ir that excellent work we grow to love the close contact with real peop and real scenes. 'Perlycross contaius some 5CO pages. In the opening pages, in ~ the year 1885, we meet Rev. Philip Penni- Joe, curatein. charge at Ptrlycross, a vil- lage in the valley of Blackdown range. His inleres in his grand cid church is pa thetic, and instantly wins our re- gard for that venerable man, and we learn with somewhat of amusement that even in D.vou people delude them- selves with the vain belief that they had the righ to belong 10 church without con tribuline to the visible support of the same. The name of Waldron seems as pertinent 10 Devon as her iGcomparable clotted cream or Devonshire cider, and around this esti- mable mar Sir Thomas Waldio 1, is woven the cniei ,ats,es. ol .ns sofy ., 11as asrs are ful and individual, young ladies and young gentlemen, a1earned, enthusiastic physician, Jemmy Fox, and most astute old one, Dr. Gronow, whose hopes and ambitions pn lie have fallen 10 the \ dead level of trout fishing, and ifyou tried to fish when you couldn't get bite you Il