this great man must be there by seven to-night." And Henry answered, "The great man shall be there."

3. The roads were in an awful state, and during the first few miles out of Folsom slow progress was made.

"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "are you aware that I must be in Placerville at seven o'clock to-night?"

"I've got my orders!" laconically replied Henry Monk. Still the coach dragged slowly forward.

"Sir," said Mr. Greeley, "this is not a trifling matter. I must be there at seven!"

Again came the answer, "I've got my orders!"

4. But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley chafed away another half-hour; when, as he was again about to remonstrate with the driver, the horses suddenly started into a furious run, and all sorts of encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of Henry Monk.

That is right, my good fellow," said Mr. Greeley. "I'll give you ten dollars when we get to Placerville. Now we are going!"

5. They were, indeed, and at a terrible speed.

Crack, crack, went the whip, and again “that voice" split the air. "Get up! Hi-yi! G'long! Yip-yip!"

And on they tore over stones and ruts, up hill and down, at a rate of speed never before achieved by stage horses.

6. Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end of the stage to the other like an India-rubber ball, managed to get his head out of the window, when he said

"Do-on't-on't-on't you-u-u think we-e-e shall get there by seven if we don-n't-on't go so fast?"

"I've got my orders!" That was all Henry Monk said. And on tore the coach.

It was becoming serious. Already the journalist was extremely sore from the terrible jolting- and again his head "might have been seen" from the window.

7. "Sir," he said, "I don't care-care-are if we don't get there at seven."

"I've got my orders!" Fresh horses Fresh horses-forward again, faster than before. over rocks and stumps, on one of which the coach narrowly escaped turning a summerset.

"See here!" shrieked Mr. Greeley; "I don't care if we don't get there at all."

"I've got my orders! I work fer the California Stage Company, I do. That's wot I work fer. They said, 'Get this man through by seving.' An' this man's goin' through, you bet! Ger-long! Whoo-ep!"

8. Another frightful jolt, and Mr. Greeley's bald head suddenly found its way through the roof of the coach, amidst the crash of small timbers and the ripping of strong canvas. "Stop, you-maniac!" he roared.

Again answered Henry Monk:

"I've got my orders! Keep your seat, Horace!"

9. At Mud Springs, a village a few miles from Placerville, they met a large delegation of citizens of Placerville, who had come out to meet the celebrated editor, and escort him into town. There was a military company, a brass band, and a six-horse wagon-load of beautiful damsels in milk-white dresses, representing all the States in the Union. It was nearly dark now, but the delegation was amply provided with torches, and bonfires blazed all along the road to Placerville.

10. The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk reined in his foam-covered steeds.

"Is Mr. Greeley on board?" asked the chairman of the committee.

"He was, a few miles back!" said Mr. Monk. "Yes," he added, looking down through the hole which the fearful jolting had made in the coach-roof, "Yes, I can see him! He is there!"

11. "Mr. Greeley," said the chairman of the committee, presenting himself at the window of the coach, "Mr. Greeley, sir! We are come to most cordially welcome you, sir! - Why, God bless me, sir, you are bleeding at the nose!"

"I've got my orders!" cried Mr. Monk. "My orders is as follows: 'Git him there by seving!' It wants a quarter to seving. Stand out of the way!"

12. “But, sir,” exclaimed the committee-man, seizing the offleader by the reins, "Mr. Monk, we are come to escort him into town! Look at the procession, sir, and the brass band, and the people, and the young women, sir!"

"I've got my orders!" screamed Mr. Monk. "My orders don't say nothin' about no brass bands and young women. My orders says, 'Git him there by seving.' Let go them lines! Clear the way there! Whoo-ep! Keep your seat, Horace!” And the coach dashed wildly through the procession, upsetting a portion of the brass band, and violently grazing the wagon which contained the beautiful young women in white.

13. Years hence, gray-haired men who were little boys in the procession will tell their grandchildren how this stage tore through Mud Springs, and how Horace Greeley's bald head ever and anon showed itself like a wild apparition above the coachroof.

14. Mr. Monk was on time. There is a tradition that Mr. Greeley was very indignant for a while; then he laughed, and finally presented Mr. Monk with a brand-new suit of clothes.

Mr. Monk himself is in the employ of the California Stage Company, and is rather fond of relating a story that has made him famous all over the Pacific coast. But he says he yields to no man in his admiration for Horace Greeley.

CHARLES F. BROWNE.

XXXIX. THE ARTIST'S SURPRISE.

1. It may not be known to all the admirers of the genius of Albrecht Dürer that the famous engraver was endowed with a better half so peevish in temper that she was the torment not only of his own life, but also of his pupils and domestics. Some of the former were cunning enough to purchase peace for themselves by conciliating the common tyrant, but woe to those unwilling or unable to offer aught in propitiation. Even the wiser ones were spared only by having their offenses visited upon a scapegoat.

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2. This unfortunate individual was Samuel Duhobret · whom Dürer had admitted into his school out of charity. He was employed in painting signs, and the coarser tapestry then used in Germany. He was about forty years of age, little, ugly, and humpbacked. He was the butt of every ill joke among his fellow-disciples, and was picked out as an object of especial dislike by Madame Dürer, but he bore all with patience, and ate without complaint the scanty crusts given him every day for dinner, while his companions often fared sumptuously.

3. Poor Samuel had not a spice of envy or malice in his heart. He would at any time have toiled half the night to assist or serve those who were wont oftenest to laugh at him, or abuse. him loudest for his stupidity. True, he had not the qualities of social humor or wit, but he was an example of indefatigable

industry. He came to his studies every morning at daybreak, and remained at work until sunset. Then he retired into his lonely chamber, and wrought for his own amusement.

4. Duhobret labored three years in this way, giving himself no time for exercise or recreation. He said nothing to a single human being of the paintings he had produced in the solitude of his cell by the light of his lamp. But his bodily energies wasted and declined under incessant toil. There were none sufficiently interested in the poor artist to mark the feverish hue of his wrinkled cheek, or the increasing attenuation of his misshapen frame.

5. None observed that the uninviting food set aside for his midday repast remained for several days untouched. Samuel made his appearance regularly as ever, and bore with the same meekness the jests of his fellow-pupils or the taunts of Madame Dürer, and worked with the same untiring assiduity, though his hands would sometimes tremble, and his eyes become suffused a weakness probably owing to the excessive use he had made of them.

6. One morning Duhobret was missing from the scene of his daily labors. His absence created much remark, and many were the jokes passed upon the occasion. One surmised this, and another that, as the cause of the phenomenon, and it was finally agreed that the poor fellow must have worked himself into an absolute skeleton, and taken his final stand in the glass frame of some apothecary, or been blown away by a puff of wind while his door happened to stand open. No one thought of going to his lodgings to look after him or his remains.

7. Meanwhile the object of their mirth was tossing on a bed of sickness. Disease, which had been slowly sapping the foundations of his strength, burned in every vein; his eyes rolled