could
have almost loved a well-to-do man who had, perhaps, sinned a few times,
but even the tough and erring went elsewhere to repent. One day she came
to town to do some trading. She had priced seven dollars and fifty
cents' worth of goods, and was just crossing Broadway to price some
more, when the gay equipage of a wealthy humorist, with silver chains on
the neck-yoke and foam-flecks acrost the bosom of the nigh
hoss, came plunging down the street.

"The red nostrils of the spirited brutes were above her. Their hot
breath scorched the back of her neck and swayed the red-flannel
pompon on her bonnet. Every one on Broadway held his
breath, with the exception of a man on the front stoop of the Castor
House, whose breath had got beyond his control. Every one was horrified
and turned away with a shudder, which rattled the telegraph wires for
two blocks.

"Just then a strong, brave policeman rushed in and knocked down both
horses and the driver, together with his salary. He caught the woman up
as though she had been no more than a feather's weight. He bore her away
to the post-office pavement, where it is still the custom to carry
people who are run over and mangled. He then sought to put her down,
but, like a bad oyster, she would not be put down. She still clung about
his neck, like the old party who got acquainted with Sinbad the Sailor,
though, of course, in a different manner. It took quite a while to shake
her off. The next day she came back and was almost killed at the same
crossing. It went on that way until the policeman had his beat changed
to another part of town. Finally, she came up here to get her summer
rescuing done. I do it when it falls to my lot, but my heart is not in
the work. Sometimes the horrible thought comes over me that I may be too
late. Several times I have tried to be too late, but I haven't the heart
to do it."

He then walked to a sparrow that refused to keep off the grass and
brained it with his club.

HINTS TO THE TRAVELER

XX

Every thinkful student has doubtless noticed that when he enters the
office, or autograph department, of an American inn, a lithe and alert
male person seizes his valise or traveling-bag with much earnestness. He
then conveys it to some sequestered spot and does not again return. He
is the porter of the hotel or inn. He may be a modest porter just
starting out, or he may be a swollen and purse-proud porter with silver
in his hair and also in his poc