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that was necessary was car-fare and money for the incidental expenses of a trip to California. Long was a little vague in his ideas about the fare to California, but he had an idea that a hundred dollars would cover all the expenses of the trip. He was unusually curt in his replies to his mother's comments on the letter and the country it described, and remained silent all through the evening, retiring much before his usual bedtime. In response to his mother's anxious question if he was feeling well, he only kissed her, and replied, “ Yes, mother; a little tired, that's all.” The next morning he had apparently recovered his usual spirits, and his mother was consequently much relieved.

Two or three days afterwards one of the villagers called out to Long, as he was coming home at night from work,“ Say, Jim, don't you wish you was Deacon Brown? '

Why, what's up?” asked Long. “The old man 's just got paid off for some early apples 'n a lot of other truck he sent to the city.”

“How much'd he get?" asked Long.
“'Bout two hundred dollars, I guess. Enough to go on a six weeks' spree with.”

These words set James into the same old train of thought. Two hundred dollars! More than enough to get his mother to California. Easy to get, too. Did n't he know all about Deacon Brown's house? Had n't he and Joseph Brown been boon companions till Joe died? Had n't they explored every nook and cranny of the old house? Did n't he know where old Deacon Brown kept most of his money in the quaint, old, carved writing-desk in one corner of

the living-room? Did n't he know that the catch on one of the windows of that living-room was broken, and the window never fastened, for the deacon said he'd lived nigh onto sixty year, and that catch had been broken a good twenty year, 'n he had n't been robbed so fur 'n did n't expect to be? Did n't he also know that the deacon always turned checks and money orders into cash as soon as possible, saying that he preferred Uncle Sam's checks? Yes, he must have that money, or enough to send his mother to California with, anyway. In the midst of his thoughts he was interrupted by a cheery voice, calling, “ Well, Jim, my

it ?” and looking up he found himself in front of the deacon's orchard, and the deacon, who was gathering apples, calling to him. In the semi-darkness Jim perceived the old man's coat and vest hanging on a fence-picket in front of him. With a sudden start he remembered that the deacon carried his key-ring in his vest-pocket — a careless thing to do, his wife told him, but the deacon said he'd carried that key-ring thar for nigh onto forty year, 'n he had n't lost nuthin' so fur, 'n on the whole he guessed he would n’t in futur'.

Long gave an equally cheery reply to the deacon's greeting, and leaning over the fence he exchanged the news of the day with the deacon, while he fumbled in the vest-pocket for the keyring. The darkness concealed his action, and the search was successful. Jim readily told the key to the writing-desk by its peculiar shape, detached it from the ring, and replaced the others. Then after a little more talk he sauntered

away

home. The next morning, at the breakfast table, James said to his mother, "Do

you

remember what Uncle Reuben said about your going to California ?”

“ Yes, my son. Why?”

“Well, I've been thinking it over. I've been working pretty hard this past year and I've laid by quite a little money that I'd been thinking of using toward paying off the mortgage, but I think now that I'll use it to send you to California with.”

" James, what are you talking about? It is utterly out of the question.” “ Nothing of the sort, mother. I've had it all planned for some time.” “But, my son, even if I should go, how would you get on without me?” said Mrs. Long,

? weakening a little. “Oh, I should get along all right. The thought that you were getting strong and well would

, . be enough alone to keep me going.”

“Well, give me time to think it over,” said Mrs. Long, and in the end she yielded to her son's wish and her own desire to become stronger. The whole population of the Corner turned out to see her off, and was heartily moved by the affecting parting between her and James.

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It was two or three weeks before Deacon Brown missed his money. The key had been returned to its proper place before the deacon had noted its absence. When he did discover his loss he did not think the money had been stolen, for no signs of violence were discoverable on the writing-desk, and the deacon was firm in his belief that there was only one key “in the kentry that would fit that desk. So the good man, who was very absent-minded, supposed that he had mislaid the amount somewhere, and lived in daily expectation of seeing it turn up in some unexpected place.

In the meantime, Turner's Corner was surprised at the change that had come over James Long. From being a hail-fellow-well-met, he became silent, taciturn, and gloomy. People set it down to his separation from his mother. “ Jim always did set a heap of store by his mother," they said.

Had James Long not been by nature generous, open-hearted, with an almost abnormal sense of justice in regard to most matters, quick to feel and sympathize, his guilt would not have preyed on him so, and he would have been content at escaping without suspicion. As it was, after a vast amount of thinking, and figuring, and mental agony, he came to this conclusion: “No, I can never pay it back. Two hundred dollars might be easy for some people to repay, but for a man like me, a farm-hand, with a big mortgage on my house and land — no, I cannot do it. I know, unless I confess, no one will ever know that I took the money; but I must confess. I can't stand it any longer ; and yet - oh, how can I confess? Yet I must !” And this last thought clung in his mind.

About eight o'clock one evening the door-bell of Deacon Brown's house jangled sharply, and the deacon, going to the door, found James Long there with a note in his hand. “Good evening, Jim,” said the deacon.

“Good evening, Deacon. Here is a note for Mrs. Brown, that mother enclosed in a letter to me.” As a matter of fact, the envelope addressed to Mrs. Brown contained another addressed to the deacon, in which Jim confessed his theft.

Won't

you come in and stay awhile, Jim ?” “Nono, thank you. I-I feel rather tired to-night.”

1-« All right. Good night.”

“ Good night.” James Long turned away from the door and walked slowly down the gravel walk to the road. It was a splendid night. The air was crisp and bracing, the November moon rode high in the heavens, and in its soft radiance everything looked subdued and peaceful. Lights in the windows of the neighboring houses twinkled cheerily. The sound of

The sound of a piano fell on the ear. It was a beautiful, happy world. And yet, and yet — James Long stood looking and listening for a time, then slowly moved on. In front of the Town Hall he paused again, and a mist came before his eyes, as he thought of the good times he had had there. He looked at the little schoolhouse, and the memories it conjured up brought a dry sob to his throat. He regained his composure, and walked on till he stood before his own house. Here he halted once more, and gazed long and earnestly at his home. Then he bowed his head on his hands and gave way to an uncontrollable burst of feeling. At length he recovered himself, and started off down Narrow Lane, at first at a brisk walk, and then he broke into a run. On and on he ran down Narrow Lane, until he came to an unbroken reach of forest, where he turned off abruptly and plunged into the woods, still rushing on and on, farther and farther from man, from home, and, he thought, from God.

The next morning the sun rose bright and clear on a smiling world. In a little glade in a forest the woodland denizens discovered a new and unwelcome sight. A few belated birds chirped above the spot; a bright-eyed squirrel peered at it from behind a tree; the wind sang a requiem through the branches of the pines; but the birds and the squirrels kept their secret well, for not until the snow had come and gone, and come and gone again, did man discover, among the leaves, with a rusted revolver by its side, a ghastly form, which cleared up a great mystery.

W. M. SMALL.

« Oh

yes.

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Dickens as a

It is hard for the lover of Dickens to find, as he must if he takes

the trouble to inquire, that the sale of that author's works is yearly Novelist. decreasing. Each year hosts of new writers spring up, and some of the

older ones are superseded. This fate seems to be slowly approaching Dickens, though there will always be some to whom the name is dear.

Critics tell us that Dickens is dull and uninteresting through at least half of the majority of his works ; that no interest is awakened till a sea of details and description has been waded through. This may be true, but to an ardent admirer, even this characteristic has its charm. Once become accustomed to the author's style, and admire it as it may be admired, and its very complexity is a delight. The descriptions should not be plunged through as hastily as possible, in order to get at the heart of the story, but should be carefully read. When this is done, one becomes better acquainted with the quiet humor which constantly appears. The descriptions of the Pecksniff family in “ Martin Chuzzlewit ” are full of wit which may easily be passed over in a hasty reading; and who has not laughed over the love affairs of David Copperfield, and the trials of Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness?

On the other hand, Dickens seems equally successful with pathos. That person must indeed be hard-hearted who is not moved by the story of Florence Dombey, and thrilled with admiration at the grandeur of Sidney Carton. The wanderings of Little Nell are equally pathetic, and in “ Nicholas Nickleby " the scenes at Dotheboys Hall are a mixture of humor and sadness.

It is often said that Dickens always exaggerates. Frequently, we agree; but surely not always. The scenes which pertain to the serious part ife are not exaggerated, but true to nature. Where is the exaggeration in Lizzie Hexam's grief for her father, or in the death of Little Paul ? Those scenes which are overdrawn are not harmful in any degree, they are only grotesquely ridiculous. In reply to the assertion that Dickens's own father was the original of Micawber, nothing can

This is a charge against the man, not the author. It is probable that the author's sense of humor overcame the man's family feeling. In a letter of the elder Dickens still in existence we find this proposal to a London firm. The writer was in debt to the firm mentioned to the extent of eighty pounds, or thereabouts, and sent his note for one hundred pounds, with a request that the firm cash the note, and return to him what remained after deducting the eighty pounds due them. He evidently considered that this proceeding would cancel his debt. Could anything be more Micawber-like? With such an original, Wilkins Micawber cannot, surely, be very greatly overdrawn.

It cannot be said that all of Dickens's works are equally good. He certainly fell below his own standard in some of his works. “ Barnaby Rudge” is not worthy to be placed side by side with “A Tale of Two Cities," nor “ Martin Chuzzlewit,” with David Copperfield.” If “ Edwin Drood” had been finished, it would probably take its place among Dickens's best works ; and his best works are worthy to be placed among the best and greatest novels.

E. L. H.

Exchanges. It is gratifying to notice that several of our which were submitted for the various prize conrecent prose and poetic contributions have tests recently held in that institution. These received favorable comment from contemporary competitions brought out some good work, and publications.

the poems are particularly worthy of praise.

The victorious editorial was entitled “The The University Beacon of Boston University Present Revival of Napoleon” (not Mansfield's contains some editorials, letters, and poems play), and the letter which won the first prize

this paper.

was supposed to have been written from the Accordingly, this is the last number of the cabin of the “ Mayflower," on her voyage to Yale Magazine that will come to us, and on this this country

This idea naturally gave free account it may not be out of place to give scope to the writer's imagination, and the effort particular attention to this number. The paper was decidedly successful.

was established in February, 1836, and is the The poems referred to are the following: - oldest college periodical in America. It also

has a surpassingly large circulation, and is popuTHE COMEDY OF LIFE.

lar not only among the students and alumni of (Men's prize poem.)

Yale but also throughout the college world. O Life is a comedy, happy and gay. What care I for sorrow? 'T will all pass away.

There are good reasons for the favor in which 'Tis true that I toil from morning till night

the magazine is held. In addition to the more And reap what I garner by main and by might.

heavy literary work, such as essays and orations, But what of the labor, and what of the pain ?

there are several original features peculiar to It lasts but a moment, it comes not again.

Among these, the column entitled Despondency, failure, and poverty, too,

“Notabilia,” where the college topics are disAre but clouds 'twixt me and heaven's own blue. The warm, genial rays of a heart that is bright

cussed, and the “ Memorabilia ” column, which Shall pierce through the darkness and bring forth the light. records the current events of college life, are I'll laugh at the grumbler, the cynic, the sneer, always of vital interest to the reader ; but And live in the presence of Hope, Joy, and Cheer. G. W. RICHARDSON, '97.

undoubtedly the short sketches appearing under

the head of “ Portfolio” are the most widely MARATHON.*

read articles of the paper.

Every one of them (Honorable mention.– Prize poem contest for men.) contains something to interest or instruct the Didst thou, O Coleridge, boast that thou couldst stand reader, and the brevity and variety of the

Upon that spot whose fortunes wrought the ages ; matter affords genuine pleasure. It is as delightBehold that storied sea and piled land,

ful to read this “ Portfolio” column as to visit Whose thought unfolds mankind's historic pages And rolls o'er time the spirits of thy sages,

a gallery of rare etchings, and the short, clever Hellas ! who livest yet in soul with men,

bits of composition as set forth under this title Without new rapture as the scene engages

bespeak a high literary standard for the great Without th' afflatus of that glorious Then

university. The majority and the most fasciAs all recurs, perforce, that was and might have been ?

nating of the “ Portfolio ” articles are too long Strange man ! Or was it that thy wizard thought to quote, but there are two which

may be taken Was framed so subtile in imagination,

as specimens of this work. The first selection And inward and subjectively o'erwrought

is valuable as a piece of dramatic history. The Thy mind, in its ethereal contemplation, Beyond the influence of time and station –

second sketch is a very accurate and clever

bit of description. Was not thy brain thus builded? Yes, for none

Of all the sons of every free-born nation Not of that mould, nor of the base undone,

Joseph Jefferson says somewhere in his autobiography Could look — and feel no more, memorial Marathon ! that good elocutionists are rarely good actors. He cites

LEONARD, '98. one startling exception in the case of James Murdoch,

whose acting in the antebellum days was considered one

of the rarest things of the time, and whose kind old face, The rale Literary Magazine for November is

as he stood at the reader's desk, many of the younger at hand, and with it comes the following unfortu- generation remember. Mr. Jefferson chose his exception nate announcement :

with as much skill as he established his rule. Murdoch

was at once an actor and an elocutionist. In his acting To the Exchange Editor :

there was that careful rendering of the lines, that delicate The growth of our exchange list has compelled us to respect for the weight and meaning of each word, which fix for it some arbitrary limit. We have, therefore, the most finical speaking master must perforce applaud ; dropped all our exchanges except those published and in the readings of his later years there was something monthly, and no copies of the Yale Literary Magazine more than the mere reader speaking to us. will be forwarded to other periodicals after the November It is not outside the recollection of many a young number.

admirer of Richard Mansfield and his school that MurWe thank you for past courtesies.

doch stepped for the last time upon the stage and scored Very truly,

the greatest success of his life. Booth was making a LINDSAY Denison.

triumphal tour through Europe in 1883. He was at the * Coleridge is said once to have remarked that he would experi

acme of his powers and was the beau ideal of the Amerence no unusual emotion were he placed on the field of Marathon. ican stage. The managers of the Cincinnati dramatic fesattention of all present.

a

tival had determined to give a grand production of Salvini's Othello, or Patti's swan song, or the last little Hamlet, but alas, Hamlet was in Germany. What was to feminine kick of Lotta's “golden slipper," touches us be done? In a lucky moment they hit upon Murdoch,

very keenly. and he was prevailed upon to accept.

He was far advanced in years and had stepped quietly off the stage long before, but he felt that the festival was,

The little mackerel steamer puffs out of the harbor, above all, a personal honor, and he played in his very best mood. Barrett was cast for Horatio and McCullough, moorings as the ebb-tide tries to lure them away, and

past the feet of dories which strain impatiently at their the Ghost, and yet this worn-out actor of another generation was king of them all. Wig, cosmetics, disguises beyond the wandering gulls, whose fretful cries blend

with the note of the lonely bell-buoy and the drowsy of all kinds, could not make a youth of him as he stood

ebb-tide surf in a weird song of melancholy. Far out at in the opening act, but the minute he began speaking, “A little more than kin and less than kind,” he was

sea appears a rippling blackness, as if a sudden squall

had struck the water, - which shows a school of closely the same Hamlet who had charmed the public in by

crowded fish moving directly toward us. The crew gone years. True, his voice was “ cracked within the

scramble into the dories and row in opposite directions, ring," but the old fire remained and the well-remembered

their course marked by a semicircle of bobbing corks. accent and modulation.

In a moment the circle is completed, the pursing-lines Old play-goers of the days of the elder Booth flocked

beneath the net are drawn, and the fish are enclosed in to hear, and sentiment sighed again after its long silence, and the rosy days " when we were young

a huge floating basket. ing back into the memory.

As the dripping net is slowly pulled into the boats, It must have been a sad

the water begins to sparkle, then flash with the gleam of thing for old lovers of the drama to hear him say that

desperate fish, leaping high in vain attempt to escape last noble line of the noblest of all tragedies,

from their narrowing prison.

A rude crane lifts great “The rest is silence."

casks of fapping fish aboard the steamer, and the dingy

hold sparkles with the prismatic colors of dying mackeWe have a personal affection for actors, deeper per

rel. Then the boat speeds homeward in the gathering haps than for any other band of artists, and that inevitable dusk, leaving its wake of phosphorescent foam, a silver “ last appearance,” whether it be the dying gasp of pathway toward the mysterious East.

came stream

Divinity School.

Nearly all the students were off the Hill for The Rev. Dr. James M. Pullman will probThanksgiving, not a few spending the vacation ably give, under the auspices of the Heth

, at their homes.

Aleph Res, a series of lectures, recounting

some of his practical experiences along sociologMr. Tillinghast has been selected as one of ical lines. A great treat is expected. the advertising solicitors for the '95 Song Book, in place of Mr. Robert Smith, resigned.

Notwithstanding some incipient criticisms as

to prowess in physical matters, which occasionThe father of Thomas Butler, '94, has been ally greet the ear of the divinity student, one of visiting him for several days, and seeing the the theologues, Mr. Ball, '98, took part in the attractions of Boston and vicinity, historical and Freshman-Sophomore foot-ball game on Novotherwise.

ember 27, and to the credit of the department.

This is in no way exceptional, but is worthy of The sum of $9.75 was raised amongst the emphasis in the connection noted. divinity students in aid of the Tuskegee School. The Rev. Buker Washington and his students

Mr. I. Carpenter lectured under the auspices aroused a deep feeling of sympathy.

of Heth Aleph Res, in the Divinity School

chapel, Thursday evening, November 22, on An appeal for funds with which to build a “ John the Baptist, the Greatest Man in Hisdormitory for the young lady students of the tory.While Mr. Carpenter did not convince Divinity School recently appeared in the Chris- all present of the plausibility of his position in tian Leader. We wish success to the Dean, regard to John the Baptist, yet the lecture was and believe that his name and influence are exhaustive in treatment and held the close enough to secure the required amount.

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