mu». make his bride one present I give you, only let it come as though wholly from you." “I thank you, Uncle Isador; but, as you heard all, you may know that 1 hold hero in this package all the wealth Vic,— tor Moloch, our kinsmnn, left Adolph Hugo, and can buy a wedding present from my own means.“ “ Never mind, 1 have a present in view for his bride; you remember, i gave his mother one? ” “ Yes, and it took your last dollar to buy the gems, and you, being a silver- smith, made it. yourself." “Yes, and oh, how beautiful it was, niece; but you said it was pawned by Adolph's mother to educate him, I be— lieve, and give him a start in the world.” " So it Was, 1 have been told." " But, the interest not being paid, I suppose it was sold? ” " Yes, uncle.” “ Could you tell me who was the pawn-. broker who received it? ” “ Yes, for I have heard mother say it was Isaac Castleberg, of Boston." " Thank you, child; now, do not speak more of it to any one, and you shall have that gemmed star to give to his bride as a wedding gift, for what more appro- priate than for her 'to wear what his mother wore? ” “ You dear old uncle, how can I repay all of your goodness to me? ” said Jule, with tears in her eyes. “ Never mind, my child; I have not long to live, I know, but I wish to make you happy while I do linger here. “Now tell your mother that I have been called away to Boston to-night, for I go to see Castleberg, and if he has sold the gem, I can readily trace so valuable an article, and will buy it, cost what it may. “ It is doubtless in some pawnbroker‘s hands, or jeweler's, now, as few coul afford to keep such a present. ' “Good-by, Jule, and expect me to re- turn with the gem.” CHAPTER XXXVII. THE TRAMP. The street lamps of a handsome East- ern city were just lighted, and mingling , their rays with the dying twilght, when a man entered the outskirts, and wended ’ his way dOWn one of the principal thor-‘ oughfares. He walked with a tired step, pushed to haste from some cause, and carried a heavy slick, or rather staff, upon which he leant with apparent good will. . Such a man, in general make-up, one ‘meets daily in our land, both in country towns and highways, and now and then within the limits of our largest cities, and “they are callcdhtramps. llmisolcss, homeless, even countryless often, they wander north, south, east, and west, like the swallows, seeking the genial sunny clinics in winter and wend- ing their way norlhward in the sultry time of summer. « Ragged this man was; almost shoelcss, and his hat was drawn down over his eyes, but not so far that when a street lamp flashed upon him, the face of a Jew was revealed. To the honor of the Jewish race be it said, the street beggars, the country tramps, are not represented by their peo— ple; but, as all rules have exceptions, in this case the tramp was a Jew. Other than his dilapidated attire, and r - _, his staff, he seemed to possess nothing else in worldly goods, not even a bundle, and his left hand was serving no purpose on his traVels, and hung idly at his side, unless I except a nervous clinching and working of the fingers as he walked along, his haste evidently taxing his powers of endurance. Into the busy. mart of the town he took his way, following, apparently from long habit, rather than intention, the center of the street, and now and then . raising his eyes and glancing at the ~ ‘ signs over the stores. Presently be halted, ' inner recess of his tattered garments a. card, and apparently satisfied that he ~ . was right, went straight to thewdoors of i a brilliantly-illuminated jewelry—store. " BRAZIER & COMPANY." " Silversmiths and JeweIers.” took frOm an Such read the gilded sign over their store; but without hesitation the man in tatters opened the door and stepped within. “Nothing for you!” called out a haughty clerk, with his hair parted in the middle, and a diamond stud, loaned by the firm as an advertisement, glit- .~. tering in his shirt—front of immaculate linen. . But the man came further into the gorgeous store. “ Beggars not admitted; begone! " ' : sternly, said the clerk, and the eyes of all turned upon the man. But, undismayed, he walked up to the glittering case, and said calmly: “ I ish no pcggar, my fri’nt.” “ What are you, then?” “ A tramp." ".A tramp, . self—confessed; then what the deuce do you want here? ” ’ “To make. a purchase, mine fri'nt.” _ A general, vulgar laugh followed this announcement, for what had Brazier & “Company in their store that a beggarly- looking tramp could buy? “A purchase, eh? Well, what will 'your trampship buy? Perhaps this set f diamonds; they are cheap at ten thou- ,lund,” canceled the “ curled darling ” of “the establishment. . “No, I ish vant dat star of rupies, :dimints, autopals, mine fri’nt." A loud laugh followed this announce— ;inent, for the article referred to was the mast costly piece of jewelry in the store, ivbcing a five—pointed star with an opal of "great size in the center, and a circle of immense rubies, rare and blood—red, around it. and. the points being set With . iamonds, differing in size from the one "next to the ruby circle, to the one in the star int. ' Th}? magnificent and costly piece of Melly, with its massive gold settingd, the clerk placed his11 hand upon, and 58.1 the same scornf way: a“ Ah! I see that is what your tramp— ‘ mum '- “ Yes, mine fri'nt." “\Vell, I guess yOu can buy it; will you give your check for ll now, or shall I send it to your hotel for you, C. 0. D.? ” “1 viii pay now.” “Good! \Vell, it costs just fifty thou- sand dollars.” “ And here ish t'e iliOlllSll, mine fri'nt.” In blank amazement the clerks gath- ered around, while from an old morocco wallet the Jew took out a roll of bank— notes, and counted out the sum de- mandcd. “Dore ish t'e monish; fifty t’ousand tollars, mine fri’nt, ant I ish have one tollar left." So saying, he placed the remaining bill back in his wallet, which he returned to his pocket. Instantly there was a change in the manner of the clerks. At first they seemed to doubt the gen- uineness of the bank bills; but these on examination proved beyond cavil. “ Well, .sir, I hope you will pardon me for my little joke; but it is nearly clos- ing hours, and we are so often deceived in people,” said the clerk, politely, to his fifty-thousand-dollar _ customer. “ So ish tramps, .mine fri’nt; oh, t’ank you, I vill take it mit me new,” and he took the velvet case and its treasure, and added, as he left the store: “ Goof-night, mine fri’nt.” “ Perkins, I fear you were wrong to let that go to such a purchaser; he may, be a thief, and—” ' “ I’ll stop him and have him arrested,” shouted Perkins, before his fellow—clerk could say more. But when he gained the street, the Jew with his costly jewel had disappeared. CHAPTER XXXVIII. ISABEL LYNDE’S CONFESSION. -When Adolph Hugo left the house of Jule, the Jewess, he secured a. carriage from a stable near by, and drove to the palatial mansion of the millionaire, An- drew Lynde. T-hither Harold Lynde had alread pre- ceded him, and, with his father and sister, were seated in the library, when Richards announced: “ Mr. Victor Moloch.” , Isabel’s face flushed, for, from her brother’s lips, she had just learned the story of the past, when the two were at the University together, and also that Merton Wilbur had been a classmate with them; in fact, .. the humbled and .sorrowing Harold had told all. “ Is he alone, Richards? ” asked Isabel, for she knew that it was the day when he had a right to claim her in mar- riage, according to the agreement. “ Yes. miss.” . She gave a slight sigh of relfef and he entered. “ Mr. Moloch,” she began; but he broke in with: “ I am no longer Victor Moloch, Miss Lynde, for that name I assumed at the will of one from whom I inherited my fortune. “ I am now Adolph Hugo.” “ Yes, I recall you now; your full beard deceived me, though often have I won- dered where I had met you before. “ You saved my life on 'that awful night of wreck, when I was returning home from boarding—school, and thus I find I owe you another debt of gratitude.” “Miss Lynde, before your father and brother, I wish to say that you owe me no debt “ I loved you from that night of which you speak, and, possessing the money.to aid your father, and wishing you to be mine, and not sacrificed to Ezra Quilp, I bound you to a. pledge to become my wife this day. “ That pledge I give you back, if so you will, for I wish no unwilling bride, if so you be.” He was very pale, and breathlessly awaited her reply. Choking back her emotion she said, in a trembling voice: “ And you shall have no unwilling wife, Adolph Hugo, for, from that night have I also loved you, and it was thus losing one whom I believed had forgotten me that made me reckless of whose wife I became, and caused me to offer myself as a sacrifice to the miser to save my father and brother from ruin; yes, Adolph Hugo, I love you with all my heart, and if you will take me, in the presence of my father and brother, who owe you so much of gratitude, I tell you that thy, home shall be my home, thy God my God, until death do us part.” “ Amen! ” The one word came from the lips of the millionaire, while his son, with his face buried in his hands, made no reply. “ Isabel, I thank you, and may the God of Israel forever bless you; but this day will I not claim you, as I wish no hasty. dragging of a bride from 'her home and father. “To-day two months, if so it please you, I will claim you as my wife, and in the mean time the world may know of the step you take, and which I take, for it is no slight thing for one of my race to turn his back upon the daughters of Israel and the laws of his race.” “ I am content, Adolph; claim me when you will, for frankly I confess that you only can I love,” she said, earnestly, and soon after the young Jew took his leave, Harold Lynde offering his hand in fare- well, as he departed, and hearing the rds: W?‘ For your sister’s sake, Mr. Lynde. I forgive the past, and shall forget it; may your life in the future be truer and nobler than in the past; farewell- CHAPTER XXXIX. THE STAR OF ILL-OMEN. The day. set by Adolph Hugo for the one on which he was to claim his bride rolled around at last. But in that time changes had come to some of those who have become known in these pages to the kind reader. Harold Lynde, a far different man from the haughty aristocrat of his earlier“ settled in Paris, and was liv- in??? lhfifiet, uneventful life, for there were memories that haunted him which would not down at his bidding. The Reverend Silas Sloan, who had accompanied him to England, found out. upon his arrival that the way of the transgressor is hard, «for he had been rec— ognized as an old theological student who had fallen from grace, committed crimes that had sent him to prison, and, having, as the reader is aware, crossed ere his sentence was out, had been sent back to a cell to meditate upon the brilliant career he had led in the New World as an impostor, and regret that he had not taken Merton \Vilbur’s ad- vice and gone to a more congenial clime than England, for, having promised the evil man protection, and not to betray him, if he testified to the truth against the miser millionaire, he could not, in honor, deliver him up, as he richly de— served, for his crimes. And Ezra Quilp, the miser, had one to prosecute him be little liked, for it was none other than Merton Wilbur, w'ho had become district attorney at the ex- piration of his predecessor’s term, and his eloquence sent the wretched man, in spite of his money, to prison, and the public verdict was that “it served him right.” Of course the rumors that there were to be two weddings in high life set all the fashionable people on the qui vive; but when it was known that the belle 'and heiress, Isabel Lynde, was to marry a Jew, none other than Adolph Hugo, a. millionaire banker, society. was on the tip—toe of excitement, yet could find no word against the young man other than that he was not a. Christian, and there were some who openly said that he lived a purer, better life than those who were. The other wedding to be, was a poorer one, for the popular young district at- torney, Merton Wilbur, had looked over the heads of the Christian maidens and fallen in love with Jule, the J ewess, and the, double wedding was to be celebrated at one and the same time. And it was celebrated, with great pomp and splendor, and by a double ceremony, for both a. Christian clergyman and a. Jewish rabbi read the services of their respective churches. And off on a bridal tour sped the happy quartette, to be gone for a month, but ere very long Adolph Hugo and his bride returned, for, strange to say, the health of the young wife began suddenly to fade. ' ‘ And soon after Merton Wilbur and Jule were called home to see Isador Muir die. _ But they arrived too ..late, for that strange character breathed his last ere he again gazed upon the face of his loved niece. But,to her he left his fortune, and his papers. And it was in looking over these latter one day, when alone, that Jule suddenly turned deadly pale at something she read. . Again and again she read it over, and then thrusting the paper into her bosom, hastily called for a servant." “ Order my carriage at once, Rachel," she said to her maid, and, by the time the vehicle came round to the door of the handsome home where she lived with her husband and mother, she was dressed for her drive. ' “ To Lynde Manor, Reuben, and drive in haSte,” she said to her coachman, and ~s00n after she sprung out at the door of the “mansion. “How is Mrs. Hugo, Richards? ” she asked, quickly, of the worthy old butler. “ Seems to be daily fading, miss, though none know why.” “ I will go at once to her room,” an- nounced Jule, and the next moment she entered the handsome chamber, where Isabel indolently lay upon a lounge, idly toying with a. costly, gemmed wedding- gift that was fastened around her neck by a. gold chain. Warmly she welcomed the Jewess, and her pale face flushed slightly; but Jule hastily, said: “ Isabel, I have come to cure you, for I have discovered what the physicians have failed to do.” “What do you mean, Jule?” asked Isabel, languidly. “ I mean that I understand the nature of your disease; here, let me have that gemmed star.” ~ “ No, I have not taken it off since you clasped it around my neck, Jule, the day I was married.” , “ I will take it_ off, for I wish to ex- amine it,” and she did so. Then she took from her bosom the paper she had thrust there, and which she had found among the effects of her uncle Isador Muir, and said: “ Isabel, you have often heard me speak of my strange kinsman, uncle Isa- dor Muir.” “ Yes.” “ I have told you his sad history?” “ Yes; well? ” ‘ “ He was a skilled jeweler, and also a chemist, and knowing these facts about him, and that he had a. most revengeful nature, you will understand what I now read to you, and which is a. leaf from his diary of many years ago. “ It is as follows, and in a. secret cipher which he taught 'me one day: “ ‘ Paid almost «my last dollar to-day for the gems to fit in my revenge pres- ent. . “ ‘ It will be most beautiful, and the poisons I have so set in the rays of the star that they, Will do their deadly work, and none ever believe that I caused the death of Salome Monica, and revenged myself upon her for discarding me and becoming the wife of Marcus Hugo.’ ” “ Great God! Jule, what does this mean? ” cried Isabel, in alarm. “ It means, Isabel, that my poor uncle so hated the woman he once loved that he never forgave her, and sought revenge upon her son, your husband, through me. “ This is his wedding present to her long years ago, and she died with a. dis— ease whichrnone could fathom. _ “ She was poisoned by this ill-omen'ed star, as you are being day by day, and he gave it to me to give to you, that he might see you die, and thus gloat in his revenge upon Adolph Hugo. “ Now, Isabel, I take back this gift of ill-omen, and, thank God, in time to save you, and, when next Merton takes me for a sail in his yacht, you go, too, and far down in the sea I will send it, never more to do harm.~’ “ Nowcome, rouse out of your indis- position, for the cause is removed; but, Isabel, for the sake of the dead, let this secret be buried between you and I.” Isabel was deeply affected by all she had heard; but already did she seem to feel better, and casting off the presence of gloom upon her, she roused herself to liveliness, and greatly was her husband cheered when he found her in such high spirits upon his return home. From that day her health improved, and then she knew, indeed, that but for Jule’s discovery of the cipher diary she would have met her death, the victim of Isador Muir’s revenge. And Jule, the Jewess, kept her word, for one pleasant afternoon, when Merton Wilbur’s yacht, The Jewess, was bound— ing along in a. race arouhd the Lightship ofi Sandy Hook, down into the depths of the sea sunk from sight the “Star of Ill-omen." ' THE END. Dick Woman’s Bride. : BY J. E. DONOVAN. “ Never heerd the yarn 0’ Dick Woot- on’s matrimony ’venter’, younker? Wal, thet’s s’prisin’. Hand me a chaw o’ ’bacca. Reckon my jaws nn’ tongue kin work at the same time. I“ Dick was a. proper slick lad; sum fer hl'S inches, too, waghl—six feet six in his moccasins, an’ es straight as a hickory wipin’-stick. Shoulder to shoulder with him stood Rube Herring and Killbuck, both old hosses with saddle galls, but A true es 3. pitch-knot. La. Bonte didn’t take no second p’int, and Marcellin, the Mexican, warn’t no coyote. Then that war KiFMason—some for his inches, too, I reckon! An’ this beaver! Mebbe my gun didn’t hev hind sights! and mebbe I didn’t clean out the yellin’ Spaniard at the old convent! Ax Markhead! Wal, I reckon we boy-s warn’t to. be whisked over by no Digger smoke, an’ we went down to Taos for sum tall doin’s, wagh! Mebbe we didn’t find ’em! Ax the Greasers! , “ We war bound for the Taos market, an’ bed a. few mules packed with beaver. But we «hedn’t kem all thet way jess' to sell our pelts. We war on a regular storm-cane o’ a. time—a. big nor’wester— an’ when you want a heap 0’ fun go to Taos, wagh! We jess’ b’iled over with deviltry! * “Wal, we jess took Taos by storm! The cowardly Greasers skulked like Digé gers; but the pretty senoritas tossed their heads and looked their best. A fandango—the very first week a. fandango was given in our honor. “ Mad bufliers! but didn’t we make the Greasers stand round! One 0’ the dirty sneaks put his huff-print on my toe, when I picked him up like a. hornet an’ let him git through the door. “ Jess at thet minnitcne o’ the yaller— eyed cusses grabbed hold o’.Dick’s gal and tried to pull her away from him. “ ‘Quit that, you old Greaser!’ yelled Dick, hitting him a clip that war heerd all over the room. ‘ No’durned Spaniard can’t shine in this crowd, ennyway!’ “ An’ around he skipped with purty senorita on his arm. “ ’Twarn’t long afore thet Greaser war on his feet, and with half a. dozen upon his heels he rushed on Dick. “ The wimmin—folks screamed and tried to git away. The Greasers snapped for the bait like mad. “ ‘ Hyar thar, Dick!’ yelled Rube Her- ring, who foresee’d the fight thet war comin’ jess es sure es daylight, while he dropped his partner and squared for the scrimmage. “ Dick Wooten warn’t one to be ketched nappin'. Afore thet Greaser c’u’d git to him he had put the gal ahint him, and he stood his ground like a buffler bull. “Then his arms [shot out like a. flash and the Mexican went down. I heerd him grunt and see’d t’others rush ’pon Dick pell-mell. But I can’t tell you all that kem arter. “The Greasers, whose jealous naters had been fired by'our comin’, war roused now like a. nest o’ hornets, and jess like- so menny. stingin’ varmints they swarmed round Dick. ‘ ~ “ But Dick Wooton cared no more for ’em than he would fer a. pack 0’ perarie wolves. He jess overtopped ’em head and shoulders, and he dropped ’em like hail—stones. “ 0’ course it didn’t take the rest 0’ us long to j’ine in the circus; but we didn’t hev our guns thar, and for seven to clean out empty-handed the hull horde warn’t no pony~ride. “We laid out ’em Greasers like drop— pin’ mount’in sheep, but fer every one thet bit the dust half a. dozen w’u’d swarm round. " They say Rube Herring turned heel and dusted at the Greenhorn fight, but I never see’d a. boy do taller work than he did at thet time. Killbuck, La Bonte, an’ Marcellin made the air ring with their mountain-yells, while they carpet- ed the floor with the Greasers. Kit warn’t so noisy, and though he warn’t quite so tall he cut es big a. path es enny o’ ’em. You may bet I warn't asleep when I tell you thet I was the fu’st man to git to Dick. ‘ “ But it war fightin’ fire to keep back ’em Greas’ers. They blocked the door and we c’u’dn't git out, and with no guns we stood a. mighty slim shake in the home run. “Purty soon Rube got tickled in the side by one o’ the Peladoe’s stickers and I see’d Marcellin begin to fail and knowed he had got teched. “Jess when it seemed thet we war a. goner Kit Mason cried: ' r “ ‘ This way, boys! Hyar! ’ “He war jess to my, right, and with a. leap I went through the varmints to him. La Bonte got that at the same min- nit. “ ‘ Hyar’s fun! ’ yelled Kit, es he leapt to the corner where a high, three-legged stool war standin’, an’ La. Bonte and I knowed his game. “In less’n the shake o’ a. lamb’s tail we bed the legs off 0’ thet stool, and swingin’ ’em 'bove our heads we turned 'pon the Greasers jess es Marcellin fell. Mebbe the sight 0‘ him goin’ down the want to tell you we warn’t long in clear-r in’ the room. “ Yelling who c’u’d— “ ‘ ’Twon’ Kit. down.’ ‘ They may burn like reds the Greasers—all cl’ared, from the ranch. t do to stay here long,’ said the building “ Howsumever, the varmints seemed mighty afeerd 0’ us three with ’em stool- legs; and we all got off slick to a. friend’s cabin, jess “We fixed up Marcellin Rube said out o’ the village. slick, and his cuts warn’t no ’count ennyway; and the rest 0’ us had got off scot free. “ Dick felt the wu’st ’cos he’d lost his gal. It war decided, howsumever, thet as we’d kicked up a purty good sort 0’ a dust, it w’u’d be bestest to head for the mount’ins. ennyway. We’d got tired o’ sich doin’s, “ The next mornin’, bright and ’arly, we mounted our horses and started up the valley. village on weepons th We had to pass through the our way, but we hed our en, and the howlin’ Greasers were like so many peccaries to us. “ Brandishing our guns and hoorayin’ for the mount’ins, we rid past ’em like wind. But we hadn’t gone fur afore I heerd a. cry from Dick, and he pointed excitedly to a crowd in front of one of the houses. " I ketched sight 0’ the purty senorita, who waved her hand to him. That jest made the youngster go mad. Afore the rest 0’ us could prevent him he broke from us and rid to the side 0’ the gal. “ Even then we didn’t s’pect what the daring youngster war up to. “‘Look out thar, Dick!’ yelled Kill- buck. “Just then Dick whispered somethin’ in the gal’s ear. Then he bent forward and lifted her up onto the withers 0’ his boss as if she’d been a. feather. “The Greasers yelled like mad and rushed for our chum. But he war too quick fer ’em. . “ ‘ Hooray fer the greenhorn! ’ cried Dick, puttin’ the rowels to his boss and ridin’ right over the Mexicans, while the . gal clung to him for dear life. “ We jest dropped back andkivered Dick’s retreat. ’ “There were lively times for a spell, and more than one o’ the Greasers bit the dust. “ Howsumever, we all got off none the wuss fer our scrimmage, and Dick felt as tickled as shooter.” a. Blackfoot with a new THE 2I__ME Dialogue—s and Speakers FOB. Bummer Hm ENTERTAmNn. EACH B001: 100 lzno PAGES. The “DIALOGUES” number forty-one issue or books, and the “SPEAKERS” twentyhve. 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Dime Burl Plenty Small’s tion The lifotherain-Law, The Widow Rint, Leatherlung’s A Cockney’sE The “ Free on Humbug, Scipio Scroggs’s Ques- The Treachery of Jones, Declamation Shtichen OatsDot’s Wild, Treadwater J 1m, ‘ A Leadvilie S the “ Prod ” Address to'the Giantess, The Ass and the Lark, Tony Johnson Watermelons, Very Pathetic, A Telling Plea. Back to Griggby’s, Ad vice to a The Plagues of Egypt, Julius Views Caesar John J ohes —his Horn, Sentiment Bu’stin’ th’e Temperance Man. Ediket, The Scenes of Childhood, Sancho Brown Pilln'ns’s Landlad , The Collegian ates Uncle but: “ Rises Assorted Women Like his Mother ’Used to Make, Set ’em Oud, Yankee Courtshi , gigs Day we Cole rate, The Critic it Work, Fox-Isle by lent. post-paid, ten cents. BEADLE AND ADAMS. nerved our arms a. lame stronger, but I esque Speaker, No. 25. CONTENTS. ‘ Proclama- Fortunate F l a n d e r E Shows his Teeth, Guilty, of Course, O‘Shane's No More French, [Pro Animile Statistix, Con and Some Things Account- erience, ed For, Equal ’ The Cats, [tions, Astronomical tor The Poet Bold, January Jones Defends the Eagle, The Mule, Brother Gardner Coruscac ermon on on Liars, That Lamb, Peter and his Lottery c e , The Mosquito Adjured, “That Birchen Tree,” The Late Mr. Shakspcre, The Pie for Me, Buckeye Bill. Rev. Peter Bill’s Warn- 1118', J oncs’s Wife's Aunt, A Rhyme of the Time, A Short Debate on Rum, The Good Woman, The Clerk of the Wea- ther That liable Animal, Man, The Bold fisher-mammo- Cudjo Hardsin’s scription A Tale of Two Buckets, Dot Hoboken Bucket, The Sale of Old Backs. lots. 31;: Diflerlegce, h tinge. o , As Others Saw!) The Cotton Field Hand, 3 0 er, A ‘Fish Story)? newsdealers everywhere or will be g to any address, on receipt of price ' ’s Protest, oung Man, Sumner‘s is Mad, min- { plain," fur tor Panama, 92 William Street. New York.