YANKEE NOTIONS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 26, 27 October 1893, Page 11

YANKEE NOTIONS.

" You do not know me ? " The speaker was a man in the very prime of life, his weatherbeaten face bronzed and furrowed by exposure under the fierce heat of a tropical sun, and as he stood with easy grace before the president of the great railway company into whose presence he had been admitted, he represented the very typo of those men in whom physical courage blends with personal beauty, and to whose unflinching spirit there is no obstacle to the accomplishment of their purpose. The distinguished man whom he addressed paused for a moment to look with deep scrutiny into the face of the stranger, and then, thoughtfully leaning back in hi* chair, he replied briefly : — " No, sir, I most say that I fail to recognise you " " Ton do not remember," replied his visitor, " the beardless yontb of ten years ago, the poor and obscure clerk, who, guided by the purest and deepest love that ever fouad its passionate utterance in the breast of man, sought yonr daughter's hand, and whom, sir, you rndely repulsed and drove in scorn from your house, without cne ray of hope, and with all the light gone cut of his life ? Little did you dream, sir, when you sent me forth a'onc on that dark and rainy night of the fierce spirit you had aroused, for I come of a raze where the indomitable pluck of the Puritan still lives, and which has never yet acknowledged its master. Humiliate^, but not utterly crushed, I set out to gain the fortune you coolly informed me was the price 1 must pay for my love. I left the humble roof that h^d sheltered me, I bid good-by to home and friende, and i i distant climes I sought for the gold I hud sworn to gain. With tireless energy I trod the unbeaten paths of far countries. In the jungles of the Kast I have tracked the deadly tiger, and, stricken with disease I have lain for months tossing upon an obscure cot in India. Never once my undaunted courage flagged, until fina'ly in the mines of Brfzil I found the thing that I had so long sought. I laboured as no man ever laboured before, and now, sir, I stand before you rich beyond the dreams of avarice; not as the humbled and abashed suitor of a decide ago, but as the proud representative of millions." The look of recognition that came into the aged face of the elder man had suddenly given place to a deadly pallor, aDd as the Fpaker ceased he sank back in his chair utterly overwhelmed. " Albp, sir," he murmured, as with a despairing gesture he seized the band of the youthful millionaire, "alas, Mr Caxton — I believe that is the name — I fear it is too late ! " " Too late 1 " repeated the other. '' Too late ! Why — " " Yep," interposed the old man. "Weary and worn with hope deferred, my poor daughter, whose loving heart stood the test of so many years of waiting for your returr, has succumbed. Last week aht was married." A look of intense relief came into the travel-stained face of his listener. " You mistake m n , sir," be Bairt, kindly laying his hand on the shoulder of the other man. "I am sine* rely glad that your daughter has married, and I trust the has done well. That, sir, was not the object of my visit." " Not the object of yonr visit ! ' repeated the venerable railroad man, his hand trembling slightly as he passed it over his forehead. Then, recovering his composure, and re<=unrng the business-like air habitual with him, he sa:d :—

" Then, may I ask, sir, what yon came for 7 " " Certainly,' 1 replied the hardy traveller and representative of millions. " I wanted to ask you, sir, if, in view of our former relations, you couldn't waive a point in my ca*e and accommodate myself and family with r asses through to Cq ca^o."— Tom MabsoN, in Truth.

" Any letters here fur AVsalom Jacobson? " asked the tall, locsejointed mm with yellow hair and a tuft of faded whiskers on the extreme southern frontier of hi 9 pointed chin. The village postmaster got up from his ch%ir and looked through the J box. " None," he replied. " Any papers ? " The postmaster examined the contents of another pigeon-hole. " No papers for Jacobson." " Letters 'r papers for Alabena, Dalseena Beeta Haycraft ? " " I don't think there are." " Wisht ye'd look at' see." The postmaster lookel through the H boxes. " None." " Anything for Barker Eals ? " " No." "Guess ye'J better look." The official inspected the boxes again. " Just as I told you. Nothing for Eals." •' Si me Polhemns ? " Another weary search through stuffeJ pigeoc-holes. " Nothing for Polhemus." The persistent man at the window kept it up till the postmaster bad ascertained by personal investigation that there was neither latter nor paper in the offiaa for Gilles Ru^glef, Emery Wbeelbouse, Barney Btedman, Hickory Twyman, Nelson McPelt, Jarvis Kingbury, or Homer Bearc, aad then male way reluctantly for an impitient agriculturist from the Bainbridge neighboarhooi who had been waiting fire minutes aad was becoming threatening aod dangerous. " What made you ask for all those folks' mail ?" inquired »n acquaintance as the man with the faded chin whiaksrs stepped outside the building. "Do they live out in your section ?" " No. They don't live anywher's I know of." " Then what did you mean by making the postmaster go to all that trouble for nothing 1 ' " I've baen askin' fur mail at this awfus fur mighty ne<ir seven months an' never got a blamed thin?, ' replied the othor, with a vindictive chuckle, " an I'm getting even with the guv'ment, b'gosh ? That's all V— Chicago Tribune.

She lived in the country, ani he from town for the summer fell desperately in love with her. But her heart was in the keeping of a neighbouring farmer's son, and she could not return his me'ropjlitan pff"ction. She had told him so that night on her fa'her's porch, where the honeysuckles hung bw iv tha moonlight and rilled the air wi h their luxurious fragrance. "If you do not marry me, ' ha whispered hoir^ely, " I will drown myßelf." " Ob, don't," aha pleaded, for her heart was tender though another's. " But I will, I tell you ; I will," he almost shouted. " You mustn't she begged, laying her soft, white hand on his arm, " there's no place wet enough except our well ; and oh, Mr Bmi b, what will we do for driuking-jvater?" aid there was that in her tone which convinced him that he was not amphikuus. — Detroit Free Prctt.