Three weeks went by and the young lieutenant was deep in debt to the captain of another company. A sneering, black faced fellow, who had risen from the ranks; gaining his promotions during the last fifteen years for acts of dare-devil bravery. He was not a pleasant man to owe to; particularly if one was not too sure of being able to pay up when the notes fell due. Another month, and things were no better. It was in the early part of September, and the flat plains stretched out parched and arid, the sun beat down pitilessly on the treeless little post, and the money to the captain had to be paid to-morrow. It was certainly a disagreeable situation. But they played hard and drank hard, and the young lieutenant almost forgot that to-morrow was coming. [Sidenote: _Is cheating at cards so rare as this?_] But about one o’clock in the morning there was a row, and before many hours the whole post knew what was the matter. It does not take long for news to travel among a few hundred people, particularly so interesting and exciting a bit as this. For this gay young fellow, this dashing young soldier, this son of the stern old martinet of a colonel, had been caught cheating at cards, and was disgraced forever. The news got round and finally reached the colonel. It was a brave man who told him. He waited an hour, and then putting a pistol in his holster, he went across to his son’s quarters. There was no answer to his knock, so he opened the door and went in. The boy was sitting by the table, with his head buried in his arms. He did not look up when his father spoke, “My son, there is but one thing for you to do. You know what it is,” and he laid the pistol on the table. There was no reply; and the colonel stood silent, straight and stern, but his face was gray, and his iron mouth was drawn. Presently the boy raised his head and looked straight into his father’s eyes. For the first time in his life he understood. “Yes, father,” he said. The colonel stood a moment, and then went out and shut the door. When he was half way across the parade ground he heard a pistol shot, but he did not go back. JEAN WRIGHT. THE CONFESSIONAL IN LETTERS. In the year 1848 Ralph Waldo Emerson of Concord, Mass., made a lecturing tour through England. Among the towns he visited was Coventry, where he was entertained at the residence of Mr. Charles Bray. In the family of Mr. Bray lived a young woman by the name of Mary Ann Evans, and although this Miss Evans was not handsome, either in face or figure, she made a decided impression on Mr. Emerson. A little excursion was arranged to Stratford, an antiquated town of some note in the same county. On this trip Mr. Emerson and Miss Evans paired off very naturally, and Miss Evans of Coventry was so bold as to set Mr. Emerson of Concord straight on several matters relating to Mr. Shakespeare, formerly of Stratford.