The old man read and laughed. "To think of that!" he said. "It beats everything!" He read on with a chuckle: "Erected by his sorrowing son, Joseph Pippitt. Born 13th December, 1821. Died 5th February, 1891. 'I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.'" This prophecy might or might not be true of the person interred beneath the tombstone. On its unfortunate inapplicability to his father, and on the tainting of the fountain of Louisiana justice, young Mr. Pippitt enjoyed twelve months' quiet reflection. HOW THEY STOPPED THE "RUN." There was a run on the Sandhill and District Bank. It had lasted the whole of one day, and had shown no signs of abating in the evening. If it lasted another day! Old Mr. Bradshaw wiped his brow. It had come just at the awkwardest time--just after the farmers had got their usual loans, just when securities were hard to realize; in fact, just at the moment when the bank, though in reality solvent, was emphatically not in a position in answer a long-continued demand for payment on the spot. Mr. Bradshaw groaned out all these distressing facts to his son Dick. It was, indeed, no use talking to Dick, for he took no interest in business, and had spent the day in a boat with the Flirtington girls; still, Mr. Bradshaw was bound to talk to someone. "We shall have to put the shutters up. One day's grace would save us, I believe; we could get the money then. But if they're at us again to-morrow morning, we can't last two hours." Dick sympathized, but had nothing to suggest, except that it would not make matters worse if he carried out his engagement to go to the circus with the Flirtington girls. "Oh, go to h--ll with the Flirtington girls, if you like," groaned Mr. Bradshaw. So Dick went--to the circus (the other expedition, as he observed, would keep), and enjoyed the performance very much, especially the lion-taming, which was magnificent, and so impressed Dick that he deserted his companions, went behind the scenes, and insisted on standing Signor Philippini several glasses. "Is that big chap quite safe?" he asked admiringly. "_I_ can do anythink with 'im," said the signor (whose English was naturally defective); "but with anyone helse 'e's a roarer, 'e is, and no mistake."