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Y., the planter who owns the landing, took us right up to his residence. He ushered me into a large room where a couple of candles gave a dim light, and close to them, and sewing as if on a race with Time, sat Mrs. Y. and a little negro girl, who was so black and sat so stiff and straight she looked like an ebony image.

Passing several other houses, tightly closed, we found a third old woman, and I saw that we were destined to secure nothing but decrepit hags, as representatives of the fair sex. At the next closed house, I stopped, and turning to an official, who spoke Spanish, said, "I am tired of these closed houses; who owns this house?" His name was given, and I wrote it down.

Did you ever see! And a solid! Who owns this?" That brought it back to me. I explained what I could of the manner of my possession. "I see. Very interesting. Something I've never seen and frankly something strictly against what I've been taught. Nevertheless, it's not impossible. We are witnesses at least. Would you care if I take this over to the laboratory?" It was a new complication.

But as Dick stood beside Ned in their last hour at Belleville, and the sadness of parting was in the face and eyes from which fun usually bubbled, Ned said: "My father owns a tract of land in the Big Cypress Swamp of Florida. There is a lot of fine timber on it and he intends to set up a lumber mill in the swamp and perhaps build a railroad from Fort Myers to some part of it.

"My word!" reflected Chichikov. "The fellow has a pretty good holding capacity!" "None of it for me," repeated Sobakevitch as he wiped his hands on his napkin. "I don't intend to be like a fellow named Plushkin, who owns eight hundred souls, yet dines worse than does my shepherd." "Who is Plushkin?" asked Chichikov. "A miser," replied Sobakevitch. "Such a miser as never you could imagine.

"Yes, certainly don't be so frivolous, Dora I repeat if Floss had married he was well off and clever, and really very nice, she owns the chances are the other three girls would have gone off early and been the heads of beautiful homes to-day instead of dragging the rounds of season after season and making me stay up at school till I simply refused point blank to keep my hair down another day."

An intelligent mechanic of our acquaintance, a leader among the Nationals, urging the theory of his party, that banks should be destroyed, and that the government should issue to the people as much "paper money" as they need, denied the right of banks or of any individuals to charge interest on money. Yet he would take rent for the house he owns.

"'If a man's pocket-book is not converted with his soul the man will not get into heaven with it. "'There are certain things that money alone can secure; but among those things it cannot buy is character. "'All wealth, from the Christian standpoint, is in the nature of trust funds, to be so used as the administrator, God, shall direct. No man owns the money for himself.

There is in barbaric states no republic, no commonwealth; authority is parental, without being tempered by parental affection. The chief is a despot, and rules with the united authority of the father and the harshness of the proprietor. He owns the land and his subjects.

Frank Jardine here owns to a feeling of savage delight at the prospect of having a "shine" with these wretched savages, who, without provocation, hung on their footsteps dogging them like hawks all through the thickest of their troubles, watching with cowardly patience, for a favourable moment to attack them at a disadvantage.