an Indian agency. Because of my former respect for him, I replied to his letter, and told him plainly that if he meant his offer in earnest, I should not only not do any thing for him, but should see that he got nothing from any other source. He answered me in a letter which he meant to be sarcastic, closing with the insinuation that he had probably not offered enough. Many of the applicants (and I will admit that they did not see the bribery of it) assured me that if they were appointed, I should have working friends who could do for me more than any others. Believing that those who were my friends for the sake of office were scarcely the persons to be intrusted with government interests, I avoided the appointment of any of them, choosing from among those who made no other professions than that they considered themselves capable and would try to discharge the duties acceptably. I was on one occasion taken into the office of one of my newly discovered friends and button-holed for a long time, and assured that there was no other person among all the applicants for the post-office which he desired who could bring so many votes to my support for a renomination as he. I told him frankly that I did not regard the post-offices as my personal perquisites to be dealt out for my own benefit, and that I should have two controlling principles; first, the best interests of the government service, and second, submission to the popular will whenever I could ascertain it, provided it did not indicate a person who, in my judgment, was incompetent or otherwise unfit for the place. This friend was not appointed, and a little more than a year from that time, when the people of the district were beginning to talk of a candidate for the next Congress, he attacked me bitterly in the newspapers. It was easy then to measure the depth of the friendship which he had so earnestly professed.

In one of the towns of the district an editor was seized with a desire to be appointed postmaster. He did not speak to me about it himself, but I suddenly found people coming to me and writing to me in his behalf. I knew, of course, that he had suggested it, and I caused him to be informed that I meant to be governed by the wishes of the people within the post-office delivery; that several applicants had circulated petitions; that those who had done so, as far as I knew, were all good and competent men, and that I intended to recommend the one

This

He

who should furnish me the best evidence that he was the choice of the people. did not suit the applicant in question. claimed that I owed him the office for the support his paper had given me, and said that he would present no petition_to_the people, and that if I did not make him postmaster he would "blow me out of water" through his paper, or words to that effect. I did not make him postmaster, and he opened fire upon me at once. During three campaigns he kept it up with a persistence and vigor worthy of a better cause. He did not "blow me out of water," nor out of my place in Congress, but he did his utmost to make good his threat, as I supposed he would when he uttered it.

A case in another town was peculiarly embarrassing. There were two prominent applicants for the post-office, both of whom were my friends, and, as I believed, sincere ones. Toward both I had the most friendly feelings, but unfortunately each of them stood at the head of a small faction of Republicans, and each was intensely hostile to the other. I knew that the appointment of either would introduce discord in the party, which I naturally wished to avoid. I should have been satisfied to recommend either if the other had been out of the way. Hoping that something would turn up, I delayed the appointment. To my great relief, the one to whom my sympathies were the more strongly drawn wrote me, saying that he realized the embarrassment of the situation, and for the sake of harmony had decided to withdraw his application; he hoped, however, that I would secure the appointment of a friend of his, whom he named. This person was entirely worthy; and the other applicant having meantime withdrawn, I immediately recommended his appointment. I really wanted to oblige the man, to whom I felt under considerable obligation, so far as I could do so without injury to the party; and although I knew I should awake the enmity of the other original applicant, yet, as this could affect only myself, and as I believed the new candidate competent and honest, I did not hesitate a moment. But

no

sooner had my friend obtained the appointment of his man than he indited a letter to a newspaper of the district, published by a relative of his, in which he opened the vials of his wrath to an extent exceeding anything I had ever seen before. The relative accompanied the letter with an editorial which, for villification and abuse, has seldom had its equal in the newspaper

'literature of the day. And this attack was but a preamble of what was to follow. For months and years I was the standing subject of that newspaper's maledictions. Whenever the editor lacked another subject to write upon, he resorted to the representative in Congress. If he needed three lines to fill up a column, he found room in them to utter a denunciation of the member of Congress. If he needed a column, or two columns, of padding, he could fill all with anathemas against the member of Congress. The most of it was low, coarse, ribald abuse, and the rest was slander; but he seemed to enjoy it, and as it did me no harm, I paid no attention to his madness.

In another part of the district there was a quiet little country town, and here I thought I should escape all trouble. The post-office incumbent was a good Republican, who had not bowed the knee to Andrew Johnson. Moreover, the people apparently desired his retention. However, some months after I had taken my seat, to my surprise I was informed that a man was circulating through the country, away from the town in question, a petition for the removal of the postmaster and for his own appointment. I determined that when the application reached me, I would reply that no change was contemplated at that place, and that I would put the application on file at the department for future consideration in case a vacancy should occur. But, to my still greater surprise, soon after this, I received a letter from one of the two editors of the Republican paper in the place asking for the appointment of his partner as postmaster, a request which was accompanied by the resignation of the incumbent, and a letter from him recommending the appointment of the new man. Here was a vacancy, with but the one applicant, and in a day or two there after I made the recommendation for appointment. I had scarcely done so before a score of letters reached me from some of the best and most trustworthy citizens of the place protesting against the appointment, and some of them informing me that the postmaster's resignation had been procured through misrepresentation, he having been made to believe that I was going to have him removed and the man appointed who had circulated the petition. I at once caused a suspension of proceedings at the department, and then wrote to the postmaster, stating that I had never had a thought of his removal, and that if he still desired the office, he might withdraw his

resignation. He replied at once in a very grateful letter, saying that he had resigned only because he thought he was about to be removed; that, being a poor man with a large family, he did not know what he should do without the office, and much more of the same sort. As I afterward learned, the editors had seized upon the circumstance of the circulation of the petition (even if they did not actually procure its circulation) to make the postmaster believe he was to be removed; and they told him that if he did not wish to see the man appointed who had thus attempted to injure him, he could prevent it by resigning, and sending on with his resignation a letter recommending the appointment of the editor. It was a clear case of "bulldozing," but a bungling piece of strategy. It was sure to be exposed, and the schemers should have known that, when exposed, it could not and would not be sanctioned or sustained. It is scarcely worth while to say that these men were angry at the failure of their plans. But to say that they were angry does not sufficiently emphasize the state of their minds. They were furious. They hurled firebrands in every direction. They devoted their paper to the work of defaming the representative, and when they found they could not break him down, they abandoned their party and tried to break that down. Gross abuse, bitter vituperation and infamous slander characterized the columns of their paper for years.

Thus three newspapers were engaged together in the work of defamation, and they pursued their task with steady, malignant industry. As each campaign came around, they all insisted that I made discord in the party, and ought not therefore to be renominated, when the only firebrands that had been thrown were those lighted and scattered by their own hands. Like the three tailors of Tooley street who styled themselves, "We, the people of England," these editors vehemently declared, "The people of the district are dissatisfied with their representative in Congress." At each successive convention they gathered around them a little knot of men who had wanted office and failed to get it, and said, "See the discord which he has created," and, boisterously declaring that I could not be re-elected, they tried, by all disreputable means, to make their assertion good. Then, having succeeded in diminishing the Republican vote, they declared that I had done it, although, in spite of their hostility, I ran ahead of the ticket.

He went along the village street in the still, mellow glow of the October afternoon. And as he walked, all the beauty and serenity, the grace and color and tenderness of the time, took personified shape in his mind; and then, as if his thought had projected itself upon the scene, it put on bodily presence before his eyes and came toward him along the path. He lingered and watched her coming, feeling the dusky sunshine grow hot on his cheeks. He was not a backward fellow usually; though reserved with most people, he was apt to be rather incisive when he did speak, and was sometimes even strenuous in support of his very decided opinions. But at sight of this fair, fragile girl, a great timidity overcame him and he met her with a shy smile, putting out his hand.

"It's

a

out on the river. It's such a day as we may not get again, and I have to go to court to-morrow."

"Well, I think Annie would survive if she did not see me till to-morrow," she replied, the inward laughter welling up in her voice and eyes again. "The river looks very tempting; don't plead too hard unless you really feel the envy you affect."

He laughed a pleased, low laugh. "Come, then," he said, but added with a change of voice and face, " It was no affectation, though; I wouldn't change places with many people this afternoon."

She glanced up at him without any sign of displeasure, but interposed a gentle banter to that strain.

"You're rehearsing your part for to-morrow now. You will be assuring the butchers and oystermen on the jury of your distin

"Yes," she answered in a voice clear but very light, with the thrilling quality of a violin-string across which the bow is drawn slowly and steadily. "Yes, it's a very lovely day." Then, as if something in his manner suggested the question, "Were you going to stop at our house ?"

"Yes," he answered. "I was thinking of it. Are you going far? Should I be in the way if I came with you?”

He smiled, and a sudden gentle playfulness, characteristic of her, broke out in her face and voice.

"Not if you keep your own side of the path," she said. Then she added seriously, though the inward laughter still lingered in a certain deepening and richness of her light tones, "I should like you to come. I was going to see my friend, Annie Landreth, but I can go home now and see Annie again."

"Oh no," he replied; "I was going to ask you to go out. It is too fine to stay in-doors."

So they strolled along, chatting lightly, looking at a tree on fire with autumn's red and yellow flames or the flood of gold poured over field and hill-side. He paused and looked down a lane that led to the river.

"I'm envious of Miss Annie, do you know?" he said, smiling but plainly meaning it. "I was going to ask you to come

tears to their eyes with your unaffected horror at the fellows on the other side."

So, while they strolled down toward and along the river-bank and embarked in the pretty skiff,-while he pulled slowly up among the hills and she watched the sliding, enchanted picture over which the warm haze cast a glamour and the sunlight and glowing foliage a glory of color,-while the current lapped low on the shore and bubbled musically against the prow,-while they floated down again toward the village as the sun sank behind the illumined hills, he talked to make her talk, listened to the vibrant sweetness of her gentle tones and watched the play of color and expression in her pure, speaking face, and shy, calm eyes. He felt that she was pleased and kind, and he was happy, happy, happy! When the low sun broke suddenly through the hills and stretched its shining pathway across the flood to her and transfigured her for a moment, making her hair a halo and her face as it were a flame, it seemed to him like an attestation of his feeling that she was no creature of the common earth but of some diviner race. That feeling was strong upon him and made him silent as he regretfully drew the boat to shore and helped her to land. Apparently to break the spell, as they walked away she asked him about his cases at the coming court, and he told her of one in which he was to appear for a poor widow. He grew warm in the narra

were at her gate. He opened it for her but lingered.

"You don't think a lawyer's enthusiasm is always insincere ?" he queried. "Your jibe a while ago was not all true?"

"Oh, I'm only a woman, you know," she returned, the inward laughter swelling again in her throat. "You don't expect reasonableness in a woman, do you?"

He laughed softly.

"Do

“Only a woman?" he answered. you know I was thinking, when the sunset shone on you down there, that you looked like something more?"

"Oh," she returned, with the same still laughter, "you were very much mistaken then; I should want much more than wings for that." Then she sobered suddenly. "But you don't think I question your sincerity in your case. I should like to hear you judge the fatherless and plead for the widow.'" She gave him her hand and said "Good-night."

He held it a moment.

"Good-night," he said, adding, with an only partly successful attempt to speak, lightly, "The longest excursion must come to an end, and the best friends must part." "To meet again," she answered. "Auf wiedersehen!" and then she was gone.

The enchanted, brief afternoon had already turned to dusk; but, as he went his way, her light, pathetic, happy tones sounded and sounded still, and the light of her countenance pierced the gloom with the radiant brightness of morning.

This young lawyer, Gilbert Davney, was not so fond of June Chantry's father as he was of June. Rockville Chantry-" the Hon. Rockville Chantry," as the county papers styled him-was a large, smoothfaced, pleasant-spoken, shining gentleman, with a hand and word and smile for all comers. He was very popular; some of the first ladies said he was the only gentleman in the place. As may have been inferred, he had represented his district in the legislature, and was a very public-spirited citizen. In the minds of the patriotic gentlemen who devoted their lives to the salvation of the country and the service of the people, his opinions carried weight, and he was, indeed, commonly spoken of among them by the endearing diminutive of "Rock" Chantry. But, strange as it may seem, Davney did not like him. He naturally wanted to be friendly with June's father, and was scrupulously polite to him, but the politician's effusive

gentle feelings and make him cold and still. Nevertheless, there was one thing about him that Davney was quite sure was deep and sincere, and that was his love for June. He had brought her to Riverloop a mere child, and there were no more of their name in that region. All that was good in him went out to his gentle, unworldly daughter, and there was no reserve in her return. To her, and for her, he was another man than the one all the world saw. There was nothing he would not, and did not, do for her but part with her. He had even dared unpopularity in endeavors to establish a good school in the town in order that June might be educated at home. He had not always thriven, but she had never known want. She had grown up with the best that money could buy, and it never occurred to her to ask where the money came from. Other people asked behind his back who were very polite to his face, but June knew only the side of him that no one else saw. Davney used to ask himself how such a daughter came of such a father. Her instincts were all so true and fine, her intelligence so keen, her appreciation of humor exceptional in her sex; and, withal, she was so modest and so good. He wondered what her mother had been like; June had told him once that she named her from the month in which she was born.

Davney went to the court-town of Hillsfield, across the county, the next morning. The case that occupied most of his attention was the one of which he had told June. A stock company, called the "High Rock Water-power Association," had been organized in Riverloop some years before, in which some of the best men had taken shares, and Davney's client, a soldier's widow, had been induced to invest her little fortune. After a very fair apparent success for a year or two, one of the managers had absconded one night, and investigation showed that the concern was bankrupt and deeply in debt. What had become of the money had never been clearly made out; but the result was that, in addition to the loss of the invested capital, a suit had been brought against the stockholders, which most of them had preferred to compromise. But this widow, having nothing left but a cottage and garden, was likely to be turned into the street with her children. Much sympathy was felt for her in Riverloop, and Mr. Chantry had been active in promoting a subscription to pay Davney to defend her.