PHILIP

HILIP WESTON was an honest, hard-working mechanic in one of the manufacturing towns of New England. By his industry and economy he managed to provide his little family with all the necessaries and many of the comforts of life. He owned a pretty village lot with a neat cottage thereon, and had a little sum in the bank - laid carefully away for a time of need.

But the news of the "Great West," with her mighty resources, her vast praires and almost fabulous productions, had wakened in his brain a day-dream that refused to be gratified by the monotonous scenes of his every-day life. Some of his boyhood friends had sought the frontier in early life, and he learned that they had bought large tracts of land while it was cheap, erected good buildings, and were now gathering into their crowded barns such a wealth of golden grain as their Puritan forefathers never dreamed of. Others had been fortunate enough to choose their locations near the site of future cities, and the tide of civilization had swept around them, bringing wealth into their coffers with scarcely an effort of their own. How different it was from his constant and laborious toil, which with his best efforts would only bring them present comfort, with but a faint prospect of adding to the future happiness of his two children, who would ere long be obliged to win their own way over the rugged pathway of life. He and his frugal wife had discussed the question through many a long winter evening, and after the pros and cons were duly considered, it was decided to sell their homestead, and, gathering together their little means, seek a home near the wild shores of the mighty "Father of Waters."

Mrs. Weston had dreaded to leave the home of her childhood and the scenes of her youthful years. The little church where she and Philip had made their solemn marriage covenant was almost as dear to her as her own home, and the pastor who had there pronounced a benediction upon them still filled the sacred desk, although his locks were whiter and he now walked with an unsteady step toward his long home. Left an orphan long before marriage, her kind pastor had taken a father's place in her affections, and the tears rushed to her eyes as she thought of old-time friends and the loneliness of a life that seemed to her little better than that of the savage.

But her husband's arguments were not without weight, and to please him and to gain an inheritance for her children, she consented to the change. The little cottage was sold at some sacrifice, and with a few hundred dollars, Philip Weston and his wife with their two children started to find a prairie home in the new world, which was then beginning to be the center of attraction.

The county lines of county had been drawn, a cheap court-house erected, and a few houses clustered around. "Main street" was also dignified by two dry-goods stores, the never-failing saloon, and a bakery-yes, actually a bakery. It did look a little lost and out of the way, but there were many men there and within a radius of a few miles who were trying to gain a foothold for themselves before sending for their families-living alone, or two or three together, they managed to get along mostly with their own rude cookery — and it was quite a luxury to them to be

able to get "baker's bread," although many of them would have disdained the same article when placed beside the loaves that "wife" or "mother" could make; and as he also sold beer, and sometimes the stronger et ceteras, our frontier baker was really doing a flourishing business. And as the stranger passed down the modest street, his eye rested twice upon a "lawyer's office." The tobacco-stained domicile of William H. Harding came first, and within, you might generally discover a little pompous, round-headed man about forty years of age, with small gray eyes and stiff, bristling hair, while his sharp nose was generally surmounted by a pair of steelbowed spectacles. The next disciple of Blackstone was a young man- - almost a boy-with dark eyes, and a waving mass of brown hair swept carelessly back from a broad white forehead. There was a clear, honest look in the hazel eyes that impressed one favorably, and an expression of firmness and energy in the finely-cut lips that indicated a force of character "worthy of the foeman's steel" when once their owner was fully aroused. Earnest Dunbar was truly, a Western boy. Born in the very wilderness of the frontier, his life had always been one of hardship and toil. To the civilizing influence of schoolhouses his boyhood had been a stranger, and what education he possessed had been acquired during the long winter evenings under the tuition of a cultivated mother. The little store of books that she had brought from her childhood home were soon mastered by the eager mind of her boy, and he was left with only the mighty volume of Nature and the cheering associations of his mother's society.

There was never much genuine affection between Earnest and his father. The father was a coarse, selfish being of but little culture and less business tact. His continual wanderings from one location to another were a source of

constant discomfort and poverty to his family.

He and his wife were one of those strangely-assorted pairs that often excite our wonder and enlist our sympathies during our life-journeys. Their family consisted of six children, but of these only Earnest had inherited his mother's temperament, and between the two had grown up a mighty love unknown to those who are more fortunately situated. Mrs. Dunbar learned with regret of the son's desire to become a lawyer. She had hoped that the pulpit would become the motive power of his life, and her native purity shrank from the idea of having her darling boy become versed in legal quibbles and the too frequent corruptions of an attorney's life. She knew that he was true and pure, but felt that in such a life the power of temptation would be a fearful peril to his young heart. But by his persuasions he at last obtained her consent, and began to seek his father's permission to labor for a day or two at a time on the wild farm of their only neighbor, and the money thus obtained was carefully hoarded for the purchase of books. Still the little sum grew very slowly, for it was seldom that his father was willing or able to dispense with his services at home. But one by one the coveted treasures were secured, and his hungry mind sought them with an avidity unknown to the sons of the rich who so leisurely pursue their "college course."

But a fearful trial awaited our young and persevering student. His mother's health had long been feeble, and finally a disease which had been gaining strength for years prostrated her frail form, and ere the family fully realized her situation she lay at the very door of death. Poor Earnest! the prospective blow fairly stunned his faculties, and he felt as if he wandered in the mazes of a terrible dream. Not so with Mrs. Dunbar. She realized the solemn realities of the present and the future; the quiet peace of the

grave had no terrors for her wearied mind. Her life-burden had been a heavy one, and she looked forward with pleasure to the long sleep that seals the weary portals of life. But little of sympathy or affection had fallen to her lot antil Earnest was old enough to be a companion, and to him her heart clung ! with a love as strong as death. She called him to her a few days before she died, and repeating the kind words of counsel and encouragement that he had so often heard from her lips, she added:

"And now, my darling boy, whatever may be your station or position in life, whatever trial or hardship it may be your lot to endure, always strive for the right. Let virtue and truth guard the portals of your heart and form the polestar of your destiny. You are left in a cold world, without fortune, friends or influence. You must fight alone the battle of life, and win for yourself the crown of success. But, oh, my child, do not allow any temptation of power and influence to lure you from the path of rectitude and strict integrity. Never plead the cause of error — never lend aid to wrong and oppression. your

Keep your conscience clean and your morais pure-do right under all circumstances, and leave the result in the hands of Him who seeth the end from the beginning.' If you stand manfully by the wheel of life-if you are true to yourself and faithful to the principles of justice-success will reward your efforts, and triumph will crown your life mission."

It was, as she had anticipated, her last opportunity for intelligent conversation. Delirium soon took possession of the struggling brain, and retained his fearful hold until he surrendered his forces into the hand of the Death Angel.

We need not linger over the sorrowful scene. The whole family mourned for the gentle wife and mother, but none with so deep and sacred a grief as Ear

nest.

Still he could but feel that she was at rest-that the storms of life could never more reach her sensitive heart, or the mighty billows of a terrible grief lash their dark waves over her soul. He knew that she had fallen asleep in the hope of immortality, and that amid the golden glories of the resurrection morn she would receive a crown of life. "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord," she had quoted to him only a few days before, and he realized the full force of the sacred words as he looked upon the sweet marble face of the dead.

He gathered up his books and started for the village of G-, and soon from the walls of a modest little office the passers-by read, "EARNEST DUNBAR, Attorney at Law." It required but little legal lore in those days to be admitted to the western bar, and he determined to finish his education in the stern school of experience. Harding was already located there, and he looked sneeringly at the young face of the boyish lawyer who had presumed to open an office so near his own. But soon a case of little importance was intrusted to Dunbar, and he succeeded so well in its management that others followed, and he began to build up a little reputation among the people of the frontier.

Luke Hammond had been the leading spirit of the little town. He had surveyed the land, arranged the lots, and carried every enterprise to its consummation. He began to take an interest in the new-comer, and thinking that he saw in him the elements of success, he determined to place his next law-suit in the hands of the young lawyer. The time soon came, and he carried the details of the case to Earnest, who could but feel flattered by this mark of preference from the most influential man in the county. But the words of his dead mother ever haunted his memory, and he had made a vow beside her grave never to undertake any cause unless he

fully believed that justice and right were on the side of his client. Thus far he had faithfully adhered to his noble resolution, and he still determined to stand by his life motto, whether the result was triumphant success or disgraceful failure. He cautiously questioned him in relation to the facts, and being satisfied from his version of the affair that Hammond was being greatly wronged, he willingly undertook the case and went to work with a will. The matter went on until the day of trial, and as the case was one of great importance, the little court-house was densely crowded. Harding was the opposing counsel, and he bustled around among his witnesses with a great sense of his own importance, and when he looked at or spoke to Dunbar it was with only half-concealed malice and jealousy. As the case progressed, the young attorney was astonished to find that his client had grossly misrepresented the facts, and that he himself was the aggressor. Some of Hammond's witnesses had evidently perjured themselves, and it was clearly shown by Harding's skillful cross-examination; while the witnesses on the other side appeared so honest in their statements that the cross-examination was little more than a farce as conducted by poor Earnest, who now found himself unwillingly arrayed on the side of wrong. His mother's dying words and his own subsequent vow rushed upon his mind, and his closing argument was a miserable failure. Of course, Hammond was defeated, as he ought to have been, but his rage against the young lawyer knew no bounds.

This, with the open sneers of the opposition and covert contempt of the multitude, was a terrible blow upon the sensitive pride of poor Dunbar. It is a melancholy fact that might generally overcomes right, and that success even in a wrong cause is more highly appreciated by the mass of mankind than the best efforts in behalf of truth, if inef.

fectual. It is a sorrowful condition of affairs in which vox populi is so seldom vox Dei; but we must deal with the world as we find it, and lend our little influence to make it better.

Very bitter were the thoughts that swept through the mind of Earnest, as he lay that night upon a sleepless couch; but his good angel triumphed, and he arose with a full determination that he would never allow difficulties or dangers to swerve him from the path of duty.

He had a call the following day from Hammond, who bitterly reproached him with being the cause of defeat and disgrace to both.

Dunbar replied by frankly telling him that he had been grossly deceived in relation to the facts, and finally told him of his early life and subsequent resolution at the grave of his only friend. But Hammond did not have manhood enough to appreciate the noble boy, and coldly replied that if he continued to think and act in that way, he would have very little business to do.

"Well," replied Earnest, "if I cannot get a living by being an honest lawyer, I will seek some employment to which honesty is no objection."

Hammond made no reply, but arose and offered Earnest his fee, which was proudly declined, and thus the interview ended.

But Hammond turned his influence against the young lawyer, and the few who had taken a liking to him hardly dared to show it in the face of the tide of opposition that soon swept down upon him.

Matters were in this condition when Philip Weston and his little family arrived in the village of GAfter looking around for a few days, Mr. Weston purchased a farm lying in close proximity to the town. The land was good, but there were no improvements, except the little log cabin, which Mrs. Weston thought could hardly be considered an improvement. But they were