< ____ SPRING AND. WINTER. ee BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH. ’Tis spring—the stfeams, released, go hurrying to the sea, The golden dandelion blossoms deck the lea, The welcome bluebird trills his vernal song, And o’er the pond the swallows skim along. Nature, rejoicing, puts on her brightest green, | And merry rustic maidens dance ’round their chosen queen; ; Loud is the whistle of the happy farmer’s boy, | And all things speak of faith, and hope, and joy. ’Tis winter, and the frigid ice-king holds his sway, Shrieking with joy o’er summer’s sad decay; ! The babbling brooks congeal at his command; The sweet-voiced birds are banished from the land; The north wind moans, and dowuward roll the clouds; The gaunt trees shiver in their snowy shrouds. Without, there are no signs of life, no warmth. no cheer, And all seems dark, and desolate, and lone, and drear. And so of human life—its spring-tide seems Made up of joyous, sunny days and golden dreams; Lightly the glad heart pulsates in the youthful breast, And, care-free, augurs only of a future blest. Time kills life’s spring, and winter soon appears, Bringing its dreary, weary days, and doubts, and fears, Till, tired of the conflict, heart-crushed, sick, and sore, Man gladly looks for his departure to the other shore. —__—_—_—_—__>-©@ : 5 A BUNCH OF HYACINTHS. By Mrs. E. Burke Collins.’ “DEAR MISS DANTON :—-You will not be surprised when I tell you how dearly I love you. I can no longer keep Subscribers who receive the New YORK WEEKLY | in a BLUE WRAPPER will understand that their Subscriptions EXPIRE in FOUR WEEKS, This will re- mind them of the importance of promptly RENEWING their Subscriptions, to avoid missing a single copy of the paper. , A QUEEN WITHOUT A CROWN. By Francis A. Durivage. The fourth of July, 1867, found me far away from | home, from pistol, and from fire-crackers, and with no means of celebrating the anniversary but the | Declaration of Independence and a little silken | star-spangled banner which I kept in my pocket as talismans. I was in Fontainebleau, the loveliest public domain in France. I took a drive in the for- est in an English ‘‘break,” read the immortal declar- | ation to a little group of English and American | travelers, and French wood-cutters, ard then started to visit the palace. First, I had a pleasant | chat with the dismounted dragoon who stood sen- | try at the gate, which opened in the Cour des Adieus, | (Farewell court-yard) because it was here, in 1814, | that Napoleon took leave of the Old Guard previous | to retiring to Elba, a scene immortalized bythe pen- | cil of Horace Vernet. I hurried into the palace, and spent hours in go- | ing through its miles of galleries, drawing-rooms, | and halls. I saw the apartments, comfortable, not pence or luxurious, where Pope Pius VII. was oused when the titular guest, but actual prisoner of Napoleon I., and the table whereon the latter signed the act of abdication in 1814. Doubtless as | the unscrupulous man affixed his name to the docu- ment, he made a mertal reservation as a dream of again assuming the purple passed through his mind. I examined the collection of books which Napoleon Third was accustomed to consult and study when residing at Fontainebleau. No frivol- | ous works these. They were scientific, historical, political, or related to ul art of war. The brain of the usurper was well cuifivated. th All at once | came upon a shirt of chain mail, | rusty, battered, and rentin many place. This was labelled ‘‘eoat of mail said to have belonged to Monaldeschi.” The name instantly recalled to me! a sanguinary tragedy in which a discrowned queen | was the leading actress. | Christina, Queen of Sweden, born Dee. 9th 1626, wis the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, the great | Protestant champion of the North, andthe Princess Maria Eleanore of Brandenburg. She was distin- guished for beauty and taste for the liberal arts. Her education was conducted in a masculine man- | ner. She ascended the throne in her childhood, under the guardianship of the highest officers of the crown. She ruled for some years with firmness and dignity; but in private life she showed herself immoral and unprincipled. In 1654, at the age of twenty-eight, she suddenly assembled the states- general, and resigned the crown, reserving a cer- tain income and full power over her suite. She next traveled on the continent. At Rome she | abjured Protestantism, embraced the Catholic re- | ligion, and was confirmed by Pope Alexander VII. | In France her behavior scandalized the princesses and court. At Fontainebleau, where she was the guest of France, she committed her greatest crime, | the murder of Monaldeschi. her grand equery, either because she believed him guilty of treason, | or because he held some of her shameful secrets, | and was capable of betraying them. | Father Lehel, a monk residing in Fontainebleau, | who was sent for to @onfess the victim, saw him literally hacked to pieces after vainly imploring | the inexorable queen to pardon him. | This murder, committed in France, in a royal residence. by a foreign queen who had abdicated, was an extraordinary crime and a violation of the law of nations. Cardinal Mazurin, who was then in | France, wrote to Christina complaining severely of the act, and received the following insolent and | haughty reply: | “Monsieur Mazarin, those who gave you the de- tails respecting Monaldeschi, my equery, were very | ill-informed. I think it strange that you employ so many people to enlighten you as to a fact, Still, your action, crazy as it is, ought not to astonish me. But Lshould not have thought that either you or your proud young master would have dared to ex- press the slightest resentment to me. Learn, then, whatever you are, lackeys or masters, great and small, that it was my pleasure so to act; that I am not obliged. and will not render any account of my actions to any one whomsoever, especially to blow- | ers (fanfarons) of your stamp. “You are playing a singular part for a person of | your rank, but whatever reasons induced you to | write, I care too little about it to allow it to trouble | me fora Single instant. I would have you to know, | and to tell any one who chooses to hear, that Chris- | tina cares little for your court, and still less for you; that to avenge myself I have no need to resort to | your formidable power. My honor willed_it thus. | My willis a law which you must respect. Your du- | ty is silence, and many people whom I esteem as | little as I do you would do well to learn what they | paves to their equals before making an unnecessary | noise. “Learn, finally, Master Cardinal, that queen wherever she is, and that wherever she is | pleased to dweil, the men, however cunning they | may be, will be worth more than you and your tools. | The Prince of Conde was right in exclaiming, when | you detained him inhumanly at Vineennes: ‘Theold | fox who has so far deceived his master and the evil | one, will never tire of outraging the good servants | of the State, unless parliament dismisses or severe- | ly punishes this most illustrious scamp of Pes- cina. “So. trust me, Julius—behave in such a way as to | deserve my kindness. You cannot study this too | deeply. Heaven keep you from ever risking the | slightest indiscreet remark about me. Though at the end of the earth I shall be informed of your do- | ings. I have friends and courtiers in my service.” | [She meant assassirns.] ‘They are as sharp and | vigilant as yours, though not so well paid.” | Commenting on his, the historian, Dulaure, re- marks: ‘ f “It is curious to see this shameless queen, instead | of seeking to justify herself, insulting and threat- | ening those who reproached her with her twofold | erime, revealing in her wrath the hideous secrets , of despotism. Persuaded that her regal quality | allowed her to commit all crimes without opposi- | tion, she rages against objections and threats. The | contents of this letter show how necessary it is to| restrict sovereign power to just bounds.” The small portion of glory won by this woman, | her taste for literature and science. is entirely ef- faced by her extravagant conduct and the murder she committed at Fontainebleau. Tired of living | in France, from which she ought. to have been ex- pelled, she returned to Rome. Here she founded an academy, collected many valuable paintings and | manuseripts, and died April 19th, 1689. I do not think I wasted a thought on this gifted but impure and cruel woman until I visited St. Peter’s at Rome, and just beyond the entrance came upon a magnifi- . | pink rosebuds; and there, leaning upon silent, and I have decided to write and ask you to be my wife. But oh! Nellie darling, I could not bear to hear you say 20; 80, if youdocare a little for me—if, some time in the future, you will be my own dear wife, please wear in token of assent the white hyacinths that accompany this note—wear them in your hair to-night at Mrs. Mer- ton’s ball, Nellie, and should I see them, I will know that you have made me the happiest of men. If you do not wear my flowers, I shall know that you do not love me, and--God help me!—I cannot endure to think of my mis- erable future without a hope of winning you. But in any case I shall always be - Yours forever, “CHARLES LANGLEY ” Charlie Langley folded this letter, his face pale and anxious, and, placing it in an envelope, pro- ceeded to address it with a hand that trembled visibly: “MISS DANTON, 21 MapiIson AVE.” He placed the precious missive in the hands of a servant, together with a bouquet of lovely white hyacinths—‘‘the fairest flower that blows’’—and sent him at once to deliver the momentous letter. He looked terribly troubled as he began to pace up and down the handsome room; for Charlie Langley had staked his future happiness upon that one cast of the die, doing almost as tooiish a thing as a sensible man can be guilty of, instead of going di- rect to the woman he loved and learning his fate, prepared to bear the worst with manly resignation. (And I commend that course to all timid lovers.) Meantime, at Mr. Danton’s up-town mansion, a servant having received the letter and the flowers, bore them at once to the library, where the young ladies of the house had been passing a quiet hour. “For Miss Danton!” he announced, depositing the fragrant burden on atiny buhl table. A young girl arose from the easy-chair where she was loung- ing—a tall, dark, stately girl, with glittering, rest- less black eyes, and a vivid crimson on cheek and lip. As the door closed behind the servant she drew near the table and took the letter in her and. 4 “T wonder if it can be for me?” she said, softly. “That insolent Wilkins! as if there were only one Miss Danton!” She had torn the envelope open by this time, and was devouring the contents. Her face grew ghastly white, and she trembled violently. She turned the letter over and over in her hand. “Her name is Nellie, and mine Nettie,” she said, slowly; ‘‘no one can blame_me for opening the let- ter, since we are both Miss Danton. She has every- thing—parents, home, wealth, influence—and now the love of the man for whom J would lay my life down! She shall not win him from me! know that L could gain his love if she were only out of the way. She with her proud airs of superiority over me because I am a poor dependent—her orphan cousin! I willdo it!’ she eried, with savage ener- gy. ‘It will be the easiest thing in the world. Nell is asleep in her own room; she need never know of the letter. “I will wear the white hyacinths myself to Mrs. Merton’s ball to-night. When he thinks Nellie has rejected him he will turn to me, and lam almost sure lL can win him. I will try it!” She fled away to her own room with the letter and the flowers. An hour later Nellie Danton tapped at her cousin’s door—Nellie, a sweet, fair-faced girl, with bronze brown hair and deep dark eyes. “Soe!” she eried, gayly. as she entered the room, “are not these pink rosebuds exquisite, Nettie ? Papa just sent them to me, to wear at Mrs. Merton’s to-night. They are lovely with my peach blossom silk. What shall you wear, Nettie ?” And the “‘poor dependent,” who, through the munificence of Nellie Danton’s father, possessed a wardrobe which any young lady might be proud of, made answer: ‘ “White silk, and white illusion.” | “Quite bride-like.” laughed Nellie, who_was the simplest, most unaffected of girls, “but, I suppose you will be a bride one of these days. Who could resist my pretty cousin?.’ _ And Nellie stooped and kissed her fondly. For an instant Nellie Danton’s heart shrank from the fearful deception which she contemplated; but, she really loved Charlie Langley, and so she drove away all compunction of conscience, and smiled up into the pretty tace of her cousin. , How lovely both were, as they entered Mrs. Mer- ton’s drawing-room that night, in company with Mr. Danton. Charlie Langley was already present, his eyes fastened upon the door through which he expected to see his darling come floating, with the white hyacinths in her beautiful hair, for Nellie had always received the young man with undisguised pleasure, and he had reason to hope for a favorable answer, and the approval of her parents, who really liked him very much. They entered the room, and his eyes fell upon Nellie Danton, radiant in peach blossom silk and “ Mr. Dan- ton’s other arm was Nettie, lovely as a vision, wear- ing his hyacinths in her raven hair, which proved how highly Nellie had valued them, since she had bestowed them upon another. For a moment it seemed to Charlie Langley, standing there in that. gorgeous room, as though he should die. Every thing grew dark before his eyes, Christina is | his heart seemed to stop beating, and the gay noth- ings of the friend at his side became incoherent to Langley. He turned to fly from the place, but Net- tie Danton, in the door of the cool conservatory, near which he was obliged to pass to make his exit from the room, contrived to intercept him. “Why, Mr. Langley,” she cried, in real alarm at his white faee, ‘‘are you ill ?” He hesitated. As Nettie well knew, she had al- ways fascinated him. ‘ at he answered, hurriedly, “I—I am not well. “Come in here!” the young lady persisted, “‘it is cool and delightful.” : A sudden reckless, deflant mood took possession of him; he stepped into the conservatory, and seated himself ait her side, on a satin couch. “Miss Danton,” he cried, abruptly, “pardon me, but where did you get those hyacinths? I do not mean to be rnde, but they resembie the hyacinths which I sent this evening to your cousin, Miss Nel- lie. Did she give them to you ?” : He was horribly rude, and he was well aware of it, but something urged him on. “Ves,” replied Nettie, unblushingly. “She gave them to me. She did not value them, you see.” | “Nettie,” eried Nellie Danton, suddenly emerging from behind a feathery palm tree a few feet away, where she had been sitting in conversation with an elderly gentleman, ‘“‘you are jesting, dear. I never saw those flowers before. Are not they lovely ‘though! The servant must have made some mis- i take: for 1 never received them.” | “Then, Miss Nellie.” said Charlie Langley, his | heart throbbing madly, “may I beg you for a mo- | ment’s conversation ?” | Half bewildered and surprised. Nellie laid one ‘little white gloved hand upon his arm, and he led | her out upon a moonlit veranda. What he snid I | cannot repeat; but all must have been explained and rectified, for there was a grand wedding not long “Vixit Christina LXITI after to which all the elite were invited; but Nettie Danton was not present. She has lived to be a “real old maid,” and from that day to this she hates the sight and odor of white hyacinths. e BRIGGS’ QUEER MARRIAGE. By Clara Augusta. I was born with a faculty for getting into scrapes. An unlucky star must have presided over things that 10th day of February 1853, when I first saw the light. My parents named me Zebedee Irving Briggs. I write my name Z. Irving Briggs. Zebedee may be a good name, but it is one I don’t tackle to kindly. I have had oceans of trouble in my short life. It would take a ream of foolscap to describe the diffi- culties I have been in, from first to last; but I pass them all by, and came down to the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty-one. Then J first met Annette Graham. Life really began ther for me. I was born again. I had been in love a thousand times before. I had been kicked out of doors by numerous irate papas; I had been deluged with siops when I went to seren- ade some fair charmer with my light guitar, which was a two-dollar accordion; I had had numerous pairs of pants ruined by hungry dogs which dis- uted my right to maect (RATAS charming Mariar, or liza, by the pale moonlight, but I had never known what love really meanttill I met Annette. She was the youngest of the family. She had three elder sisters, and two maiden aunts. There was a good deal of the old maid element in the Graham family, and when I first began to visit there, all five of these elderly Grahams mistook my attentions as intended exclusively for them, and the agony I went through with these five old maids making eyes at me, and giving me slippers, and neck-ties, and things, was insupportable. They waylaid me on the door-steps; in the lane leading to the house; on the street; anywhere and everywhere, and invited me to walk, and to boat, and to ride. and to croquet, till I thought I should be crazy. But at last fortune favored me, and one evening when three of the old critters were down witl the influenza, and the other two were soaking their feet, and stirring up poultices. I made out to tell Annette that my soul was on fire with love for her, and that if she did not reciprocate, I should be liable to fill an early grave, ete. I never realized before what a blessed thing influ- enza was, and I prayed that it might continue in the family till I got through with my courtship with Annette. : My dear little girl replied favorably, and I was in the seventh heaven. Pa Graham remarked, when I spoke to him, that he wished it had been one of the older ones; they had hung on so long, he said, that he should have been glad if I had seen fit to take one of them. : But I respectfully informed him that I already had one mother, and then, seeing how the old fellow’s countenance fell, told him that I would take one of the old maids to live with us, if she would let me alone, and nut expect to kiss. me on account of her relationship. Matters were all arranged, and Annette and I were togbe married early in April, and go ona trip to Was pare The day before the wedding 1 got a note from my beloved, which ran thus: : “DEAREST ZEBEDEE IRVING: A church wedding is so prosy! Let us do something romantic. Let us go this evening to Elder Higgins and be joined, and leave on the evening train. Say yes, darling, as I know you will. “Your own ” ANNETTE.”’ _Now that girl could do anything with me, and, like a fool, I consented. i met. her at eight o'clock at the foot of the lane. She was well wrapped up, for it was a chilly night, and her vail was down. thought she trembled, for her voice sounded crack- ed. I put my arms round her, and stole a kiss. We went directly to Elder Higgins’. He seemed to be expecting us, for he nfét us on the piazza, and m beloved proposed having the ceremony there, It was so delightful in the twilight! So romantic! It might be romantic, but it was tarnal cold for a fellow with patent leather boots on, but I was so deeply in love that I would have been married standing in a mud puddle, if she had proposed it. The ceremony was soon over, and we had just time for the train. Our baggage was to be sent after us next morning. § : We took a sleeping-ear, and the silly nothings we exchanged while the berth was being made up would fill a newspaper. sed 1 thought my bride seemed agitated when we were left alone, but I laid it to the scare of mod- esty. “Irving,” says Siggputting her arms around my neck, “do you | . dearest ?” “Better than Lie? ys I, giving hera hug that made her wince. TO A CHILD KNEELING BY FANNY GROSBY. Beautiful child with fiaxen hair, Breathing to God thy evening prayer, Clasping thy hands while angel eyes Over thee bend from the clear blue skies; Clasping thy hands at thy mother’s knee, Sweet are thy innocent words to me, Asking dear Jesus to guard thy sleep, And all the long night thy soul to keep. Beautiful child, with flaxen hair, Little thou knowest of toil or care; Shielded so fondly by love’s own hand, Held by the cords of its golden band, Life has no thorns for thy pathway now, Morn has no clouds for thy pure young brow, Lovely indeed thou art to me, Lisping thy prayer at thy mother’s knee. Beautiful child with flaxen hair, Beautiful child our birdling fair, Cradled and pillowed on mother’s breast, Peacefully closing thine eyes to rest, Heard was thy voice for its gentle tone, Floated away to thy Father’s Throne, Heard was thy prayer in the vales of light, Jesus will keep thee, good night—good night. BEATING A BANKER. By Major Walter Brisbane. WINSTON, BLAKE & LONG, Bankers, SAN FRANCISCO, JAN. 10. JOHN DUNSTON, Esq:: Dear Sir—Jules Monclair, my confidential clerk, I have just discovered, has stolen forty-two (42) one thou- sand dollar bonds of the Navijo and San Clara Mining Company. From certain indications I have reason to be- lieve, that, after visiting New York, he will visit your town. Itisjust possible he may try to dispose of them there, it being a much more easy matter to do so in a smaller place than New York city. Will you not look out for him, and communicate with other bankers in your place? He has invested $25,000 in our concern, and should you be able to recover the bonds, pay him $25,000, and draw on me, personally, for that sum, and any ex- penses you may incur. Whatever you do, my dear friend, however, I must ask you not to cause his arrest. He saved the life of my only child. Aside from this, there are other reasons of a delicate nature which prevent me from bringing the rascal to the punishment he merits. have presumed upon our boyhood acquaintance to ask this favor. I inclose his photograph. Yours truly, HENRY WINSTON. John Dunston, a middle. tea banker in Alton, a town of 5,000 inhabitants, read the above letter from an old schoolmate, whom he had not seen for years, but of whose prosperity in the Golden State he long had known... It excited intense interest in his mind, and a de- sire to distinguish himself as a detective. About that time there was noend of noise in the news- paper world over the arrest of Chastine Cox, the murderer, by a well-known journalist. John Dun- ston determined to capture theswindler, The only thing he feared was the possibility of Jules Mon- clair not visiting Alton. 4 Mr. Dunston for a day or two neglected to take his usual interest in the financial affairs of the banking house in which he was cashier, and, as often happens, was himself largely interested. _ The photograph inclosed was indelibly stamped in his mind, and he kept a watchful eye on every stranger. wish toruin you. I think, with him, this event w be a lesson to you. My friend tells me you wa $25,000 invested in his house. If you will sign this Epcot nt. Tiina you that money and you can be- over again, i honorably in the future.” spear). aan Oh, sir, this is indeed too much! For such gen- erosity I can never cease to be grateful!” sobbed he. The receipt wa: signed, and the abashed man, with yeps,000 i pockes fronk out of the bank. next train, at he left the town by the e banker was proud of his performane i soon leaked out that he was he hero of ~ ab detective feat. The Alton papers gave him long laudatory notices, vraising his coolness, his pon and above all .js consummate detective 5B) Ut. About ten days later these became nauseating; Mr. Dunston lew into a eet anybody mentioned the worddetective in his pres- ence. The draft on Mr. Henry Winton came bae ~ tested, and with it a letter fom the San DEO” cisco banker refuting the whole wnningly devised tale as a fraud. Mr. John Dunston vas out of pocket $25,000 «and had nothing to show for't but forty-two clumsily forged bonds, while that nttorious confi- dence man, Teddy Hope, was by & much the richer, The banker was so chagrined at his pessonal de- tective experience, that he refused to put « 5 in the hands of professionals. wr ee eee —_—____>e=<—____ Now Is the Time to Help Us. Our friends who have stood by us for so many years, as well as our friends of later date, who are all interested in the NEw YORK WEEKLY, can assist us in doubling our circulation by advis- ing their acquaintances to get a KNAPSACK from the nearest news agency. Now is the time for our friends to help us, by advising their friends to buy No. 25 of the New YorK WEEKLY, so that each and all may have a KNAPSACK. : e<+ A DREAM THAT PREVENTED CRIME. By J. Alexander Patten. One night in the autumn of 1859 the wriler hereof was driving along a road of one of the interior counties of Virginia, It was just after dark, and there was every appearance of an approaching storm. In that part of the country the villages were few and the country houses much seattered, so that it was not easy for the belated traveler to find shelter for the night. We were looking anxiously for some habitation ere we could beg entertainment for tired man and beast, when we came in sight of a dim light. Our horse gave a cheerful neigh on discovering it, and we started forward more rapidly, feeling that we should now find protection from the storm which had already commenced. When we reache the place, it proved to be a log-cabin standing near A few moments before three, while engaged in the private office. he was ealled to the Font ty one of the clerks. Promptly Mr. Dunston stepped forward, and a gentleman, who, the clerk informed him, had ee some gold coin for notes, addressed him us; : “Do you ever purchase foreign stocks and securi- e “Certainly, sir; we deal in all kinds of marketable yer. »” paper. r. Dunston saw the man represented in the pho- tograph, lacking the side-whiskers, which, while they changed his looks considerably, could not de- ceive the keen eye of the banker. The man was a splendid looking fellow, well dressed, and evidently well versed in “business. _ ‘Lhave some idea,” said the customer, “of invest- i ymoney in property near here, and desire to sell. “Ah, sir, Isee—isee. Are they governments ?”, “Oh, no; they are a Pacific coast security.” ‘Let me see them?” asked the banker, hardly able to subdue his excitement. “J have no doubt we can accommodate you. If they are known to us, we will give their market value.” the road-side, with a small patch of ground about it. We hailed the cabin several times, but received no answer. The light moved about. as we could see by the shadow on the only window in front. At length the door slowly opened, and a man appeared at the threshold. “Well?” he said, gruffly, “Can _ you give a traveler and his horse shelter for the night ?” we asked. ‘ ‘-Will yer pay ?” was the next question. Liberally.” Hearing this the man withdrew, as if to consult with some one within the cabin. In a moment he appeared again, and a yoice said: Well take yer for the night, but yer’ll have to pay. The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the wind was sweeping with tremendous power over the wide fields. We instantly drove through a gate, which stood open, into the yard. and thentoa shed at the side of the cabin. By this time the man joined us. . Put your horse right thar, stranger,” he said. I reckon he’ll find it a heap drier than on the road. a ant be tighter, but I hain’t had no time to “tend 0 it.’ We made the “‘Lhave not them now with ‘ eould not find a market outside ot Lene, stzaid I ‘*and you are sure that nuthing would make you change ?” “Does the sun change ?” “N—no,” says she, “unless we might call the spots change!” “There are no spots on me!” saysI. “My dear- est, remove those envious wraps that I may see thy face!” and I began to fumble at the hat and vail. All too soon they came off, and I stocd face to face with my wife. Jupiter Jumbo! I thought I should have fainted dead in my tracks when I saw the pale-blue eyes, and the beaky nose of my Annette’s maiden aunt, Annette Graham! And the oldest aunt at that! Fifty if she was an hour! “Woman!” screamed I, ‘‘what does this mean ?” “My dearest husband!” says she. : “Husband!” says I, “don’t husband me! What in the duse——” ; “Please don’t swear,” says she, ‘my nerves are so delicate——” : “The duse take you and your nerves too!” yelled “What I want to know is what does this mean ?” she; “brother Peter and I planned it, and brother “IT suppose we are married, dearest Irving,” says Peter thought and I thought that one of the name was as good the other, and niece Annette issucha young, giddy thing——” ‘‘And you are old enough to be my grandmother, and uglier than sin! Get out of my _way,” says I as she attempted to embrace me. “I am going to aon the next station, and you may go to the evil!’ Just then the conductor appeared. “What’s all this row about ?” demanded he, swell- ing up like a gamecock. “Pye married the wrong woman,” says I. “So have a good many other men,” says he; “nothing particularly new about that. You’d better go to bed and keep stili.” “She married me under false pretenses—passed herself off for another person. and——” > that’s too thin!” says he, with a laugh; “sorry for you, old lady, but don’t see what I can do,” and on he went. : i “Oh, Irving!” says the old maid, “do listen to rea- son. My reputation will be ruined. Here alone with youin this sleeping-car. I shall never be able to hold up my head in Elder Higgins’ church again. Oh, Irving, think of my reputation!” “T sha’n’t meddle with your reputation,” says I. “T’}] leave it as good as I flad it;” and I dashed out of the car, and she hanging to my coat-tails. The train was slacking speed for Reed’s Corner, and in a moment we were trundling over the bridge across the river. Ishut my jaws and jumped—anything was better than that old maid. The water was infernally cold, but I soon swam ashore, and crawled up the bank under some bushes. Secreted there, I had the pleasure of seeing the po- lice drag the river for me about two hours and a half, and my wife urging them on. When they gave it up. and decided that the cur- rent must have swept my body down the stream, the old eritter burst into tears, and cried out: “Tt’s a shame that after having waited fifty years for a man, and only just got one, that he should be drownded! But I shall have Mrs. on my tombstone, all the same. Iamamarried woman, and I shall feel more as if I had fulfilled my destiny. The Lord’s will be done.” And then they led her away. i I went to the nearest barn, and crawled into the hay. ThereI lay and thought it over. My clothes dried, and in the morning J went to the next town, and made application for a divorce. Tam happy to say it was granted: but, oh, the dreadful cussedness of women! when I went to my own Annette, and explained matters to her, and told her that I was free, she laughed in my face, and informed me that she was engaged to the néw doctor, whose whiskers were worlds nicer than mine, and she remarked that she thought Id better go back to auntie, and try to be a good husband to Sr. Auntie, indeed! } Whenever L trust a woman again, I hope I shall know it. o~« Give Your Opinions. We request our readers to carefully examine the contents of this number of the New York Week ty, and after they have read the two new serials just commenced, together with the other stories and sketches by popular authors, and after they have read the New Yorx Werxty all through, we wish them to give us their opinion, and let us know if they can read a more interesting or popular story and sketch paper. Besides, Lhave not fully determined to purchase the property.” and he turned to go. “We shall be glad to do the best we can when you determine to sell.” s “Very good, sir. I will communicate with your father,” said the gentleman. as he left. “Jobson!” eried Mr. Dunston, in an immense hurry, “I leave you to close up. I have some im- portant business to attend to,” and the banker uickly exchanged his office coat and dashed into the street, to the amazement of the clerks. Mr. Jules Monelair, for it was he and no mis- take, walked leisurrly to the Alton House, followed at some distance by the banker. Mr. Dunston could er, eat his supper, and snapped up poor little Mrs. Dunston, so engrossed was he with the detective operation. After supper he sauntered into the reading-room of the Alton House and looked around for his vic- tim, who entered some minutes later. “Tf I mistake not.” said Jules. advancing toward the banker, “I met you somewhereto-day. Excuse my abruptness, but Iam a stranger and feel lone- some. “T think you were in my banking-house to-day, asking about some bonds,” answered the banker, with a very poor air of nonchalance. “Ah, der 7 so. I did call at a bank to-day.” “The First National, sir. I am the cashier, John Dunston.” ; “My name, sir, is Howard Livermore. Iam glad to meet some one to talk to. Will you not have something to drink?” ; The banker eschewed liquors usually, but in this ease he felt he must accept, and he hada glass of wine. He conversed with Mr. Livermore for an hour or more. Could the banker have forgotten the character of the man he most certainly would have enjoyed the talk, for his new acquaintance was decidedly entertaining. Had he been in doubt before. he could not longer have remained so, for Mr. Livermore discovered his identity as Jules Monclair by his knowledge of the Pacific coast, and other trifling little speeches, which a shrewd man knew how to utilize. When they parted it had been agreed that Mr. Livermore should call at the First National the afternoon of the next day with his bonds. In an- swer to the question, Mr. Livermore named the bonds us the “Navijo and San Clara. Mining Com- pany,” whose standing could be obtained from any of the New York papers, or in the bankers’ stock quotations. é Mr. Dunston could hardly sleep that night, but when the afternoon came and with it Mr. Liver- more, the banker felt his unrest would soon be tri- umphantly allayed, ‘ ¢ “Just step this way, Mr. Livermore,” said the banker, briskly. ““‘We can make the calculation or I can pay you the money, if we can agree upon a price é i s unsuspecting as a fly. the swindler walked intothe banker’s web and seated himself, the banker thought rather nervously. To restore confidence, Mr. Dunston discussed the price, which, as a mat- ter of course, was not very long chaffered over, Livermore saying: : ‘Very well, sir, 1 suppose that is the best I ean do, although Iassure yod they are at par farther est,’ ‘Jules Monelair, you are a those forty-two stolen bonds.’ Mr. Monclair leaped to his feet, pale as a ghost, and asked, threateningly: : “What do you mean? You have insulted me!” With his uplifted arm he would have struek the panker, but that gentleman said, very coolly, con- sidering his position: ; “There are two officers in the other room, and if oe do not seat yourself quickly and hear what I ave to say, I will send you to prison. I haye been ? And as Mr. Dunston ex- manner changed. : honest old banker, his swindler! I demand on the lookout for you plained, the detected thief’s Under the eloquence of the S head dropped upon the table. With tears. he sought the banker’s clemency. It was his first lapse from the straight path; his wife would die from shame, his children be disgraced. Would not the banker have mercy on him, take back the bonds, and allow him to go, an unpunished, but bitterly repentant man ? ; : The poor fellow’s agonized condition so wrought upon his accuser’s mind that he felt himself moved more than he eared to acknowledge. and experi- enced a moisture about his eyes, a difficulty about his speech.. : The wretched man dare not look_up into Mr, Dunston’s benign face, as he cowered and sobbed with emotion. é “T ean never look an honest man in the face again!” said the distressed man. : What a thrill of emotion ran through his breast as =e heard the banker say, after gathering up the bonds: “Mr. Monclair, you have shown me that you do regret this ungrateful crime. Mr. Winston has no poor. animal as comfortable as pos- DIDie,; awd ther hin d Dehn gs Wet to the skin, and Kunpieowe telt neree en ough to encounter almost anybody or anything, but we confess that we were somewhat startled OF the in- mates, as the light of a single candle revealed them tous. These persons were the man and a woman, but they had such sinister, devilish faces that we took a seat little less than thunderstruck, They were old, gaunt, and wrinkled, and in every line of their faces wickedness wasas plainly written as ifin words. When weentered, the woman was leaning over the fire smoking. As she turned to observe Ba mer little eyes glittered and scowled, but she said: “There’s a chair.” “He'll have some supper,” said the man. “‘He’s gwine to pay well. So yer can tote out yer best. The woman rose and began to move about with the footfall of a cat. A piece of fat bacon, some corn bread, and a pitcher of water composed the repast. “Thar,” she said, as she again took her seat in cp corner, “that’s the best we can do in these pa ve 2% ‘ “Yer mout have noticed. stranger,” added the man, “that these parts ar’n’t very good for tobacco and things to make money_on.” We immediately assented to this, and _ yielding to the force of our hunger made a hearty fheal on the bacon and bread. This over, we asked and answered a few questions, and then said that we would go to bed. The fact was we wanted to get out of the pre- sence of this horrible old couple. If the storm had not sounded in our ears raging like ten thousand furies, we should have been tempted to have goneon. But stay we must, and we wished to be alone to reflect on cur course for the night. We were satisfied that there was mis- ehief brewing. The old woman took a candlestick from a shelf, lighted the stump of a candle in it, and then said: “The bed’s this way, stranger.” Saying good-night to the old man, we followed close at her heels into asmall room. She put dowz the light on the window sill, and in her cat-like way left the apartment without a word. The room and bed were of the most poverty-stricken chazacter. There was no chair, and we took a seat on sie side of the bed. Here, strange as it may seem. We were soon overcome with fatigue, and fell ever on the bed ina sound slumber. We had mace no prepara- tion to guard against the robbery. and, perhaps, murder that we anticipated, and were now at the mercy of the old couple. How long we slept we never knew. But during our slumber we began to dre«m. First, it was about a terrible storm, and we theught that we were wad- ing through turbulent, rcering streams at the peril of life. Then we dreamed of the old couple, and plainly saw them steosing into the room. Painfully impressed with the dream, we awoke and opened our eyes. We comprehended the situa- tion in a moment, and furthermore, saw enough to make us keep quiet and feign to be asleep. The door of the room was wide oren, and the old man end woman were standing just over the thres- hold, the woman with a lighted candle in her hand, and the man with an old-fashioned horse-pistol. Approaching the bed, the woman held the light else to our face, and muttered: a ain’t gwine to wake. Look for his money, uick.’ a Tf he stirs and makes trouble, I'll put him whar nee not. ROR BET returned the man, with his pis- tol bearing full upon us.’ Involuntarily we moved. On the instant the old woman drew back and put out the light. “Guss yer for a coward!” hissed the old man. _. This was our chance for life, and we improved it by making another movement, Immediately. we found thst we were alone, and we saw the door softly closed. For the rest of the night we remained aver i had saved us from robbery, and robably murder. : ¥ When the dawn came, we paid the demand of the old couple, and took our Soe te without waiting for breakfast. We said nothing of the discovery of the previous night, and they acted as if they thought we had not made it. Confident that our dream ha served a most providential purpose, we rode on our way, and in the course of two hours reached a vil- lage. .As we had no time to spend in that part of the country, we made no mention of what had oce curred to us at the cabin of the old couple. No Manuscripts Wanted. We want No manuscripts, and shali accept none from this time until the summer 18 over, except from our regular contributors. Josh Billings was born in 1818, and will be sixty-five years of age on the 21st of April.