lf, but
the silliest creature in the world is an Englishman who, having once
been well off, finds himself stranded. His pride will not allow him
to accept favors. I knew that girl's father and mother in Grass
Valley. The old gentleman lost a fortune at quartz mining. His
partner, a Mr. Maloney, a Dublin man and graduate of Trinity College,
having sunk his own and his wife's money in the mine, poisoned his
wife, three children and himself with strychnine three years ago. By
the way, I met a Grass Valley man this morning. His name is Robert
Homfray, a civil engineer. He tells me he is located here
permanently. He and his brother lost a great deal of money in the
Grass Valley mines, and we talked over the Maloney tragedy, with the
circumstances of which he was familiar, but the strangest part of the
story is that three months ago the property was reopened and the very
first shot that was fired in the tunnel laid bare a rich vein. Had
Maloney fired one more charge he would have been rich. As it was he
died a murderer and a suicide. Poor fellow! In a day or two I will
tell you more. But let us return to the poetry. What will you do with
it?"

"I fear I shall have to reject it."

"No, no," he cried. "Accept it! This morning I went to the home of
the family, which consists of Mr. Forbes, who is crippled with
rheumatism, his excellent wife, the young lady from whom we have just
parted and a little boy of seven. They are in actual want. I offered
to lend them money to buy common necessaries and Forbes rejected
the offer in language that was insulting. Go immediately to the
cottage. Tell the girl that you have accepted the poem and give her
this (handing me a twenty-dollar gold piece) as the appraised value
of her production. Then return to the Hotel de France and await
developments."

* * * * *

I repaired to the cottages. The road was long and muddy. There were
neither sidewalks nor streets and it was a difficult matter to
navigate the sea of mud that lay between Wharf and Cook Streets. The
young lady answered my knock. She almost fainted when I told her the
poem had been accepted and that the fee was twenty dollars. I placed
the coin in her hand.

"Mamma! Papa!" she cried, and running inside the house I heard her
say, "My poem has been accepted and the gentleman from the
_Colonist_ office has brought me twenty dollars."

"Thank God!" I heard a woman's voice exclaim. "I never lost faith,