"Gwan, next!" Then some white man in a hurry would step up to next--"here's a quarter for your place, git aout!" The darky would pocket his money with a broad grin, and but for his ears, the top of his head would be an island. I could not wait, and would not bribe, so went to the door of the office, and kicked and banged furiously. "G'way fum de doo'! What de hell you do on de doo'?" came from the inside. "I'm a government officer from Washington," I shouted. "Open the door or I'll knock it down." Out popped the "cullud pusson" profuse in apologies. I grabbed my mail and rushed for the train in the very nick of time. CHAPTER XXII. PENDULUM 'TWIXT SMILES AND TEARS. In many particulars this year of our Lord, 1883, was a sad one for us all. The pecuniary loss, resultant upon the town-building disaster, was severe; but the revelation which came to me of the innate meanness of human nature in matters of money, was the more depressing by far. It was amazing to hear wealthy people, who had bought of me a few hundred dollars' worth of stock, and who really felt the loss of it much less than they would suffer from a fly bite, whine as if this had reduced them to the direst poverty, and insinuate that I, who had lost manifold more than they, should refund, though the loss was entirely the result of their own stupidity in failing to send me the proxies I had asked for by mail. We consoled ourselves, as usual, with the knowledge that we had acted honestly and conscientiously towards all, and that the miseries of this short life are "not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us in the near future of the life eternal." The blue arch above us, ever changing like the sea, has always possessed a peculiar fascination for me, and I never let slip a convenient opportunity to feast my eyes upon it. I was pursuing this favorite occupation one day this year, when an unusually beautiful cloud attracted my attention, and as I watched its rapidly changing forms, there was slowly evolved from it the kindly loving face of my mother. It was no fancy, no distorted figment of a dream. The dear face smiled upon me with angelic sweetness, glanced upward, and was gone; then I knew that I had another guardian angel in heaven. In a short time, news came from R---- that she who had gladly devoted her life to self-sacrifice for her children, had been relieved from the always weak and suffering body. Dear, good mother! Her highest and only ambition was to do good; not a selfish thought ever even flitted across her horizon. Frank as the day, constant as the sun, pure as the dew; like our Lord himself, she sacrificed herself for the good of others. Her sons, Richard and Mark, welcomed her at the gates ajar, and she was at rest. What is death but a journey home? A perfect rest when the work is done, A gentle sleep for earth-weary eyes, And the soul ascends to the azure skies.