x

 

A GROWL.

BY JOE JO'I‘, JR.

 

 

Over the way m{)neighbor there,
The Monsieur e Guano,

Made mean investment of his means
And bought a new piano.

An upright one, a downr! ht fraud
As ever swam ed a Chr stian,

And all day on t Phillis plays
Just like a wild Philistine.

U on my word its octaves are
00 numerous to mention;

And one would think it ran by steam
And a forty-power engine.

Its high notes pierce the lofty clouds,
The low shake the foundat one,

And all the teeth out of your head—
The strength out of your patience.

lo I have uite a taste,
Fgultlhgnce 1 thin I‘ll swear off,
The rumble of that sound machine
Is heard full manly a 5:163:33:
n ers com 11
Axillagtergafised, turngd. tied in terror,
Not comprehending what it was,
Nor daring to go nearer.

It erks me out of every dream
flike an avenging spirit;
Thou h I shou d flee into the woods
Stil in m ears I‘d hear it.
Oh for a at 11y boiler-shop,
elodious to hide in!
Oh, for a soothing planing-mill
In quiet to reside in!

There is no rest save_what occurs
U on the music written,

An half of them are overlooked
So fast the keys are smitten.

It makes a man feel mean enough
To whip his old grandmother;

And men are grow ng bald and gray
For this cause and no other.

In vain I wish that I was deaf,
And in my ears poke illows;

Or in my cellar go to h_ (is _
From those distracting billows.

I fondly wish that I possessed
The wand of a magician,

l'd lay it on that instrument—
Or else on the musician.

Out of Her Sphere.

BY JENNIE DAVIS BURTON.

 

 

 

 

Nnr'rs LARNE and Floy Percival, if you
please—Netta Lame, saleslady, in blue merino
and illusion rufiles and little coquettish bows
of ribbon and turquoise brooch, and very

' much dissatisfied with all except the last item,

which, being new, had not worn out its charm;
Floy Percival, customer, in velvet ermine, With
money value enough in the tiny jeweled watch
she consulted to have bought up Netta Larne
body and soul, almost, in her great longing for
the rare and dainty things of earth, its golden
prizes. According to all rules of precedence
Miss Percival should have been mentioned first,
but we are seeing with Ralph Allen’s eyes as
he looked down the vista of dim store-room, or
as the space between was for the moment clear,
and behold the two.

There was besides Rose Vanner, nil in that
picture, but of very considerable importance
in her own estimation. She was hovering
over the silk counter, stroking the folds of
lustrous goods, and talking an incessant stream
while Miss Percival made her selection.

“ The silver-blue, is it? Such a lovely shade,
but so trying to the complexion. It wouldn’t
suit everybody, but there’s where you have
the advantage, being a fair brunette. You
can wear anything from corn-color to mauve
and look well in it. You’ll never know what a
blessing a fair skin is until you grow as sallow
from fashionable dissipation as beneficent Na-
ture made me, and have to resort to pink sau-
cers and cold creams, horrid nuisances, but
preferable to being a perfect fright. It will
light up splendidly, just the thing for Mrs.
Stuyvesant‘s.”

The pretty little saleslady looked across
eagerly.

“For the ball?” she asked. “Oh, it will be
lovely. I am going to Mrs. Stuyvesant’s, too,
for all next week.”

Rose Vanner stared. “ Oh, to help with
the costumes, I suppose,” she said, but Miss
Percival glanced up with a cordial smile and
not a trace of the hauteur generally ascribed
to her evinced toward the girl.

“You are going? Then you must be Miss
Lame, I think. No one knows better how to
make time pass pleasantly for her visitors than
Mrs. Stuyvesant. Good morning, Mr. Allen.
You see I can patronize my friends when occa-
sion calls for it.”

Ralph Allen, junior partner of the firm, had
come down the long aisle to pay his compli-
ments to these ladies of his set. Netta was
folding and replacing the silks which littered
the counter, but she was also watching the lit-
tle group, and a web of the shining stuff
slipped and fell, unrolling as it went. Instant-
ly Mr. Allen turned.

“ Let me help you with that, Miss Larne.”

He did it, then bowed out the other two, and
remained standing, looking thoughtfully after
them even when they had completely disap-
peared from view.

“Mr. Allen!”

“Well, Netta?” He looked down into the
pretty face where the color was coming and
going, and thought as he had thought a hun-
dred times before, what a sweet little blossom
it was and how out of place mixed in the
great battle of life which some stronger arm
should be fighting for her. To be sure it was
a sturdy little blossom which seemed to thrive
very well where it was, and perhaps the idea
of transplanting it to his own stately home
which Mr. Ralph had been privately enter-
taining made the step seem feasible, and
whether a daisy would do honor to the atmos~
phere which would warm a rare exotic into
life and bloom was a question which never oc-
curred to him then.

“ I—I want to thank you for a great pleas.
ure and surprise. Of course I know I owe it
to you, and I appreciate the kindness, but I
hardly think—I ought—to accept it.” Hesi-
tatingly and reluctantly, the last.

“I shall be very much disappointed if you
do not accept. As a favor to me, please. ”

“ I thought no one but he could have sent it
to me,” said Netta to herself, her hand flutter-
ing up to the turquoise pin; “and now I know
it. I wonder—” The wonder led her into a
dazzling dreamland from which another cus
tomer amused her, and she became conscious
that Raphael Jones was watching her from the
branch department where he presided over
ribbons and trimmings, with a look which a
month before would have made her supremely
happy. Now it brought up all the bitter dis-
satisfaction which was the bane of the girl’s
life.

Why were we not all born in that golden
sphere of wealth and splendor where our
wishes would place us? Why could not she be
as free of all care and as blessed in all things
as Miss Floy Percival; and why—oh! why was
not Raphael Jones Mr. Ralph Allen!

Jones! Netta’s lip curled and her heart
ached as she repeated that plebeian name, but
a thought of Mrs. Stuyvesant and the coming

week brought back a touch of the exultant
spirit which had been thrilling within her

since that invitation had been delivered by the
lady in person. For one week at least she
would breathe the air of refinement and lux-
ury and live the life for which she longed. It
was as well for her bright anticipations, per-
haps, that she could not hear Miss Rose Van-
ner’s comments being given as she rode home-
ward by her friend’s side.

“ Will wonders never cease?” cried that
young lady, indignantly. “ What on earth do
you suppose Anna Stuyvesant has asked that
creature for? If it had been you, now, I
would scarcely be surprised, but it isn’t like
Anna, not in the least. She has none of her
brother Ralph’s democratic notions, and she’s
in the right of it. Oh, I say, I have it l”

“ Have what? Ralph’s democratic notions?”

“Nonsense, her reason! Don’t you see,
that’s the girl he’s gone demented about.
Don’t you remember what Tom Wilde said the
other night, that his infatuation was common
talk? That’s the girl, and now that I think I
do believe you knew it. Why didn’t you
tell me, provoking creature? I didn’t half
look at her, but I did see that she wore a glass
breastpin and was overdressed for her place.
Hopelessly vulgar, take my word for it. And
to think Anna should consent to take her up!
I’ll give her a piece of my mind, see if I don’t.”

“ The breastpin was turquoise set with dia-
mond sparks, one which neither you nor I need
be ashamed to wear, Rose; and if you had
looked clcsely you would have seen that Miss
Larne is pretty enough to excuse any one fall-
ing in love with her.”

“Well! I should imagine you would be the
last one to find excuse for him. Oh, you
needn’t look at me so, for glances don’t kill
and my tongue’s my own, and I will say if
he’s thrown you over after all our expectations
and persists in this folly—”

“ Rose 1”

“ Then he has thrown you over,” Rose
would have liked to exclaim, but when Miss
Percival sheathed herself in the icy armor of
reserve she wore at that moment, the other
was a little afraid to make pointed thrusts.
She contented herself with an attack upon
Mrs. Stuyvesant the first occasion which of-
fered.

“ I invited her, yes. To tell the truth, I
could think of nothing else to do. Ralph has
lost his head, literally lost his head, for if he
was in his right senses he would see that how-
ever pretty and attractive this Miss Larne
may be she is not a suitable wife for him.
I have some hope that when he is led to con-
trast her with refined and cultivated people he
will see the difference, and next week I will
have the house filled with our relations from
Maryland, as good a time for my purpose as I
could desire.”

“ A capital idea. Ask me, too, and I’ll agree
to plunge our young lady into as much hot
water as you wish.”

“ N 0,” said Mrs. Stuyvesant, reprovingly.
“ I will employ no underhand measures. I
only wish to show her to Ralph in a true light
instead of the one with which his imagination
has surrounded her. After that he must take
his own course. Come by all means; Floy has
consented to do so.” '

Little Netta Larne however had no suspicio
that she was about to undergo a crucial test;
she was only delighted and bewildered at the
brilliant prospect opened to her; delighted and
bewildered with the grand palace on Murray
Hill when she was admitted there. It was like
nothing but a scene from the Arabian Nights,
only that she, poor child! had the vaguest idea
of those glowing tales in which few people
have not at some time delighted. She looked
around at the room to which she had been
shown, the carpet an inch thick it seemed, the
chairs cushioned in pale blue brocatelle, em-
broidered with a wreath of pure white lilies,
the bed like a snowy drift, the air perfumed,
the room filled with an amber light which
streamed through tinted globes, and her own
little plain trunk which had been carried in
the one ugly blot upon that fair scene. She
tiptoed across the room and peeped into a mir-
ror to see if she were as much out of place
there, but was reassured.

“And to think,” she apostrophized the image,
“ that you may have all these things some day.
I had my doubts whether Mr. Ralph meant
anything more than kindness, but now I know
he does or his sister would never have asked
me here. When I am Mrs. Allen, I’ll wear
silk dresses and diamonds every day.”

And then she sighed a little to think she
must go down in the same old blue merino she
had worn at the store every day for a month,
but she had only one better dress, and it would
never do to grew shabby after her first ap-
pearance. This was not a dress occasion as
she found later, and one of the Maryland cou-
sins, a susceptible youth, instantly devoting
himself to her, little Miss Larne soon lost sight
of her misgivings and became quite at case.

“You are enjoying yourself 1” said a voice,
at her side, when the evening was half-over.
She turned with a start to see Mr. Allen, whose
very existence she had for the moment for-
gotten.

“ That doesn’t half-express it.
for the first time in my life. I only existed
before.” It sounded slightly like an expres-
sion caught from a second~rate novel, but Mr.
Allen smiled at her enthusiasm.

“ My dear child, there are things better
worth living for than dinner and gossip, all
that you have been treated to while I have had
you under my observation, and Miss Percival’s
music isone of them. She is about to favor
us, I see.”

“ Oh, that was what your cousin meant when
he said her genius lay in her finger-tips.”

“ Charlie Allen is a regular old woman, but
you may believe him while he tells you truths
as patent as that one.”

“ If any one but Ralph questioned my vera-
city l’d resent the indignity, but nobody minds
Ralph, you know. You play of course, Miss
Lame?” It was Charlie sauntering up in time
to hear the appellation given him.

“ No-o," reluctantly.

“ Oh, then I’m spared doing the polite thing
by asking you to keep up that racket. I sup-
pose I haven't got a soul to melody attuned,
but just between ourselves I think music is a
confounded bore. I’m glad I’ve found one
person who agrees with me, and has had the
moral courage not to take the thing up.”

“ He doesn’t know I never had a chance to
learn, ” thought Netta, and listened to his light
chatter while the others were absorbed by the
grand, sweet strains the musician was invok-
ing. The fact annoyed Ralph. “ Of course I
knew she lacked culture,” he thought, “ but
we will change all that one of these days.”

“ Don’t you think Mr. Allen very hand-
some?” asked Rose Vanner, as she stood near

‘ her later in the evening. -

“ I—don’t know,” said Netta, glancing at
his strong, dark face where it was turned in
profile in the distance. “I should say fine
looking, but not so handsome as his cousin.”

“Tastes differ, then. Charlie Allen’s good
enough, rather a pretty boy, but he wears his
hair parted in the middle, and you must ac-

I am living

 

knowledge he is dreadfully insipid.”

Now, insipid Charlie was not, but the re-
mark had the efiect of making Netta feel
guilty for the liking she had contracted for
him.

“He looks like a person I know,” she ven-
tured, in an apologetic way, and with the
words rose a vision of Raphael Jones. He
belonged to the “pretty” order of men, he
wore his hair parted in the middle, and he had
never been guilty of saying a smart thing in
his life. What would Miss Vanner say to
him? Netta’s whole soul rose in revolt against
the weakness which would have led her once
to accept the lot of Jones and call it blessed.

That first evening was not one of unalloyed
delight, as she had imagined it would be, but
it was the most perfect which little Miss Larne
passed during her week at the Hill. The Stuy-
vesant party had not fairly launched upon the
tide of the season’s gayeties, and their amuse-
ments for that week were strictly home affairs,
very pleasant affairs to all except Netta, but
the music, readings, and conversations were
all things in which she could bear only a pas-
sive part. One day tableaux vivant were pro
posed, scenes were selected, and costumes ani-
matedly discussed.

“ What will you be, Miss Larne?” asked one.

“Titania,” suggested Floy, kindly. “You
will be lovely as Titania.”

“ Who was she. Miss Percival?”

“ That one of Mnbeth’s witches who rode a
broomstick to the m on; you’ve heard of her,
of course. Don’t you take that part, Miss
Larne. It is too diabolical altogether,” said
Rose Vanner, with a laugh.

But Netta, with all her ignorance, was not
a fool. She saw that she had made an irrep-
arable blunder and that Miss Vanner was
laughing at her. Even goodnatured Charlie
turned his back and began to whistle, and a
curious gray shade passed over Ralph’s face.
There was one moment of painful silence,
then the buzz of voices resumed, and Netta
went quietly out of the room. Once out of it,
she fled away to her own apartment, and
threw herself upon the bed, fairly sobbing
with rage and shame.

“What made them all look so?” she cried,
angrily. “ I hate them all—all!”

Presently there was a soft knock at her door,
and without waiting an answer Miss Percival
entered. Netta raised herself to face her sul-
lenly. “I’m not going down there among
them again if you’ve come for me," she said,
ungraciously.

“My dear child, don’t mind it! We are all
liable to make mistakes, you know.”

“It’s very kind of you to say ‘we,’ Miss
Percival, but don’t you suppose I know better!
I dare say there is not one girl out of ten
thousand would blunder as I do. I don’t
know what Mrs. Stuyvesant ever asked me
for; she needn’t have picked the store through
to take the dullest girl in it. Oh, I wish I had
never come.”

“You are such a mere child, and so sensi-
tive. The people here don’t understand; they
expect too much of you.”

“They don’t know I’m only a clerk, and
that I’ve always worked for my living, but
they couldn’t think any worse of me if they
did. You see, I never cared for reading, as
most people do. I had no time for it. I used
to sew, night and day almost, since I was large
enough to do anything, until I got my place
in the store. You don’t know what hard work
it is standing behind a counter all day, and
then I made my own clothes in the eVenings,
and tried to keep myself looking nice, and it is
hard to be nothin?tter than a heathen after
all. Not another irl in the store but knows
ten times as .much as I do, but I can make
sales with any of them, and that’s what’s
wantedthere. I’m nota mere child at all, Miss
Percival. I’m as old as you are though Imay
not look it, and I did so want to see the ball,
but now I can’t. I can’t face those people
and know how they all de‘spise me.”

All this was not given in one unbroken
speech, but was drawn out by the tender sym-
pathy shown by the other. “ If you wish to
see the ball, stay,” counseled Miss Percival.
“It is so short a time, only until to-morrow
night. It will be easy to avoid any of the
guests you do not wish to meet.”

“ If I thought I would not make some other
horrible mistake,” hesitated Netta.

“ No fear of it, I think. You have a quick
perception and do not commit gauchcries.
Nothing will please me better than telling you
anything you may wishto know.”

So Netta stayed, but she kept her room all
of the following day. Evening came; the
guests were arriving in a steady stream, and
Netta, in an obscure corner, was losing her
painful self-consciousness in her interested ob-
servation, when in came Rose Vanner’s voice,
with:

“ Is not La Ignoramus going to favor us
with her presence? You ought to know, Char-
lie. You are one of those under her spell.
Now, don’t dew it, sir!”

“ l was taught never to contradict a lady.
But, seriously, how much conviction does it
require to induce a fellow to breakthe Circean
spell? I ask for information. I am concerned
to know whether we must reckon Ralph hope-
lessly lost.”

“ Perhaps he intends to marry his wife first
and educate her afterward? Imagine him rav-
ing over his charmer’s innocence! Fresh and
unspotted by worldly arts or cemmon knowl-
edge. I,

Netta waited to hear no more. How she
escaped from the rooms she never knew, but
with those cruel words ringing in her ears,
with the impulse to fiy from the scene of her
humiliation and torture, she slipped out
through a side door, without a wrap, bare-
headed and in her gala dram, into the bitter
winter night. Fled blindly out, and stumbled
into the arms of a still figure who stood in the
shadow of the sidewalk, gazing at the lighted
front.

“ Hallo! What the deuce— Why, it’s never
Nettal”

“Oh, Raphael! dear Raphael, take me
away, anywhere away from this hateful place. ”

Raphael Jones’ “ pretty ” face took upon it
the most determined look, perhaps, that she
ever saw there.

“ In one minute. Tell me first, is this
Ralph Allen’s doings? I’d go in there and
have it out with him if it cost me my place a
hundred times.”

“ No, no, no.
phael, please.”

He quieted her, left her for a moment while
he went for her wrappings, and complied, all
with a tender thoughtfulness that went straight
to her heart. And though some silly notions
had found a lodgment in her pretty little
head, it was as good a heart as any man need
wish to win. She told him the whole story on
the long way home.

“ And I can never bear to go back to the
store again,” she concluded, “ never! what-
ever becomes of me I can't do that.”

“ Will you come home with me as my wife,
instead, Nettai I’ve wanted to ask you this
long time, and I did have a hope when I saw

Only take me away, Ra-

 

you wear my brooch. Will you come?"

 

Instead of answering she exclaimed—“ Your '

brooch!”

“ Yes, turquoise and diamonds, and I’d
load you with ’em if I could. I knew how
you liked pretty things,” said he, apologet-
ically.

“You deserve a better wife,” she said, very
humbly, as she realized that it was only Mrs.
Stuyvesant’s invitation which Mr. Allen had
asked her to accept.

And he? Ask Mrs. Allen, nee Floy Percival,
for an answer.

Centennial Stories.

0‘

THE SILVER BULLET.

BY ’1‘. C. HARBAUGH.

 

 

 

 

“ I THINK I will stop and see the belle of these
parts. It is rumored that she is to wed one of
Lafayette’s soldiers are long, and, if report is
true, I may secure a bid to the lovable af-
fair. ”

With the last word still trembling his lips,
the speaker turned his horse into a wide lane,
and rode toward one of the proud mansions
of colonial Virginia. He was clad in cit-
izen’s clothes, and no one would have suspected
that he wasa messenger in the service of Corn-
wallis, who at that time was marching to York-
town.

Casper Katrain was a Tory from intuition,
and well-known in the country that bordered
the James. He kept aloof from Lafayette’s
camp; but, between Cornwallis and Tarleton
he fiitted like a restless ghost.

He was on his road to the famous British
trooper when he turned into the lane, and the
message that he bore was concealed in a tiny
silver bullet.

He was welcomed to the mansion by an el—
derly lady and her daughter, whom he ‘found
enjoying the evening breeze on their creeper—
fringed veranda.

Catherine Eddy greeted him with smiles, for
he was an old acquaintance; and the patriot
family did not hate him because he was a
Tory.

“ To Tarleton, I suppose?" said the girl, with
a smile. “Mr. Katrain, I long for the day
when your rides will terminate—when no
Cornwallis will need your services on this
continent, for you are not of the kind of men
who are born to be spies. ”

The girl’s last word grated harshly on the
young Tory’s ears, and he made a reply that
brought a laugh to her rosy lips, and a flush
to her temples.

“ Oh! one hears many reports now-a-days,”
she said. “Has this curious rumor reached
the British rump?” - .

“It has not; but as I have it from pretty
good authority, I think you had best acknowl—
edge the soft impeachment, Miss Catherine.”

The patriot girl essayed a second blush, and
then prevailed upon the messenger to remain
to tea which was about prepared.

At the table, Casper Katrain became very
communicative, and in merry mood produced
the silver bullet.

Catherine pretended to greet it with an air
of mystery.

“Do you carry messages in such a tiny
treasury .3” she exclaimed, as the Tory held
the little ball before her eyes. “How is it
opened? I see no door, Casper. Surely this is
one of the mysteries of war.”

The messenger. thrown from his guard by
the girl’s sang froid, proceeded to unscrew
the bullet, and reveal the message that Corn-
wallis had snugly tucked away therein.

Catherine Eddy and her mother looked at
the precious message while the courier ex-
plained that it was written in cipher which
Tarleton could read with the “ key ” in his
possession. ,

After a while the lid was returned to its
place, and the silver bullet hidden on Katrain’s
person.

Catherine grew more vivacious as the re-
past proceeded, and the courier pledged her
in wine poured from bottles mouldy from
long residence in the cellars of the estate. He
drank till he grew drowsy, but not sense-
less.

“ I will not ride on just yet,” he said as he
rose from the table. “ Catherine, if you will
give me a cot I will rest an hour. ”

With a meaning glance at her mother the
young girl led the courier to a luxurious sofa in'
the parlor whereon he cast himself, and almost
immediately fell asleep.

By and by the door opened noiselessly, and
Catherine Eddy glided toward the sleeping
man. Her hand was lost beneath his coat,
and when it came to light again it held the
silver bullet.

Cornwallis’ message had fallen into hands
for which it was not intended.

In the faint light that stole into the parlor,
Catherine unscrewed the bullet, and robbed
it of its contents which she secreted in her bus-
om. Then the little treasury was returned to
the place from whence she had taken it, and
Casper Katrain slept on, unconscious of the
girl’s daring deed.

After the lapse of an hour the courier, in
obedience to his wishes, was roused, and pre-
pared to resume his journey. Catherine Eddy
tried to conceal her triumph and succeeded to
a degree that surprised her.

Pleasant “ goodwights ” sent Casper Kai
train toward Tarleton’s camp in the north,
and the sound of his horse’s hoofs had scarcely
ceased to echo on the rough road, when
Catherine’s favorite steed was brought to the
veranda by the black.

The girl, too, was going to take a night
ride.

She rode from home, accompanied by a sin-
gle person, and her steed galloped briskly un~
derneath the stars. By and by the tardy
moon crept over the horizon, and she heard
the challenge of a sentry who stood, like a
specter, on the edge of Lafayette’s camp.

Her name and the words “ an important
message for the marquis,” admitted her into
the lines, and in a few minutes she was re-
ceived by the young Frenchman in his mar-
quee.

A look of surprise beamed in Lafayette’s
eyes when the cipher dispatch was placed in
his hands, and he listened to Catherine’s story
of its capture before he ventured to inspect it.

“ This is written in a cipher of which I for-
tunately poses the key,” the Frenchman

'said with a smile, and then he fell to work on

the dispa' tch.

Inthis duty he wasamisted by one of his
aids, and all at once he looked at Catherine
Eddy. _ There was a broad smile on his hand-
some face.

“ This is the luckiest capture of all my cum
paigns,” he said, “ and I suppose you have not
dreamed that you were doing yourself a great
service. Lord Cornwallis intends that there
shall be uninvited guests, at your house to-
morrow night.”

The girl started and looked anxiously at
Lafayette;

“ I fear I do not understand you,” she said,
and the marquis than read the dispatch in a
low tone.

“MY DEAR TABLITON:

“ Miss Catherine Eddy. of the Sweetbrier. is to
wed acaptain in Late ette‘s army on the night of
the 80th. The marqu s and the general officers will
be present. Be there and bag the precious game .’

’ “Conswanus.”

Our heroine’s face was white before Lafay-
ette finished reading the dispatch, and it was
his laugh that brought the color back again.

“ I fancy that Colonel Tarleton will not
have the honor of bagging the ‘ precious game ’
to-morrow night. Do not let anything dis-
turb you, Miss Eddy, for we will all be there
and without the fear of a dash from the Brit-
ish legion. You deserve the thanks of the
country for your daring deed, and to-morrow
night I shall rejoice to give to one of my offi-
cers the bravest, fairest bride in Virginia. ”

therine’s face was covered with blushes,
an she managed to express her joy at being
able to save Lafayette from capture.

“ I would snmnmn him here if he was in the
camp,” the marquis said. “But I dispatched
him on an important but not dangerous mis-
sion at sunset. You may encounter him on
your return, as I suppose he will halt at Sweet-
brier for a moment, at least."

The patriot girl did not wish to remain in
the camp when she learned that her lover was
without, and with the marquis’ thanks and his
good-night ringing in her ears she was assist-
ed to the saddle by the aid and rode away.

Her rejoicings over her triumph knew no
bounds, and her heart beat fast as she gallop-
ed over the moonlit road toward her home.
The capture of Casper Katrain’s message had
saved her lover and his general; it had de—.
stroyed one of Cornwallis’ cherished plans, and
insured a brilliant wedding on the night set
apart for it.

She wondered what the courier would do
when he discovered the robbery. What would
Tarleton say to himdf he placed in his hands
the empty silver bullet? Catherine feared
that the impetuous trooper would have the un-
lucky courier shot.

Her mind wasbusy with conflicting thoughts
when she became aware of some person’s ap-
proach from the direction of Sweetbrier. Her
first thought was of her betrothed, who, as
Lafayette had informed her, was abroad, and
would return to camp, via the estate. She be-
came confident that it was he, and at last drew
rein in the center of the road where she re-
solved to greet him. ,

The sounds of hoofs grew more distinct, and
at last the horse and his rider came in sight.

Catherine leaned forward with eagerness to
catch a glimpse of her lover's face, and watch-
ed the approaching man.

But, all at once a cry of dismay fell from
lips suddenly whitened by fright, and she
wheeled her steed t0ward Lafayette’s camp!

The man was not George Otis, the American
captain; he was Casper Katrain, the messen-
ger of Cornwallis!

An oath dropped from his lips when he saw
the girl turn her horse, and he drove the spurs
madly into the flanks of his own steed. .

Now was inaugurated a race for life.
Catherine Eddy was an equestrienne who filled
a saddle with grace, and she could ride at the

 

 

 

top of her favorite’s speed. '

 

But the maddened courier was mounted on
the strongest animal, and he gained rapidly on
the flying girl, who was riding for the Amer-
ican camp.

On, on, the ring of boots on the moonlit road
and the snort of horses doing their best, quiv-
ering the air.

At length the courier dropped the rein and
stretched forth his eager right hand. The
steeds were galloping side by side, and Cather-
ine’s face was as white as the foam on her
courser’s breast.

She felt Casper Katrain’s hot breath on her
cheek; she heard his fierce oath as he grasped
her arm and almost jerked her from the sad-
dle.

“ Thief!” he hissed, in her face. “ You
stole my dispatches and took them to Lafay-
ette!”

She answered not, but raised the arm which
she would no have raised had escape been
possible.

There was a pistol in her hand, and before
the courier could interpose action in his own
behalf, a jet of fire leaped from the muzzle
thrust suddenly into his face.

A wild cry, a reeling in the saddle, and the
Tory fell from his horse.

Catherine Eddy gazed with pity on the man
lying motionlem in the road. She had known
him for years, and once, when she was lover-
less, he had played the lover. But he possess-
ed traits which she did not like, and he turned
away to make room for George Otis.

In his anger he would have slain her; but
now he was dead—slain by the hand for which
he had sued in vain.

While Catherine looked on him the sounds
of hoofs again greeted her ears, and the person
who joined her on the field of her victory was
her American lover.

Casper Katrain had discovered the absence
of his dispatches before he reached Tarleton’s
camp, and his hasty return to Sweetbrier re-
vealed the fact of Catherine’s departure for
Lafayette. So he followed, determined to
slay the girl; but the hand which he had
nerved to strike her down would never be
lifted against a fellow-being again.

George Otis and our heroine returned to
Sweetbrier, and before dawn a couple of blacks
made a grave beside the road, and the birds
that earliest sung were perched among the
branches that waved over the courier’s couch!

Catherine’s deed in all probability saved
Lafayette and his prominent officers from cap-
ture, and the war-time wedding which took
place at Sweetbrier on the following evening
was not interrupted by the presence of Banis-
ter Tarleton. ‘

Had Casper Katrain been permitted to de-
liver his message, I am not certain that Cather-
ine would have been a bride at the appointed
hour, nor that Lafayette would have shared
in the glory of Yorktown!

 

—Among recent advertisements in English pa-

rs we have the following specimens of how

ohn Bull can talk when he tries:

“ Wanted, a lady who would have no objec-
tiou to sleep with another in a public road where
omnibuses pass every five minutes."

“ A planoforte to be sold, genuine Broad-
wood, by a lady about to leave England in a
rosewood case on mahogany castors.”

“Wanted to wash and cook a respectable fe-
male in a private family.”

“ A Christian woman wishes a situation as
cook in a private family. Her last employer hav-
ing been a dancing-master, she is perfect! able
to teach that art as well as cook, wash an iron.
Her superior abilities entitle her to sltti in a
church of ition, the sexton of which own
brother to er step-sister.”

“Anpianoforte to be exchanged for six sucking
piss-

 

“ Black lsdies’ stockings for sale.”

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'9')? )1; ‘ .4" ‘

’3
. a
s1