The Weekly Journal. — 1903-11-06 (Hartlepool, Cleveland, England)

FRANCIS. it of "North, South, and Over the Sea," Then my eyes Pursued him down the street, and far away Among the honest shoulders of the crowd, Dead rascal in the motions of his back, And scoundrel in the supple-sliding knee. In A few minutes the whole house was in a ;drat's bustle and uj roar. Mr. John had come back. The young squire was not dead after all, but alive awl hearty, with a broken head, ind a swelled face, and a variety of green and ellow bruises adorning different portion* of is person; but, as old Simmons said with a laugh which was choked midway with a sob, there was nothing to hurt in all that—it was just part of the day's work, so to speak! Anybody but a fool of a Frenchy would know that an Englishman was not killed so easy. The Squire came staggering downstairs, and almost wrung off his son's hand; the tears were raining down his face:— " What! 'Tis you, John, lad?—'Tis you, eh)" " 'Tis me," responded John. "Not much of an objcet to look at just now, but I reckon you'd rather have me with a swelled face than go on thinking me dead. I could very near have murdered that fellow Jacques when I I hoard what a fright be gave you all. thought I'd best come down and show myself, so that you could see for yourself there wasn't much amiss." "Not much amiss indeed !" cried the Squire, with a wavering laugh, as he clapped his son on the back. "The ladies might think you no beauty just now, but I swear that puffed-up face of yours is the handsomest sight in the world to me. It was very well done of you, lad, to come down yourself. I daresay you'd have fancied lying quiet is bed a bit longer." "Nay, I'm not much of a one for staying in bed, air. A few bruises don't count, and I'll Work the stiffness off with the harriers to-morrow. Pni not salaamed to be beat by the Little fiulli--he'a a bruiser no mistake. Why even hilly the Smasher can't stand up to him —but I've not done with him yet, for all that." , "Right—right—that's the right 'spirit !" roared his father. "I don't know how I could have been such a fool as to give credit to the 'tale for a moment. I might have known that you were a bit too hard beaded to be killed by .a bout or two of fisticuffs. But hearing the thing so sudden-like took me a-back, I suppose —and Hawkins there was se positive. He anriounced your death as a certain thing. 'Fail}ire of the heart, no doubt,' says he—and told such a pitiful tale of how you was carried away with your head dangling, that, faith, I believed him." "MI, to be sure, Dawkins brought the news," .returned John, and for a moment his honed, good-humoured face clouded over. "No One, I assure you, my dear Mr. John, ,could so rejoice to find himself mistaken, as I ,ffo on this most auspicious occasion," twittered the, lawyer. ! He glanced so imploringly at the young squire that Hl:atter, who had been on the ' point of maim verting on the tact of his bayg discovered lm in the act of drinking his , upposed eueeasiwor's health, waa haollified, and °rebore. "ph. yes, carriAd me off—they nre all re 4 41,40;5. mi. i stayed with ...et- • ~v , . Fur y u ..., •1.. ;.• .. ati ky., • .. . ...A. . . . Agra` •  A