Year: 1875

couth baekwoods ways, to study law,
and attempted to exc out his scant
means by writing for the press. He
was full of selfcon6dence of the au-
dacious sort, that only. uneducated
young men of harrow experience,
can be filled with; and, of course, he
couldn't write. But with wondrous
blind persistence he kept at il until
about one in ten of bis articles, after
being offered at allthe oflieesin town
was accepted Then he wrote with
redoubled industry-always slowly
and laboriously. And be grew poor
er, more ambiliou6, and proud, and
in the end woun have probably
fetched up in mad house bat that
one of his articles,bappened to strike
the fancy of old Nj. chief on the
Times then, who offered him a minor
position on the editorial.


so be was Incorporated in the
machinery of great newspaper and
set to work, with the rest, to grind
out his share of the daily grist. He
knew little of politics not much Of
books; less of men and affairs; and
in his dull backwoods life, had de-
yeloped nothing approaching to a
sense of news-couldn't distinguish
between topics of no consequence and
topics Of all consequence for the day
But be was aglow with lofty purpose,
and cherished the highest conception
of his mission as o Journalist |
think he had read and actually be-
lieved Carlyle, isn't it, on the High
priesthood of the Press, whose Office
it is, as you and | know, to dish up
the sensations, criminal calendar, and
gossip of the day; to. toOt for this
eminent statesman aud attack that
eminent statesman; TO furnish opin-
ions to suit the market demand. with
a managing editor set over you to see
that you do it; an editor-in-chief
over him for the same purpose; and
the stockholders to watch the chief
in short, to make dividends on the
investment He was just such fel-
low as this Internal, incessant grind
soonest reduces the sapless condition
TO which in time it fetches US all who
do the hack work on the dailies. Old
NJ soon found that his newly dis
covered genius had to master the
rudiments Of journalism, and, after a
weeks time, took him Off the edito-
rial staff and put him at reporting.
Once in the mill his only chance was
TO work out. At it he set himself as
earnestly as though thai were possi-
bic. Perhaps had he been ten years
younger it might have been"


"ln his reporto!ial experiences he
chanced to meet a woman, such as
you would call lost. How it hap
pened-well, no matter how it hap
pened. He was a pure-minded fel-
low, and remained pure throughout,
She was superb beaaty-tall, and
of 1.-the, symmetrical figure; shy and
graceful as fawn, aud with q deli
cate, infantile face, expressive only
of unrestrained girIish joyousness,
and exquisite sense Of ali that was
beautiful. She seemed born for sun
shine and flowers, and music and
tenderest love, and all happiness
that could cost no pang. What bale
ful mischance had brought her to such
a o b ne er knew. 1t could moi have
been gum of hers. Her arlltssness
and sweet girlish caprices, and laugh
Ike music of sparkling rill, and bel


manifest utter unconsciousnesS %
what dire fate had befalien her, must
then haze been impossible. 1t musI
have ha .lpeaed through wreck oi
some home that she fell into the tolls
OF a devil--a handsome, dashing,
polished devil in the very semblabce
oil the hero of ayoung girls romance,
and whose lying promises to child
such as she were sacred as holy writ
And it all had been compassed in q
very little while. 1t could not have
been otherwise, for all abou1 her was
suggestive of tender birding, that
by uprooting of some giant tree bad
been tumbled out OF the nest on one
Of the boughs."


"You smile incredulously at the
picture" said Thorne, hesitatingly.
Perhaps you are right" he continu-
ed. at nav have had no likeness
except in his Imagination. Yet would
not a rose dropped in the mire be still
a rose, and for a little while-only n
little while-retaih its fragrance !?
Even though besmirohed somewhat,
perhaps one who never before beheld
a rose might see its beauty and long
to pluck it from the mire And the
bud the while might it not be all un-
conscious of its smirch?


"A romantic conceit, you would
say Possibly. But think be fan
cied something of the sort, and-I
must have caught it from him" said
Thorne. with strange flush.


| did not answer, and presently he
resumed with the air and tone of
man who might have forgotten his
listener.


Perhaps had be known more of
womankind be might ha detected
that her fatal blemish was the ex-
quislte refinement of every refined
sense, save that which would have
warned her of .he mire But to fol-
low out the foolish coDceit-this was
the first rose that had fallen in his
path, and its beauty intoxicated him.
His had been a dull, ploddiug life,
without romance or sentiment; life
OF slow, painful effort, lily rewarded
There is always a vein of romance
In such fellows. 1t is the stronger
for having been pent up; and, with
his backwoods uncouthness, perhaps
be had a womanly heart A rare
bond of sympathy, which neither d.
vined, there was between this man,
in whose life there had been no beau
ty, and this lost girl down in the
mire, with all the beauty Of sweetest
girlhood, which must needs have
been destined to develop into divin-
est womanhood. And-was it so
very strange forgetting all that
another man might have remembered,
be loved her.