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THE NEW YOK PUBLIC LIBRRY

ASTOR, VEVOX ΓΙΓΑ "

of pathos. Gentle, loving, sympathetic, he felt deeply and made his readers feel with him that there is poetry in life, and many gentle virtues, and also suffering. It is this occasional deeper tone in the best of his work that raises it to the rank of literature and promises to make it endure. His flow of spirits was undiminished to the last, and millions have lost in him a welcome friend who never failed to drive away for a while the cares of life.”

BOUND TO BE A PALL-BEARER. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I am here to act as the pallbearer of Sandy Baldwin. I shall do it, and those of you who know me know that I will do it. He cared little for the empty titles which the errors of humanity bestow upon unworthy men. He knew his friends while living. He knows them still. I was his friend. I am nothing more than that now. If he were alive he would indorse that sentiment."

At that moment Mr. Goodman stooped, and taking hold of the casket, he gently jolted it to test its weight. After he had hefted it he said :

“Now, gentlemen," and he looked like a Numidian lion whose tail had been shut into the door of the Coliseum by mistake, or a royal Bengal tiger, whose own private martyr had been ruthlessly jerked away from him by means of a string : “pride, pomp, and circumstance can no longer reach Sandy Baldwin in that mysterious country to which he has gone. Empty titles and the false glamour and glitter of hollow honors cannot gladden his dead heart now. Your Honorable this and your Judge that cannot bring the flash of pride to his pallid clay.

“But friendly hands shall be the last to touch his bier. No stranger shall bear my friend away to his grave, for-I will carry him myself.”

Then he reached down and put his strong arms about the casket of Sandy Baldwin to shoulder it. But better

judgment moved the man who had charge of the ser. vices, and the original programme was carried out.

Lawrence Barrett said it was at once the grandest and most ludicrous sight he ever saw. There, in the midst of mourning, on the most solemn and impressive of occasions, stood a brave and defiant man, in a Prince Albert coat that tried to be dignified but lacked the necessary scope, and with trousers which shuddered at the idea of touching the earth by a foot or so. With flashing eye and distended nostril he defied the entire programme, and, threatening to bear away the body of his friend, like a true gladiator, he won his case, and Sandy Baldwin went to his grave surrounded by a little band of plain American citizens, followed by the titled but overawed pall-bearers, whose names were respectively Messrs. Mud, Dennis, and others.

Fresno is also noted latterly for having among its citizens a gentleman named Whisk, who has done well for a number of years by attaching the baggage of various theatrical companies. I do not mention this because I have any personal grudge against Mr. Whisk, for I am not a theatrical company, neither did he attach my baggage. On the contrary, he bought a box and treated me well, but others murmur, and, I believe, with just cause, insomuch that the citizens of Fresno kick with a loud and sonorous kick, which extendeth even unto San Francisco, and even also unto the sound which is to the north thereof.

Mr. Whisk married in rather a romantic way, I thought. A Fresno gentleman told me about it. He said that Mr. Whisk was doing well in his attachment industry there, and finally formed another attachment for a very wealthy widow. She feared, however, that he only loved her as a brother, and also as one who hath his eye on the bank account wherewith she had been blest.

So she said to him: “Oh, darling, I fear that my wealth hath taught thee to love me, and if it were to take wings unto itself thou wouldst also do the same."

“Nay, Gwendolen," said Mr. Whisk, softly, as he drew her head down upon his shoulder and tickled the lobe of her little, cunning ear with the end of his mustache, “I love not thy dollars, but thee alone. Also elsewhere. If thou doubtest me, give thy wealth to the poor. Give it to the World's Fair. Give it to the Central Pacific Railroad. Give it to anyone who is suffering."

"No," she unto him straightway did make answer, “I could not do that, honey."

“ Then give it to your daughter," said Mr. Whisk, “ if you think I am so low as to love alone your yellow dross."

He then drew himself up to his full height.

She flew to his arms like a frightened dove that has been hit on the head with a rock. Folding her warm, round arms about his neck, she sobbed with joy and gave her entire fortune to her daughter.

Mr. Whisk then married the daughter, and went on about his business.

I sometimes think that, at the best, man is a great, coarse thing.

The widow wept for Mr. Whisk for a week or two and bought a revolver with which to kill him, but better judgment prevailed. She suddenly came to her senses, and, realizing what a weak revenge it was, after all, merely to kill him, she packed up her parrot and went to live at his house.

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