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CHARLIL‘Y WIBURN’S LUCK.
Charley Wiburn and I are cousins,
but, somehow, I scarcely seem to be-
long to the family at all. We had no
end of relations, and he was a general
favorite with all, even some he had
never seen, for they would die and leave
him legacies. He was constantly get-
ting some little “windfall” of this
kind, till at length Charley V'Vihurn‘s
luck” became a general catehword
among us—a synonym for all that was
lucky and fortunate.
One morning at breakfast—we were
artists and shared the same rooms'and
studio—he received a black-edged let-
ter, which, upon opening and reading.
he cast down with a discontented look."
“Another funeral to go to,” he grum-
bled, “and here are my pictures unfin-
ished and next week is sending-in day!"
“Who is it now?” I asked. “Another
legacy, I suppose, eh?”
“Very likely," he returned, indifier-
ently—he was so used to these things
he scarcely took any notice of them now.
“It’s Uncle Alexander Stephen. Did you
know him?”
I .shook my head. “Have heard of
him; never saw him,” I said.
“I hardly knew him myself,” Charley
explained—“at least, not since I was a
boy. It’s a rare bother, this, coming
just now. Such a long journey into the
country. I say, Jack, you have 'done
your pictures and sent them in and have
nothing to do for aspen—couldn't you
go down for me?” »
“What, in your name ?” Iexclaimed.
“Yes, why not? It’s years since I
was among'any of the set. ThTs letter
is from a. Mr. Parchly, the sollc:tor to
the will, I suppose; he doesn’t know me.
' You are Jack Wiburn—it’s only a differ-
ence of a Christian name, and it’s all
in the family, you know.”
To cut the matter short, I had to
consent—as I generally did where
Charley was concerned. ‘
l I took the lawyer’s letter, as a sort
of credential, and set out, grumbling a
good deal at what I considered Charley’s
"cheek” in thus making use of me. If
I had finished up my work before he
had it was only because I had worked
at it more constantly, and now, Instead
of reaping the advantage in the shape
of a few days’ rest, he made it'an ex-
cuse for sending me off on a lugrbrious
mission like this; and Charley would,
no doubt, have a good legacy, too, out
of it.
“I don’t suppose it’s much,” he said
to me. “Perhaps a hundred or two——
hardly worth going down for, you
know!”
So I had to g—o—with no legacy in
view at all, small or large!
However, as I have said, I set out for
the place—it was Devonshire—und in
due course I arrived atthe little town,
and put up at a hotel for the night.
The funeral was fixed for the following
day, and on inquiry I learned that the
house I had to go to was only a short
distance away.
The next day, therefore, saw me
among the assembled guests. I found
out Mr. Parchly and silently showed
him his own letter. “Ah,” said he,
“you are Mr. Wiburn. Very good.
Glad to see you.” I did not reply, so
he concluded that I was Charley Wi-
burn, without having said anything
one way or the other.
But, when, after the funeral, the will
came to be read, I found Charley was
down for £5,000. That made me think
it harder lines than ever that I should
have had to come down in his place.
The weather was atrociously cold; the
March winds strong and bluste-ring,
with showers of sleet and snow, and I
felt cold and miserable. At the end
of the reading of the will I was mak-
ing my way out to get back to the hotel,
when some one said: “Mr. Wilburn,
I believe?” I looked around and saw
a stiff, military-looking old boy re-
garding me with a smile through his
spectacles. “Charley,” said he, “don’t
you remember me?” I thought to my-
self: “0h, now I’m in for it. Here’s
a nice mess—all through trying to serve
Charley. Just my bad luck.” 'This
feeling did not grow less when he said:
“Milly wants to speak to you. She
has been looking at you, and says she
can hardly recognize you for her old
playfellow.” (“No wonder,” I thought.
“It would be strange if she did.”) >
She came up and shook hands, and
the moment I looked at her I simply fell
helpless over head and ears in love
then and there. She seemed to be the
loveliest, most adorable creature I
had ever seen. A sudden resolve came
into my mind. Rather than run the
risk of losing the chance I now had of
speaking to her I would say nothing
about my not being “Charley,” let the
consequences be what they might.
“Don’t you remember your little
' playmate, Milly?” said she, with a
blush and an entrancing look of her
beautiful eyes. “Well, it’s not so sur-
prising, for I should never have known
you, either, if Mr. Parchly had not
point-ed you out to me.”
Before I exactly realized what I was
doing I was whisked off to Maj. Rain-
field’s house—as I found the name of
Milly’s father to be—to dine, calling at
the hotel for my evening “togs” on the
Way.
I found the major’s house a neat,
quiet-looking little place on the out-
skirts of the town. He lived alone with
his daughter (his wife being dead), a
housekeeper and one servant. Though
everything was comfortable, there was
that indescribable air that gave one
the impression that they were not too
well off as regards this world’s goods.
Since I was not too well off, either,
this would not have troubled me, but
for that legacy of £5,000 I was sup-
posed to have come in for. “Was that
the secret cause of this sudden friend-
liness?” I asked myself. But when I
looked at Milly, and saw the frank
glance of her truthful, honest-looking
93%, I felt ashamed of myself; nor.
_ when I regarded the major, and noted
the Open, manly look the fine old sol-
dier gave back to me, could I bring my-
self to think of him as a scheming old
fortune-hunter. n '
St. -Simon’s Encampment.
MARCH. -
J. E. OSBORN.
I.
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Such good friends did we three be-
come that I lingered on in the place for
a week, during which time I grew daily
more uncomfortable at the part I was
playing. .At last I sought out Milly
One day, alone, and confessed the truth
to her. - -
“I am not surprised,” she said; “I
thought you were not much like the
Charley I used to know. But I am
sorry for you——sorry to think ' your
cousin should have got that £5,000,
while you were not even so much as
mentioned.” / ‘
“Ah!” I said, with a sigh, “that is
Charley’s luck—and mine. It is al-
ways the same—always has been, and
always will be, I suppose.”
I was thinking what I dared not. say
—that, if that £5,000 had but been
mine, I could have asked herto be mine,
too; whereas, now, with my poor pros-
pects—well, of course, it was folly even ‘
to dream of sucha thing.
I watched her narrowly after that,
but could see no difference in her treat-
ment of me.
I had written to Charley, telling him
of his good fortune, and that I was go-
ing to stay on down here for a few days;
but beyond a brief note expressing won-
der at whatever attraction I could see
there at that time of the year, he had
said nothing and written no further;
not a word of thanks or of reference to
his £ 5,000 legacy.
Another week slipped by, and I still
stayed on. At the end of that time I
was in such a state of mind that, one
day, find-ing myself alone with Milly, I
blurted out my hopeless love for her,
and said I should go away at once, for I
felt that I could not possibly stay on
there any longer. Milly, always quiet
and self-possessed, remained silent
awhile, and then said, looking down:
“I think you had better speak to
papa.”
“What!" I rapturously exclaimed;
“do you really bid me hope, Milly? Do
you really think there is a possibility -
of your father—” I stopped and shook
my head. “Alas, no!” I said, “such a
thing could not happen to me. It would
be Charley’s luck, that—not mine.”
“Well,” said Milly composedly, “they
say you never know your luck till you
try; but if you are too faint-hearted to
try, why, of course—”
“I’ll go off and find the major and
have it out at once," I burst out.
And I saw him accordingly, and told
him the whole story, humbling apolo-
gizing for daring to ask for his daugh-
ter’s hand, when, as I was bound to tell
him, I was not Charley, but Jack Wi-
burn, and 1 had no £5,000 legacy, and
no prospects in particular, and “no
luck!”
“H’m,” said the major. “how is it
Master Charley comes in for all the
‘luck’ in this way?"
“I don’t know, sir,” I answered, dole-
fully. "He goes about more and makes
himself more liked, I think, while l-—"
I hesitated. ‘
“While you stick at home and work.
Is that it?” he asked.
“Well," I returned, “I try my best.
You see, I have nothing else to rely on—-—
or hope for—like Charley. It’s his luck
—and mine!"
“However," said the major, “I have
been told you get your pictures hung,
and sell them, which is mdre than he
does. Is that luck, too?” ~
To this I made no reply. I could not
see its relevancy.
“Now, look here, Jack Wiburn,” the
major went on. “I knew you were not
Charley \Viburn.”(I looked up in sur-
prise.) “Milly told me; and I have made
certain inquiries of my own, and I have
something to tell you. The'late Alex-
5 under Stephen Wiburn was a very old
and intimate friend of mine,_ and had
A long ago set his heart upOn Milly’s mar-
rying Charley” (here I jumped up ex-
citedl y, but he waved his hand to me, as.
a. sign to be quiet). “But he was de-
termined that, if it came about at all.
it should be spontaneous, and not
through any compulsion or unworthy
, motive. But in that'will you heard
read the other day there was something
you did not hear—it was mixed up in
another matter; but it. comes to this:.
That if Milly married ‘his nephew,’ he
and she were to have a. certain sum
between them to begin housekeeping.
I have consulted Mr. Parchly upon this
matter, and he agrees with me that, as
Charley's name is not expressly men-
tioned, and as he would not take the
trouble to come down himself, even to
the funeral of his poor old uncle, who
had been so kindly disposed to him, if
Milly likes you well enough to have you, ,
‘you and she will be just as much en-
titled to the sum set aside as if Master
Charley had married her, and I am
sure I shall not object to the situation.
In the will the only condition is that
Milly shall marry ‘his nephew,‘ and, of
course, you are as much his nephew as
Charley is. Therefore I leave it with
Milly; if she says ‘yes,’ I say the same,
and you will both have something to set
up housekeeping with.”
N 0 need to tell the joy with which I
heard the unexpected news, or the
heartiness with which I thanked the
kind-hearted major. ~
“I’ll go off and tell Milly atvonee,” I
said; but I had not gone far. when he
called me back.
“You don’t ask how much you will
have to start housekeeping upon,” he
said.
“What matter, sir, since you think
it enough ?” I answered. ‘
“H’m; but you may as Well know.
You might not think it enough.”
“How much is it, then ?” I asked.
“Fifty thousand pounds,” said the
major. '
And this is what. Charley lost and I
gained by that journey—Milly (worth
more than all) and £ 50,000 ’
And now Charley won’t speak tome
or to my wife—for Milly and I are mar-
ried—and he says I merely took ad- '
vantage of him; but I say, as I used to
say before, it is all his luck~and mine. '
——Gentlewoman.
—Extended empire, like expanded.
gold, exchanges solid ”strength for
feeble Vsplendo'rg—Johnson.
Norwalk Chronicler