my father, Roderick VVirth, of VVirthmoor,
England; he broke the heart of my sister. I
have sworn to avenge myself upon him, and
the time will come soon. I have known two
crosses in my life, that have changed me to the
hungry, stinging serpent I am; the first,
desertion by the woman I loved—~a devilish
Sphinx, who once stabbed your lover, Coco
Vargas, in Cairo !—the second, the murder of
my father by the man who paid vain suit to
my sister—”

“ What do you know of Coco Vargas?”
broke in Francoise, infused with excitement by
the rapid, sharp-edged speeches of the gnome.

“ Enough to warn you that he is not the man
for Francoise Ellery to marry—a gambler, and
perhaps worse; while you are good and pure.
But never tell him I said this. Give back your
love to Montrose, the model- maker, and you
will do well. But, it is not of Coco Vargas we
are speaking—4t is of myself. You want to
know what the ugly deformity was that you,
that Hubert Ulster and Azrak, saw in the wall?
I’ll tell you. It was Tyron Wirth, son of Rod—
erick, called the ‘Spider of W'irthmoor.’ Be-
hold !—-1 am the Spider!”

As Jean Banquo almost shouted the last, he
tore off his copious turban and great beard, and
ran to a basin on a skeleton stand behind his
divan. In a trice, he. had washed the false
colors from his face, and when he turned again
upon Francoise—with his mass of midnight
hair disheveled, his eyes afire and aglow in
passion, his dwarfed body crooked, and yellow
hands working convulsively—she uttered a
scream of terror and shrunk back, back to the
stony wall; for she saw the hideous Spider,
the same ghastly, wolfish, vulture-featured ob—
ject that had caused her to swoon aifrighted in
the upper story at her home on the bygone
night.

But Jean Banquo had no sooner efiected this
transformation, revealing his true character——
and the shriek had scarce issued from the lips
of the frightened girl, when an unexpected
denouement capped the startling tableau.

Bang! went a pistol through the crack of the
door.

There was a whizl—a thud—the astrologer
uttered a piercing, curdling wail and reeled
drunkenly backward, tossing his arms and
wildly clawing the air.

In the same breath, Hubert Ulster bounded
into the chamber, with the smoking weapon
clutched by the muzzle, ready to beat out the
brains of the man he had shot.

“ Abominable Spider!” he cried, excited and
wrathful, “your words are lies. That bullet is
from the man you have pursued and haunted
and menaced for a crime he never committed!
Die !——and curse you!”

CHAPTER X.
THE BEAUTIFUL SLAVE.

THE city of Cairo, in Egypt, about eleven
years before the events which we have nar—
rated. ‘

City of glittering domes and minarets, fra—
grant thickets, bowers of foliage, groves of
palm and gardens of dates; of wooden—latticed
balconies, fountained courts, Saracenic archi—
tecture eternal and wonderful; city of hymns,
symbols and spirits of imagery, spiced with
the soft aromas of the Orient, redolent with
the dream-songs of Persian poets and Arabic
chroniclers—the magic theater of countless ad~
ventures by Caliph Haroun~al~Raschid; kissed
by the dun waters of the Nile, edged by the
sandy oceans of the Lybian and Arabian Des—
erts, tracktblazed by pyramids, and lighted by
a sky as hot as the breath of bubbling fur—
naces.

City of Al Mansur, home of the Turk, the
Greek, the Jew, the Arab and the Moor; ren—
dezvous of the Abyssinian, slave—mart of the
Nubian, head-quarters of the traveleruthe
English, the American, the German, the French,
a score of nations blending like the rivers with

one commonality, curious, fantastic, grave,‘

wretched and happy—monument of centuries,
half—dressed, unchanging, weirdly picturesque,

_ the gateway to the wildly desolate and blood—

scorching plains of the great Sahara.

And thither we take the reader, at a date
eleven years back, to the Arab quarters, with
its strange population, costumes that near a
thousand years have not altered, the narrow,
box-like shops, the cramped stores of the om-
nipresent J ew—and to the office of Coco Var—
gas, a Spanish trader, who had amassed a large
fortune by his camels, in the export and im—
port of spices, fruits and merchandise. A
dingy-looking affair—«yet it was the oflice of
Coco Vargas, the trader, who was known at
every bazar, and to every donkey~driver, and
whose Nubian slaves lived better than many
of his own customers.

The hour, sunset. Vargas had closed his
office earlier than usual, and was walking be—
fore the Great Square of Cairo, which he cus—
tomarily went round on his way to his home
in the Frank quarters. From the minarets
came the cry: “God is great! God is merci—
full Mahomet is the Prophet of God!”

But the cry, nor the hustling throng of Turks,
Copts and Modems moving to and from the
narrow streetways, did not engage him. His
eyes were fixed on a bow—backed Jew, a short
distance ahead, whom he seemed desirous of
overtaking.

Whatever were his thoughts they were not
of a pleasant humor, for he frowned, he was
muttering, at every step, he swung his arms,
with their clinched fists, stroke—like at his sides,
and occasionally snarled something from“ his
working lips, of doubloons, camels, Jews, cheats
and scoundrels.

“Ho, there! Ezrontis—halt!” he called out,
at length.

But the Jew did not, or would not, hear.

“ Ezrontis! Jew! Thief! Swindler! Halt,
I say!” and by a sudden leap, he laid his hand,
heavy and ironslike, on the shoulder of the man
he pursued, jerking him roughly around.

‘ “ Caramba I Jacob Ezrontis—I have you!”

The Jew uttered a low cry of surprise and
fear; but instantly there appeared an humble
grin in his weezel face, wrinkling his sparse
beard nearly above his eyes, and he whined:

“ Ah! Oh! Senor Vargas—my good 'senor
——how you do to-day? I am so glad to see you.
Let go of my shoulder, blease.”

“ Ho! you grin at me, Jacob Ezrontis. Do
you know who it is?—Coco Vargas, who loaned
you five hundred doubloons, pure Spanish coin,
thirteen months ago. You made over to me a
bill against your camels and your house, and
promised to return the money in six months.
I have not seen you since. You have been
playing hide and seek, you rogue !——”

“ Ah! my good Vargas, I haf travel so far.
I was a rich man when I went after gum. But
den I was fooled bad. I' lose everythingwev—
erything. I am poor, so poor, my good Var-
gas; and I haf suffered a heap.”

“ What do I care for that?” growled the
Spaniard.

“ Nothing, nothing!” and Ezrontis shook his
head in a sorrowful way. .

“ I want my dues, Jacob Ezrontis. Where
are my doubloons.a Oct-rumba ! where are the
camels? Hey 5”

“All gone, all gone!” wailed the Jew, dole—

fully, and wringing his hands. “ I haf been
robbed by de wild men—~Bedouins—thieves—I
haf nothing left. I shall starve.” v

“ You lie, Jacob Ezrontisl—you are well-fed
and fat. You vile cheat! I will have what
belongs to me. You have been robbed. You
have spent my doubloons and lost your camels.
Ca'ramba ! your house —— I will take your
house.”

“ Ah! you cannot do that,” said the Jew, in
a mournful tone, but bowing his head to con-
ceal the sly twinkling of his eyes. “I came
back to Cairo so poor, so starving, that I be
most dead. I must haf eat and drink, so I haf
sell my house, that I may live.”

“Infernal villain!” snapped Vargas.

“ Ah! no, I am no villain, my good, my dear
Vargas. I haf only been at Cairo to-day.
You think I would rob you—Got! no. To—
morrow I would pay you as much and more as
you gif me. I will deal so very fair. I haf
something beautiful for you.”

“ ‘Something beautiful.’ I don’t want it!”
Vargas gritted, tightening his hold on the
shoulder of the Jew till the latter winced.
“ What have you got? Will it pay me as much
as your camels?—-as much“ as five hundred
doubloons? Tell me that, you dog!”

“ More, more, much more— Blease let go
of my shoulder. It is a grand gift, my good
Vargas: a slave so like an angel, that, if she
would get some wings, she would ’a’ fly
away—”

“ A slave? Furies of thunder!” — and he
gave a squeeze with his griping hand that made
Ezrontis squirm — “ I don’t want any more
slaves; I have enough. What of my doub~
loons, Jacob Ezrontis? Tell me, or I shall send
you to the devil!” and here he raised his pon-
derous fist under the hawkish nose of the cring—
ing man.

“ Stay, stay, my good Vargas, ” the Jew
hastened to say, with a wry face, “ wait till
you haf see her. Such beauty—oh, grand!”

“ Cdramba! dogs eat you and your slave!
I want my money.” .

“But, she is not a Nubian,” Jacob persisted.

“Oh, not a Nubian?”

“ Nor a Georgian.”

“Nor a Georgian!” echoed Vargas.

“An English girl, my good Vargas, sweet
as the princess of a harem.”

“Ho! an Englishwoman. Oaramba.’ Jacob
Ezrontis, do you mean to tell me that you have
an Englishwoman who is your slave per force
of purchase?”

“Yes, yes, that is it.”

“And what if I inform the consul?
will be punished, you Jew!”

“No, no, no, you would not tell—hey, good
Vargas? She is for you. For you I buy her
with my last piaster, this angel—«Jover as the
sun, fair as the rose. If you would ’a’ see her,
you go mad, you are so happy.”

The cunning Jew, Ezrontis, was well aware
of the soft spot in Coco Vargas’ heart, who had
been extravagantly fond of pretty women in
his own country, and who—being once infatu-
ated to madness~had followed the daughter
of an American tourist for hundreds of miles,
in the vain hope of finally possessing her for a
wife. A man of passionate nature, he was
quick to bite at the bait now offered; to talk
of a woman dazzling as the sun and fair as a
rose, and of English blood, was to interest him
immediately.

“Let me hear that again, Ezrontis. You

You

 

 

 

have a beautiful English gir ”——~and now he
shifted his tight hold on the J ew’s shoulder to
a familiar pluck by the sleeve—-“ so lovely
that she is worth more than doubloons, camels
or houses?”

“ Yes, my good Vargas; and she is for you.

She will pay you twenty times for what you '

haf lose—so I will swear. ” .

“But where did you get herl—of whom?—
how’!” with a fidget that betrayed jealous at-
tention.

“ From a wandering tribe of the Aynezeh.
But when you shall come to my house, I tell
you more. You shall see her.”

“ Yes. Haste, Ezrontis. Caramba I let me
look at the English girl.”

Vargas became suddenly calm and grave.
He was thoughtful. The loan of doubloons, or
their security, the camels, seemed to be for
gotten; his wrath over his loss was appeased
for the time. In truth, the Spaniards imagi-
nation was already at work; he was eager to
gaze on the promised prize.

The house of the Jew was not very far from
the Great Square, and Vargas was not so ab
sorbed that he failed to perceive it was in an—
other locality than the former abode of his
debtor, which conviHCed him that Ezrontis
had, indeed, sold his old residence, either to
save himself from starvation, as he affirmed,
or to escape prosecution, which was most like-
ly. Like nearly all the houses, it was built
with the second story projecting over the first,
supplied, also, with one of those fibrous balco—
nies like screens of woven bark.

Entering here, Ezrontis brought forth nar—
ghilehs, and proceeded to whiff the grateful
vapor. Vargas, whose impatience was un—
bounded and growing, waved aside the prof-
fered hospitality, but drank copiously of sher—
bet, to which he helped himself.

“Be about this,” he said, when he had
smacked his lips over the draught. “Bring
out your jewel, Ezrontis—your combined sun
and rose. You lose time.”

-“ Presently, my good Vargas,” returned the
Jew, as he rung a tiny bell.

A lithe young Nubian answered the sum-
mons, to whom Ezrontis gave some instruc—
tions in a low tone.

There was a long. delay, and the Spaniard
was moving restlessly, when the door opened
again, and the Nubian returned, bearing a
roll of light, rich carpet and a rug of marvel—
ous workmanship. These he spread upon the
floor before the Jew and the Spaniard; after
which, he lighted a number of burners around
the apartment, and softly withdrew.

“ Oa'ramba! Jacob Ezrontis, are we going
to have a Show?” grumbled Vargas, looking at
the rug, at the Jew, at the mellow lamp-
flames that were diffusing a luscious odor
through the room, and beginning to tire of
waiting.

The Jew nodded his half-bald head, and
smiled cunningly.

“ Yes,” he drawled, composedly inhaling
the perfumed smoke of his narghileh, “such a
show you haf never see. ”

At that moment the door opened for the
third time, and a figure appeared-a figure
dressed in a black bag, as it were, and a hood
of somber cowl, with the ghastly, eye-pierced
mask of white worn byfihe women of olden
Cairo.

Close behind her followed the young Nubi—
an, turbaned and robed in brown, blue, violet
and crimson, and carrying an ornamented
lute, tasseled and raying with precious stones;
and when she paused on the rug of golden
fringe, he lingered gravely at the outer edge,
where he placed for himself a tri-colored has—
sock.

“Furies of thunder!” blurted Coco Vargas,
“what is this3~some withered old hen you
would pass off under such a disguise? Kick

 

 

her out! Do you take me for an ass? I’ll
have your life for this trick, Jacob Ezrontis!”
and clenching his fists with a hiss and a snarl,
he stepped quick and menacing toward the
Jew.

“Stay, my good Vargas; you haf not see
her yet,” said the Jew, raising a hand to ward
the blow of the poised fist. “You make too
much haste. Presently you will think dif—
ferent.”

As Jacob Ezrontis spoke, he made a sign to
the Nubian, who, with a lightning movement,
tore ed the baggy dress and ghost-like mask
worn by the figure, and tossed them out of
sight.

“Dies! Look at that!” gasped the Spaniard,
involuntarily.

He staggered back a pace, surprised, trans—
fixed, thrilled to the soul.

(T o be continued—commenced in No. 237.)

 

 

 

 

THIS TIME A YEAR
BY R. T. KENNEDY.

Last June, a band of maidens free
Were floating down a starlit stream;

Fair Rene, midst all their 'oyous gle,
Alone sat silent, in aw ing dream.

The mountains echoed back their song,
And echoed back their laughing jest;

And as in manifold the echoes throng,
They laughed aloud with greater zest.

With silent mien and bended head,
And eyes upon the water clear,

Rene sat, mid jest then sudden said:
“ Where will we be this time a year?”

 

The year has flown; and of that band
Fair Rene we number with the dead;
Gay Em has gone to distant land,
And Kate and May are happy wed;

Saline has wooed the muses‘ power,
With witty word and mighty pen;
And Bertie fair, with beauty’s dower,
a Is still as free as she was then.

And now when sailin silently
O’er starlit stream et rippling clear,
Remember then, they must, their glee
When floating here this time a year.

Pretty Mrs. Gordon.

BY MATTIE DYER BRITTS.

NETTIE and I are orphan girls, and our home
is a pretty place on the banks of the Delaware,
not far from Philadelphia. We are not so
young as we once were, for I am twenty—seven
and Nettie was twenty-three last summer, but
we are not too old to enjoy life, nor too young
to live as we have since our father’s death,
alone with one servant.

If you like, you may call us old maids, but
—well———there is a wealthy young farmer—and
a thorough gentleman he is, too—who comes
to see Nettie very regular, and as to myself,
there is an operator in one of the telegraph of—
fices up in the city, whose name is Harry Saun—
ders, and one of these days, if we live, my
name will be Saunders too. Of course I think
him a noble fellow—as indeed he is—and that
will do for us, I think. Except that I will say,
though I, am only quiet Jenny Glover, with
the most moderate share of beauty, I don’t fear
one of the pretty city belles he meets every
day, for not one of them can win my Harry
away.

Well—if I’m going to tell my little story
without being tedious—our home is such a
pretty place that every summer city people
come out and apply for board. We have never
taken them till this summer, but it has been
very hard times, you know, and Nettie wants
a new piano—a Steinway—very much; so I
told her we would take two or three ladies this
summer, and she should have the money for
her piano.

First came an elderly lady and her daughter
—Mrs. Stokes and Miss J osie~very wealthy
city people, who wanted a quiet rest, because
Mrs. Stokes was in too poor health to go among
the bustle and confusion of a stylish‘watering-
place. - 1

They were excellent people, too wealthy and
well—bred to be proud and haughty, coming of
pure old Quaker stock, and we soon grew to
love them very much. Jessie Stokes and sister
Nettie were warm friends in a few days, and
we thought we would not take any one else in
to disturb the pleasure of our happy summer.

We refused a number of applications. But
one morning a lovely little lady came down
from the city, saying she was a stranger, living
in Washington, kept in or near Philadelphia
all summer by business relating to some city
property. She couldn’t bear to stay in the
city through the hot weather, and having no-
ticed our pretty home as she was riding by,
she begged bf us to take her in a while.

She showed us recommendations addressed
to the city lawyers who had charge of her busi-
ness, from men in Washington whose names
were known even to quiet people like us, and
she pleaded so winningly to become one of us,
that our hearts melted.

We held a consultation with Mrs. Stokes,
and even she could see no objection to a lady
who came so well recommended, and who
would be such a charming addition to a social
circle.

We agreed to take her, and, highly pleased,
Mrs. Gordon—so she gave us her name—went
back to the city, to return, bag and baggage,
by the four o’clock train. We sent our own
light wagon up to bring her from the depot,
and on the ride she fairly charmed our honest
tenantcfarmer, who acted as driver, so that he
said to me, as he carried in her trunk, that
“that was the nicest, prettiest, sociablest little
cre’tur’ he ever did see.” » _

She charmed the rest of us as well as farmer
Bennett, with her winning ways and dainty
dresses, and in a week’s time nobody’ called
her anything but pretty Mrs. Gordon, except
when they spoke to herself.

She won Nettie’s heart completely by her
wonderful music. The old piano rung like
silver bells under her white fingers, and such
singing is seldom heard off the best stage.

She delighted old Mrs. Stokes and Miss Josie
too, by her thoughtful attention to the inva-
lid’s comfort. In short, she was the pet and
plaything of the whole circle, from Nettie and
I down to our maid Barbara. I never saw any
person who had so entirely the pow er of fasci—
nating others as pretty Mrs. Gordon.

She had been there about a month, I think,
when the first shadow of trouble came. She
told us she was not very wealthy, but had
means to live in comfort, and a prospect of
more when the city business was settled. She
paid her board bills promptly, and appeared
always to have plenty of money, so we had no
reason to doubt her statement.

IVell, I said a shadow of trouble came. One
morning Mrs. Stokes and Josie came down
looking very serious, and announced the loss

 

 

 

 

of a valuable set of jewelry, pin, ear—rings and
bracelets, set with garnets, belonging to Miss
Josie. Josie said when she came down to sup ~-
per the evening before, she had left them in
their case lying on the bureau. When she
went up again they Were not there, but sup—
posing her mother had put them away she
said nothing. In the morning, happening to
think of them, she asked Mrs. Stokes where
they were, and the loss was discovered.

lVe were all surprised and alarmed. Nettie
and I very much distressed, as nothing of the
kind had ever occurred to us before. We could
not suspect old Barbara—as well suspect our-
selves, and how would any one else have got
into the room? No search through the house,
and no inquiry, threw any light on the sub-
ject, and we were in a state of agitation all
dav.

At night Harry came down from the city,
and pretty Mrs. Gordon was the first one to
tell him of our loss. Much discussion ensued,
and at last we all adopted Harry’s view, that
some robber had entered the front hall, gone
up-stairs and taken the jewel—case while we
were at supper, and it was only a mercy he
had not robbed every room up-stairs.

Mrs. Stokes offered a reward for their return
through the city papers, and then we tacitly
agreed, except in mind, to drop the unpleasant
subject.

But that was not the end of trouble. In a
few days Nettie came to me with a pale face,
and told me that her gold watch and chain had
disappeared. I was much alarmed, but I cau—
tioned her not to say a word to the boarders,
and we might get a clue some how.

At dinner that very day Mrs. Gordon told us
that a costly ring had been taken from her
table.

“Then there was a robber about last night,”
cried Mrs. Stokes. “I was almost sure, Mrs.
Gordon, that I heard some one moving about
in your room, and I was going to alarm the
house, but when I sat up to listen I heard no
more, so I thought I must have been mistaken.”

“Oh, mercy!” screamed Mrs. Gordon, turn-
ing pale; “a robber in my room! I should
have died with fright! ‘ And not a man about
the house!”

“I wish I knew what to do,” said I.

“ Do have your farmer to sleep up here
nights,” said Mrs. Stokes.

“Oh, yes, do!” cried Mrs. Gordon. “This
is such a lovely place, and I like you all so
much, I hate to go away. But indeed I shall
be afraid to stay longer than this week with—
out some man in the house.”

“I have to go to the city for some things
this afternoon,” said I, as I rose, faint and sick
from the table; “but when I come back I’ll
see farmer Bennett and get him to stay here
to—night.”

As I went up to my room Mrs. Gordon ask—
ed me to get a piece of lace for her at Sharp-
less’, and having promised, I hastily dressed
for a trip to town.

Now I had not mentioned my real business
in the city to any one. But it was to deposit

in a city bank the money I had received from'

our boarders, and was saving for Nettie’s
piano. It amounted to nearly two hundred
dollars, and I began to see the folly and danger
of keeping it in the house.

I dressed hurriedly, fearing to miss the
train, then unlocked the drawer where I kept
the money, and put in my hand to take up the
pocket—book in which I had placed it. Money
and purse were both gone!

Deathly sick and faint, I dropped into a
chair, trying to realize my loss! Not only
Nettie’s disappointment but the horror in the
house chilled my very heart.

There was no use looking for it. It had lain
in that spot when I looked the drawer the
night before, and the key had been in my
pocket ever since!

Well, I could do nothing but go to town and
see Harry and ask him what to do. Meantime
I would let no one know. I bathed my face,
and rubbed my cheeks and lips well to restore
the frightened-away color, and then I went out
into the hall.

Remembering pretty Mrs. Gordon’s request,
I tapped at her door. It was a crack open,
and at my tap it swung further back, so that I
caught a glimpse of her bending over a little
casket of jewels. But the case was instantly
shut, locked and key in her hand, as she turn~
ed to me with a nervous little laugh, saying:

“ Come in. I was only looking over my
jewelry to see if I missed anything but the
ring."

“ And did you?” I asked, quite steadily.

“ No, not a thing,” she said, with another
nervous little laugh. Then she gave me her
directions about the lace, and I went mechani-
cally, yet steadily down—stairs and out of the
house, walked rapidly to the station, and never
dared think once, till I sunk into my seat in
the train, and had time to recover my self-
possession. '

For I had made an awful discovery. Hastily
as pretty Mrs. Gordon snapped that casket
shut, I had a glimpse of a golden chain which
i could almost swear was Nettie’s!”

It was an awful suspicion, but I could not
control or keep it back. And the more .I
thought of it, the more certain I was that it
was Nettie’s chain. I remembered her nob
vousness—I recalled her pallor at the table—~I
thought of several little things unnoticed be-
fore.

And all I could conclude on was to go to
Harry and ask his help. Fast as the train flew
it seemed to me to creep, and when we reach—
ed the river the ferry-boat did not seem to
move at all. .

I sprung into a street—car because my feet
could not fly fast enough, and in five minutes
I was in Harry’s oflice. He saw by my face
that something was wrong, and led me at once
into his private oflice and seated me in a com—
fortable chair.

“Now, little one, what is it?” he asked.

And rapidly as I could I told my story from
first to last. _

“Great God!” was Harry’s solemn exclama-
tion, as I ended. He sat a few moments in
deep thought. Then suddenly looking up, he
asked: , “Did you say one of her letters was
from Senator B ?”

“ Yes,” I replied.

“Come,” cried he, springing up. I followed
him into the outer office, and in ten seconds a
message was flying over the wires to Senator

 

 

It seemed an age—it was but. half an hour
before this flew back:

“ Never gave such a letter. Never knew such
a person. Am positive Senator H——-— never did
either. You are being imposed on—bctter be
careful. B._._,”

Harry looked at me.
as silently.

“W’ell?” I said, as soon as I could find
breath.

“You go right home,” said Harry, “and
watch her closely. Don’t let your manner ex—
cite any suspicion, but tell them carelessly
that I am coming down in the six—o’clock
train. I’ll come, and bring an officer with me.
Go now.”

I answered his gaze

 

 

So I hastened home, only stopping to pro—
cure Mrs. Gordon’s lace. I mentioned very
carelessly, to Nettie, in presence of the others,
that she might tell Barbara to delay supper
half an hour, as Harry would be down by the
six-o’clock express.

, Mrs. Gordon gave me a sharp glance, but
my face told no secrets, so she was satisfied.

I threw myself on the sofa, and declaring I
was very tired, begged her to play till I got

rested.

She sat down to the piano, and played a
good many things, while I seemed deeply in—
terested.

At the sound of footsteps she rose, just as
Harry and a gentleman in black clothes en-
tered.

Before a word could be said, this gentleman
caught Mrs. Gordon’s arm, saying, “Excuse
me, madam, but you are my prisoner.”

She turned white as death, but started back,
exclaiming quickly, “What poor joke is this?
Who are you, sir?”

Without a word he threw back his black
coat and pointed to the ofiicer’s badge upon
his vest, and with a low cry, pretty Mrs. Gor-
don fell, fainting. Placing her upon a sofa,
he snapped a pair of handcuffs over her deli-
cate wrists, and felt in her pocket.

Drawing out a bunch of keys, we all follow—
ed him up-stairs. The casket had disappear
ed, but upon opening her trunk, it was found.
And when it was opened, 10! Josie’s jewels,
Nettie’s watch and chair, and a number of
other articles, owners unknown. In her trunk
we found my money, and several more articles
of jewelry.

When we went downstairs, pretty Mrs.
Gordon was just recovering her senses. Very
soon after, the ofiicer took her away, while
Harry remained with us.

We missed nothing more that summer.
The Stpkes’ stayed with us late in the season.
They were delightful people, but I don’t think
we will ever take any more summer boarders.
Especially since before another summer I
shall live in the city myself, with Harry, and
Nettie and her husband will occupy our home.

 

TIIE LAS] I]? YS].

Over brown moors and withered leas
The angry winds were eeping;
Over the great gray northern seas
The crested waves were leaping;
And you and I stood close together,
In the chilling gleam of the wintry weather,
As the bare, gaunt branches, overhead,
Shook their lingering leaflets, gold and red,
While in every faltering word we said
Rung the pitiful wail for the days that were dead;
For, by the sad seas, ’neath the storm-beat trees,
Our last tryst we were keeping.

I scarce could hear the words you sobbed
Amid your passionate weeping,
And the glow from my eager prayer was robbed
By the chill around us creeping;
From the silent paths, where in summer weather,
Youth, joy and music had met together,
From the cry of the sea-mews flitting past,
O'er the wild white waves in the bitter blast,
From the breakers that crashed on the hollow sand,
From the sough of the breeze o’er the dull dry land,
From sea and shore rose, " No more, no more,"
As our last tryst we were keeping.

There was not a. pale bud left, in sooth,
"Mid the dry leaves round us heaping;
The bitter harvest of reckless youth
Time’s iron hand was reaping;
Our lips still said, “ Forever, forever,”
As the trembling fingers clung together.
But even then each sad heart knew '
What fate and circumstance meant to do,
And the mighty billows boomed like a knell,
As we turned apart from that long farewell;
And to wind, and rain, and the moaning main,
Left the last tryst of our keeping.

The Letter-Box.

MARY A. H. (Stamford) writes: ‘

“ Suppose a lady and gentleman, strangers to each
other. are visiting at the same house. Existing cir.
cumstances prevent the lady visitor and her hostess
from retiring until the gentleman has been shown
his room. Would it not be rude for the lady to con-
stantly remark upon the lateness of the hour, that
she was very sleepy, etc., as long as the gentleman
had made no move to retire nor the host to show
the visitor his room ?”

Certainly. It would be direct rudeness, not only
to the gentleman but to the host and hostess. In
such a case the lady should consult the convenience
and wishes of the others, and restrain her personal
inclinations. ‘

ONE or THE THREE writes;

“ Three young ladies, one a. member of the house-
hold, the others vis1tors, were left alone an evenin
by their host and hostess. A caller came, an 01
friend of the family. HIS call was upon no particu-
lar person. The young lady of the house and one
of the visitors made little effort to entertain him,
and soon retired. The other lady maintained that
they were selfish and rude, both of which imputa-
tions they deny. Please settle the case.”

They were selfish to inflict duties and company
upon their companion of which they gladly rid them-
selves. They were also rude—the lady of the house
especially—unpardonably so, toward the gentleman;
and rude also taward the master and mistress of
the house, whose place they should have filled to
their friends.

POSTMASTER says:

He visited a young lady residing with her sister,
and seeing an album, asked if it was hers. She re-
plied, “ It is my sister’s,” and did not notice his in-
timation that he would like to see it. He asks:
“ Was it wrong to make the remark? Was her an-
swer intended to inform me my company was not
agreeable? They seem to welcome me at succeed-
ing calls—is this Simply out of respect 2’"

Your remark was not wrong or out of place; but
the lady may have had excellent reasons for not
showing her sister’s album, or may have lacked per-
ception to understand that your remark conveyed
a desire to look at it. You must be your own 'udge,
not by that one omission of attention, but y the
lady’s general manner toward you, of whether your
company is disagreeable to her. If they are well-
bred people, they will of course treat you with a.
certain amount of respect when you visit them, but
vou alone can tell whether that respect is merely
6001 politeness or the warmth of friendship.

CHARLES HENRY (Laklaud) writes:

“ In escorting a. lady out to her carriage what ser~
vices are required of me?”

Offer her your arm or hand down the steps and
walk. If there be a ate to pass through, hold it
open for her. Take er left hand to assist her in
getting in the carriage. If she has no driver, un-
fasten the halter, put it in the carriage, and ar-
range the reins for her. Lift your hat at part-
ing.

JACK HAIGHT (Philadelphia), writes:

“ At Long Branch I was introduced, by a mutual
acquaintance, to a very interesting young lady of
this city. Our meeting and conversation did not
occupy over five minutes, and we have not met
since; but I was charmed With her, and greatly de-
sire to see her again. I know her address, but have
no acquaintances in town who are hers also, and
have had no invitation to call. Would it do for me
to call without an invitation, or could I send her a
note asking her permission to call upon her?"

The latter plan would be by far the better one.
It would not do to call without an invitation, pre-
suming upon a five minutes’ chat. Write her a
graceful, gentlemanly note, simple and concise. If
she give tue desired permission, see that you use it
entirely with reference to her convenience and ex-
pressed orimplied pleasure. If she refuse, remem-
ber that it is no more than she has a perfect right
to do.

Bussm AND BELLA.

Never again allow yourself to think of “ answer-
ing advertisements for correspondents.” 1t 15 a.
rash, unwise, and unmaidenly act, which can never
result in good. We have known of note. few cases,
all of which have led to unpleasant and sorrowful
results. Gentlemen would not insert such adver-
tisements, and you surely would not care to mix
yourself up with unprincipled and low characters.
No act or series of acts carried on clandestinely
can be honorable. Seek your “fun” in some more
ennobling pursuit, or at least in something not un-
ladylike. wrong and dangerous.

 

 

 

BERTHA (N yack):
Your invitations should read thus:
“ Miss Bertha —— requests the pleasure of Miss

 

——'s company, to play croquet and practice
archery, at three to—morrow afternoon, at Sunset
Villa."

Add the date at lower, left-hand corner.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

      

 

 

      
    
   
  
   
 
  
     
     
     
   
    
    
   
    
   
  
   
      
     
  
     
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
   
  
   
     
    
      
    
    
    
        
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
  
   
  
   
   
     
    
      
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
    
    
   
   
    
   
     
   
   
     
     
  
  
   
    
 
  
   
    
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
     
    
    
  
   
   
   
   
     
   
   
   
   
 
   
     
   
  
   
 
  
   
     
  
   
     
   
     
   
   
   
  
  
    
 
   
  
  
   
    
   
    
   
   
    
    
    
   
     
    
      
   
   
   
   
     
   
   
    
   
    
    
  
   
    

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