er Cz

 

 

 

BY MRS, SOPHIA .P. SNOW.

 

I have two homes, two precious homes,
Both dearly prized by me,

The one, my eyes do now behold,
Ttie other, hope to see.

The one, I bought with glittering gold,
My earthly home to be;

The other one was bought with blood,
And freely given to me.

The one, in which I dwell, has friends
That every grief will share;

The other one, to which I go,
My dearest friend is there.

The one, I view with mortal eyes,
Has beauties rare to show;

The other one, I see by faith,
Yet I its glories kuow.

The one’s encircled by a wall
Of granite, proud to see;

The other hath its walls four-square,
Which solid jasper be!

The one has massive iron gates,
Whose sable arms unfurl,

To let the weary traveler in;
The other, gates of pearl.

The one has walks with pebbles laid,
Most beauteous to behold;

The other’s are more glorious still,
All paved with shining gold.

The one has flowers of varied hue,
In summer charms arrayed;

The other's live throughout the year,
They bloom, but never fade.

The one, the sun illumes by day,
The moon and Stara by night;

The other hath no need of suns,
For God, himself, is light.

The one lies in a fairy vale,
No name to it is given;

The other lies beyond the slars,

,And angels celi it Heaven!
Ap

THE STEP-MOTHER.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

 

 

 

 

The clear, vivid sunshine of a September day was shin-
ing, like sheaves of jeweled arrows, into Cecile Moutpen-
siet’s spacicus drawing-room.

It was a handsome apartment, furnished in lilac and
gold. Lilac isa ‘trying’ color to most faces, however
fair and youthful, but Cecile Montpensier Knew that she
could safely surround herself with its soft, illusive glow.

For Cecile’s complexion, fair and delicate as a pink ja-
pouica, was perfection in its waxen bloom, and her hair,
a Geep brownish gold, waved into natural curls and rip-
pies upon her transparent temples. Her eyes were the
deep, limpid violet, that almost verges on black, almond
Shaped, and with long tiick lashes, and her mouth, red
and melting, like dewy coral, had but one fault—it was
almost too full, and scarlet.

Richmond Cheswick gazed down at the languid beauty
with alook of enthusiastic admiration, which it was 1m-
possibie to misconsthue. How lovely she was, as she sat
g¢nere, With his wotherless little one in her arms, shower-
ing kisses on Willie’s golden hair, and lisping pretty ca-
an gy sentences of ‘“baby-talk’”? to the four-year-old
child.

“J do think he is the most beautiful creature I ever saw
in ty life!’ she exclaimed, looking up into Mr. Ches-
wick’s face, with the deep eyes all soit and sparkling,
and the coral lips apart, just disclosing a row of tiny
pearls within. ‘I love him so dearly !”

Ordinarily Richmond Cheswick was a cool, composed
sort of personage, as little inclined as any man to act
suddenly, and without deliberation—but we are all infa-
tuated, at one period or another of our lives, and Cecile
Montpensier’s rare beauty would have maddened almost
auy one.

“Cecile !' he exclaimed, suddenly, “do you love him
well enough to be his mother? Do you love me well
enough to share life’s lot with me? For I feel that you

‘have taken my heart captive, and I never can be happy

with any one else! Cecile, speak to me—do not keep me

in suspense |!”

The roses crept..over Cecile’s satin cheek in soft pink

‘billows of bloom, as she bent her head in charming con-

fusion; it would have taken a wiser man than Richmond
Cheswick, to know that this was the very consummution
she had expected, and been maneuvering for, during the
last six mouths. |

She had triumphed at last—and when he went away,
leading unconscious little Willie, Who thought ‘papa
stayed a long time,’? Miss Montpensier was Richmond
Cheswick’s promised wife.

“There, nurse, take the little fellow up-stairs for his
sieep,’’ he said, as he sat Gown in the big easy cnair op-
posite the glowing fire of anthracite Coal, in his hand-
somely appointed library, and began to contemplate the
new and dazzling future opening to his mind’s eye.

What a regal Mrs. ‘Cheswick’? Cecile would make.
His first wile, Willie’s mother, true and loving as wile
could be, but utterly ignorant of all those polished graces
and acquired amenities that made Cecile so attractive.
And when she lay upon her death-bed, she had suid to
him:

‘Dear Richmond, if ever you should marry again——"”’

fie had interrupted her with words of passionate pro-
test—siie held up her slender finger with a plaintive,
moonlight sort of smile,

‘Hear me out, my husband. If ever you should marry
again—and you areso young that I think itmore than
likely you will—l have only one favor to beg of you. Dv
rot give Willie into a stepmother’s care. Seud vim to
sy home in the fresh, pure country; my sister wiil gladly
assume all the charge of him, and [ shall rest more quiet-
ly in my grave, Wul you promise me this?”

Blinded with tears, Richmond Cheswick had promised,
and so Janet had died, calmly, with her little sleeping
boy clasped closely to her breast.

But now he was going deliberately to break this solemn
compact with the dead.

“i cannot spare the merry, loving little fellow,’? he
thought, ‘He is too close to my heart. If Willie were
gone, half the sunshine would perish out of my daily
iife, and Cecile is so devotedly attached to him, also. If
Janet could have known Cecile, she would never have
wanted to send the boy away.”’

And then, he thought, with a thrill, very nearly ap-
proaching to disgust, how plain and homespun Heity
Bryaw was—tue Hetty the old people had wanted him to
marry, When poor Janet died. What a contrast she was
to royal Cecile Montpensier.

Meanwhile, old Jadge Montpensier rubbed his wrinkled
white hands, and chuckled gleefully.

“]t's a good thing you've caught the rich widower at
fast, Cecilie,’ hesaid,in his fat, husky whisper. “We
couldn't have stood it much longer—the funds were giv-
ing away dusedly fast. You have rather a genius tor
spending money, young lady; it’s well you're likely tu
dave plenty of it for the future.”

So there was a grand wedding in fashionable society,
with show of satin and glimmer of pearls and orange
vlossoms, and an interminable train of bridesmaids, and
Richmond Cheswick married Cecile Montpensier in a
great Kaleidescopic church, and took her to the home
where blue-eyed Janet, for eighteen short montis, had
fancied herself in an earthly paradise! And all that
autumn, Mrs. Richmond Cheswick moved, a ‘bright par-
ticular star’ through the charmed circles of the great
metropolis, fondled Willie, with sweet, artificial smiles,
and persuaded her admiring husband that she was the
very model of a devoted wife!

Down at the old country home, the news came like a
thunderbolt.

“Richmond has married again,’ said old Mr. Bryan,
with a sigh, as he closed the letter announcing to him the
important fact, ‘a Miss Montpensier of New York.”

His daughter Hetty looked up from her sewing with a
start

“Married again! And Willie?
for Willie at once !””

“No, child, no,” said the old man. “Richmond wants
t keep him; he says that even Janet would have been
Sedation with his new wife’s fondness ior the little fel-
low |”

“Yes, buf father,’ pleaded Hetty, ‘Janet herself said
we were to have him, in case of. om

“7 know, Hetty; but after all, the father has the first
right, and maybe he Knows best whatis well for the cnild.
We'll wait, patiently—perhaps the fine hew step-mother
will get tired of her little toy, after awhile !”’

Hetty bit her lip, but there was no alternative save sub-
Mission and patience. j

“J have bad news for you, Cecile,’ said Mr. Cheswick,
entering his wife’s drawing-room, one rainy evening im
mid-January, Where, in the most graceful of attitudes,
she was reclining on a sofa, languidly turning over the
leaves of a fashionable novel; ‘I stiall be obliged to leave
town, to-morrow, for an absence of two months, in the
West."”

“Richmond! surely I may accompany you?!

The grieved quiver of the ripe mouth was admirably
simulated—the transparent eyelids drooped. What an
actress Cecile Cheswick would have made!’

“Nay, dearest, don’t fret,’”? soothed her husband, ten-
derly, ‘the time will pass away, almost ere we are aware
of it, and my way lies among rude, untrodden wilder-
nesses, where my tropic flower could never endure the
nardstiips that cannot be avoided. Meanwhile, be as
happy and light-hearted as you can. I shall leave an un-
limited credit at the bankers, and IJ want you to enjoy
yourself,’

Cecile’s eyes sparkled under the drooping lids; after all,
it would be rather a relief to be rid, for a while, of the
prosy, middle-aged husband,

But, for all that, she cried, very naturally, the next day,
when Richmond Cheswick took his departure—and then
went, yawning, back to the drawing-room, and rang for
iced champagne, and a chicken’s wing, for lunch.

Presently the door opened, and a golden-haired little
fellow came running impetuously ian.

Oh, father, I must go

 

Typ eG

ee ; >=
IN Ne

“Mamma, Willie so lonely—can Willie stay here with
mamma?”

Unconsciously the little one hit bis arm against the
slender-stemmed glass of beaded champagne, on the ta-
ble—it tipped over, spilling the contents on Mrs, Ches-
wick’s morning robe of cherry-coiored silk. She bit her
scarlet lip, and gave Willie’s ear a sharp, sudden box.

‘No! Go back to your nurse, this instant, you bad,
troublesome little imp !” )

For now, during his father’s long-continued absence,
Mrs. Cheswick considered it time and trouble thrown
away, to court and caress the child whom she secretly
hated.

The boy stood a moment with quivering chin, and blue
eyes slowly brimming with tears—too proud to burst out
crying, yet hurt and wounded in his little spirit beyond
all description.

Mrs. Cheswick rang the bell sharply, for her nurse—a
French woman, who had been her own maid, before her
marriage.

“Lisette, take this child away.”

In vain Willie struggled. Lisette caught him up in her
arms, and carried him off to the nursery, volubly scolding
all the way, in broken English, for she, like most eye-ser-
ving domestics had caught her cue from the very tones of
her mistress’ petulant voice.

“You bad, naughty boy; me shut you in one dark closet
where de big Bogie will get you, if you nostop cry this

‘| minute.”

And Willie checked himself, in the midst of a prolonged
wail. Lisette’s threats and ghost stories had already
wrought their work of mischief, in his tender mind.

From that day Mrs. Cheswick avoided her little step-
son, as much as possible; if he came into her presence
she ordered him banished at once—she checked his child-
ish advances with frowns and bitter words.

«He is such a little nuisauce,”’ she said irritably.

While Willie mourned and fretted in vain over this
new and unpleasant state of things.

“Mamma does not love Willie any more as she used to
do,” ne sobbed, hiding bis face in the Frenchwoman’s
ruffied apron. “Oh, Lisette, I wish papa would come
home, to love Wiille.”’

‘‘Hush—sh—sh !'’ sibillated Lisette, sharply.
sleep, or de big bear
mountaios.”?

*‘Hlopkins,’? said Mrs. Cheswick to the housekeeper, one
day, ‘1 waht you to get Willie’s room ready for papa and
tThanima; they are coming to stay with me, during Mr.
Cheswick’s absence.”?

“Yes, madam,’ said Mrs, Hopkins, formally—the new
mistiess was no favorite with her; ‘shall 1 put Master
Willie in the blue room ?”

“No; Lhave mvited the Misses Grier to visit me next
week, and they must have the blue room.”?

“The little oak bedroom, then, ma’am ?"?

“Ot course not,’”? answered Mrs. Cheswick shortly; “my
brother will occapy that.’

Mrs. Hopkins opened lier eyes.

‘But where wili Master Willie sleep ??*

“Oh, anywhere. Put himin that corner back room, in
the third story.’’ :

“But, ma'am, that chimney smokes, and there’s no)
carpet On the floor. Hugh, the groom used to sleep
there p

“Nonsense—there’s no necessity for a carpet, and what
does a cnild, like that, need of a fire ?” cs
“Indeed, ma’am,”’ said Hopkins anxiously; “I couldn't
reconcile it to my duty to master—”? a
Mrs. Cheswick’s eyes sparkled balefully. :
“You are discharged,’ she said, drawing out her purse.
“J tolerate no servants in this house, who presume to op-
pose my will.”

And so poor Willie lost his one faithful friend.

The evening of Mrs, Cheswick’s first ball proved a bril-
liant success. The elegant rooms were thronged-—music,
flowers, and refreshmeuts were alike superb. The house
was crowded with gay guests, and Cecile, in her heavy
white silk, point lace, and diamonds, looked fair as a Cir-
cassian queen.

But almost before the first arrival was announced, Wil-
lie was seized upon by Lisette.

“Come, leetie boy,’”? she said, ‘it is de hour dat you
should go to ze bed.”

“Oat Willie stay up? coaxed the child. ‘Papa al-
ways let Wlille Stuy and see the peopie, and lear the mu-
sic ! Please, Lisette, please !”

But Lisette was merciless, and the sobbing child was
speedily tacked up in bed, in the dismal “‘coruer back
room’! with the yawning black chasm of a chimney, and
the bleak, uncurtained windows.

“Oh, Lisette,’’ wailed the child, “it is so cold, and Wil-
lie’s throat does acne so,”?

“You are one bad boy,’ said the Frenchwoman, threat-
eningly; “you are always of complain.”

“Don’t go aud leave Willie all alone, Lisette,” pleaded
the little fellow, through his tears. ‘Willie so ‘Iraid of
the dark and the cold!’

But Mauemoiselle Lisette was pining for the more ap-
propriate sphere of the lighted dressing-rooms and per-
fumed stalr-cases, aud sue was in a hurry to adjust her
rivbons and join the other attendan's; so, extinguishins
the gas, she artfully disappeared under cover ol the thick
darkuess.

“Lisette!” called Willie, in a voice choked by terror,
“Lisette !'? :

But there was no answer, oniy the whistie of the wind’
down the chimney. The child covered his head with the
bedclothes, while the cold drops oozed out on his. baby
brow. To bim every corner of the room Was iustinet with
hobvgoblin life and ghostly shadows, and his little heart
seemed to Stand Still Within hts breast.

Suddenly a barst of gay music from the sonorous wind
instruments below sounded like a reassuring poean. Willie
crept out of bed, scudding down the Stairs in his little
white night-rove like a hare.

“Mamma! Mamuina !?

For it was Mrs. Cueswick whom he encountered, com-
ing upto her reca fora jeweled cassolette she had for-
gotten.

“Willie,?? she said, frowning, “go back this instant!’
“Willie’s fear of the goblins Was even greater than his
dread of his stepmotier; he clung convulsively to the
folds of her gusteniog robes.

“Me so *fruid, mamma, me so ’fraid!”’

With an angry “Pshaw!?) Mrs. Cheswick seized the
child’s arm, and hurried bim up stairs once more.
“There,’’ sue uttered, sternly, “go ta your bed and stay
there. Dll teach you to make such a scene as this
again.” , ,
Sne pushed him roughly into the room, and closing the
door, locked It, and dropped the key into her pocket.
“He will be safe now, the little plague!’ she mutteréd.
“Lizette is too useful 1a the dressing-rooms to be spared,
and there is no otner way of silencing his noise.”

Willie, too much terrified even to sob, crept shivering
in between the chilled sheets of his bed, and presently
wept himseif noiselessly into a fevered sort of slumber.
When he awoke agai, two or three hours later, it was
to the presence of grim Death.

How little they recked, tuose gay dancers underneath,
that up inthe solitude and silence of the starless winter
night, a little, lonely creature was struggling in the mor-
lal agonies of the destroyer, Croup!

At about one o’cluck, a slight bustle at the door an-
nounced a hew and unexpected arrival. Cecile glided
gracefuliy forward, tuen stopped short, ia surprise.
“Riclimond!”? she cried, as hereyes fell on her hus-
band’s face.
“Myself, darling.
surprise.”

He greeted her with a tender caress, then smilingly
turned to receive the welcomes of the guests, who crowd-
ed around him.

“And nowI must run up stairs and see the boy an in-
stant.”?

Cecile turned scarlet, and then pale.

“J—I will send for him to be brought to you, Rich-
mond.’?

“No; there is no use in disturbing him.
in his sleep.’?

He was turning away, when. Cecile laid her trembling
hand on his arm, to cheek him.

“He isnot in his usual reom, Richmond,” she faltered.

“No? Whereis he, then? and why have you changed
his sleeping apartment ?”

“He is in the back room of the third story.”

“The back room of the third story!’

Mr. Cheswick’s brow involuntarily contracted with a
sternness which Cecile had never before seen there—she
trembled yet more.

“Itis only a temporary arrangement, Richmond, while
the house was fullof company. Stay—IJ have the key in
my pocket.”

Mr. Cheswick snatched the key from her hand, and
sprang up the stairs, two steps at a time.

To his surprise and horror, the room was dark and fire-
less. Where were the servants? where was tne clild’s
nurse? Herung the bell impetuously; it was answered
by a stout, good-humored Irish girl, who had many @
time stolen in, at night, roused by Willie’s stifled sob-
bings, to soothe him to sleep.

“Lights here, quick!’ ejaculated her master.
does this mean?
hole ???

Bridget sought in her apron pocket for matches.

“Sure, sir, 1t’s goin’ on two weeks now—the madam’'s
father aad mother pave his room-—and a burnin” shame
itis, bless his dear little heart! He’s been treated worse
nor a dog, sir, since’you’ve been gone—it’s been a cross
word here and a hard push there, from the madam, ana
Lisette is no better. Here's a match, sir—sure it’s meself
is glad you’ve got back to take his part!”’

With hands that trembled, nervously, he scarce Knew
why, Mr. Cheswick lighted the gas-jet, and turned to the
chill, lonely bedside.

‘sWillie! my little Willie!’

Bat Bridget’s shriek rent the silence, like the cleaving
of a Knife, as she bent over the couch.

“He’s dead! he’s dead! the pretty boy! The saints in
glory have-mercy on our souls! he’s dead!’’

“Hush, woman!” shouted the father, frantically, as he
bent itis head close to the pillow. ‘Willie! my boy! my
son!’

But no voice of earthly sound should ever reach those
dulled ears again. The blue eyes were half open, with a
glassy glare—the golden curls were all tangled—even the
tears were frozen, like diamonds, on the waxen-white
cheek, while the little hands, clasped tightly together,
told of the mortal struggle by which life had departed
from the tiny frame. The casket was there; but the jewel
was sparkling otherwhere, Little Willie had gone home!

Silently, and with compressed lips, Richmond Ches-
wick took the child into his arms; silently he descended
the stairs, and, walking into the midst of the affrighted
guests, held the tiny corpse to Cecile.

“Woman, behold your work!’ he gasped, in accents
strangely deep and stern. ‘Murderess! look upon your
victim! Aye—look well, for you will never behold either
him or me again.”

“Go to
wil come and carry you off to de

 

I thought I would give you a little

I can kiss him

“What
How long has my boy slept in this

 

 

 

 

With a cry that rose up to the illumined ceilings, Cecile
Cheswick fell fainting on the floor.
Ricliimond kept his word; he never looked on the fair,
deceitful face of his wife again.
Supported by a barely sufficient allowance, Mrs. Ches-
wick haunts the fashionable watering-places, a mere
wreck of her former self, while her husband lives a soli-
tary life and broods upon the past. While Willie, per-
haps the happiest of them all, sleeps under a quiet slope
in the perfumed shadows of Greenwood, beneath a mar-
ble shaft on which are cut the simple words:
WILLIE.
AGED FouR YEARS AND SIX MONTHS.

“7 shall goto him; but he shall not return to me.”
——P-@ <4

 

 

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

 

Sing gayly, sing gayly,
Thou innocent bird,
Where the rose on her grave
By the south wind is stir'd
Into beautiful measures,
That chime with thy tune,
Flowing under the sun,
Or the soft, pensive moon.

Yes, gayly; yes, gayly;

No sorrew should moan;
Let a gladness be breathed

In each beautiful tone—
“Truest anstver to songs

That her soul sings on high,
Mid the réses of life

In its home of the sky.

SELF-SACRIFICE.

BY HERO STRONG.

When I first saw her, she was a pale-faced, rather plain
ooking woman of rising forty. Her hair was threaded
With silver, and there were wrinkles on her brow, but her
smile was thesweetest I bave ever seen. It transfigured
her countenance, and made me think of the angéls of
which in my imaginative childhood, I had indulged such
glorious conceptions.

She was the Good Samaritan of Ridgely. Wherever
were found poverty and want she was there, but she paid
no visits among the rich, and received no aristocratic
guests at her house, /

And her residence was by far the finestin all the town
—an imposing old stone mansion, set far back from the
highway 1n a wilderness of century old trees, and bearing
on its somber front the seal of wealth and respectability.
Any one, from. a cursory glance at Dacres Hall, would
decide, without hesitation, that the Dacres family had a
Pedigree,

1 was an invalid, boarding for the summer in Ridgely,
and I had nothing to do but indulge in fanciesand specu-.
lations, Mrs. Halliday was my hostess—a kind, motherly |
womak, who was famousfor her waffles and gingerbread,

 

 

aroung, Bei

“Miss Dacres had intéFested ‘me for a long time—even
mere than most old maids interest me, and I confess to
always feeling a curiosijy in regard to allof that class.
Most of them have histories wertii hearing if we can only
get et them. ; mary
One sunny afternoon when Mrs. Halliday brought her
knitting to my reo, fora nalf hour's visit, [ said to her:
“Please 1ell Me abBut Miss Dacres.”’

 

‘| ing relative, younger brother, fled in disguise, after hav-

‘}aid in securing the safety of the

‘of Broadtiend, Blackwell
and who knew all about ever or tis nt, for partic
ybody for miles and miles | taving Te

 

 

does not return my passion I shall die. I swear to take
my own life, if he does not loveme. Oh, Aunt Bella! I
shali go mad if I do not hear from his own lipsthe words
I would give my hopes of Heaven to listen to.’
“Isabel put her out of the room, and locked the door,
She wanted time to think. It was no light thing for her
to give up the sweet hopes of ten long years—ten years
in which her every thought and desire had turned to him
—but she remembered ner promise to her dying brother,
and she was ready to lay her bleeding heart beneath the
feet of duty. She wrote Archelaus a few lines—saying
simply that in view of the change which had come over
them both she judged it best that they should go separate
ways.
“He, of course, was chagrined, but asense of relief
mingled with his pique, and he accepted his freedom.
That very night made him the betrothed lover of Eftie
Dacres, and four weeks later he became her husband.
Were they happy? Dil Isabel’s sacrifice avail ? No. The
bride was wretchedly suspicious, and tormented herself
With jealousy until her husband grew to hate the very
sight of her beautiful, reproachful face, and to dread the
tones of her voice, which he never heard save in fretful
complaint,
“Six months after their marriage, Archelaus Grey died
from the effects of poison administered by his wife while
in afit of jealous rage, and when they found his dead body
they found Effie,a gibbering maniac, dancing madly
around it, j
The form of a trial was gone through with, but no one
was disposed to dispute the plea of Mrs. Dacre’s counsel
—that she was insane—and Effie was discharged.
‘Her guardianship fell upon Isabel; and she, generous
and forgiving, refused to send the poor girl to an asylum,
but took her home to Dacres Hall, where she has dwelt
ever since. She is inno wise improved, at times she is
extcemely violent, but Miss Dacres has no fear of her,
and takes sole charge of her when these fits of frenzy are
on her. She never trusts her to the servants—she never
leaves home because of Effie, and thus in constant self-
sacrifice her life wears away.
“There, dear, you have heard the story—and now I
must go and see after the supper. You will have enough
to think aboutin reviewing Miss Dacres’ sad romance.’
I thought of it a great deal—indeed 1 have thought so
mucl of it that I have written itdown, and ask the rea-
der to join with me in expressing the hope that some-
where in the great Hereafter Miss Dacres muy find re-
compense,
>

THE HIDDEN COFFERS;

OR,
THE LAST OF THE MONTROSEANS.

BY JANE GRAY SEAVER,

 

 

 

It was on the night of January twenty-first, 1793, when
the Reign of Terror was still at its hignt in France—the
streets of Paris were nearly deserted, but were damp with
the stains of human gore—that Henri Montrosean,together
with his young and veautiful wife, and only othersurviv-

ing converted their immense wealth into gold,-and se-
cretly transferred it to the care of Captain Harrington, of
the Sea Gull, at Havre. , oe
By making their way through the poorest portion of
the city, they succeeded in gaining the suburbs, where, at
exorbitant rates, they readily procured transport to
Havre, where they joined Captain Harrington on board
the Sea Gull, bound for Liverpool.
In crossing the Channel, a severe squall caine up, and,
before the passengers were aware of danger, they were
informed that the vessel’s hold rey contained a foot
of water. The male passengers. oR a willing hand to
ship, several of whom
were washed overboard. Among the latter were the two
Montroseans. '
After several hours of severe labor, the vessel was pro-
nounced out of danger, it having been lightened by the
casting over of considerable freigit, and tlrey proceeded
without further interruption. But when the young wife
landed on English shores, she had then to learn that not
only had she been bereft of husband and brother, but also
of the iron-bound coffers, which contained the weaith of
the Montroseans, i
Captain Harrington was accompanied by his wife and
infant daughter.. The former had been thrown into a
delirious fever from the fright consequent upon the
events of the fearful night.
After the captain had informed Madame Montrosean
that the coffers had by mistake been cast overboard dur-
ing the gale, he very magnanimously made up a smail
purse from among the passergers, with which she pro-
ceeded to London, where, for five long and wretched

a

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. i=

       

 

 

The doctors looked significantly at each other, and
whispered that they, had antici al ‘
bar penne dent —° pier

rs. Harrington stated, in the presence of h hysi-
cians, Madame Montrosean and her attorney, Tk rh
saw her husband, Captain Harrington, of the Sea Gull,
push overboard Henri Montrosean and brother during that
fearful night in roan the English Chamel, which had
so terrified her that she had never reeovered from its
effects; and that after he had purchased the manor, sh
had seen him visit the alcove in which the cotfers an
ye were hidden.

e, poor creature, had scarcely concluded her evi-
dehce, when a deathly hue spread ee the already pallid
face, she threw up her arms and shrieked:

a is coming! my husband !”

er arms dropped, her eyes partially closed, and
Jay still and motionless, Death had atlast eome to .
big = aes Pep Len step sae through the
, and Captain Harrington stood u the thres-
hold of the death chamber, 4 oy '

“Great Heaven |’? he exclaimed; ‘Madame Montrosean
what oul fiend sent you here to reproach me with
your piercing eyes, which have burned into my very soul
Yes roar i 5

adame Montrosean grasped his a: and
the bedside, rr" ; ae =”

“See! see! villain,” she cried, “see your mark; and
may that dead white face haunt you to the day of your
death!’ she fairly shrieked in his ear.

“Good Heaven! sheis dead !? he cried, and the strong
man fell upon bis knees, buried his face in the covers of
the bed and sobbed aloud. :

When he became more calm, he was informed of all
that had happened. He then contessed bis guilt, and be-
fore any one present was aware of his intention, drew a
pistol, and placing it over the region of the heart, fired
ana fell dead upon the floor. oa

Madame Montrosean remained to bury the dead; then
= gi the captain’s little daughter and returned to Lon-
don, ;

The coffers contained much less than their original
amount, but still enough remained to make her one of
the wealthiest ladies in Londen, She subsequently mar-
ried her attorney, and lived many yeurs to enjoy her re-
trieved fortunes.

>-O~4 — - ‘
Pleasant Paragraphs.

 

 

REFLECSHUNS ON THE QUESTION OV THE DAY.
: It haz allus bin my hope and expectashun that my “sands ov
life” would run out ere the time siiould com when the fematt
would kiaim the rite ov sharm in Ghose pursuits whieh hev bin
adjudged by a wise and kind Providence az only fitted for the
mail sex exklusively. But, alas! a few pebbles stil remain in
wy elass, and I behold the scarlet pettykote gracefully swayin
in the breeze; I hear the squeak ov fteminosity mivglin with
the horser notes ov men 1n the halls of kommerce: I see ber
siandin on the rostrum in all the dazzlin array ov silks, salins,
and white stockins, drawin strength tu her cause by tren
force ov her buty. Men stop tu lap the sweetness ov hersmiles,
as a thirsty dorg Japs the koolin waters in dorg days. She genty
ties them tu her apron with soft fingers and sotter wu oe
drives them where she will. Amung sum nashuns she, how-
ever, still remains kontented in her natural spbere, tendin tu
her domestick affairs with an eye of vigilance, seckin only the
distinctshun ov a fust-klass housekeeper. How hepps n
Iniun be whose wife cheersuily hoes hiz corn, bilds hiz
the mornin, cooks hiz fodder, and receives biz lickins az a
ful wife should, satisfied to leave publick affairs in the ov
her husband! Whatiz tu bekum oy our futur generashuns, or
where they are tu cum from, iz more than Plum can safely
menshun. It iz utterly impossible for us men tu be both parents
at the same'time in our present state, and I’ll be if Vu
sign enny pettishun tu Nature tu make enny changes in her
warks. I hev jived tu long az a maii kritter tu becum in my old
age a promoter and nurser ov intants, These wimmen hev got
more rites now than we hev. Dou't they hev full swing ov
their tungs, without enny fears ey lawysuus orthrashins? And -
ain't they got_the exklusive rite oy keepin a man fiutterin
around ’em, like a moth aroued a tatlow dip, just az loug az
she choose—torturi him by degrees, redusin hiz strengtb, both
ov mind and body, till he appears almost like a lunatick, causin
him tu exklaim, after the novelty and the honeyed part ov hiz
married lite haz passed: ; ‘
“What aderned fo lI wnz. Oh, Susan, if I only could rekall~
the sies I hev uttered; the muney I bev spent op yur deerself,
the hare I hev lost since we embraced matrimuney, ar hed a
sure holt onter that irou chest ev yur venerable parm, [ think
1 could with eKkanimity see yu torn from my buzzum never tu
cum back agin.” But they aint satisfied with the power the
hev already,and now want tu enter the policetkical field,
armed and equipped with that grate wepon oy offence aud de-
tence “the ballot-box.””  — ;
Just take a bird’seie view oy the scenes that will take place
if they sucered in ther opject. Here are tew ladies, Miss Prim
and Miss Stiff—both ov ucertaim age, and ov course butiful.
Polictkialy spekein, they entertain different idees ov the same
subject. They meet at the polls—Suff is sarkastick, Prim in|
reply iz gramatickie but bitter; wurds flow thick and fast—
blows folow—they seraich—they pound—they bite, tu the grate
wdmirashan ov the crowd who bet freely. The result iz easy tu
konjecture. The sparklin eie iz kiosed—the thin lips, around

 
  
  

 

years, she Managed to earn, by teaching her own lan-
guage, 2 meager support, when one day her eye fell upon
an advertisement for a French goveiness, to take the en-
tire charge of the education of a little girl at Woodbine
Manor, Which was situated a few miies from London. |
Madame Montrosean

no time in calling at the office
Co., according to the adver-

My. Harmon, the father-of the
child, was traveling abroad, ana? the mother dead, she
accepted the situation, and, on the following morning, she
was set down at the entrance of Woodbine Manor.

It was a lonely dnd neglected place, that elegant man-
sion. Long grass waved high above the garden walks,
the rose-thiekets had grown into jungles, and the first
tinges of decay were beginning to show themselves in the

 

 

 

 

 

*‘About Miss Dacres? How do you know that there is
anytuing to tell ?*

“Because women with faces like hers always have his-
tories. Dear Mrs. Hatliday, lam sure you know ali about
it, sovon’t disappoint me.” . ee
She stopped to count all the stitches on her needle be-
fore she spoke, Then her voice had in it an undercurrent
of sadness. :

“Yes, I will tell you, butit isnot a happy romance by
any means. Only the stery of alifein which there has
been much suffering and no compensation. Lt mighe be
lengthened out infinitely, but 1 can stop only till itis time
to get the biscuit in the oven for tea—so I must tell it
briefly. To 9egin at the beginning. Colonel Dacres, Miss
Isabel Dacres’ father, was of an old family, and at the
time of his death was the wealthiest man in our commu-
nity. His wife had preceded him to tlle grave several
years before, and there were two chiidren left to inherit
the property—Isabel ana Alfred. Isabel was two years
the senior of her brother—a gentle, womauly girl, who
had in Some sort supplied the place of a mother. to the
reckless Alfred. He wasa sourceot great trouble to her,
and at the early age of eighteen he committed the absur-
dity of marrying a beautiful, unprincipled French actress,
who ran away from hima year or two afterward, and left
him with one child—an infant daughter.

“Soon after the death of his wile, which occurred not

 

tuin mist of green moss which had crept stealthily over
the broad marble steps. : ;
“It looks entirely deserted,” she murmured, hesitating,
with one foot upon the loweststep. — ,
But gathering up her failing conrage, she raised the
heavy brass knocker, which fell with an eciro through the
long corridors, sending a s'
frame, which she had
after. '
Some minutes elapsed, then a drawing of rusty bolts and
a grating of unused aS greeted her eur unpleasantly.
The heavy mahogany door swung back, aud an uncouth-
looking woman presented herselt. ‘
“Oh, iv’s the new governess,” she said, as Madame
Montrosean made known her business.
“Where is my charge?’ asked the madame, after hav-
ing laid aside her wrappings. Bake
“Here I am!” cried a sweet, juveniie voice; and a fairy-
like little creature dastied into the room aud nestled her
Jitfle juny head confidingly in her governess’ lap. “I
shall love you very much, I think, if you will only love
me,’ she said, raising her large, blue eyes pleadingly to
the face of Madame Montrosean.
‘Poor little thing; how could one help loving you?”
murmured the latter, raising herin her arms, and im-
printing a loving kiss upon the cherry red lips, whilst a
tear from her own eye buried itself among the golden,
clustering curls,

 

 

mm to remember long years

  

 

 

more than six months after her desertion of him, Alfred
Dacres was thrown from his horse and injured so tiat he
died that night. Always, and in every respect, supremely
selfish, he was selilsh to the last, and while Isabel sup-
ported his dying head on her bosom, he exacted trom her
a promise that she would be a mother to his little Efe,
and thatif ever the child’s happiness required it, she
would sacrifice all her own hopes and inciinations to se-
cure peace for Effie.

“Tt was strange that he should make this request, but
Isabel promised everything—and he died as selfishly as
he had lived. Effie wasa beautiful child, and as she grew
in years she developed wonderful brilllancy of intellect,
but her temper was fearful. At times, when crossed in
her desires, She was more like an insane person than an
augry child.

“I ought to tell you that, at twenty-six, Miss Dacres was
one of the handsomest women } have ever seen. Nobile
in bearing, graceful and accomplisked—the charm of her
nianner was equalled only by the perfectness of her face.
There is little left of her young beauty except her simile,
and that, you know, is marvelous. Of course Miss Dacres
had many lovers, but she passed them ali by for Archelaus
Gray. Mr. Gray Was a handsome, fascinating young man,
little- mere than a year older than Isabel. His was not
the true, loyal nature, calculated to make sucha woman
as Miss Dacres huppy, but if she ever felt a lack when in
his society, she was eager to ascribe it to herself, and ever
sought to make herse/{ believe that hers was the fault.
Grey loved herin his selfish, shallow fashion, and his
pride was gratified by the consciousness that he had won
the fairest and wealthiest woman in the vicinity. He was
not rich himself, but he aspired to be, and when an op-
portunity offered for him te go out to Yokahamer, in
partnership with his uncie ina business which promised
vast returns, he embraced it eagerly. To do him justice,
he had fully expected to be able to persuade Isabel to ac-
company him us his wife, but though she was sadly dis-
tressed at thought of the separation, she would not ac-
cede to his desires.

“She had promised her brother to care for and educate
Effie, and in that half-civilized land, whither her lover
was going, the child could, enjoy no advantages, and on
this account she must not think of accompanying Mr.
Giey. In vain he begged, and entreated, and at last got
angry—she remained firm. She had promised the dead,
and she held all promises sacred.

“So Grey went without her. He was to be gone four
years, but business being driving the time was doubied,
and eight years had passed since he left New York when
once more lie setlootin his native country.

“During this time he and Isabel had corresponded regu-
larly, and both had remained faithfu!. On ms arrival, he
went at once to Dacres house. Isabel had not expected
him so soon, and she was away for a week’s visit.. Effie
received himin her stexd,

“Effie was grown now to a tall girl of fifteen, and so
beautiful that Grey was infatuated. She had such an in-
finite variety of fascinating words—she knew so well just
how best to please and interest him, and she spoke in
such glowing terms of ‘Dear Aunt Beila’—that before
he realized his danger, Archelaus Grey was blindly, mad-
ly in love,

“Then Isabel came home. She waschanged, of course;
she had grown old and taded, though was lovely still.
But Grey nad been feasting his eyes on the fresin young
beauty of Effie, and the contrast was too marked for him
to go back to his allegiance. He could not help being
cold to Isabel, though he tried hard to meet her as a lover
should. Sne felt the change sensibly, butit was some
time before she knew the right cause.

“Archelaus, as if tosave himself from being dishonor-
able, urged on their marriege, but Isabel Dacres was too
proud to marry aman who was bound to her by honor
and not by love. She put him offcoldly; and just after he
left her Effie came to her room, and with the wild, pas-
sionate impulsiveness which had characterized her from
a child, she told her aunt of her love for Grey.

 

Madame Montrosean loved the child from the first,
which was fully reciprocated by the little one; her salary
was liberal, and the best apartment in the manor had
been appropriated to her; it had been the master’s room—
so. said the housekeeper. .In short, she had everything
her own way, but still she felt a vague uneasiness in this
princely manor, and but for the love and. pity she bore
tne ionely child, would gladly have returned to her
laborious life in London. And, as time sped on, she feit
sure that those old walls hela some fearful secret. The
servants spoke in whispers, and went about with scared
faces; her niguts became disturbed, and, at times, she
fancied sue heard stealthy steps upon the soft, Turkish
carpet of her apartment; and at other times she had
been awakened by fearful shrieks, which would be fol-
lowed by a quick, light step in the corridor, and a glim-
mer of light would be visible for an instant, then all
would become dark and silent again. Three months
passed in this way, and Madame Montrosean had deter-
mined to leave the manor, when, one night, she was
awakened by a hand being laid heavily upon her shoul-
der, and a voice hissed in her ear, ‘‘Madame Montrosean,
arise and secure your iron-bound coffers. I will reveal
them to you. Only leave me the jewels and take the
gold.” Madame Montrosean sprang to her feet.

The heavy astral lamp which hung suspended from
thé ceiling had been relighted, as had also the mantel, or
side lamps, which, together with the crimson hangings,
filled the room with a gorgeous ‘brilliancy, giving it al-
most an unearthly appearance, reminding one forcibly
of “Hades.”

As Madame Montrosean sprang from her bed, the
figure of a woman, who had _ partially concealed herself
behind the hangings of the bed, darted like a tigress to
her side, grasped her arm fiercely, and cried:

“Come, I will siow them to you,” pointing to the far-
ther end of the long room. : :

This singular individual was dressed in a faded pink
brocade silk; her long, black hair hung in wavy tresses
over her bare shoulders; her eyes, black, large, and pierc-
ing, while her face was marble white. Upon her alabas-
ter neck sparkled a diamond necklace of great brilliancy;
and upon ler bare arms were clasped diamond bracelets.

Madame Montrosean being paralyzed partly by fear,
and partly by admiration of her strange visitant, whom
she believed a maniac, and had recognized as the wile of
Captain Harrington, of the Sea Gull, allowed herself to
be drawn on by the maniac, who still pointed to a hand-
somely frescoed panel in the wall. She had recognized
more even, the very jewels with which the maniac had
bedecked herself she had believed buried inthesea. The
maniac touched a secret spring in the delicately frescoed
panel, when it flew back, revealing the iron-bound coffers
of the Montroseans. She had now somewhat recovered
from her fright, and, grasping ‘the arm of the maniac,
shriekea for help: but before the servants reached the
room, she had iorn the jewels from the poor creature, and
thrust them back into the secret alcove, and, touching
the spring, had replaced the panel. The servants bore
away their poor mistress, for such they admitted her to
be, and She became dangerously ill. They also admitted
that she haa been a maniac since crossing the English
Channel in a fearful gale some years before, and that
her husband desired it to be understood that she was
dead. She had this night escaped from her room through
the carelessness of her attendant, as she had done several
times before, and wandered about the house.

Madame Montrosean said nothing of her discovery to
the servants, but went immediately to London, and se-
cured the services of a well-known attorney. Mrs, Har-
rington, or Harmon, as the servants called her, was fast
sinking; the best medical aid was called from London,
but gave no hope of recovery. Madame Montrosean
watched over the unfortunate creature day and night,
doing all in her power to alleviate her sufferings. One
day, when they had watched hourly for her death, sud-
denly she became perfecily sane, and calling Madame

 

“Oh, I love him! I love him! she cried—‘‘and if he

Montrosean to her side, saying that she wished to make

thirds 0

rstitious thrill through her |.

)pony.” ‘ J. A.W

which, like the “last roze ov summer.” sum ov the sweetness
ov yuth tries tu still linger, are puffea out and blackened,
while the “klaret’’ flows cupiusly from the flattened nostrils.
On, angelick beins, desist frum yur kruel purposes! Koutinae
tu be our affectshunate muthers. dauters, sweetharts, and doo-
uiful wives. k us in our infanecies; stuff us w cookies
and punkin 10tr skool-boy dais; brake our harts in that
softand tender pericd kalled yuthhood; but don’t, oh, dou’t,

seek tu deprive us ov the exkiusive rite tu ware pantaloons.

Ir wimmin don’t want tu dress up or down tu Mere than tew
Wwerherr length, jet them, du so. T hevints a ra ti say
agin it. But when they cum tu kuauin their Kali er brre +
ches, and then ins st on warein ‘em, | want tu leve; Iwanttu
go tu sum spot where witmin iz unknown. In Konclusion, Jet
Ine say, ThatI heyn’t rote this out ov enny matice tu free and
luvly femails, but tu show the entire inadapteaness ov a femail

tu bekum a maul, anc vise versa. I hope that in Heyen, all
inequalities will be removed, and we shall bekum whatever we
desire, and are i ’

it az Jong az we dweil in this
that Nachure will allow her
& E.per Pivm.

. i / oe fOr.» *
warld my desire and prayer iz,
wurks ture: ih “in stiee qd.”

i
. NO SCHOLAR.

Acertain man inthe flown of Mayiicld, named Martin F—,
was the owner of a watch, which he carried in such a way as
tobeseen by everybouy; and, although he could not tell one

igure.from another, hie pulled it out quite often, apparently to
note the time. one occusion he was at town meeting, when
some one seeing his watch asked him the time. He pulied out
his time-piece, aud turning the face side tothe stranger, ex-

claimed: “Look fer yourselt, ’m no scholar.’ Aunty DeLuvian

_ . PREFERRED A_ PONY.

» Charlie, a seven-year-old, whose mother was likely to sodn
present him with a new brother or sister, overheard bis uncle
conversing about the litte strarger. Toe uncle, observing him
listening attentively, said. “Charlie, your mamma wall soon
have a nice present ior you. What would you like best—a little
brether or sister?” Charlie answered attersome consiteration:
“Well, if it makes’ no difference to ma, ’drather have a little

: /HEELER.
TIT FOR TAT. eh,

, Agentleman was ridimg on a rai!reud car, when he was asked
by the conductor of the tram toshow his ticket. “My face is

my ticket,” be answered. ‘Very well,” replied the cunductor.

“Tam authorised by the company to puch all tickets. But who
are you any way?” he addev. “Iam a director of this Road,

sir, returned the gentleman, “and am also authorized by the

company to keep aliconductors from /nocking down. Harp Ccat,
CHILDREN’S INNOCENCE. {aE
A boy and a girl, the sum of whose ayes did not exceed twelve
years, were asked by their mother what they bad seen in the
menagerie, in which they had especialiy observed the mu
when her son replied, in an innocent mauner: ‘Oh, ma,
seen a jackass, so big—as big as uncie!” To which the girl re-
yhed, in a still more innocent tone: “Ah, now. ma, isn’t Char-
lie telling stories? For there couidn’t be such a big jackass.”
A GIRL’S REMARK. i
A man and wife were talking in German, on the death of an
American friend. In the course of his remarks, the tather ob-
served that perhaps he (the deceased) was hearing everything
that they were saying. Little Milhe, about five years of i
who was sitting ina corner, after meditating upyn what her
father had said, suddenly exclaimed: “I thought he didn’t uu-—
derstand any German.” L. H. Rouiman. ©

A NEW COMMANDMENT. => j
Sometime ago the darkeysof P.exskill gave a ball, to ccle-,
brate the fifteenth amendment. The next morning, as Eliza, -
a well-known individual, of ebony hue, was passing the store”
of Mr. A., who lives under the hall w the ball was held,’
the storekeeper ran out and said to her: “See here, Lizer, you’
colored folks kept me and my wife awake a‘l last night with
your noisy jumping and dancing. What were you doing?”
“Doin’? "Why, celebratin’ the fineenth commandment!” Mr.
A. replied: “Why, there ain’t but ten commandments.” “You
git out! Youm’s a ignorumpt. white feller! The last time Com
gress met they made fifteen com nents; and the last one
is for the benefit of black folks!’ : Wa. TRAYELER,

ONLY THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

After referring to the warmth of the present spring days, Mr.
Purdy inquired of his neigobor, Mr. Hopper, if he had_ noticed
the mercury, (referring to the thermometer) on the previous ete
ning: “Oh, no,’ responded Mr. Hopper; “we take only the New
York WEEKLY.” Rover.

FALLING WATER.
A painter named Beck, who had a: to paint the hull

  

of the steamer Alice Dean, did nut paint it close enough to the
water-line by about eight inches. » mistake was pointed out
to the water, hut toe

to him. and he said: “I painted it cars Ded r
d revent the wate ay
PHIL,

tide went out last night, and I could
falling.”
A GRATE BUSINESS. /

Some enterprising Western speculators have entered ppena
new business. They buy lots in cemeteries near large cities, in
the hope that excessive ‘mortality dar the coming spormer
will make the demand for them exceedin ly profitable. W.X. W.

DRESSING AND SHAVING. a ;
Two sailors went into a cheap restaurant and called for din-
ner. The landlady set before them a piece of builed pork, which
had. not been properly singed, many long hairs img to it.
“Jack,” said he to his. companion, “i cannot siomach this
ork; why, the hairs are half as thick and long aie 7
“You may eat away, gentlemen,” said the landlady; “L can
assure you it is good meat, for I dressed it myself.”
“Dia you so, mistress ?”’ said the other sailor; “Z wish you had
shaved it yourself.” => WVicror, |
To P. P. Contrisutors.—T7..M..and A. W.—Thamks for your
information, We acknowledge the “‘corn.”.....-/ M, F.—Publish=
ed before. ...... Launsman.—Your “=keleton Story” is state....
The following manuscripts‘are accepted: “Fisby Doxology;’
“Charge of the Dress Brigade,” “Wanted,” by Dick D.;, “Red:
Hot Retort;” “Need not Come;’’ “Smart Man;” ‘‘The Frog’
Exclamation;” ‘‘Faks and Fancis;)”.“Fooling a Schoolteach
er;? “Magnum Bonum;” “Caught Afloat;” “Setter thas
Your’n;” “Hard on the tor; “Sunday-School Blunder;
“A Railroad Effigy;” “Saw the Point.”....- The following arg
respectfully declined: “Chips of Wit;” “Selling Cabbage ;?
“Anecdote,” by N. M.; “The nee ways s y. aaron
Anderson; “Dog's Lament;” “Query. y M.P.C.3. “Awtul
Hot;” “Mawatha?! “Eating all the’ Sop: “High Derrick;
“Got a Bite;’? “Cutie Response:” “Dough Bait; “Old Jokes;
by Mirry; “Three Frenchmen;”’ “Hasn’t Come Out Yet,’ E Dea-
con and’ the Wasp;” “A Poor Horse;” ‘Foreed;” “Couua-
drums,” by L., “Sboo Fly Revised;” “How to Board and
Lodge:” “Stolen Pig; “Good Shot;” “On the Fly,” *Want a
Bite; “Ela and Fred,” “Hydrophobia;” “Darkey’s Ride;”’.
“Epistle on Loafers:” “A Sister of Oarroty Heads” “Freaks of
Folly;? “Connubial:’ “Query,” “Changing His Line?’ art
Before the Horse;” “New Readivg;” “Like a Morning Star;
“Answer to Literary Question;” ‘Giving Away is N ey
“Couldn't See the Fun; “Got a New Preacher;” ‘Literary
Question Corrected,” “Two Lazy Men;” * me a and ster
in; “False Heir;” “Irish Boy and Turtle;” “A teh p3?
“Dividing an Oyster; “Wid a Lanthern;” “Irish Handle,”
“Hog Drunk; “Double Loss;” ‘Heavenly Union,” “Sam H.'s
Wife;” “Cookies and Checkers; ‘‘Politician’s Motto; “Dry-
ness: “Haven't Lost Myself; “Served Hin Right, ‘Pretty
Hard Case; “Tom Murray and the Cat;” “Carrying a Joke
Too Far;” “Sorry He isa Fool.” i

All of our best contributors are entering into engage
ments with us to write for the New YORK WSSKLY ‘ol :

 

some disclosures to her before her death.

years to come.

 

 

|

cence a

ar ttigtiat

Sitaram in

noi pneih aan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

is peal

pene