The older man looked at Harry with glistening eyes of admiration;
with what Christian virtues of humility he was endowing that embarrassed
young man, it is painful to imagine.

The dean's eyes twinkled above his handkerchief, which hid his mouth,
as he rose to make his farewells. He shook hands, warmly.
"God bless you, Harry," said he. Gilling, too, wrung Harry's hands;
he was seeking some parting word of gratitude, but he could only
choke out, "I hope you will get MARRIED some time, Mr. Lossing,
then you'll understand."

"Well," said Harry, as the door closed, and he flung out his
arms and his chest in a huge sigh, "I do believe it was better
than the puppies!"


HARRY LOSSING

THE note-book of Mr. Horatio Armorer, president of our street railways,
contained a page of interest to some people in our town, on the occasion
of his last visit.

He wrote it while the train creaked over the river, and the porter
of his Pullman car was brushing all the dust that had been distributed
on the passengers' clothing, into the main aisle.

If you had seen him writing it (with a stubby little pencil that he
occasionally brightened with the tip of his tongue), you would not have
dreamed him to be more profoundly disturbed than he had been in years.
Nor would the page itself have much enlightened you.