Swayed up and down by the rapid current, a series of waves undulated beyond it, bearing on their crests dark-colored weeds of grass that had been caught by the bamboo stem.
PUNISHED BY CONSCIENCE.–A writer in the Boston Transcript calls attention to the fact that a man may escape the law, and yet be held by his conscience. He says:
Many years ago, a young man in this city was guilty of an offence against the law, an offence which brought social ruin upon himself and his family. The span and his offence are forgotten by the public, yet he lives, and lives here in Boston. But from the day his offence was discovered,–although, having escaped the law, he is free to come and go as he pleases,–he has never been seen outside of his own home in the daytime.
Sometimes, under the cover of night, he walks abroad to take an airing and note the changes that thirty years have wrought, but an ever-active conscience makes him shun the light of day and the faces of men, and he walks apart, a stranger in the midst of those among whom he has always lived.
NO QUOTATION MARKS.
A writer in the Boston Transcript notices the fact that even men eminent in literature are not above borrowing from each other, and sometimes display the borrowed article as their own:
When Tennyson's "In Memoriam" appeared, a certain poet was standing in the Old Corner Bookstore, turning over the leaves of the freshly-printed volume, when up stepped a literary friend, of rare taste and learning in poetry, saying to the poet,—
"Have you read it?"