a stir within.

A quiet noon lunch, and our reporter, contrary to his predetermination of the evening before, strolls toward the depot. An hour later he sits in the shade on the river-bank and sees the old man, with a smile on his fine face, quietly approaching. He had not noticed the day before how strong and noble the face was—so serene, hopeful, assured, believing, it seemed. Sleep doubtless had performed its good offices for the old man as well.

The conference lasted until the shadows of evening fell on the scene.

There was more to say.

Another appointment was made, and yet others—on into another week.

But there are limits to everything. Our report of this reporter cannot be the exception. What further may have passed between our friends—for friends they arewhich the editor and the wife sat in contemplation serious and earnest enough nigh one whole night—that yet remains in the safe keeping of the editorial sanctum.

The Western Commonwealth has gone steadily on its course for two months now, giving no sign the public may heed of a change of heart.

The wife had been heard to say to a neighbor wife: “My husband agrees with your husband so far as this: there is a labor problem. He began the study of it thinking he had an easy task. He thought he could dispose of it in a few bright editorials. How easy to write something owl-wise and smart, as other editors do! He showed me one such, and I begged him to put it in the fire. It