in the blood. Young girls are as alike as flour and plaster of Paris, and yet it is not till you begin to be the making of them that you find the difference. Some make into bread, but others make into stone."
When Elijah Rebow entered the little parlour, he found Mr. Pettican nearly choked with passion. He was ripping at his cravat to get it off, and obtain air. His face was nearly purple. He took no notice of his visitor for a few moments, but continued shaking his fist at the window, and then dragging at his neckcloth.
Being unable to turn himself about, the unfortunate man nearly strangled himself in his inability to unwind his cravat. This increased his anger, and he screamed and choked convulsively.
"You will smother yourself soon," observed Elijah dryly, and going up to Mr. Pettican, he loosened the neckcloth.
The cripple lay back and panted. Presently he was sufficiently recovered to project his head towards Rebow, and ask him what he wanted, and who he was.
Elijah told him his name. Charles Pettican did not pay attention to him; his mind was engrossed by other matters.
"Come here," said he, " here, beside me. Do you see them?"
"See what?" asked Elijah in return, gruffly, as Pettican caught his arm, and drew him down, and pointed out of the window.
"There they are. Isn't it wexing to the last degree of madness?"
"Do you mean your daughter and her sweetheart?"
"Daughter!" echoed the cripple. "Daughter! I wish she was. No, she's my wife. I don't mean her."
"What do you mean then?"
"Why, my crutches. Don't you see them?"
"No, I do not," answered Rebow looking round the room.
"They are not here," said Pettican. " Admonition flew out upon me, because I wouldn't draw more money from the bank, and she took away my crutches, to confine me till I came into her whimsies. There they are. They
