The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker

IF any of my readers, familiar with the medical journals of 1845 or thereabouts, should recall any statements then published concerning this peculiar and interesting case, they may also remember something of the attention it attracted at the time, and the discussion it awakened not only in this country but also in France and Germany. Briefly summarized and stripped of its elaborate wrappings of scientific terms and medical phraseology, the fact stated was of a curious malformation in the case of a boy, then some ten or twelve years of age. There was no outward defect, no physical deformity, but only a peculiar transposition of the mental organs, “ by which,” to quote the felicitous language of a writer of the day, “ that wonderful mirror in the brain, which we call memory, was simply reversed, so that instead of reflecting the past it reflected the future, and the boy, instead of remembering backward like ordinary people, remembered forward.”

However, the majority of people must have long since forgotten the circumstance, as would doubtless have happened with my later knowledge of it, acquired from old volumes on file in my father’s office, had not more recent events revived it, and given me a week or two of strange experience. Our family consists of my aunt, my aunt’s rheumatism, my sister Lizzie, and myself. The rheumatism is certainly entitled to mention as one of the family, since it not only sits at our table and lodges under our roof, but always forms a majority in our family councils. It was the rheumatism which decided that we should spend the summer of 1880 at Hot Springs. My aunt asked our advice about it one morning at the breakfasttable, calmly prefacing her request with the information that she had decided to go. When an elderly lady with gold spectacles, a rather pronounced nose and chin, and a still more pronounced fortune in her own right asks advice in that way of the younger members of her family, the result can readily be surmised. On the whole, the movement was less objectionable than many decisions of our majority, since, as Lizzie pensively observed, “ Even a hot watering-place is not without its attractions.” It chanced, too, that I had business in the neighborhood of Little Rock which could be as well transacted at that time as another, and so would enable me to be near my aunt and sister without the enforced leisure which I detested. After securing and settling one’s self in desirable quarters for such a sojourn, the next item of interest is, naturally, one’s neighbors ; and here we congratulated ourselves upon being peculiarly fortunate.

“ Guests enough to save us from anything like dullness or monotony, without the tiresomeness and discomfort of a crowd,” murmured my aunt complacently, as she surveyed the cool, pleasant dining-hall at our first breakfast.

Near us was a quiet group, which presently attracted attention by its proximity — a middle-aged gentleman with his wife and daughter, apparently. Dress and manner marked them as persons of refinement, a certain easy adaptation to their surroundings hinted of familiarity with travel, and they did not appear to be invalids, though there was an air of watchfulness about them, a scarcely defined repression, that marked them as differing somewhat from mere pleasureseekers.

“ Perhaps they have an invalid son or daughter with them, who is not able to come down to meals,” observed Aunt Dill, unconsciously answering this comment, which no one had expressed.

Now and then, in the pauses of our own conversation, sentences from our neighbors floated to us unavoidably. There was a beautiful child wandering up and down the hall, belonging to some one accustomed to the house evidently, and feeling himself on his native heath, for he strayed from one group to another at will, and was petted by all. Presently he stopped, and surveyed with grave baby eyes the party near us.

“ What a lovely child ! ” exclaimed the young lady, coaxing him near with a bonbon.

“ Yes, and he resembles— Why — I can’t think where I have ever seen him,” remarked the gentleman in a tone of perplexity.

“ Nowhere, dear ; of course you never did,” interposed his wife, with what seemed like anxious haste. “ None of us have ever seen him until now.”

“ But he reminds me of some one,” persisted the gentleman musingly. “ Ah, I remember! It is your little boy, Nellie. He is very like your little boy.”

A flush swept over the young lady’s face, the dark red flush of annoyance or pain. Her answer was inaudible, but she sent the little one away.

“ A young widow, who has lost her child?” suggested Aunt Dill in a low voice to Lizzie, under cover of passing the rolls.

“ Too young, and not in mourning,” answered Lizzie, in the same tone.

She looked very young, — not over eighteen, — and very pretty and graceful also, as she left the room a little later, passing directly by us. They were our neighbors again at dinner, and in the afternoon I met the gentleman on one of the smooth wide walks — “ the beach,” some of our friends had christened it — of the grounds. A small velocipedist had just succeeded in upsetting himself, and the gentleman paused to rescue the wailing urchin, when a malicious gust of wind whisked away the rescuer’s hat. I captured the flying property and returned it, to meet not only thanks but a pleasant smile of recognition.

“ Dr. Wilkinson, I believe ? ”

He must have noticed us in the dining-hall, then, though he had not seemed to do so ; but how had he learned my my name ? I wondered. The M. D. on my office sign was still so uncomfortably fresh that I could scarcely imagine my reputation had preceded me. He read my glance and answered it.

“ I met you on the morning train for Little Rock—going up to attend the Cashville trial ; I am interested in that too — and we lunched together at Melico’s.”

That was exactly my plan for the morrow, but it assuredly was what I had not done on this first day of my arrival, nor on any preceding day. There was some mistake, but I had neither time to explain nor ask for explanation. His daughter, who had been detained a moment by a friend, called to him : —

“ I am ready, papa ! ”

It was a sweet, quick voice, holding in it the slightest possible hint of one who did not care to wait, and he yielded to it at once, replying to my somewhat confused statement that he had “ the advantage of me,” by handing me his card as he turned away. It was only after he had gone that I reflected that the Cashville trial would not begin until the next day, and so I grew more puzzled still. The card was inscribed “ Jeshurun Barker,” and the name had a familiar look and sound; but I could not link it with any one I had ever known, and so was forced to drop the matter. However, if I had not met him before, I met him frequently afterward. We journeyed to Little Rock together the next morning, lunched at the same place, and found ourselves on the same return train in the evening. Fate had determined, it appeared, that our two parties should be thrown together. We encountered them in the

halls, on the piazzas, and on the grounds ; and between the ladies there soon sprang up one of the sudden friendships that belong to such places. Lizzie found a strong attraction in Miss Barker.

“ And she is Miss Barker, — I ’ve learned that much,” announced Aunt Dill complacently, after the first morning together. “ Of course I hesitated a little between Mrs. and Miss after what I had heard her father say, but she laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world that I should ‘ accord her any such matronly dignity,’ as she said. When I told her what I had overheard, though, for I did tell her, she flushed in just that odd way again, and answered quickly: —

“ ‘ Oh, no, that was not what papa meant. He — misspeaks sometimes. He was thinking of — of an older daughter of his.’

“ That is exactly the way in which she put it — not ‘ my sister,’ you notice, nor ‘ my little nephew,’ as any one would naturally say, but only “ an older daughter of papa’s.’ They are very pleasant people, but I ’ll warrant there is a twist in their family history somewhere,— a daughter who has married disreputably, perhaps.”

I longed to remind my aunt of certain maxims concerning the vulgarity of undue interest in other people’s affairs which had been lavishly bestowed upon me in the days of my youth. But it is not always safe to return these kindnesses of one’s childhood. Our elders, I have observed, are prone to regard their choicest admonitions in the light in which the celebrated Miss McFlimsey viewed her betrothal: —

Lizzie and I consoled ourselves by ascribing these lapses on Aunt Dill’s part to the rheumatism. Aunt Dill was so closely allied to us in family and blood that we could not shirk responsibility where she was concerned, but the rheumatism was only a relation-in-law, as it were, and could be disapproved of when necessary.

“ Mrs. Barker remarked incidentally, to-day, that Nellie was her only child,” said Aunt Dill, an evening or two later. “ Now, how do you reconcile that with a runaway daughter ? ”

“ Dear me, auntie ! That runaway daughter is purely your own invention, and nobody else needs to be reconciled to her,” laughed Lizzie. “ It is possible that Miss Nellie may have lost a half dozen brothers and sisters, older and younger, and now be an only child, is n’t it ? Besides, she only spoke of an ‘older daughter of papa’s,’—which may have meant a half sister or a step sister.”

“ H’m,” responded Aunt Dill disdainfully, but she caught at the last suggestion, unfortunately, and proceeded to test it. To do her justice, she managed the matter with admirable finesse, and it was only during an easy after-dinner chat, which had somehow fallen upon the subject of odd marriages and second marriages, that she adroitly seized upon a remark of Mr. Barker’s with the playful question : —

“You speak feelingly! Surely you have had no experience in second marriages ? ”

“ I ? ” It really seemed for a moment as if the gentleman did not know whether he had or not. He drew his hand across his brow and looked toward his wife, who was standing by an opposite window; then his dark eyes softened. “ Indeed, no ! ” he said, with his peculiar smile that always held a tinge of melancholy. “ I doubt whether there are two women in the world who are brave enough for that.”

His wife caught his glance and joined our group directly. They were a very affectionate family, the Barkers. Their devotion to each other was so intense as to be even a trifle annoying occasionally, for whenever I had engaged the gentleman in a conversation that bade fair to be more than ordinarily interesting, his wife or daughter appeared upon the scene and appropriated him at once. Under ordinary circumstances it must be confessed that Miss Nellie might have proved a very agreeable intrusion, with her pretty, flushing face and winning, graceful ways. But any such attractions were dispelled, for me, by a hand at home, which wore a ring in the same state of untarnished newness as my office sign. Moreover, young Sayles had followed the Barkers to the springs, had been welcomed as an old acquaintance, and seemed successfully bent upon proving himself a very intimate one. His fine physique, to say nothing of his enraptured glances, made it evident that he had not come for any benefit from the springs ; and he would not have needed them in any case, as Miss Nellie must have kept him continually in hot water by her inopportune fiyingsoff after “ dear papa.”

It was only upon rare occasions that Mr. Barker could be drawn into anything like conversation. Usually, he contented himself with courteous but very brief replies when directly addressed, and for the rest listened smilingly but silently while others talked. It was only reticence, however, not dullness, as one could readily see by watching the expression of his mobile features, and the interest in his deep, peculiar eyes. There were times, too, when his interest overleaped the barriers of restraint, and the views he expressed were striking and original.

Two or three times, when we were together, I had chanced to awaken him upon some medical topic, and was surprised and delighted to hear of discoveries which were new to me, though I considered myself particularly well read. But, as I have said, such conversations were always interrupted by either his wife or daughter. It was an absurd fancy, of course, but it really seemed at times as if they were jealous of any attention he bestowed upon others. The man puzzled and fascinated me with his quiet, gentle, almost melancholy air, and his strange reserve, which was only a veil for opinions so unique, so startling, and so positive that, when once expressed, they carried with them the force of knowledge. Then, too, his name still perplexed me with its odd familiarity. I was haunted by some flitting ghost of association which I could not materialize.

It was young Sayles who solved the problem for me at last. The number of guests increased as the season advanced, augmented not only by those who were needing to be built up physically? but by some who were seeking to build up financially. The attraction for these was not the mineral water, but a mineral more solid, as represented by Judge Leach, president of the Great Synket Silver Mine,—“the richest mine in Mexico, sir,” as the pompous judge was fond of informing the knot of listeners who always hung about him. He had come North on business connected with the mine, it was stated, and the local papers devoted considerable space to the object of his visit, his success and movements generally, calling him “ one of our great silver kings.” His presence had created no small stir in certain circles at Little Rock and at the Springs, where, for some reason, he preferred to spend a part of his time. There were eager groups constantly about the magnate, discoursing with feverish excitement of stocks, shares, and dividends.

Our comfortable quiet was gone. The very swings on the grounds suggested derricks, and one could “ no longer view the forks and spoons on the table without a desire to have them assayed,” young Sayles declared in disgust. It was this feeling of being crowded that suggested the idea of a day’s respite by a picnic excursion to a neighboring grove. The Barkers and ourselves, feeling that we were a sort of aborigines among these new-comers, were drawn more closely together, and Mr. Sayles had kindly included us in his picnic project.

“ Now, if it’s only a pleasant day tomorrow,” he said, as we discussed final arrangements. “ Miss Nellie, suppose we ask your father what he thinks of the weather ? He always seems to prophesy correctly.”

Miss Nellie hesitated, colored, and looked appealingly at her mother, as if, for some reason, the simple suggestion were a very embarrassing one. But Mr. Barker was sitting by a window, newspaper in hand, and Mr. Sayles had turned toward him as he spoke.

“ Shall we have a fine day for our excursion, do you think, sir ? What is the prospect for to-morrow?”

“Excursion?” Mr. Barker repeated the words as if he had not heard of the project before. “ Oh, yes, the weather is fine enough to-morrow, and — why, no, we did n’t go on any excursion, with Nellie sick in her room with a headache, and the whole plan spoiled because of one inadvertent remark. I really cannot see any sense in it.”

Neither could any one else. We all stared at him blankly except Mrs. Barker. There was meaning enough in her quick glance, and her laugh was forced and uneasy.

“ My dear, what a mixture of tenses ! Your mind must be all on your newspaper. Nobody but yourself has made any inadvertent remark.”

Warning, reminder, appeal, were in her eyes and voice, but it is probable that Mr. Barker’s mind was still a little abstracted by his reading, for he only looked bewildered and answered hastily:—

“ Yes, yes, it was my own, of course ; though I can’t think just now what it was, nor why Nellie need feel so about it, since Sayles is one of the family. If a man can’t speak before his son-inlaw ” —

The sudden start and rustle in his audience convinced Mr. Barker that something was wrong. He looked helplessly at his wife, questioningly at the rest of us, and added emphatically, as if his word had been doubted : —

“ I assure you, I have given my consent next week.”

That picnic council unceremoniously dissolved — dissolved is the proper word. There was a swift little rush of soft draperies and ribbons, and Miss Nellie had vanished through the door and up the stairway, followed by her mother. Aunt Dill and Lizzie were in the back parlor discoursing volubly on the mysteries of afghan-stitch — whatever that may be — and Mr. Sayles was discovered on a side porch, a moment later, his face very red from looking up at a hornet’s nest in the roof, and he remarked, with true scientific interest, that it was “ curious to watch how those reptiles could be such ingenious little insects, you know.”

For myself, I had received a revelation. The Singular Case of Jeshurun Barker, as I had read of it years before, flashed clearly upon my memory, and unraveled at once all the perplexing tangles of the last few days. This was the man, and his peculiar manner, his inexplicable speeches and keen insight were accounted for. To confess that Miss Nellie’s mortification, the disappointment of the picnic party, and the general embarrassment were completely forgotten by me in the prospective delight of studying this rare phenomenon is, probably, to accuse myself of selfishness. I can only plead guilty, feeling sure that with any enthusiastic member of the medical profession I shall need no recommendation to mercy.

Of course the matter was soon explained to the others. I told my aunt and sister what I knew, though Lizzie learned far more the next day from Miss Nellie herself, after spending the forenoon in an atmosphere of sympathy and camphor by that young lady’s bedside. Miss Nellie had wept herself into a furious headache, and declared between her fits of sobbing that she never could be induced to go down stairs again — never!

“ It has always been so ever since I can remember. We never stay anywhere long, no matter how delightful it is. Something always happens, and we have to go away,” she said plaintively. “ Fancy having a father who, instead of remembering how pretty you looked in your first short dress, should only remember how you will look in your first spectacles or when your front teeth are gone, or some such wretched thing! But the worst of it is n’t any discomfort to ourselves, — anything that we can keep to ourselves, I mean, — mamma and I have grown used to that; it is the embarrassments with other people. We have to be always watching and explaining and doing things that are odd, and even then the best that usually comes of it is that people think him slightly insane. Why, do you know, in one place where they found out about his queer memory they ran after us to have their fortunes told. Exactly as if we had been a party of gypsies ! Nobody could make them believe that he did n’t know anything about their old fortunes. And there was a jury trial once — Oh dear ! I could tell you no end of things, but it is n’t any use. Of course I don’t blame poor dear papa; he can’t help it, and he won’t remember the least thing that he said to Mr. Sayles last night. But how would you feel to be fairly thrown at a man’s head in that horrid way ? ”

Mr. Sayles, however, when he had recovered from the suddenness of the onslaught, was not only delighted with the missile, but in ecstasies at the accuracy of the aim ; so that difficulty was overcome, and Miss Nellie was soon lured back to her wonted place among us. In our own little circle, as we had come to call our two families (Mr. Sayles included), all concealment of Mr. Barker’s peculiarity was now at an end. By a sort of tacit agreement we aided his wife and daughter in shielding him from any encounter that might awaken the curiosity of strangers ; but among ourselves there was a dropping of constraint and surveillance that certainly must have been a relief to the good gentleman, even though he remembered nothing of his previous position, nor any causes which had led to a change.

Silence and reserve had become habitual with him, nevertheless it was possible to overcome this barrier occasionally, and as our conversations were no longer watched and interrupted, they became more frequent and even confidential.

“ You see how it is,” he said somewhat sadly one day. “ I live in a different world from yours — a different world from all those about me. It is only joined to theirs by the narrow isthmus of to-day. People who are always wishing they could ‘ see ahead ’ do not know what they ask. It is isolation, sir, isolation.”

“ I suspect no one would wish it at the expense of not being able to see backward,” I replied. “ But how did you first become aware of this difference between yourself and others ? ”

He looked at me a moment, and shook his head with a smile.

“ If I could answer that question, Dr. Wilkinson, I should not be different from others.”

I laughed as I realized the absurdity of the inquiry, yet it was an error into which I was constantly and naturally falling in all our intercourse.

“ Your past is a blank, then ? ” I said.

“ No, not a blank. I do not know it any more than you know your future, but it holds dreams and probabilities. Your future is not really a blank to you. And from what exists at present I can imagine the past, as you forecast the future.”

“ But aspirations, plans, and hopes are the chief mediums through which I view the future,” I suggested.

“ True ; and they cannot apply to the past, nor, in any great measure, to a future that is known ; for a man does not hope for what he knows. As for plans — I know what I must do to-day by knowing what results from it to-morrow.”

“ But there is where you must have the advantage of ordinary people,” I urged. “ If you foresee danger, you can avoid it.”

“I don’t foresee, I only remember, and a man can’t remember what does n’t happen, can he ? ” insisted Mr. Barker. “ You could n’t avoid breaking your leg last summer by remembering it now, could you ? And I can’t avoid breaking mine next summer by remembering it now, either. It’s a compound fracture, too,” he added, ruefully.

Thinking over his case one night — and I really bestowed more thought upon this curious freak of nature than upon anything else during those few weeks at the springs — there suddenly occurred to me the possibility of superseding Gates Ajar and kindred speculations of the day by something like positive testimony. I questioned Mr. Barker upon the subject.

“ How far forward does your knowledge extend ? Can you remember into any state beyond this life? — any eternity to which we go ? ”

“ No more than you can remember back into the eternity from which you came. Memory is only memory, I suppose, whichever way it faces. It is a mirror, which simply reflects the room it is in, and mine is hung on the opposite wall from most people’s. Your remembrance runs back, growing less and less distinct — at least I judge it must be so— as it reaches your earliest years, until only isolated facts appear in a vague, shadowy way, and these finally fade into nothingness. Mine runs forward in exactly the same way. Beyond this world I can hope, and, though you may not have appreciated it, Dr. Wilkinson, it is a blessed thing to hope.”

After a moment’s pause, he added slowly : —

“ I cannot say that I really do not know what hope is in regard to anything in this world. One can remember only what one in some way has knowledge of, and, of course, there are many things in the future of my friends and the history of the world of which, as they are not directly linked with my own experience, I am ignorant. Concerning these I can hope. There is a hope, too, connected with this peculiarity of my own. I have a theory that it is due to a very slight displacement— a reversing — of a small portion of the brain, and that by a critical examination of that organ, and a careful, scientifically conducted comparison of it with a brain in its normal condition, the defect might be discovered, and thus the exact seat of memory located. What a gain that would be to science ! In my will, which I make in a year or two, I give directions for a post-mortem examination by the most eminent surgeons. Who knows what benefit to the race may grow out of it ? ”

An intense longing to take part in such an investigation made me for a moment forget that the desired subject for scalpel and microscope was still in my friend’s head.

“ Y-e-s,” I said, rather inanely. “ You think it might throw new light upon the relation of mind and matter?”

“ Why may it not prove of great practical value ? ” pursued Mr. Barker earnestly. “ In my case the defect — transposition, call it what you will — does not affect other faculties. Will, reason, judgment, are unaltered. Now, may it not be among the possibilities of surgical skill to reproduce this exact condition in other brains ? ”

“ Reverse other people’s memories, do you mean ? ” I inquired, somewhat aghast at the prospect. There might be some comfort, no doubt, in being able to extract an aching memory as one would an aching tooth ; but what would be the effect on society if bankers and railroad presidents, for instance, were afforded any new facilities for forgetting that the money in their possession belonged to somebody else, and remembering only the to-morrows in which they expected to appropriate it to their own use ?

“ In certain cases, yes,” replied Mr. Barker. “ Just consider what such a possibility might be to a confirmed drunkard or opium-eater ! Placed in a hospital where the diseased tissues and fibres — or whatever you medical men call it — might have time to heal, while by a simple operation all memory of old habits, old associates, and any delight of intoxicating orgies was completely obliterated, what cures might not be effected ? Then our penitentiaries— how much more safely criminals might be pardoned and released if they left the memory of all past vices behind them with their prison garments. And our reform-schools — sir, the possibilities are limitless. Could there be a greater boon to such youthful and depraved minds than, by a whiff of chloroform and a surgeon’s knife, to be forever freed from all the evil associations and vicious knowledge of the past ? No, Dr. Wilkinson, I am not without hope. I am cheered by the thought that my life, whatever it misses of happiness, may yet prove a great benefit to the race.”

I fully intended that it should prove a great benefit to me. Daily intercourse with a case so interesting and so unique would, I am sure, have appealed to any member of my profession as one of the great opportunities of a lifetime, and I fondly hoped for disclosures and suggestions which should make the name of John Wilkinson, M. D., not unknown to fame. There arose in our conversation at different times many topics of interest, foreshadowings of future history, which charmed me. I recollect his giving, one day, a thrilling account of his adventure on an electric bicycle — in the summer of 1890, I believe. But to me the most absorbing subject was the discoveries and inventions in medicine and surgery, as they came under his own observation, or as he read of them in newspapers and journals fifteen or twenty years hence. Some of these were indeed wonderful, and though, owing to his lack of a scientific or medical education, Mr. Barker could only describe workings and effects without any accurate knowledge of construction and causes, I hoped, by careful questioning, and a little series of experiments, to gain some valuable and practical information while we were together.

But all such plans were speedily and hopelessly frustrated by a little occurrence in the hotel parlors one evening. Judge Leach was there, surrounded by a crowd as usual, and Mr. Barker, also as usual, sat apart with his newspaper — a yesterday’s newspaper ; that was his way of reading up. Judge Leach had noticed Mr. Barker, it seemed, and either attracted by something in that quiet gentleman’s manner, or piqued by the fact that he never joined the silver-mining circle, the judge suddenly turned and asked his opinion upon the point under discussion.

“ Perhaps you are not interested in mining and the different qualities of ore, sir ? ” said the great man, blandly.

Mr. Barker surveyed him absently, as if he had no recollection of ever having seen him.

“It’s Judge Leach, you know. Surely you know Judge Leach?” interposed one of the satellites, in a tone which seemed to say that not to know Judge Leach would be to fail of life’s chief object.

“ I know him — know of him — yes,” answered Mr. Barker, in a slow reflection. “ I am trying to think what I read about him — next week. The papers were full of the great SynketMine Swindle; the worthlessness of the shares, and the amount of money that had been gobbled up here before any one was wise enough to write on and make inquiries of disinterested parties in Mexico.”

“ Sir ? ” thundered Judge Leach, growing very black in the face.

“ It was a complete fraud, but the ‘ judge ’ was safely off to Europe with the spoils,” proceeded Mr. Barker, as calmly as if his remark had no bearing upon any one present.

“ Sir ! Do you mean to say ” — began the judge, advancing threateningly, while an angry murmur, like the breath of a coming storm, ran through the crowd around him.

Mr. Barker might not have been in danger of instant annihilation, but Mrs. Barker thought he was. She started forward with a scream, and then, womanlike, fainted. It was the best possible move under the circumstances, as it dissolved the angry conclave, and created a diversion which enabled the Barkers to retire. They packed their trunks that night, and left the place the next morning before other guests were astir.

“ Of course we couldn’t stay in any comfort after last night,” Miss Nellie said to my sister at their tearful parting.

Whether Mr. Barker’s statement precipitated matters, I do not know, but little whispers of distrust concerning the Great Synket began to be circulated almost immediately, growing more distinct and ominous as the days passed. Judge Leach was suddenly and privately summoned away on important business, and failed to return — as did also the investments. There was a great deal of disappointment, chagrin, and wordy newspaper indignation ; but my own burden of regret was for the sudden closing of the mine of knowledge I had hoped to explore.

“ I consider Jeslmrun Barker one of the greatest marvels of nature,” I said.

“ And I consider him an awful warning to those people who are forever forgetting past mercies, and borrowing trouble about the future,” responded Aunt Dill, severely. “ There are people who make themselves so miserably like him in that way that they ought to fear having their memories turned wrong side out to stay.”

We have never heard from the Barkers since, except that, two years ago, there came from Italy the weddingcards of young Sayles and Miss Nellie. Under the peculiar circumstances, I must say that I consider young Sayles a brave man. I have heard more than one irate person wish his parents-in-law “ in the middle of next week,” but to actually possess one who abides there might be attended with difficulties.

John Wilkinson.