too much tact. It is a pretty way
enough of telling one that he belongs to a past generation, but it does
tell him that not over-pleasing fact. Like the title of Emeritus
Professor, it is a tribute to be accepted, hardly to be longed for.

When the curtain rises again, it will show Miss Hazard in a new
character, and surrounded by a new world.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MYRTLE HAZARD AT THE CITY SCHOOL.

Mr. Bradshaw was obliged to leave town for a week or two on business
connected with the great land-claim. On his return, feeling in pretty
good spirits, as the prospects looked favorable, he went to make a call
at The Poplars. He asked first for Miss Hazard.

"Bliss your soul, Mr. Bridshaw," answered Mistress Kitty Fagan, "she's
been gahn nigh a wake. It's to the city, to the big school, they've sint
her."

This announcement seemed to make a deep impression on Murray Bradshaw,
for his feelings found utterance in one of the most energetic forms of
language to which ears polite or impolite are accustomed. He next asked
for Miss Silence, who soon presented herself. Mr. Bradshaw asked, in a
rather excited way, "Is it possible, Miss Withers, that your niece has
quitted you to go to a city school?"

Miss Silence answered, with her chief--mourner expression, and her
death-chamber tone: "Yes, she has left us for a season. I trust it may
not be her destruction. I had hoped in former years that she would
become a missionary, but I have given up all expectation of that now.
Two whole years, from the age of four to that of six, I had prevailed
upon her to give up sugar,--the money so saved to go to a graduate of our
institution--who was afterwards----he labored among the
cannibal-islanders. I thought she seemed to take pleasure in this small
act of self-denial, but I have since suspected that Kitty gave her secret
lumps. It was by Mr. Gridley's advice that she went, and by his
pecuniary assistance. What could I do? She was bent on going, and I was
afraid she would have fits, or do something dreadful, if I did not let
her have her way. I am afraid she will come back to us spoiled. She has
seemed so fond of dress lately, and once she spoke of learning--yes, Mr.
Bradshaw, of learning to--dance! I wept when I heard of it. Yes, I
wept."

That was such a tremendous thing to think of, and especially to speak of
in Mr. Bradshaw's presence, for the most pathetic image in the world to
many women is that of themselves in