ll ~ n . x, 1., n ,V >_  r __ '1 ' H > h
$2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York. N. Y.. at Second Class Man Rates. n Copyright, 1883. by Emma: AND Anus. “Na—000mb” 23. 1883.

 

E10 206. VOL. VIII. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. Y. PRICE. 5 CENTS
N ‘ 9  FROM GENERATION ,
  .TO GENERATION.

I C23 1-" HENRIETTA «1. DE 001mm:

1‘ V‘ A

 

 

 

,¢\

.M.gx~.~<m.nh m. w . . , c.

4

- gAMA-“ _._.__«‘ A

' h
k

x ’ I ‘
MERE .

 

. ....',. r‘ . w“,
I, “#4:

/

A

ERNEST DIVES’I‘ED HIMSELF OF GUN AND HUNTING- TACKLE AND TBREW HIMSELF UPON THE GRASS AT m FEET.

 

if?! 1

/
‘ngNaL-tx-vy-

 

 

 

 

  

,‘birds that made the homely little front room

‘ ‘ girlwho stood, with arms bared above the dim-

lor of the mother’s face, framed in waving

‘, to found extravagant conjectures.

. al dignity and refined intelligence, were, by

 2

OUIDA’S ' LOVE.

 

, , OUIDA’S LOVE; *1
From Generation to Generation. i

B! HENRIETTA n. on com.

, CHAPTER I.

m mhan’s DAUGHTER. ‘ . i

.‘f For I, the Lord th Goa, am a 'ealous God, and

wait the suns of the ather upon t e children, unto
the third and fourth generation."

, .A BRIGHT summer sun streamed in at the
window of a picturesque old mill-house situ-
ated in one of the many lovely ravines run.
11ng back from

 

“ The vale where the Mohawk ently glides
On us clear winding way to t e sea,

and strove in vain to brighten the face of a
slight, pale woman sitting near the lattice.

An atmosphere of perpetual sadness, despite
the‘ dancing sunlight, and the cheery song of

an echoing paradise of sweet sounds, enveloped
the black-robed figure. A piece of sewing lay
across the lady’s lap; but her long, transparent
fingers toyed idly with the needle, and her
eyes rested tenderly yet sadly, upon a young

pied elbows, washing dishes at a little square
table standing, upon angular legs, primly in the
center of the room. , ,
Mother and daughter, one would pronounce '
these two at a glance, although the creamy pal-

bands of chestnut hair, reminded one of a state-
ly Calla-lily growing beneath the brown shad-
ows of some woody trellis; and the daughter
bloomed in youthful freshness like some newly
blossomed English rose.

In spite of their rude surroundings and hum-
ble employment, there was that in the appear‘
ance of both parent and child that would fix
the attention_ of people less given to building
air-castles than a romancist; and even the un—
gworId—wise inhabitants of Glenville found
much in the family of the miller upon which

 

“True, no fault could be found with them;
for Hugh Haughton kept the peace and fatten—
ed five hogs at theexpense of his customers,
and his wife was ever quiet, amiable and lady-
like, [while Winsome Ouida reigned queen of

every youthful heart, both boy and girl, within
‘a day’s ride of the mill.

But they had not al~
ways liVed there, and in a neighborhood where
every family record can be proved from the
beginning of time, by some of the oldest in-
habitants, this is an indication of a lack of con-
sideration in one’s ancestors which the descend-
ants of the early settlers are very loth to over- ,

I look. i

More than this, the miller was a singularly

- reserved and eccentric man, who never min-

gledwith thosevabout him, but lived solitary,

V ‘ amid the dust and rear of the busy mill. .

Mrs. Haughton, although friendly disposed ‘

' toward her neighbors, could never quite assim-

ilate with the buxom, bustling dames that con— "

stituted the society of the, country; and so her

manners, that were but the reflection of natur-

these critical rustics, pronounced “stuck up,”
and she was to a certain extent left alone to

'nurse the melancholia that seemed to have'
, fastened upon her life and sucked it barren of

smiles. V , _ I
And Ouida, notwithstanding that, in her ir— 1

~' ’ I repressible jOyousness, she was the life of ev-‘

ery gathering, she stillvvwas 'like some lovely
exotic, growing upon a daisy-starred bank, f
among her yOuthful companions. ' Nature had ‘
made a difference between her and the maidens ,
with when: she ramped, and that this differ.
once was felt, was proved ’by the fact that 1
while she had ever had a miniature court about ;
her,;still none of the farmer lads ever paid her;
those,  and nameless attentions by which '
tug‘fiiahdicate their preference for the particug.
 fills that desire elects wife of the future

 

  

Then, a... there were things. at the mill-j

/

house not to be found in any other mill—house
in Central New York. On one side of the
room into which we have looked,.and which
served both as parlor and living room, was a
set of plainly constructed shelves filled with
methodically arranged and elegantly bound

.f books—books that, by their titles, proved
' themselves selections from the choicest litera-
Between the window .

ture of every nation.
and outer door stood a claw-footed mahogany
beaufet, black with age; and upon a curiously

' twisted music—rack of the same dark wood

stood a beautifully inlaid guitar case. Facing
the book-shelves, on the opposite side of the

‘ room. stood a huge cedar chest, rich with an-

tique carving, above which hung a masterly

' painting in oil, representing Cain at the mo-

ment when the Lord said unto him, “Where
is Abel, thy brother?” While about the room
were scattered various little womanly trinkets
very rarely to be met with in the rural homes
of America, even in the year of our Lord,
18—. ‘ '

But on this particular morning of which I
write, the little table with its decided square,
Where Ouida stood elbow deep in a shining tin
pan‘of steaming water, was covered with the
most incongruous of all the miller’s posses-.
sions, namely—a full coffee service of quaintly
fashioned silver, flanked by piles of plates,
cups and saucers of the rarest Sevres china.

“ What is this in the center of these plates,
mother?” asked Ouida, as'she wiped one deftly

,wilh a snowy linen towel and deposited it care—

fully upon one of the shelves of the old beaufet.

“A coat~of-arms, daughter,” answered the
mother, somewhat wear-fly, as if she would
thus dismiss the subject.

“ The silver is marked in just the same
way. I should think they might have found
iomething prettier to put on. What is a coat-
>f arms?” persisted the girl. .

“It is, I think, a kind of patent of nobility

held by families of noble descent, and granted ‘

by royalty at the conferring of a title in recog-
nizance of brave deeds,” was the hesitating re-

y.

“What does this lion rearing up as if to
climb an oak tree signify? and here are some
words in Latin, what do they mean?"

“ The arms was granted to John Ogden, Esq., ,

by Charles the Second, who saved the life of
his unfortunate father, Charles the First, by
télling him to secrete himself in the thick

branches of an oaktree when so closely pressed 7
by his enemies that escape seemed impossible. ,

The king followed the advice and Ogden rode
on, closely pursued by those who thought him
in company with Charles, and the royal fugi-
tive escaped. The lion represents the person
of the king, and the tree his leafy hiding-place.

The words are a Latin motto,‘ ‘ Et si ostendo

non jacto——the motto of the house of Ogden, L
meaning—‘And if I make a show I do not r

boast.”
“Welll how came that coat-of-arms upon

this silver, or, how came we by silver bearing ‘

that coat-of-arms?” - ,

“Your father’s mother Was an Ogden, and
these things belonged to her.”

“Did she live in England, and is she deadl—
Did 1 have a grandfather, or an uncle, or some

, relations besides a grandmother, like other girls

bevel—Why don’t you tell me-all about it?—
Where did we live before we came here?” asked

the girl, eagerly, unmindful of her mother’s'

gentle “ bush,” or the passing shadow that
threw a momentary gloom in at the open win-
dow. ‘

But, the impetuous words died suddenly on
her lips es'she caught sight of the miller’s form
as it darkened the doorway and knew that he
had heard herquestions. '

The man’s clothes were white with the sift-
ing particles of grain, and the rings of his coal-
black hair were powdered Ethicka with the
same gray dust, and, yet, the badges of his
humble calling set upon him, like the trappings
of a masquerade, as he stood blurring the sun-
shine/with his dark and haughty presence. A.

!

white} anger circled his thin lips, and a phos~

phorean flame shot from his eyes as the bent

,:

 

 

,i their glance upon‘the blanching face of his wife
1 and asked, with a sneer: l—-“ Why don’t you en-
lighten your daughter, madame? You have an
interesting bit of family history in your mem—
ory!” '

r “We were- only talking about the coat-of
a'rms upon the old service, Hugh!” said the
shrinking woman, pleadingly.

“ Curse the old service! I’ll grind it in -) pow-
der, beneath my .heel, if I hear any more of
' this curiosity,” hissed the man, and turning
abruptly left the room.

Only the ticking of the tall old clock broke
the silence that violence and tyranny had so
suddenly created. A mute anguish oversprcad
Mrs. Haughton’s face, while Ouida stood, the
picture of consternation, with frightened "wees
trembling from red to pale in cheek and brow.
Slowly she freed her hands from the crystal
water‘vdrops, and as slowly passing to where
her mother sat, she wiped away the two great
tears that were just escaping the tortured eye—
lids, then turning’ her quick, passionful face
toward the door, she asked:

“ Why. is father always so angry when I
seek to know from whence we came, and from
whom we are descended? What is there so
terrible in the past that makes him rage like a'
tiger, and has made you old before your time?”

“ Don’t ask me, child! Don’t ask me! Pray
g to God, hourly, that you may never know. I,
 your mother, could wish you had died an inno—
‘ cent babe, in my arms, rather than to see you
bearing the burden I have borne.
nothing in the future for you that is good.
There—therel Forget all this, darling; I am
not quite myself to—day. Don’t grieve,,0'uida,
nor mind these little differences between your
father and me. Put on your‘bonnet and take a
walk down to your favorite butternut—tree; the

air and sunshine will do you good.” .

‘ “But, mother, I cannot hear to see you un‘
1 happy and fading away like a snow-wreath. Is
‘ there nothing I can do to give you joy and
peace?” ‘

“Nothing, daughter, beyond the comfort
your bright young life is to me. ' Ask me no
more questions concerning the past; it but dis—
turbs a current we cannot stem. Finish your
i work, my love, and then go out; I would be
i

 

alone.”

A few moments were occupied in placing the
dishes in their accustomed places, and cover-
ing the angular table with an embroidered
spread; then the house-door opened and shut
between the young heart going out to meet its
fate, and the stricken mourner into whose soul
the iron had long since entered, and none but
the God, whose mighty finger is upon the pulse
of humanity, felt the throb of that mother”s
voiceless prayer as she knelt. by the vine-
wreathed window. ' ' '

——-—

CHAPTER 'II. |
m warcn YOUNG nova m “ ram wonnn’s
POLLY- ” APPEAR.
u
mgstndhihfi'tttth,
Roses are her cheeks, *
' And a rose her mouth.” . '
t t 1! 1: 1| t t ' O
“ For a breeze of mornin moves
‘ And the planet of Love on his ",
OUIDA HAUGHTON was very fair to look upon
as she walked beneath the shadow of the grace-
ful willows that skirted the swift-running mill-
stream down toward her favorite haunt, the old
butternut tree. The summer wind played hide
and—go-seek in the waving masses of her bronze-
gold hair, and gauzy—winged' insects played en~
vious pranks in the muslin folds that veiled so

c

tenderly the soft warm loveliness‘of. neck and ‘

arms. Her eyes were. violet-blue, fringed by
3 long curling lashes; her forehead white and
' wide and high; one roguish dimple nestled in
the round left cheek; her chin was short and
sensitive; her nose small, straight and delicate
of nostril, and her mouth formed a Cupid’s
' how so tempting that—-
. “ A man’had given all other bliss, r
And all his worldly worth for this-

To waste his whole heart in one his: .
Upon [her perfect lips." "

 

A

I can see .

 

 

 

h..- 5.1.. I
. y

 

.A searcher for sangre azul would have found.

its warranty in the tiny shell-tinted ear, the
exquisitely molded hands, with their pomted
pink nails,‘and the high arched instep of her
little feet as they pressed daintily the spring—
ing grasses, and Have been confounded in his
theory by learning that the little lady was
only a miller’s daughter.

But, Ouida was not given to theorems; she
could put two and two together, but she was
not fond of working out these little problems.

,Moreover, Ouida was young, and the air was
sweet with the breath of honeysuckles and
wild-roses; a saucy bobolink whistled merrily
at her from some invisible perch in the .willow
(sopse, and great lazy butterflies floated like ani-
inate flowers upon the languid breeze. Who
could‘ long be sad or long remember unpleas-
ant things beguiled by nature’s great har-
monies?

The old butternut was a glorious tree..
thick-leaved arms stretched Wide, projecting
shadows ever the cool greensward at its roots;
feathered minstrels of every note held tuneful
rehearsals within the leafy orchestra. The sil—
very Mourning Kill glided over its pebbly bed
under the dancing reflection of its wind-tossed
boughs, and sitting there beneath its friendly
shade one might see and hear the music of the
falls, as spouting from-the cliff the liquid element
breaks into foamy spray, then, escaping the
rocky torture, gathers again its shining thread
and flashes adowri the mossy banks. Above is
the deep blue of the rippleless pond merging
into the fainter blue of the clondless sky, and
the white sails of the old mill gleam restless
throu h the iartin trees.

A Euckoolgreetegd Ouida with its changeful
midsummer note as she stood drinking in With
her ‘eyes the evervarying, neverfailing charms
of her vantage ground. , .

“ A cuckoo! I’ll try my fortune,” said she
to herself. “ I’m sixteen, and ‘Heartsease ’ was
‘Wooed and married and a’ '

before her sixteenth birthday.

 

* n rts of the north of En land the old
Darlitslshnggpgrsllgtion still prevails of the vfila e girls go-
ing out on the midsummer morning. whens e cuqkoo
changes the note which it hau maintained smce

' April toque'stion the bird as to their future_mar~
riage' According to this ancient custom, the simple
maidens kiss their hands in salutation to the myS-
terious little soothsayer of the meadows, and say
each in turn:

“ ! cuckool
,_ gigglilyou do? How d’you do?

How long must I"
Before I marry? ,

‘ l sings out “Cuckoo "as man
at“: :sugiggghfigot .years, it is to be hOped~)
elapse before the wished-for; event is to come 0 .

koo
“ $¥$§0§ugof How d’ycu do?
How long must Harry,
Before 1 many? tones.
be in mock demure
“mfkioi cuckoo! cuckoo i” came from some
wild-wood covert in answer to the baud-0M
e .
half-serious a peel.
it Only mile months to. tanyéreghéhzfigeg
cuckoo! what sort of a wedding-g ‘
girl be able to make in that ime
' ‘ ‘ oun I'm o’er young,
“ ‘ 1 $1335.03; yogi’ig to marry yet,
I’m over young, had be a sin t w
To talc me as my mither ye ,
weet, clear voice, and the

h r. s .
flogging rifng back a warning echo, “O’er

,1
yogllgravo! bravo!” came in fresh, manly tones
ther side of the cree ‘
frel‘nlletggifscious blood rushed ,up to the my:
edges of the fair young singer s sun-gold g,
and a sudden silence more eloquent than war 3

fell 11 her. -
 spring 

willow that forms a na
merged bridge over the stream, and came to.
as he stood, tall

ward the element-gin 00mm”
Dressed m mm Exiting sdnlight, no son of
arched, the fa-

dnd straight in the
Nimrod ever more nearly up?”

' been 1 Hewas a Saul among
bled W 01 the 80¢ ectnes's of limb, and

a men in stature and PM
I ins features were refill” “3

Its -

 

chiseled marble

and well-nigh as clear and pale; his \mouth and
nose were finely-cut, proud and firm; the lines
of the lips exceedingly delicate and haughty;
his eyes were dark and wonderfully deep with
powers of expression; his brow was wide, high
and powerful, and his head was set as'grandly
as the head of a youthful Titan upon his
shoulders.

“ Ernest!" shyly uttered the blushing girl.

“At your service, fair Ouida. I know it is
a great breach of etiquette to intrude upon a
lady’s retirement, but how could you expect
me to remain in the woods when even the
meadowlarks left their strawberry depreda—
tions at the sound of your voice?” said the
young giant, as he divested himself of gun and
hunting-tackle and threw himself upon the
grass at her feet.

“Were you listening? Did you hear me—”

“Sing? Most certainly! How could I help

 

l2 path toward them.

it, and how'else should i have known you were ‘
here?” interrupted, and, after the manner of ‘

Yankees, anSWered the youth, drawing in long
breaths of the cool, delicious breeze.

“How else, to ‘be‘surei Well, people who
stroll all over are pretty sure to hear some-
thing not intended for their ears. What have
you shot to-day?”

“ Powder,” was the sententious reply. , “ Is
not this a picture—spot on earth’s broad can—
vas?” .

“ It seems to me as if there are none more
beautiful,” answers Ouida, with dewy eyes.
“Here are the violets dim, but sweeter than

" state of preservation.

“ ‘ Will you walk into my parlor?" said a spider tova ’- v

"Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did
spy. \ .

You’vgogi‘ily got to pop your head within thalittle

To 8e? so many curious things you never saw ‘be~

ore. .
Will ygfiwill you, will you, will you, walk in, pretty

sung a little crickery—crockery voice closer at
hand. ' ' 12,. .
The young couple started, blushing each fu-
riously, and Ernest asked: .
“ Who is that?” ' v
“ ‘This world’s Polly,’ ” answered Ouida.
“ Who is ‘this world’s Polly?’ "’ . ,
“ A poor demented creature who lives in that -
little but just there in that clump of willows.”
The explanation was hardly given when a.
Singular figure came along the grass—grown
She was dressed-in, some
kind of a dust—colored petticoat, oven which
she wore a. long-tailed—blue dress coat in a. poor
Her long white hair .
covered her like a veil, and in her hand she:

y

‘carried .a pug-nosed, broken-handled, shiny-

black teapot. . . , = ~ .
“ Good—morning, young Colin and Dowsabel,”
she said, dropping them amelaborate courtesy.
“I never expected to see another pair mf
lovers in this world, he never.
any before since Methuselah was a. small boy

3 and bought me taify by the yard, andI‘don’t
L expect to see another till the dying day :of lmy

f death.

the lids of Juno’s eyes or Cytherea’s breath; "
pale primroses, golden oxlips, and the crown '

imperial; blue-eyed myrtles and fragrant fleur—
de-lis. I- gathered them as I came and find
them sweetest as they die.”

“And are you Perdita? You reminded me
irresistibly of her as I saw you sitting here
with your lap full of. fragrance. But no; I
will not call you Perdita,” and a tender light
beamed from the young man’s eye as he
watched the carmine come and go beneath the
rose-leaf whiteness of her transparent cheek.

“Then you do not consider me ‘ the queen
of curds and cream?’ ” she said, with all a
woman’s coqucttish instincts alive within her,
and a telling side-glance from her innocent
blue orbs.

“ You are ‘no shepherdess, but Flora peer-
ing in April’s front.’ I will not call you Per-
dita, for that means lost.”

“ And, as I am ‘ no shepherdess,’ you will
not connect me with the lost sheep.”

“ Not unless you will consider me the shop-
herd who is to bring you into his fold.”

“ I think we are talking nonsense,” said Oui-
da, half-frightened at the turn the conversation
had taken and at less how to meet his most
pointed remark.

“People who are in love seldom talk any-
thing else, ” answered the handsome fellow.

“ But, I am not in love,” hesitatingly floun-
dered she, while the rich red suffused neck and
brow.

“ But I am!” with earnest emphasis.

“ With yourself?” asked the shy little puss.

“ With my other self,” was the answer, with
increasing warmth.

“ 0h! Then you have a doublei 'Witl: which
have I the honor of speaking? ” ‘

“ With the real Ernest—the Ernest who loves

you and who wants to call you by the holiest
of-all names. Will you be mine?”

One little moment the wide pansy eyes search-
ed his face as if to read there the truth of his
words, and then the rare sweet face hid itself
upon his breast and the sweetest silence in God’s
fair world fell upon them.

 

Afar the tinkling of a cowbell mingled with '

the voices of laughing children; the honey-laden
bee droned by on tireless wing; it great yellow

bumble-bee payed gallant court to an oxeyedv!

daisy; the cuckoo cooed softly from its verdant

hiding, and the Mourning Kill rippled gently '

onits way to its lover‘s arms, the bright old

Mohawk; but the‘ young hearts, wrapped in‘

sweet love’s dream, only felt the unwritten har-
monies of nature’s sympathies and found a fore-
taste ‘of Heaven upon each othar’s lips. '

x x y,

‘ .

I don’t suppose there’ll ever be another
such proposal as Solomon made to the Queen of
Sheba in this world, no never, and-4 ‘ , ' e.
The little maid replied:
Some say, a little sighed' ~
But, what shall we have for to da‘t, eat, eat!
Will the love that ou‘re so riclnn
‘Make a fire in the lichen—‘- '

Or the little god of love turn the spit, spit, spit? -
And that makes me think that Methnselahiis
waiting for his supper—a. thing he never done
before in ' this world, no neverl ‘and when'he
came there the cupboard was bare "and I'll
never forget it till the dying day of my death,
no, no, never! Good-morning, \young‘ Colin
and fair Dowsabeli” and with another bob.
hing courtesy she hobbled on, singing as she
went, ' ’

\

l
“ ‘Then 11 he s rl butboth hiswmgs'
Were iii the getllggught fast; ‘ x
The spider laughs, ‘ Ha, ha, my boys
’ I’ve caught you safe at last!

out, pretty

.x,‘ - v’ _  :i .
a .‘ ,l : \ a" l y l

Ivhain’t seen .  x i 

i;

I .

 

 

 

Will you. will tyyoyiiggvill you, will you Walk _ ,I i

“ Well, if a man did not care what he said, 'V 1

he might pronounce that one of the greatest

curiosities in this world,” said Ernest, follow-‘  

ing the grotesque receding figure with his eyes.
“ Polly is indeed a curiosity, butI sometimes

think there is ‘methed in her madness.’ , new. ; . i

ever rambling her discourse, there, is always a.

certain applicability about it that one.‘ . 5‘
feel uncomfortable,” answered‘his companions I a

“ I hope you are not thinking cf ‘ the Spirit r .

and the Fly,’ little girl! .I should not f e] . t ‘ ' ,

all flattered to know myself associated in your ,
mind with those horrid black bugs.” '

“ Indeed no! Polly’s warbling did strike me
with a certain force at the moment, but my
natural vanity came to the rescue.” ‘

“ Then you, would not wish to be considered~ ‘ - ' A;

a ‘foolish little flyi’ ” -
“What woman'wonld? Besides I am not
partial to spiders. They may be companiona--
ble during solitary confinement, butVI-could
not find in them any suggestion of matnmm‘ ',

nial amnities. I was thinking that Polly ad., '5
Did you  »

dressed as as Colin and Dowsabel.
notice itl”

“Yes; she doubtless thought thiskl’;   i,

whereon the pastoral twainmight sit‘flirting

andweaving i.‘ , V 1 V ‘
‘ '.‘—-Beltsof straw andivy buds,’ ,, j

and simpering at each otheriover the tops of

their crooks. Polly has evidently been a read.  K

er at some period of her existence.» I But,‘,to’
change thesiibject: what has been vexing you!
You were singing when I discovered -

I fancied-that the skyey. blue of your eye'y 
3 was humid as if'withreéent showers.” _ f“

you. yes  - 

 

 

 

 

, a man’s loudest, ‘everything.’

’ the grave rejoinder.

*4

“ Nothing, Ernest,” answered the girl, while
a tremulous sadness usurped the usual anima-
ted glow of her countenance

“ Ah, I am not to be put off that way,” said
her lover, while the latent persistence in his
character slightly contracted the muscles about
his mouth. “ I’m not to be put 01! that way.
A woman’s ‘ nothing ’ is frequently more than
If I am to be
keeper of your conscience I insist upon a full
confession. Begin now, pet.”

“Well, at least it is nothing more tangible
than a skeleton in the closet,” sighed Guide, in
reluctant tones. / ,

“What manner of skeleton is it, dear? I I
have a taste for wiring those things."

“ It is the skeleton of my grandmother,” was ‘

A prolonged whistle was the only response to
this rather startling announcement, and she
continued:

“ You perhaps know that we have many
things at the Mill-house unlike the possessions I
of our neighbors. Among them there is a set
of old china and several pieces of silver curi—
ously marked that once belonged to grand-
mother. Today, while washing these dishes, I
asked mother some questions concerning them
which father happened to overhear, and it put
him into a terrible rage."

“An aggravated case of mother-in-law, very
likely."

“ No, it cannot be that, because it is not the
grandmother upon the distal! side. Don’t
laugh at me, Ernest, for I am very sensitive
concerning the mystery that envelope our past.
That we have not always occupied the position
in life we now do I feei certain, for where will
you find a miller born to thewright with a
classiml education like my father, or a miller’s
wife accomplished in music and art, who
speaks with ease threeorfour languages,“
does my mother!”

“There is something in that; but ‘what is

,.

,Hecuba to us or we to Heouba?”

“Nothing to-day, perhaps, but Hecuba. may

_ prove everything to us in the future fulfillment

‘of present hopes.”

“ ‘ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’
my darling. We have a cross ready at hand
without borrowing trouble of the future.”

“ What is it?” asked the girl, with a startled
look leaping into her wide, clear eyes, as she
involuntarily nestled closer to the young man’s

* side. -

‘ ' , “I am going away to—morrow.”

“ Going away 1’?

“Yes, going away., Shall you miss me, or
will absence teach you to forget!"
v “ Forgetfulness never comes to love, Ernest.
How can I help but miss you? It is the one
left who is soonest forgotten, not the one who
goes. Women’s hearts are as wax to receive
impressions and as marble to retain them, but
I read in one of father’s books that— '
“ ‘ Men were deceivers ever;

One foot on land and one on sea;
To one thing constant never.‘ ".

, “Ah, my dear, that may have been very
true of the men of whom Shakspeare wrote,
but it can never be true of a man who really
loves. Men sometimes cloak falsehood with
lovo’s habit, and thus a true man’s heart it
shamed by the onus of knavish pretensions.
That I am true I will prove to you by lovo’s

' unfailing test—fldelity,”said the young man,

earnestly. x v
""Idid but jest, Ernest. -I could not doubt
you. How long shall you bo away!”
“ Three months.” '
“Three months!”
“ Yes, love. It seem an eternity, but I must
prepare my father for a daugth love, and a
cage for my bonnie bird.” ,
“Ishallcounttho days but as thoyhsotn
your return."
“Andy I shallthink and dreamenly of the
day thatistomako you mine.” ‘
,“ Shall we say good-by, horonowi” r
“ Not good-by, but adiolffor I go to return
. again.”

, Scattered flowers into odorous sheaves.

OUIDA’S LOVE.

I as that of Coriolanus, and then ahunter clad

in Lincoln green re-crossed the rustic willow
bridge, and a maiden lay, face downward, amid
the fragrant clover blossoms, lost in passionate
thought. Rippling water, caroling birds and
murmur-lug foliage all moved in tender sym-
pathy, yet'an hour knit itself into the unrav.

eled sleeve of time are the fair young face .

was lifted from among the fresh cool
“Oh, strange, sweet power of love, that
makes the child a woman before the golden

(lawn is brushed from Childhood’s innocence l” .

soliloquized Ouida, tying the strings of her
rice straw hat with its nodding corn flowers be-
neath her rounded chin, and gathering her
“In
the shadow of this old tree I played at keep-

’ ing house, with bits of bark for tea-things, and

a row of crook-necked squashes for my chil-
dren. Later on ,I dreamed of Ariel and Puck,
Peas-blossom and Cobweb, who ‘ pluck the
wings from painted butterflies,’ and ‘kill can-
ker in the musk-rose buds." Here I kissed
each flower as it opened its eyes to the morn-
ing sun, and believed a fairy Mab or a goblin
would hear my whispers to the blossoms.
Here, too, I sobbed away my childish griefs,
indulged my girlish fancies, built my castles in
Spain, and won my woman’s birthright. Ah,
cuckoo, thou wert no false prophet!”

Thus apostrophizod, the cuckoo’s plaintive
cry again cleft the languid summer air as if it
were an answering voice, and turning her face
toward the Mill-house, Ouida walked slowly
away from the trysting-tree, ever and anon
echoing the note of the invisible bird in the re-
frain of this sweet old song: -

“ Deep in the forest's heart a voice
Is calling all day long;
No bird you see on any tree,
But still you hear that song;
As onward through the wood you go, ,
It leads you singing soft and low,
I Cuckoo, cuckoo. cuckoo, cuckoo!

“ At noon the forest dells arebright
With slanting beams of gold,
At eve the dim and dewy air
The growing shades unfold;
But mom and eve, repeated slow,
The voice is calling, soft and low,
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

“ The pine is fragrant under feet,
And sweet the spicy air, '
But still that distant voice allurea
To seek it everywhere' '
Now louder, than far-oi! and low,
What means it. ever calling so, _
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

“ Still distant and unseen, the voice
Some happy spirit seems,
That beckons us to fairyland, ,
Whose realms we see in dreams;
Where never mortal ste s may go,
Unless it leads them, ca ling so,
ckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!

" It is the spirit of the woods,
That sings in happy rest,
Such qtiltgt cegbtented notes
As an e ore best-
Its 111 shades 1:10 sour}? ,Bhglild know
Bu thatsweetsoun soso an ow
Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo)"

 

‘CHAPTER m.
m HOUSE OF CASTLEHAYNE.

As the tamer of wild beasts lays his head
with rash confidence between the lion’s jaws,

grance of her white young life into the keep-
ing of a man of. whom she knew little besides
his name and that ho was her lover.

was Ernest Cestlemayne, although there was

had Ouida known it.

But if there was much to tempt there was
also much to warn in the history of the Castle-
maynes; for there was an heirloom in the

ing the hearts of many a fond wife and sweet.
heart in the years that had-‘—
“Rbmao'nmrlb‘lflmofflhe'n

1' Sincelothe am Castlemnynelhad m the
mother country and reared his “Lures and

 

anc ' embrace—aokiahnaendsweet
.‘ I ‘ vvr ,  V ,1 4" 

\.
x...

l

. rotates ”

,4

so had Ouida Haughton given the holy fra- ‘

If" ever man was loved unselfishly that man .

much in his position to tempt a woman’s heart, 1

family that had proved a lion’s jaw in crush- .
and that heirloom was fierce, unreasoning !

in Now‘Eagland, the family record I

had shown only this one scar, and the world
gave them absolution for the one fault that was
counterbalanced by every other virtue to which.

the world had nothing to fear from the green-
eyed monster, and profited much by the free.
handed generosity of its keepers; butit was the
fair young brides that cameto the graystone
castle who faded and died inhaling this deadly
nightshade of love. '

Girard Castlemayne, the founder of the
American. branch of the family, had built his
home in the forest center of an Eastern State.
Hundreds and hundreds of acres of fertile um

! claimed land stretched out around him, and

though Indians and wild beasts contested every
foot of his chosen ground with him, he was
nothing daunted and began what seemed then a
wild and adventurous work.

But Girard had set himself to the task of
working through the mountain called Difficulty;
he bad faith considerably larger than a grain
of mustard seed, and that, with perseverance
to the fore, worked wonders. A few years
joined hands with the eternity of the pest, and
they who had laughed loudest at what they
termed the Englishman’s foolhardy undertak~
ing were loudest in their outspoken admiration
of the bold, enterprising spirit that had reared
in granite stronghold in the- midst of a wilder-
ness, and was rapidly cutting his way to the
very heart of the primeval woods, and chink—
ing the golden guineas into the canvas bags
that lined his strong-box.

A city had now crept up to the very door of
the old stone mansion, and although the de—‘
scendants of the indomitable pioneer built pal-
ace after palace in the city streets, they still
dwelt within the moss-grown ivy-mantled walls
that had withstood the beSieger’s hand and the
ravages of time.

The Castlemaynes were a race of giants-
famed for beauty of physique and integrity of
character, but they were also known to be pas-
sionate and stern in their resentments. Every
year had marked the increase of their moneys
and estates, but every year death had lopped
off branches from the fine old lineal tree—"no
male heir of the house grew to man’s estate un-
der the softening influence of a mother’s smile,
it was said, and at the time of which I write
there were only two living representatives of
the long descended line——our hero, Ernest, and
his father. ' » .

The present head of the Castlemayne family
had worthily perpetuated the family wealth,
the family honor and the family jealousy, and
he now felt that there was but oneduty undis-
charged, and that was to insure the perpetua—
tion of the family name by the marriage of
his son.

And here the old gentleman wasin danger of
falling between two stools. He was morbidly
afraid that his son might entail the family.
acres upon a posterity of dwarfs instead of the
truly begotten giants Antinous, by marriage
with some one not quite his equal socially, meu~
tally or physically; or else that he might not
marry at all, and so, the racedying out with
him, the ancestral possessions should fall piece-
meal into the mouths of the dogs that now fat-
tened upon the crumbs falling from his table.

' These considerations had been kept carefully
in view in the rearing and education of the
son and heir, and as everything ' suggestive of
Holland and the Dutch was the especial abomi-'
' nation of both father and son, the Union Col-
lege in old Der-up was selected as the most un-
I likely location of all kindred institutions to con-
2 tain anything dangerous to the family hepe,
and the young gentleman was packed oi! to flu-
» ish his educatiouin that phlegmatic Germanes-
! qua atmosphere, while the father drank his old

 

! port and took his after-dinner nap with happy
confldencein such local protectives as Amster-
dam and Rotterdam. '
But, “ L’homme prapeee-etDiqudispose,”and
fancied security often Overreaches itself!
Ernest having received a diploma from his
alma mater, and being somewhat enervated b‘y

.Lwr I

. successful man is heir. And the world could ‘
well afford to be thus magnanimous, because"

close application, was directed by he maneuver , 

   
  
  

 

 

\ i g " i

3..

ing parent to spend some little tim rechperat-
‘ ing in the salubrious safety of the ‘ohawk val-
ley before returning to his native city, and af-
ter six weeks of rusticating among the Glen
ville hills we find him, unmindful of every .con-
sideration of pride or position, avowing a man’s
loyal love for the miller’s daughter and asking
her to become his wife. ,

Ah, well hath the great one said:

“ There's a divinity that she. our ends
Rough hew them as we "

Truth to tell, Ernest was not so confident in
respect to the coming issue between himself and
father when he started upon his homeward
journey, as when in the proud elation of trium—
phant love he pressed the farewell kiss upon the
sweet young lips of his betrothed. But, deter-
mination lurked in every curve of his mobile
countenance, and though his father had

“ An eye like Mars', to threaten and command,”
Ernest was a true chip of the Castlemayne
block, with a will that an avalanche of oppos1—
tion might stimulate to Herculean deeds but
could never break nor bend.

CHAPTER IV.
SUNSHINE, THEN STORM.
F“ The ample propositions that hope makes,

be u on earth below
§gfiuige€hgangro§ilsed largeness; check and disasters

Grow in the veins of actions highest reare< .”
THREE times the moon had hung full over
the old butternut tree and saw itself reflected
in the deep pure eyes of pond and mill-stream.
Three months and a day had passed since
Ouida plighted her troth and; parted from her
lover, and now she awaits his return to keep
their tryst where
4‘ The checkered earth

i

 

Seems restleisstsiils afifigd
" ' ‘ , the wind. So sport ve s e 1g
gigthggrgggh the boughs, it dances as they dance.
Shadows and sunshine intermlughng quick, 4

sh 11d darkening and enlight'iiing—~as the leaves
Play wanton—ev’ry moment, every spot.

The russet brown of early autumn had touch-
ed lightly the grassy slopes. Here and there
a royal gleam of crimson-and—gold m'adea ban-
ner of color against the dark—greenbackground
of the distant wood, and a little chill as of com-
ing frosts lurked in the fresh, exhilarating
brfzfieavy-winged bee buzzed in and out a late
but fainting bunch of crimson clover-heads,
busily conscious that the honey—harvest was
nearly over. Fleecy clouds looking like great

blrds’ ‘ “——On ti -toe foraflight,‘
With wings of delicate flus , o’ertVirgin Whitefii

ward driven before roopmg gyay-
:sztdfigrecur’sors of coming gloom—a, 111;th
brown bird feasted damtily and industriouSIy
in the thorn—apple hedge, and on the distant;
hill where the public road_wound like a nar-
row dusty ribbon around its brow, a yoke_of
meek-eyed oxen dragged patiently a creaking
cart, loaded with ricklsd of ylcglglwmiom piled

d ri e 0 en p ' .

MERE gilt: tinng across the Mdurning K111
groaned as it with sudden weight; and the
warm red paled in the watchers cheek. One
moment in which the pulsing llood left a cool
faintness on breast and brow and the heart for-
got to beat its joy, and then eager hands
clasped hers in greeting, eager lips sought hols
for kisseS, and the heir of the Castleniaynes
was come to make good his pledge.

— ur later and the lovers stoodhand-
ill-11:11:32? (the old mill—house parlor, while the
young mau- made his plea for the one ewe lamb
———a Elshlvn but little folloWed by the young

i ' - 6. l I
 :7 picture whoseartistic grouping
' would have charmed a critical eye—the young
couple all life, light and hope—the miller firm,
dark and haughty, leaning against, yet the-
daining the support of, the smokerstainedmang
tel-piece—his wife, like some pale embodimen
of despair framed I ' m.
~dOw—seat——and the fliclrfeiiingltocfgci‘bzfl ine
" 'ksdartsoigo...
“"331 25‘?ch yunderstand, you, Sir, that you:
father. forbids ypu to marry. my daughter?
.hsked the miller, in clear, cutting tones,

\\. . rg s',‘~

 

in the vine-wreathed win-i

 

“Alas, yes,lsir. But hawill soon relent. I
am his only child, and, after him, the sole sur-
viving representative of an ancient and honor-
able family,” answered Ernest.

“He looks upon your marriage with my
daughter as a mesalliance for ‘the 5016 sur-
viving representative of an ancient and. honor-
able familyi’ ” again demanded the stern, clear
veice.

“He does not know Ouida, sir, and the
prejudices of class, long cherished, are not to
be blown away, with a single breath,” said the
young, man, an intercessory tremor agitating
his words.

“That was very wisely said, young gentle-
man; and now be so good as to bear my great-
est respect to the head of your"ancient and
honorable family,’ and tell him that Hugh
Haughton declines, with all due deference, the
honor of an alliance with the house of Castle.
mayne, for his dau hter.” ‘

“ You are moo 'ng me, sir. You cannot
mean to part us upon an excuse so light as a
foolish prejudice that will vanish like the dew
before the sun when once my father knows
your daughter ”—and the youth’s grasp tight-
ened with involuntary cruelty upon the little
hand for which he sued. ‘

“It is not my habit to jest, and I repeat, sir,

 

more emphatically, that I will not give my '

daughter to you in marriage.” '

“ Have, you any personal objections to me?”

“None, young man. But I know the ac-
cursed pride and jealousy of your class, and
that happiness is not born of a marriage where
there is the shadow of condescension on either
side.” ‘

“There is no condescension here, sir. Na-
ture has endowed Ouida with a nobility above
the patent of kings. Could I place the coronet
of a duchess upon her brow it would be but a
just acknowledgment of the honor unto which
she was born.”

. A white flame played about the miller’s thin,
set lips; his hand clenched beneath the dusty
shadow of his sleeve, but he only said:

“ I tell you it shall not be!”

As the flint strikes fire from its steely tinder-
box, so the Castlemayne tiger flashed from its
nervy jungle and gave proud passion to the
quick reply: ..

“ And I tell you, sir, that I will not sacrifice

her happiness and mine to the false and unjust .

promptings of .reasonless whims. I love your
daughter, and if she does not renounce that
love the will of all Christendom combined shall
not suffice to separate us. Farewell for the
present, my Ouida;” and, bowing lowly as a
prince before his sire, Ernest quitted the
house. .

As a mountain—stream glides in gentle sub-
mission to the restraining power of its rocky
banks until it meets the jagged resistance of
some sharp bowlder, spouts upward, and flash-
es in violent torrents adown its shrinking bed,
so the current of young life flows in‘ equable
obedience between its parent banks until a
bowlder cleaves it to the heart, then it shoots
upward, overleaps confinement, and dashes de-

fiance in cold, mad passion over the thing that -

would obstruct. .
For an. instant Ouida stood like a marble Eve

before the closing gates of Paradise; then, turn- 1

ing like a young pythoness with blazing eyes,
she demanded: ' .

“Father, why is‘it'that you thus set your
foot upon the brightness of‘ my whole future?
There is more in this than appears upon the
surface. 15 it because you fear to give any one
the right to question you-concerning my an-
tecedentsi Have you murdered any one that
you have hidden from the world and would im-
molate me upon a pyre of your transgres-
sinus?”

A change like that which stamped the coun-
tenance of the fallen Lucifer smote the fea-
tures of the man With unspeakable fury as he
thundered, with the power of a Stentor: .

“Hold! Hold your infernal tongue, girh'or
by all the powers of Hades l’ll drag it from be‘

' tween your unflliallipsl” , .

“Do ‘sol’i came from the stung soul of the

‘ lor and strode across the open green between

’r -v n stain-jun

. , ':f~ "mg-:2 «V we. "
to c. . l \ l“  ,.  V ‘g
, _ , .. .

girl; “ do so, are I curse the fate'thstgave me
such a father.” v ' g  , - 3
, f‘Bythe gods! I’ll cure this impertinencel"
shouted the miller, and fastening his iron gripe /
upon the delicate girlish shoulder he drugged
her unresisting form to the entrance of her litv . -
tle chamber, and then with savage cruelty flung ‘
her from him. V . .
With ringing tread he crossed the little par-

the house and mill. Back he came with the
same hard face and step, bearing in his hands
a hammer and some iron spikes, and with, dev—
ilish deliberation proceeded to nail the heavy '
bedroom~door to its oaken frame. This done, ‘ ‘
he once- more turned upon his heel, passed out,
of the house, unmlndful of the despairing face
in the shadow of the vine-curtained window,
and was lost in the restless chaos of the clatteiv ‘ _
ing mill. - ' r ‘ _ ' 
“ Oh,‘God, so do our sins transforms us! Is ‘ ’
there no power in time or place to
.‘ Ministerto a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain;
And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, .
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?‘

Oh, my child, better hadst thou never been!

/

 

« than to have been born of such as I!” moaned  i 

Mrs. Haughton, in tones of intensest angu
and sunk a quivering heap upon the sand

floor. , a I. n:  9*:

 

CHAPTER v..
IDVE LAUGHS AT LOCKSMITHS.

“ All within is dark as ni ht:
In the window is no lie; t;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge~before."

“ Farewell: and if my fortune be ndt crost, ' . '  . 5‘}
I have a father,_you a daughter, lost." f,  3%
THE little chamber that was Ouida’s maiden . ‘2 3”
bower, and in which she had been fastened by .
her infuriated father, was in a sort of leapeto
that had been added to the main building,and ,
projected out over the stream emptying from
the mill-race. Attached to the sill-timbers
there still remained a part of the carpenterfi
scaflolding, forming. .a narrow ledge scarce
wide enough for foothold. Tharp was but  I J
small window, and that was shuttered by the’ ‘
rocky. bank rising some three feet distant in
bold derision of the puny, ever-restless curr
rent dashing perpetually against its flinty base;
wreathing woodbine climbed here and there
adown its sides, and flung graceful tendrils v ,.
over the gray old, house, but their purple flow-- ‘ "
er-cups wore now closed in dewy slumber, and. ‘
“ the hour when grave-yards yawn ” wasffast ,
approaching. No winking light cast fittul '
shadows over the snow—white couch and dainty ~ 
feminine appointments of this little room,1yet
the aching heart imprisoned within its walls
had not found peace even in the ' .
“ Treach »
or Sleep, that, sated virulurismto Grief
A sweet space from 's cruel clutch." ‘ l -‘ ;
Close by the window she kneels, mingling 
her passionate thoughts with the roar and dash ’
of the falls, while the cool winds of‘heaVen V
steal through the brilliant vines to kiss the if; ”
fever from the maddeiied brain. \ 
H Ouida I” I . ..,
An electrical thrill passed over the‘bowed '
figure, and pushing back the tangled masses of ~
her hair, the girl murmured in quick aspirates: 
“Hark! was that a voice piercing softly die 5 ' ‘
sound of wind-end water?"  ‘
“Ouida!” "" " ,"
\ “ Who calls? my heart bounds to my throat V '
and chokes me.” , 1 . 1"
“Ouida! It is I, Ernest! Lean your head.».'
far out the window; I must speak with you,"
and would not rouse the sleeping tiger.” ' -, 
“Speak on, dear love! my father sleeps; I i
hear his breath come and goes steadily as tlia 
ticking of acloc .” .- ' _ i  if“ '
“ My darling, can you brave, yourfathen‘s _
anger to be my wife? Is your love Strong”
enough for'this?” asked the young, man,‘with
suppressed eagerness, from bistrockytchig'ué of 
vantage. - ,   f  , '

 

 
  
   
  
  
 
 
    
    
   
   
   
    
  
    
  
 
  
  
     
  
   
    
   
   
   
     

 

 

.\.

i .
. v,.‘., A

 

 

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

b “'1

4

' gxliead resting upon the

6

/

WOUIDA’S LOVE.

 

 

 

 

“ I can brave anything, Ernest—endure any
"thing but being separated from you,” was the
‘ soulful answer. . l

“ Then, come what will, mine you shall be.
Are you fastened in your room?”

“ Yes; but ‘ there is a door of escape open to

‘ me whenever I choose to pass through it. ”
, “Come, then.”

“ Now—to-night ?”

“Yes, to-night. To-morrow may bring us
fresh disaster. I will not wait for it.”

“Have you considered this so well that you
are assured against regret?”

“ Can the day regret its sunshine?”

“ And will your love be so sure that remorse
for having ceased for a moment to honor those
who gave me-being shall not visit me!”

“May Heaven’s justice guide the dagger
lightning to my heart when it be found in but
an instant‘s wavering allegiance to thee.”

tree. and with God lies the issue.”

velvet court-train.
A great round tear had fallen upon the pale
wan hands clasped so tightly over the weary

breast, and millions of tiny rainbows flashed .1
from its translucent heart into the nooks and ‘
crannies of the dreary room. But the sleeper’s 3

eyes are closed to the signal of hope, and the
moisture still gathers where the dark lashes
sweep the blue-veined cheek.

Ah, Mrs. Hemans gathered wisdbm from the
sighs of humanity when she wrote-—

“ Are they fprjglotteni It is "not‘so?
Slumber d1v1 es not the heart from its woe.”

A mighty agony swelled in- the bosom of the
daughter as she looked and felt the abandon of
despair that had fastened upon the soul of the

mother who had foretasted the bitterness of,

‘ death that she might live, and whom now she
“ Wait. for me, then, at the old butternut ‘

A loosened stone fell from its unsteady rest I
' into the water with echoing splash, a startled

night-bird flew screaming from its perch on
someswinging bough, and then silence like a
specter hand clutched at the breath of the
waking world.

Five minutes passed and the little room, with

V . all its familiar comforts and cherished belong-

ings, was photographed upon the girl’s mind.
The little daily joys that went to make up the

‘ sum of her sixteen years of existence pressed

upon her with fond association, until the mel-

thoughts back to him who waited at the mid—
night tryst. Some short, sweet hours of joy
lay within her reach at all events.

“ Then let come what may,

No matter if I go mad,
I shall havehad my day.”

* With still white face, but unflinching hand,

Ouida took her hat and a long dark cloak from
their accustomed hangings and tossed them
across the parting chasm onto the firm land be-

e ' yond; then, noiselesst as a shadow that parts

our eyes\from light and is gone, stepped over

' [the low window-sill and swung fearlessly

through the gloomy rustle of trembling leaves.
Some new courage had infused the once timid
,heart, for though the water hissed hungrlly

5 from its sharp stone bed, and the scarlet berries

rattled like summer rain from the torn and
strained .vines, her steady foot never once
,faltered nor her firm nerves weakened through-

, " out the perilous descent. '

A light glimmered from the best room win-

‘I dow, and the escaped girl approached with can-

tious step and peered into the room.

, , The handles had burned low in their silver
sticks and the slender snuff-capped wicks blazed
with blue and sickly'light. Upon the hearth
the smoldering skeletons of departed fire lay
blanketed in ashen white, and the night

‘ winds stole through the open windows carrying

,the chill of a death-damp. The little sharp-
cor'nered table, , spread with its blazonry "of
broidered dragon’s beads, was pushed squarely
back against the wall, the gilded morocco upon

I; ,the book-shelves gleamed like Egyptian hiero-

glyphicsin the uncertain light, the claw-footed
‘beaufet stood grimly unmindful of the silver
pomps and vanities hidden in its capacious
stomach, but the grave face of the tall old
clock looked down into the open depths of one
of the oaken chests and upon such a gorgeous

‘ sheen of satin and of silk as must have made

its brazen heart beat fast with envy had it

, been feminine.

Upon the floor beside the uncovered treasure
‘ sat Mrs. Haughton. A bundle of yellowed

,. manuscript lay, as'if fallen from her' nerve-

.less fingers, beside her, and an open jewel-case
in her lap exposed to view the portrait of a
;- lovely,weman in royal attire, {framed in gold

3 and circling diamonds.

would abandon to darkest desolation.

For a moment the earth seemed slipping from
beneath her feet, and faltering in her purpose,
she half-turned again toward the swinging
woodbine ladder.
a cuckoo trembled on the midnight air, and
crushing back with wildest effort the rising

. throe of her yearning heart she bent beneath

the power that commands the most filial to
forsake father and mother, and like a frighten-

 ed lapwing flew over the drying fragrance of

dead clover, through the checkered green and
white of dying mandrake beds, under dew—wet

’ ‘ arches of wreathing eglantine, on to where a
ancholy hoot of an owl brought her wandering .

 

 

The'riark purple. stains under- the eyes, the 2

littledepressions in, the once rounded cheeks,

. and the droop of the sorrowful mouth are

’throtvn into pitiful relief as‘she slumbers, her
seat

I

,3 i  

l. '4‘

 

star-eyed fate stood under the old butternut
tree, murmuring:

“ She is coming, my dove, my dear;
' She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near;‘
And the white rose weeps, ‘ She is late;’
The larkspur listens, ‘ I hear. I hear;’
And the Lily whispers, ‘I wait.’

“ She is coming, my owu, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
M heart would hear her and beat,
V ere it earth in an earth bed;
Mfidust would hear her an beat,
ad I lain far a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red."

CHAPTER VI.

m wnrcn “rnrs woaLn’s POLLY’S ” Goosn
APPEARS.
“Gone! flitted away!
Taken the stars from the night and the sun from
the day
Gone,.ai.;i‘d a
a
Flown to the east or the west, flitted I know not
H

wherel
“ And now art thou cursed—”

THE morning sun shone brightly over the
mill-stream, and threw dancing, slanting shafts
of light in at door and window where Mrs.
Haughton moved here and there arranging
upon a little tray a dainty, tempting breakfast.
A plump-breasted wild-bird, done to a nicety,
reared its pedal bones from the white, warm
breast of a tiny platter, the smell of buckwheat
cakes escaped appetizingly from beneath the
silver cover of their heated prison; a cutvglass
jar of quivering jelly cast a crimson shadow
upon the snowy linen cover of the tray; as com-

! .
cloud in my heart, and a storm in the ‘

which trailed the crimson magnificent» of a 9

Then the low, sweet call of s

 

through the din and roar of the mill, singing
that sad‘little song of old King Alfred’s:
“ Lo I sung cheerily
my bright da 8,
But now all wea ' y,
SoChant I ngy 1:3,st
rrowmg ea 11
Saddest of then, ’ -
Can I sing cheerfully
As I could then?"
" ‘This world’s Polly,’ ” murmured Mrs
Haughton, flushing slightly as the voice came

‘ nearer and she caught the words of the song.

“ Worldliness brought me here,

Foolislily blind,

Riches have wrought me here
Sadness of min ;

When I rely on them
Lo, they depart,

Bitter] l bitterly
RencIY they my heart.”

The small, shriveled figure and sharp fea
tures of our “ this world ” friend, Polly, appear»
ed in the doorway as the last note of the char»-
sonette died away. She was attired in the cos-
tume always worn by her on state occasions,
and her silver-white hair streaming down to
her waist, from the scarlet confines of a tur-_
baned kerchief, added greatly to the weirdness
of her appearance. About her waist a red
woolen scarf was gathered over her oark stuflf

gown, the tangled fringe of which hung near— '

ly to her naked feet, and a chain of bones and
beads, bits of leather, fragments of red flannel
and pipe-stems ornamented her thin neck.

“Did anybody ever steal anything from you
in this world?” She asked, with a bobbing cour—
tes .

Mrs. Haughton smiled a gentle equivoke.

“Well, I never had nothin’ stole from me
before in this world, no, never! and this morn-
ing, in the ‘wee, sma’ hours ayant the any—
time,’ some scalawag stole my goose, that the
parson give me, and that I wasn‘t never to cook
in this world, no, never, but keep it till the dy-
ing day of my death to remember the parson
by; but, somebody broke into my treasure.
house, where moth and rust doth .not corrupt,
and stole my goose from the hengag; and the
person won’t never give me another goose in
this world, no never! because he has gone
where the woodbine twineth and the whang—
doodle mourneth for her young.”

“ Won’t you rest a bit and get your breath,
Polly?” asked her hostess, placinga chair.

“I ain’t got any breath—never did have any
in this world no, never! I used to breathe

. through the spout of a tin tea 0t; but I’ve

given up breathing now; it aint any use in
this world, though I've got twenty-five teapots
at home all as good as new, except that they
hain’t got no handles and the noses is battered
some. La, there goes the Devil, pain-ted white 1”
suddenly concluded the singular creature, as
she caught a glimpse of the miller passing
along on the open green before the mill-door.

“Won’t you have a cup of tea, Polly?’ in-

‘ terposed' Mrs. Haughton, shivering in nervous

panion-piece, a slim-throated pitcher-gleomed .

with the amber deliciousness of maple syrup,
and a golden pat of butter, stamped with a
waving fern-leaf, formed the repast that would
have tickled the palate of an Epicurus.

The mother surveyed her work with a sigh
of satisfaction, and cast anxious glances from
the clattering mill back to the barricaded
chamber door, and then to a little pot of fra-

grant cotfee heaving impatient puffs of steam ‘

upon the hearth.

There were no traces of last night’s disorder
about the quaint old room; all wasas clean, and
tidy, and bright as hands could make it: but
the deepened circles about the heavy eyes of
its occupant, and the long-drawn breath from
the depressed breast, testified that, for her, yes-
ternight’s sun had .set in tears and risen not
with “the mom. . ‘

of achair. across A little, thin, treble’voiee became audible

dread that the miller might hear her visitor’s
remarks, and, his rage once aroused, her hopes.
for the silent prisoner would be balked for the
day. .' _
“La, since you be so good, I believe I will.
I hain’t had a. cup of tea in this world, no,

never, since I was bridesmaid to. Ruth when 1
she married Boaz, and I never expect to have

another till the dying day of my death, no,
never! There goes the Devil again! It was a.
white devil that stole my goose that I wasn’t,
never going to cook in this world, no, never.
It was a big goose, and a tough goose, and an
old goose, and I’ll never see it again in this
world, no, never!”

Polly sighed lugubriously, drank her tea in
infinitesimal sips, then arose gingerly to dev
part. Sliding across the floor toward Mrs.
Haughton with mincing side steps she thrust a
little, three—cornered note into the lady’s hand
and said: .

“I must be going or some rascal will break

" in my house, and steal ,the finest cellection of

 

teapots iii-this world. There, is a feather,I’ll.
leave with you, and if you meet a goose that,

, matches that feather you’ll know-that it ain’t ‘1

 

 
 
 
 

' . from the bay-window, where

 

the goose the parson give me, and that I wasn’t
never a-going to cook in this world, no, never!”

The door clanged shut with a hollow jar that
made the dishes on the waiting~tray dance a
little jig, and Mrs. Haughton stood as if rooted
to the floor with the slip of paper trembling in
her nervous clutch. Her quick eye scanned
the written page, and a groan, such as was
wrung from the surcharged breast of Lady
Macbeth in the curdling anguish of her sleep-
walking hours, smote the echoing silencer '

Again and yet again she read the mlsswe,
slowly, as if forcing her dazed mind to an un-
derstanding of its import.

A ringing boot-heel crunched on the gravel

_. . . ,,....._.

outside the door, and stem and dark, yet with,

the flush of” exercise dyeing his cheek, the mil—
ler entered the room. As if his presence had
pierced her understanding the pallld—hpped
woman sprung into conscious anguish and With
a heart-rending moan, exclaimed:

“Oh, Hugh, our child has gone! You have
driven all of life from me save breath; now
fasten your iron gripe about my, throat, and
crown your cruelties with mercy.

For an instant the miller staggered as one
who parishes for air, and the warm color faded
from cheek and brow; then, With the power of
a Hercules, nerving his muscular arm,“ he
wrenched the oaken door from its fastemng,
and a current of cool air from the open wm—
dow struck as a chill from an open vault.

There was the little white-curtained Ed
with tidy,'unruflled coverlid and poutmg p11-
lows undented by the bright young head, there
were her sewing-basketahermustic penc11 p10-
tures—her books—a half-Withered bunch of
latest autumn flowers, and the .numberless
dainty details with which womanhood, even
when bound down by the

“Short and simple annals of the poor,"
delights to surround itself, but the cage was
empt é—the bird had flown. .
“Gone! gone!” the miller echoed, in tones
like the hollow roar of ocean in the heart of
some rocky cave, while the hardness dropped
like a mask from his forehead, upon which the
beaded dew started, sick and cold:

“Gone! The curse of Cain is upon me!”

 

CHAPTER VII.
MORNING.
than butter,
with? 33mghig§efiqthgv$ggsf§2m smoother
than oil, and yet be they very swords. '
IT is not my purpose to.f.0110w the. elopmg
lovers through the little delicious nothings that,
made the first, sweet blush of matrimony a
heaven.
foxgbfl;1;bons are rarely of interest to kilndy
but principals, and I esteem neglect the hi
est treatment one can give newly-marrie

outh. .
y They will not be disposed

br h of etiquette Mad ‘ _

gaslms if not calling during the error, first;
Weeks of mutual absorption. .The Wlslfislt 9:11]
strongest are weakest and silhest w ed h:
glamour of love’s consummation lasts, an
Who would his hero still worship must drfinlvl a
vail, in delicate friendliness, around thef o y.
decked dawn of that hero’s first weeks 0 mar
negliid: had been the happy wife of Eriest
’Castlemayne six winged months when t (tay
were summoned to the death-bed of Ernes 3
father, and now the miller’s daughter reigne
over the gloomy splendor of the old stone man—
Sion. and fared sumptuously every day.

to feel seriously
ame De TI'OP

Ernest had refitted and modernizad certain ,

and the morning upon
thread of their lives
of an exquisite little
bigiblue‘ convolvulus
sat a man toying
' ' thing sway-
wrth the feathery sprays. of a wrea ,
ing air-plant, and watching the  rose 20?:
and go in the, cheek of the fair mistresa o e
bower as she talked.
This man was lit
00 a. child to . ve V
“  ‘lkhows from where,

«V i 1, ., ’. p»

portions of theinterior,
which we catch up the
finds Ouida the occupant
boudoir looking hke a

mile St. Pierre, who 
under the Castlemayne
or through

\ .

    

 

 

cum,»an ~ ‘

what claim upon its master, but the world did
not share in the knowledge. He had grown to
manhood under the same influences—favored
with the same advantages, sharing qually with
the heir in all things, and at the old gentle-
man’s death had received by will a handsome
property from the Castlemayne estate.

He was a man about the medium hight, with
square, firm-knit shoulders and well-developed
muscles. His head was evenly balanced, and
his eye, flashing the black fire of a charm—
weaving serpent’s, illuminated a pale, opaque
face set in curling masses of midnight hair.

Only one defect appeared in the physical
perfectness of the man, and that was that hide—
ous birth—marku—a cloven foot! Socially he
was a person of singular fascination, and by
some subtle tact he managed to bend the will
of those with whom he was associated to his
wishes. So cunningly was this done that few
ever suspected the favorite’s agency, though
they might experience a vague uneasiness in
feeling their personality somehow undermined.

Emile St. Pierre was the only person of
whose influence over her husband Guide was
in the slightest degree impatient. With a
woman’s wonderful intuition she saw through
those scintillating eyes down into the vehem-
freighted soul of the man, and with the pro~
tective quality of love strained to eternal vigi-
lance she Watched and made their home agree-
able to her husband’s friend that she might an-
ticipate and thwart any stealthy designs upon
their domestic happiness. 1

She had rightly estimated the man, yet in
the innocence of her leal heart she attributed
the evil she felt to be in him to a feeling of re-
sentment toward her for having won the warm-
est love of his friend and so in a manner exiled
him from Ernest’s heart and hearth. She re—
solved to say nothing of her secret fears, but
with infinite discretion to set about disarming
the rankling demon and soward off the ills of
which a presentiment always came to her at
sight of St. Pierre. 1 ’

Emile and Ernest had never known a' break
in their brotherly intimacy until they left col-
lege and Emile sailed for a three months’ tour
through France, while Ernest was ordered to
rusticate awhile among the health-breathing
Glenville Hills.

Upon Mr. Castlemayne’s decease and Ernest’s
domicilage with his fair young bride in the
family mansion, Emile had moved his posses~
sions to a house in the city that had become his
through a provision in the dead man’s will, and
there he set up a bachelor establishment.

Ernest protested against his leaving their
boyhood’s home, but Emile insisted upon go-
ing, giving as a reason that he wished to pur—
sue his favorite studies, chemistry and seismic,
without fear of being molested or annoying
any one with his experiments. “If 1 blow my
own roof 011', it will be a small matter, but to
uncap the ancient stronghold of the Castle-
maynes would be quite a different affair," he
said, and as usual carried his point.

Still, he was almost a daily visitor at the ~

gray-stone house, and Madame Rumor assured
his friends that he had not feund the young
Mrs. Castlemayne so great a bugbear as he had
imagined her. _ ,

“ So you do not echo Lord Byron’s epigram-
matic remark: ‘ I have been two years married;
whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth?’ ” St.
Pierre was saying as we enter the sky-tinted
boudoir on aerial wings.

“Most certainly not,” was the lady’s answer,
a lovely light shining in the violet eyes.
could rather, with Faust,

‘ --—To the passing
Stay! thou art so fggm’ents my’ .

“Then you have mastered the art of life?”

“ Yes—At that be to enjoy.”

f‘Ahl but to enjoy we must live in the in—
stant we grasp. When once we look back or
fctward, then the trail of the serpent has mar—
red our Eden!” ' ’

,“I have no wish to leak either way. The
present crowns my existence with a golden sum
of sweet content. The past is irrevocable; the
future past finding out!” , I -

    

3‘ .

 

: your curious eyes.”

 

, upon the bit of tow that bound the Castlemayne

/_

, " And you will not’ borrow the sackcloth and
serge before it'is forced upon you! Well, it is
wise to regard life as a fete des roses, but the
roses usually wither before the festa is over,
and there is no magic to make them bloom
again, for there is nOne that renews us-youth.
The Helots had their one short joyous festival
in their long year of labor; life may leave us
ours.” ‘ '

“Yes, and I shall not make anticipation a
harder master than was the Pharaohan king
by making bricks of trouble without straws
with which to prematurely bow my back and.
so make welcome the hour when I shall turn
my face to the wall and die.”

“ Your theoretic acceptance of life is certain—

ly not without wisdom, and your rose-wreaths .

are as alluring as those of Aglae and Astarte;
but for one or two exceptions I might say ‘Al~
most thou persuadest me.’ ”

“To marry? I Wish you would!” L v
“ Heaven forefend! I am already wedded to
Science.” «

“ So one might believe if they were to credit
all the wonderful stories concerning that mys-

 

 

k.

 

terious room at the t0p of your house, across H

the threshold of which no vandal of our world
is allowed to pass.”

“ Ah, madame, that mystical room contains
nothing but the proper appointments of a la—
boratory. It is only the fact that it is the only
room in my house not open to the public that
makes it remarkable. Some day I hope to
have the honor of revealing its barrenness to

“Oh, fie, St. Pierre! You speak as if curiosity
was my besetting sin. Suppose I test your

. manly superiority a little: would yep not like

to attend me at my last sitting for the portrait
I am having painted as a birthday surprise for
Ernest? You are such a connoisseur that I
should like your opinion upon it.”

“ Indeed I should be delighted; when no you ‘

visit the studio?”
“At two o’clock this afternoon.”
“Very well; I have an engagement at

twelve, 301 will bid you good-morning new, "

and come around again in time to attend you.”

“ Good-morning! Please be careful in speak- '
. ing before Ernest, as I want the surprise to be

complete.”

“ Certainement, madame!” and With a slight
inclination of his head and a blue flame dart--
ing from his active eye, St. Pierre quitted the
azure hung apartment, caressing nervously the
artistically waxed tips of his silky black mus-~
tac e. ‘ r '

 

CHAPTER VIII.
NIGHT.

“ But it was even thou my com
and mine own familiar frien .”
“ Let death come hastily
down quick into hell
Tim drawing-er of Castlemayne House‘
was all ablaze with light, and the glowing
warmth of sea—coal burning in the open grates"
were better nurses. of content than incitives to;

. injustice and contention; but, the soul of the
master was convulsed with the fiercest of all ‘

sever "

passions 'as he paced up and down the
apartment in restless waiting. .
A httle spark had some weeks agone fallen

l

3 lion, and within the hour a. slight breeze hade

“I

fanned the smoldering fire into a blaze, study
the ferocious beast had broken loose and was »
shaking his tawny mane in terrible menace

above the smiling infant, peace.

Six months of such happiness
to the lot of man had been Ernest’s, but nowln
the twinkling of an eye the inherentjealousy‘

of his race had sprung into life and  its

H unkind hand over all the spotless record olde-

l‘ .

votion and confidence.

Alas, poor Ouidal. The cur-semi the sins of
the fathers visited upon the childrenhad fallen,

and,she Was to be crucified between themtiless' ..
teacher—1V

iealousy of her husband, and the foul,
ouyoveiaof her husband’s friend!

63. meat Was  of the:
between him and whom a love. akin to theta?!
Damon and Pythiae’

 
 
    
  

on, my guide, 
uppn them, and let themg'o  

aerale yfalls"  “

than 1 ‘
baseman-meanest?

 

 

 

 

‘K

  
   
    
   
   
   
 
    
  

/
r

 

 

I ‘ damning evidence: I

1/ , one mind ”
 strong as proofs of holy writ.”

 my tardiness with mock anger?
' strange words with which to fright ybur wife.”

 

’ ing in'lu's,humors than I have been.

man with whom, as boy and boy, he had shared
his sports and penanees, wheee battles he had
fought in their hot, impetuous youth, and whose
ambition he had fostered in their early man-
head.

He had held himself above the ungenerous
promptings of the foul-eyed passion with manly
scorn, until, entering his wife’s dressing-room
an hour before, he had found her absent and a

‘ tell-tale ncte upon the toilet-table, and now,

like Saul of Tarsus, “he breathed out threat-
enings and slaughter” against the wife whom
his jealousy, had condemned upon the evidence

of a bit of paper, and the man who had been E

unto him as a brother, but whom he now

’y " . thought of as the betrayer of his honor.

For the fortieth time he reads the, to him,

‘F DEAR MADAME 0mm: I

“I am unavoidably detained and so cannot keep
my engagement at two o’clock, but I shall give my-
self the pleasure of meeting, you at the place of a -

fointment sometime during the afternoon. I don t .

hink Ernest suspects.

“ Yours, Sr. PIERRE."

x This was ~the “ trifle light as air” to our eu-
lightened understanding, that was to the “ jeal—
of the husband “ confirmation

,“Oh, that mine eyes had never beheld her
fair false face, or had the light of heaven faded
forever from them ere they gazed upon such
cruel evidence of her dishonor! _
her well, and she did leave the tender safety of

\ her mother’s arms for mine embrace. . And yet

a little while she loved me too; but is it not

, true that woman’s love is a mocking, cursed

jackolantern that mires deepest those who
most do trust its allurings? I gave her the
warmest, truest, and most perfect love man
ever gave to woman, and she, with face as

‘ smooth and smiling as if no guile had ever .
"stirred her blood to shame, kept my faith to

make it the byword of my friend! Curse him!
I found not his kisses on her lips, though oft
they may have fallen there. Curse him! He
fatted upon my substance; made my neck a
stepping—stone to most ambitious fortune, and

‘ {then with cursed wiles he wins my white dove

from me to defile and then destroy. Curses
on him! Had he a million lives they were but
a. drop in the cup of my revenge!” So groan—
ed the strong man as he bowed in reasonless

. V . anguish before the onslaught of the green-eyed

'. monster. . ,
' The trailing of silken robes and the patting L
’ «of tiny boot-heels adown the oaken staircase

indicated a woman’s, coming, and, with a hap-
py flush in her rose-leaf cheek, Ouida stood

° ' ' . smiling and tender-eyed before her husband.

/ “I am sorry tohave kept you waiting,

" 7 dear,” she said, as she crossed the room and ‘
 rested her hand gently upon his arm.

,“ Your latest fancy is doubtless more exact—
Make no
apologies madam; your ingenuity is equal to

r gyour dissembling, but, unfortunately, it is only
,1 wasted in further exercise, ” answered the Cas- .
= . tlemayne lion, spurning the tender hand.

“My latest fancy! Ingenuity! Dissembling!
" Are you mad, Ernest, or do you but rebuke
These are

“ You play the innocent to the life, madam,
but ,it will avail you nothing. I mean that

l ,‘ your‘relations with Emle St. Pierre are known

to me.” '
‘ ‘.‘ My relations with Emile St. Pierre?”
“Even so, madam. - To—day, as I went to
pay my usual visit to your chamber, I found
the evidence in. his own handwriting upon
toilet~table, and with these eyes I saw

. n .ur
' g  leave your parriage returning from the -
,meeting. Ivbeg you will make no scene; I do

not choose to be made the butt of servants’ vul-
gar. jokes, and tears will not soften a. heart

I ‘ turned toadamant by your perfidy.”

, “Tears! Do you think that I shall shed a
tearin deference to such a charge? You know
’_'me not, sir. . You strike deeper than you have
.power to heal, and mortal wounds are slow to
spiced.” . ‘ . ,
’ , _ “A wanton’s tears

I

spring from dry wells

I have loved ‘

j  biUI'DA’S-‘if' LOVE.“

could curse you, but that I feel ’tis retributive
justice.
and my stooping has fulfilled its prediction, for
from it comes the first blot upon an honorable
name.”

“Nothing! Wanton! Say on, Sir Oracle;
these are brave words for delicate ems, and yet
I shrink not from them.”

“I could crush you where you stand, thou

fatal fairness, but that I must take two lives
for the one you forfeit; and yet, in taking that,
-I might but ‘kill an aldder’s spawn.”
_ “Soft, most generous lord! I face you with
a. spirit fearless as your own and tremble not
, before the demon of your wrath. The life you
" thirst for is not wonth the spilling, therefore
tarnish not the immaculate home of your fore-
: fathers with it.”

“ Hold, do not drive me into forgetting that
you are a woman— at least in semblance,
* though your tongue distills venom through the

; laboratory of your falsity. I would not that
' 1he world should commiserate my wrongs,
a ! so I will not turn you from the home you
‘ hive contaminated. I will take care that you
do not further shame the name you bear, and,
for the rest, I would never more see your face,
nor hear your voice, except as the hollow form
we call society demands the blinding of its Ar-
, gus eyes.
“Oh, love, oh, friendship—what cockatrices‘ eggs
ye are !”

“You shall have your wish, sir. You have
insulted, outraged and wronged me, and I re—
pudiate the vow that made me the chattel of
such a monster. Were fifty hells the conse-
quence I would accept them all rather than re-
turn to your thralldom. ' No child of mine
shall eat your bread, and if in the fullness of
time I may find the vein wherein flows kin-
dred blood to such as thou, mine own hand
shall let it out even to the shedding of the last
drop that animates the heart now beating be-
neath mine own. I throw thy foulness in thy
teeth—thou traducer of defenseless woman-
hood—- thou coward!”

A devil of passion leaped into the man‘s eye
at these stinging words, and like lightning he
sprung toward her and by a single blow struck
! her to the floor.

Stunned and motionless she lay across the
velvet lion upon the Persian carpet like some
F fair Una slain by her fierce, false playfellow.
For a moment Ernest thought her dead, so
. white and deathlike was her face, and sick and

faint, with anger held in sudden paralysis, he
‘ gazed as if fascinated by the spectacle that
branded him the most despicable of all beings
-——a woman-striker.
Slowly, as if rising from the weight of some

, , hideous nightmare Ouida regained her feet. 2 -
, Feebly she raised 11"”, hand and put baka from . angels, and a hand and arm like the Venus do

her face the pitying ripples of her golden hair.

Istooped too far to pick up nothing, '

the murky night. _ , , g
It was a. night in which every living thing
sought shelter. The mangy out that was wont
to make the darkness hideous with its howls lay
silent and miserable under the dripping cover
of a broken step. The ragged little gamins that
people the midnightair with horrid and ghostly ,
sounds crowded their shivering frames into the
rocking kennel of Insome overturned ash-barrel
or lay curled in" the comparative comfort of,
some emptied. dry-goods box. The beetling
arches of ovary silent church door had its

;quota of chilled. limbs and chattering teeth

 

She shuddered as she caught the reflection of 3

one bright spot of blood upon her temple, and

with a strange, slow smile, said: .

1 “Ittis only one little drop, my lord—yet, if

‘ thy life should exceed the limit allotted to mor-
tal man thricc—told, thou couldst not find a

' Lethean stream with power to wash it out!”

Then he heard a sound as if the

“ Sable garments of. the hi ht

Trailed through her marble h ”

V and he was alone with his pride, his jealousy
and his remorse. ’

—__

 

CHAPTER IX.
HOUSELESS BY NIGHT.
“ The wind and the wet, the wind and the wetl
Wet west wind, how you blow, you blow."
“ Let me resign a wretched breath,
Since now remains to me

No other balm than kindly death

To soothe my misery!"

THE March wind swept swiftly through the
broad avenues, and owled. dismally down the
‘ dark alleys, and the pitiless rain and sleet beat
‘ cruelly down upon the upturnedface of a wo-

 lying prostrate upon the wet, cold pave-

 

 

. knights!

/

\

 

- ment, just where the jutting corner ofn rickety, ;

crouching beneath away from the pelting‘
storm. Even those wretched creatures whom,
in hideous mockery, the world calls nympho!
du pave, shrunk from the bitter wind and rain,
and hid their hollow painted cheeks where noi-

eyed rats turned from their shrunken limbs to
better food.

Only some careworn toiler over accounts that
Would not balance -——some fast young debauchee
reeling away from the green-baize table, or
some whose daily toil reached far into the
hours God made for rest, aroused, with echo-
ing footsteps, the guardians of the night from
peaceful noddings in some sheltering doorway;
yet a woman, young and fair to look upon, lay
beneath the starless sky, and wind and storm,
cold and pain, fought in vain to wound her,
for she was as one dead.

Up the street—past the row of lamps looking
like sickly fireflies in the thick darkness, came
a tall, lank—limbed figure, who, but for his
stooping shoulders, would have seemed some
skeleton shadow stalking with the storm. Lit-
tle could be seen of his face, so completely was

i

4 some bat-wings brushed them close, and flame- ‘

3’] i

I , I  , I / .f’fi:
I and may: well be .slow in the shedding. I 01“ tenement‘house 03“ 3“ angular Shadow in”

he muffled in the shabby-genteel folds of a long *

Spanish cloak, such as some cavalier in the time
of Ferdinand and Isabella might have worn
when seeking stolen sweets under soft Castilian
skies. On he came, with one hand holding his
black drapery between his face and the driving ,
sleet, seeing not, but walking with the confi—
dence of one who knows every foot of the
ground whereon he treads, until, passing the
prostrate figure, his long feet tangled in her
wind-tossed garments and his bones rattled in
violent elongation upon the wet and slippery
stones.

“Bless my soul!” he ejaculated, gathering
himself up; “bless my son!!! I hope I’m all
here. ‘Let him that standeth take heed lest he
fall.’ That was an exceedingly nasty place for
a careful man to lay down his clothes.“ God
bless my soul, what is this!” and the wiry
figure started back in horror and amazement as
the captious wind bared a white jeweled hand
to his startled gaze. ‘

“A woman with a face like one of Raphael’s

Milo, lying in the mud of the streets on such a
night as this! Ah, it was not thus that beauty» .
slept in the days when chivalry made all men
Bless my mull—and she wears the
badge of wifehood, too, guarded by a diamond
keeper! Ah, Well! ‘There is but one God,
and Mahomet is his prophet’; she is not yet
dead. I’ll carry her in. It’s an ill wind that
blows nobody good. Lucky it happened so
near my local habitation. Easy—easy, P35.
tengon. , '
“ ‘ Take her up tenderly——

Fashioned so slenderlyl'
God bless ' my soul! I wonder how it hap-
pened?”

Pushing open with his elbow the unlatched ‘ ‘

door of the swarming old tenement hive,th
toiled with his unconscious burden through

creaking, tortuous halls, until he came to a door , ,‘

around which there shone an even seem of
light, and halted, calling:
“What ho, there! Meme!”

/.

“ Coming, father!” answered a fresh young
voice, and hasty fingers undid the clumsy fas-
tenings; the door swung on its creaking hinges,
and she who had been “ houselem by night”
found that God had been able to raise her up
of. the street,

friends even from the very stones

 

 

 

  

! r

it, «  .5,‘

I

 

 

» . I ,v .‘  _ --  _   , .rw \ -_ r: I; i . rs,’ a" 1.7:  l  _  > .  ‘4“
' ‘ ‘1, .‘H “1"”, A M" ., ; f, V " ' f’ . j I a "w; ‘ ' '- L‘ ‘\"’ ',‘ ' I  , v. 7“" -'/ ".‘AlA ’ \.\' l .‘  I“ "' - ““" -  l
..  v . l . ‘,\ , ,l, ' I . r a, .‘
x , .. , , V t _ ,V . ., I, , , , v, . 
u: s

CHAPTER X. ,
run sms or. m rum. "

u all other griefs, when
WV? Iggéounghlxart lone and {£33m
In the world, wi out t only tie
For which it loved to live or fear’d to die.“

Tum weeks of alternating sunshine and
shadow had passed since the night when Ouida
.Castlemayne had been found by Carl Pastengon
and carried, a senseless, almost lifeless burden,
linto the warmth and comfort of the little room
he called his home.

During those three weeks the storm-driven
woman had lain upon the very borders of the
shadow-land, with the cold tide of the river
Styx rolling up to her trespassing feet.

In the wildness of her delirium she had told
enough of her pitiful story to touch a sympa-
thetic cord in the hearts of those who so kindly

4 ministered to her, and now at last youth and a
good constitution had wrested. '2 victory from
the covetous gripe of disease sud death, and the
patient was convalescing, though wan and
weak as a new—born infant.

She lay among the pillows of a motherly,
Chintz-covered lounge, looking for the first time
with seeing eyes around upon the material ap-
pointments of the refuge unto which she had
been led.

Pastengon’s family consisted only of himself
and a. young daughter who, at the moment
Ouida’s inquiring gaze fell upon her, was en<
gaged in holding a piece of bread impaled upon
a toasting~fork over the scorching coals.

Meme Pastcngon was a pretty‘ girl, and the
apple of her father’s eye. Her cheeks were a
little pale now from protracted watching, but
her eyes were bright and brown as a moun-
tain thrush, and a cheerful look always upon
her face made it good for chronic discontent
to look upon her. In complexion she was a
clear brunette, and her black-brown hair clus-
tered in infinitesimal rings all over her round

' little head.‘ '

Pretty Meme was as unlike her father as it is
possible for one person to be unlike another.
He now sat in long-drawn-out ungainliness, in
a homely arm-chair, dividing his attention be-
tween the invalid’s couch, the culinary opera-
tions of his little housekeeper, and a snuff-box
carved in the shape of a huge dragon-fly. His
clothes were out after the fashion of a half-
century ago, and were worn to a condition of
painful glossiness. His forehead was high and
narrow, and his scant gray hair crept away
from a crown as bald and shining as the monks
of old rejoiced in. His nose once had been im-
posing when flanked by full cheeks, but it now
stood out between the cavernous hollows of his
dim and watery eyes, over the thin, shrunken
lips, like a sharp rock over a chasm-—a monu-
ment that told the departed glory of a once
handsome face. He wore an enormous black
stock, above which a white rim of scrupulous
neatness showed, and his vest was, like good
old Grimes‘s coat, “ double-breasted ” and “ but-
toned down before.” -

Carl Pastengon was by birth and education
an actor, but his day of great parts was past
and gone, and not being‘ content to bend his
genius to minor ones, he had left the stage and
devoted his time to the teaching of elocutiou
and the diligent snuffing of snuff. Meme had

,taken up the thread of her father’s ambition,

dand was soubrette in one of the city theaters;
and here they lived, happy in themselves and
each other, envying none in the wide world in
the satisfaction of their mutual content.

a What; place this, and how came I here?”
asked Ouida, as er quick eye noted her strange
surroundings.

“ God bless my soul!” jerked out Pastengon,
in his quick, ,nasal tones, while Meme dropped
her toasting—fork and crossed the room to the
side of the couch. ‘

, “ Among friends, madame, but please do not
talk much; you have'been very sick,” answered
the young nurse. ,
‘ “ It must be so, for I feel my strength all

ooze out at‘my finger—tips with the mere con.

sciousness of breathing. How long have I

been here!” .  . .

, l."

a

 

 

“ Three lady. Father found you in
a dead faint at 0hr very door. He brought
you in, and ever since] you have been,battling
with a terrible fever.” ' - A

“ Has Er—has no one been here inquiring for
me!”

“No one, madame. You were too sick to
tell us your wishes, and father thought it best
to await your convalescence before making
any move to find your friends.”

“ Such thoughtfulness is what I scarce hoped
to find but am most grateful for. By-and—by
we will converse at length; but now a strange
drowsiness presses on my eyelids and thickens
my speech.”

“ Then drink this strengthening draught and
sleep. It will do you more good than a whole
apothecary shop or an army of doctors,” said

Meme, who watched with grave, bird-like eye ,

until her patient’s breathing indicated the effi-
cacious touch of nature’s sweet restorer.

Then with deft and noiseless motion she cov-
ered the little round table with a spotless
cloth, and set about preparing their simple
breakfast. ‘ .

Soon all was. ready, and the father and
daughter began their pleasant meal.

“ What is to be, wil. be, and that proves it,”
said Pastengon, sipping his coffee with slow en-
joyment, and jabbing his thin nose in the di-
rection of the Chintz nosegays on the lounge."

“How so, father?” asked Meme, between
savage little bites of her sharp white teeth at
a. chicken’s wing. “It has seemed to me all
along as if you knew more about this lady than
the simple circumstance connected with her
being here.”

“So I do, child, and not much about her
either, except to know that she is the child of
parents whom I knew in our palmy days.
Bless my soul! how time does fly l”

“Did you come to identify her through her
ravings, father?"

“ Yes, daughter.”

“Is there any reason why you should not
tell me all about it? 1 am dying to know, for
I’m sure it’s almost like a play.” '

“Curiosity .is a womanly weakness, my
dear.” >

“ And its gratification a manly one. .Father,
won’t you tell me the story? I am sure there
is romance in it ” ‘

“Ay, and tragedy, too. Many a novel has
grown from smaller germs of both. The poor
childlittle knows what a claim she has upon
my sympathy. Ah, ‘God is great and Maho-
met is his prophet l’ ”

“‘Yes,‘ father; but please go on with the
story,” urged Meme, clasping her small hands
in impatient entreaty. -

The, old man continued in reflective tones:

 

' ther, too, if report did not belie him. ‘ ’

 

a public.

“It seems as if it were only yesterday week 1

that I saw her mother, in her royal robes of
crimson velvet, looking a very queen as she

came before the curtain at old Drury Lane to I

receive the homage of applause after her
matchless reproduction of Queen Catherine.”

“ Was her mother an actress, father?”

“Yes,” answered Pastengon, a heavy,,wake-
ful sigh from the region . of the lounge pillows
passing unnoticed in the absorption of their
mutual interest.

‘f Yes; her mother was an actress, and made
one of the most promising debuts ‘the English
stage has ever witnessed. The house was
packed from gallery to pit, and she took them
by storm.

“Everybody predicted a failure, and voted
the manager mad in permitting her to make
her first appearance in a part requiring such
peculiar talent as Queen Catherine; but the
manager’s head was level, for, from the first

 theater.”

' him?”

: The old duke ’was‘dead; the duchessl‘oet 

line until the fall,of the curtain, she was the E

noble, injured queen, full of deep and awful
feeling” going beyond the province of passion,
yet displaying the most intense passion of which

the human heart is capable.‘ Bless my soul, '

how she held the house in almost breathlessat- ‘

tention, and when she exclaimed:

“ ‘16 tell me what . wishfor both—any ruin.
[Is this your Chris an counsel? .. Out upon .vel-

/ ’. ' \
I a .

    
 
  
   
   
   
   
 
 
    
 
    
  
    
    
   
   
 
 
   
   
    
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
     
  
  
   
   
   
  
  

' ' l‘ r ..
esslmaasmmw ( , _
and lifting her' baud, swept back her straying 
tresses with a gesture of settled but’  j
despair, you might have heard a pin dropinthe ;  :
theater except for the labored manager». _' 
audience” '. ‘-
“ If her genius was so great, how came’ahe to
be living in an obscure mill-house here in.
America, as this poor lady’s ravings would  V '
timate?” = z“ '
“Ah, child, by reason of a blight called ‘
love that falls too often upon beauty and‘
talent!” v . ‘
“Why, father, I am sure love is very nice-
unless people take it too hard.” "
“Very true, daughter: but there’s the rub."
There are some constitutions that everything
goes hard with. In England, whether it be her “
cause the customs of society so hedge .. the-
young people in that no woman dare be natural.
enough to be lovable, or because the women 0; ,
our profession, being the only actually free
women on God’s earth, monopolize agood share
of the feminine wit and attractiveness, nearly ‘
every actress numbers one or more of the titled.
gentry in her train of admirers. Lola Mon-7' 
teith, this lady‘s mother, was unfortunate
enough to win the admiration of the eldest
and second son of the old Duke of Lorna,
Hugh, the eldest, was a fine fellow, full of dash ;
and spirit, a very devil in his tempers, but:
honorable and generous to a fault among his ,
fellows; but Sintram, the second son, w then "
direct opposite of Hugh, being lowand pen-.3
'tious in his habits, and wearing the white leap;- ’

w

 

“ Both of these young men were very 
voted to Lola, but we people of the company 1
thought she most favored Hugh, although-she “ r
was wonderfully discreet in showing her pm' '.’ i
ference. One morning, some two weeks before ' 
the close of the season, all London was con?  W
Vulsed with the report :of the death of the old?” ‘
duke and his second son, Sintram. Dame Rm» 
mor said that Sintram had come to his deathat
the hands of an unknown assassin, and t  
shock of the terrible deed had killed his a. er; ,'
It was a nine days’ wonder, aggravated :by the .
departure of the young duke for parts unknown‘. 
and the retirement of the popular Lela from" ’. _ -.
the stage, but it was soon forgotten, and buried . .‘
under succeeding events, and very feW’rc‘Vet  
got at the truth of the story.” ‘  fl . V .

“Well, what was the truth of it, father?” ' .

“The truth, child! Ah. bless my soul, but ‘
the truth was a very sad matterl It seemed 
that Lola and Lord Hugh had been privately
married, but Lola insisted on playing out, her
engagement before the marriage was made 
This was very unfortunate, as it tm'n’yi‘.
ed out, for Sintram, not knowing her to be his
brother’s wife, and bent upon the gratificatiom
of his own dishonorable passion for her, was“...
shot through the heart by Hugh in an attempt“ ‘~
to abduct Lola on her way home from the 
“ Oh, father, what did they do with 

“Nothing, child. The law is very courthoub ‘~
to the nobility in England as in other countrie‘sf»

reason and had ,to be put under medical fe- :
straint to protect her against herself, and Hugh; ‘3'
then Duke of Lorne, found it not diflicult to,
keep the matter from the light of day, partie~ I
ularly as he took his young wife, and left Ehg— ,
land immediately—indeed, left the world 
far as the pomp and circumstance of hisyheredsi 7
itary position were concerned, for his younger ’
brother bears the title. and but few know Huh"
it is not rightfully his.” " ’ f 

“Oh, father! Do you really mean tq‘tell
me that this lady’s mother was once a , famous
English actress, and that her father is'al‘reali,‘
live duke, although living now as an humble
miller among the hills of  New? *
York?” I ' i I ‘ " 2"
‘ “Surely, my child. The unwri on stories',
of life often exceed in strangeness t emost‘iexé,
travagant‘ creation of the; novelist’s  V

/ , . \_i ’

a. y, 1

V . OUIDA’S «Love; '

 

‘Wnat is to be will be,’ and, if I mistake
I not, the child now feels the weight of the
a -rod that smites from generation to genera-
‘3‘ . tion.” , _
T. ' ‘ “Good friend!” said a voice, quivering, thin
‘ and clear; from the pillows of the gay old
lounge.
, “God bless my soul!” exclaimed Pastengon,
‘ forgetting in his excited surprise to administer
the pinch of snuff he had shoved back from the
table to take, and now held between his thumb
and finger, suspended midway between the
beheaded dragon-fly and his olfactory or—
. gan.
_ “Good friend, I heard your little story, and
thank God who led my wandering feet this
' way. My mother’s heart beats through
'mine,_ and shows me a path to independ—
_ once.”
Exhausted with emotion, the invalid sunk
back into Meme’s sympathetic arms.
‘ “Bless my soul, why not? What is to be
I -, I will be,” said the old teacher of elocution, wip-
 ing a furtive tear from his cavernous cheek;
, , and thus it was that out of the darkness there
' 3 , came light to the soul of Ouida, and from the
‘- fullness of her heart she murmured:
‘ / “ Whereas I was blind, now I see.”

if
y
, .

 

CHAPTER XI.
A BROTHER’S BLOOD.
“Tilrn, hellhound, turn!”

IT was just at sunrise of .a cloudless April
 morning that two men reached, from opposite

 ‘ directions, a little grassy plateau hedged in by
' i ' “nodding oaks and cedars.
‘ The air was vocal with the jubilate of return-
 : ing summer birds, and fragrant with the breath
to! early apple—blossoms. Violets peep in half-
_' opened timidity from the bosom of springing
, ' grasses; wild crocuses lift their purple heads in
= '7, courageous defiance of late frosts, and yellow
dandelions stare with a million sunbright eyes
from the warm south slope of every bank.
. ‘ Silently, and all unmindful of the beautiful
‘,i f miracle of nature’s spring-time resurrection,
"these men faced'each other.
; ,' , Below them the peaceful river rolled like a
.‘v ' shimmering silver thread through the wooded

' ' vales and across the smiling meadows that
V ._ ‘. .marked the g10wing landscape, and beyond the
’ lclimbing hills raised their verdant crowned
. heads in! ambitious towerings to meet the lower—
V ing sky; but, the deadly purpose gleaming in
those opposed eyes blinded the perceptions of
1:, the souls speaking through them to every benign

influence of earth and sky.

2 l" A strange and terrible calmness sat upon the
, gallant beauty of Ernest Castlemayne as he
s" V xstdod‘thus in the presence of the man to whom
.. " he. owed the deepest anguish life holds within
its gelled cup. Upon his brow there rested a
"9 'tranqmllity more horrible than the fiercest out-
breaks of rage,‘or the most hopeless abandon-
, ment of woe. .
. ., v He stood as, in the days of Philip the Fair,
 ‘ one of hisrrace had stood to be bound to the
f Templar’s pyre; his hand was clenched and a
39111in shudder ran through all his limbs, shak~
,- ing him as with the shudder of an icy cold;
‘ but his eyes flashed like tempered steel, and
, he fronted his Nemesis with a look under

 

  
   
  
 

 

  
  
   
   
 
 
     
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 

sciOus' lesson——“ I am nobler than thou!”

 It was no longer Alcibiades amidst the gay
levity' the dreamy languor, and rosagarlanded

Olympian youth-joys with

Whom St. Pierre was called to cope, but Alci—

, triumphs, who looked.at him with eyes that

' iiimonaoed danger, and all unquailed by mighty

' wees, as the mused Sybarite might have looked
‘  his murderers.

 'But Emile St. Pierre was none the least.
I {murderer because his joy—crowned Greek had

r looked upon the ashes of his rose-wreaths and i

_. become awarrior. He leaked withyunflinching
4.2m, toward the rising day-god in bloodless

g.

 Histoilet was,” carefulas if toattend

(»

 

{switch- that dark soul writbed through its con— ,

blades grander in his dethronement than in his 3

nomination 'of its effect upon the accuracy of I ten .
 r"_Tout est perdu, forsl’hoaneurl,” , '

 

‘ a morning concert instead of being bent upon

an errand of blood. His manner was asreplete
with debonair grace as if he were abouttolead
some fairest of Eve’s daughters through the in-
toxicating mazes of the dance, instead of stand—
ing up before the leaden vengeance of an out-
raged friendship; and his beaute du diable as
fresh as if remorse were powerless to touch
the fountains of his life.

“ Hell-born! where did you ~ hide that my
vengeancmmust needs wait upon those creep—
ing'weeks past?” demanded Ernest, his white
teeth glaring with a wolfish hungriness for life.

“ You wrong me, man ami; absence is not
always hiding,” answered St. Pierre, adevilish
sneer curling his blood—red lips.

A tigerish impulSe impelled the injured man
to tear out the taunting tongue that mocked
his-misery, but he restrained the passion that
tempted him, and with unnatural severity un—
did the fastenings of a mahogany box“ he car-
ried and throwing it open upon the grass
pointed to the silver—mounted pistols there dis.
closed with a gesture that indicated the limit
Of endurance was almost reached and not to be
mistaken.

“ I understand!” said St. Pierre, wu'th an in-

' imitable shrug of his shoulders; “ but I beg
you will wait one moment; I have a word to
say before indulging in that little pastime.
Do you know why I hate you, Ernest Castle-
mayne?”

“No, unless it is because such.natures as i

’ yours bate naturally those who serve them,
and because you have robbed me of love and
honor,” an§wered Ernest, in bitterest loathing.

“ Bah, that but helped to fill the measure of ;

my hate.
Cain hated Abel, because you had the favor of
both heaven and earth, while I am outcast.
Girard Castlemayne was as much my father as
yours; but I was an unknown mongrel, banned
before my birth to wear my mother’s name,
while you were the legitimate scion of the ‘ an-
cient and honorable ’ stock. But even mongrels
love their dams, and I sucked hate from mine,
as the Caligula sucked blood. Above my
mother’s deserted and shame-killed corse I
swore to drag the Castlemayne honor in the
dust, and wring from the proud bearers of the
name the last vestige of their crimson joy-
blossoms, and I have kept my oath. Your
wife, upon whom I cast the blight of suspi:
cion, and whom you drove in bitter wrath
from the shelter of your roof, was as pure and
spotless as yonder white-winged dove. You
thought she fled with me, but I swear to you
that I have never seen her since the day you
witnessed our, parting.
the river gave her kindly welcome when all

I hate you for the very reason that »‘

 

’Tis more than likely ‘

else had failed her; yet, should she still live, 3

and the devil, whose beef I wear, deserts me
not. I’ll find her and drag her to your grave-
a ruined woman!"

“ Oh, dear Christ!" groaned the listener,
“ can this thing be?” ‘—

A mocking laugh, like ice—drops ringing upon
sounding metal, reminded him that his tormen-
tor still lived, and with the red fury of a
wounded lion shooting from his . eye, g be
hissed: '

“Curse you! The ground whereon you stand

 

I With a smile such as Lucifer might have
worn when gazing upon the desolated garden of
-, Eden, St. Pierre approached the fallen man.
Quiet and passionless enough he lay new among
the purple crocuses, with the golden sunlight
wrapping him in the sheeted glory of its royal
colors. A crimson stream dabbled the short
grasses, but the triumphant fiend by short ex-
amination, knew that his bullet had fallen so
far short of its murderous intent that his vic-
tim would not die. Still there was satisfaction
written upon his sardonic countenance as he
daintin cleansed his slim white hands with
a delicate cambric handkerchief, and mur-
mured: ' ‘
“The hirelings of Pharnabazus slew the
Greek; but I save my honorable kinsman alive
to suffer.”

 

CHAPTER XII.
IN THE snarnn'r’s ceiLs.
“—~Unmerciful disaster
Follows close, and follows faster."

OUIDA CASTLEMAYNE had risen from her
sick-bed a very different woman from the
Ouida Castlemayne that left the shelter of her
husband’s roof, mad with outraged love and
pride. Vainly Ernest whispered to himself as
he languished pain distraught by the leaden
philter of St. Pierre’s hate: “She will come
back to me when her anger has spent itself.”
So far from going back was she that she would
have torn her tongue out rather than with it
sue for pardon when she knew herself to have
been the‘ one injured.

It is a pleasant sophism that makes a woman’s
heart the only worldly tribunal where a man’s
transgressions are forgiven him the seventy and
seventh time; nevertheless—4t is a sophism.

There is a point beyond which the power of!
womanly forgiveness does not reach, and the
truest, most conscientious soul that ever throb-
bed finds a something within itself, uncontrol-
lable, unappeasable,,unchangeable, that wrench-
es from the heart the imagevthat occupied its
holy of ‘holies; and when the will would rein~
state the fallen hero, alas! We powerto accom-
plish it ’is gone for aye.

Women who love well. love but once; and
when the object 'of that love so forgets the
jewel he wears as to pick a flaw in its rare gold
setting, he picks a flaw that no jeweler in the
wide world can mend—he brushes a bloom
from off the apricot that no human power can
replace, and henceforth shall blame himself
that its most exquisite flavor is lost.

And—“ He whom a woman once has loved
can never be to her like other men.”

Ouida was not made of the mettle that curls
like a hound at the feet of its maltreater.

The mother-love, which sometimes softens,
but more often hardens, the mother’s heart to
ward the lips that have dared to cast a slurriug

5 doubt upon its paternity, had just escaped her;

shall’drink your blood. Take your choice, of ,

the weapons.”

a second Cain! So be it, man prince! It is
not the first time we have played with these
ivory-handled toys,” retorted the taunting

"And stamp the last of the Castlemaynes ?

and, she arose from fever-tortured sleep With a
fierce regret at heart, and a burning desire to
fill the weary hours with something that should
strangle the gnawing memory of- her desola—
tion. .

The desired nepenthe she had found in inces-
sant study under the direction of that cada-
verous mentor, Pastengon. After weeks of
untiring application, she had at last made her
debut as Portia in “The Merchant of Venice. ’.’

A critical audience had given her an encour-

j aging reception, and the play was working
smoothly. Now dressed as a doctor of law,

devil incarnate, pacing off the ground. . §

“ Stand back to back; count three, and turn
at the word fire!” spoke Ernest, hoarse with
savage impatience. 

No sound save the gentle, rustle of growing
, leaves broke the awful silence that then reign-

ed, until 8t. Pierre’s unshaken, melliiiuous voice .‘

gave the count: _
“ One l--two l—three l—fire I”
Then a quick double report cleft the har-
' mony of the soft spring air with sudden dis-
? cord, and like the shooting of a star the Titan

!

.\."\' . " ’ '

she waited her call in the greenroom. .
Pastengon was pacing up and down the
apartment, playing in a fidgety way with his-

snufl-box, and looking like an animated ex—

: clamation point in an uncertain state of punc-

tuation. ,

“ This scene decides the question whether I
am to be or not to be asuccess, uncle,” said the
debutante. ~

“ Well, there is no reason why it should not! ‘ '2’
be success. Bless my soul, I’ve seen people I v
with half your genius make great successes. I 
hope you don’t, feel nervous!” C '

, .“ Oh the contrary, I feel as if I were Perth’s

1
.v 4. ‘i‘ -‘

 
   
 

 

  

' I
r

r,‘;«,..  ~u,-7I,.’ \ l,,,-«:»,fl

dumps LOVE.

. V, .,  .  ' 4 . j 1., _ 5‘ I‘. . a," V

 

': . , , , y .
r‘ , , w
w r. 3 . l, "'  »
. , »

 

self, and eager as a prosecuting attorney to be-
gin the case.”

“No word of the text has escaped you?”

“ No, uncle; ‘I am informed thoroughly of
the cause.’ ” ‘

“The manager’s Shylock is very hard on a
debutante.” _

“Well, if the debutante make a blunder—-
‘ then must the Jew be merciful.’ ”

“ ‘On what compulsion must I? tell me
that,’ ” declaimed the old actor. catching her
humor, and striking an attitude.

“ The qualit of mercy is not strained;
It droppei‘ as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is tw1ce blessed;
It blesses iim that gives and him that takes;
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
I-lis scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptcred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself; ‘
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons just-ice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, conszder this—-
That, in the course of ‘ustice, none of us
Should see salvation. e do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all
To render the deeds of mercy.’ ” 4

“ Good! good!” applauded Pastengon, in a
fervor of gratulation, throwing his snuff—box
toward the fair Portia, missing her by a nar-
row chance, and sprinkling the call-boy freely
in face and eyes with the pungent powder.

“ Bless my soul! I forgot that the poor old
snuff-box wasn’t a bouquet. Ah, my bouquet
days are past and gone!” apologetically ex-
claimed the old man, basting in search of his
precious dragon-fly.

“ Dern the snuff! It’s a. bokay I wished had
gone up Pastengon’s old proboscis before he’d
past it inter my eyes,” muttered the call-boy,
between sneezes, While Ouida escaped into the
wings to await her one. '

“What’s the matter?” demanded a. smooth,
persuasive voice, and a man, thin of lip and
wily of eye, came in from the direction of the
manager’s box just as Pastengon retired, fol-
lowing in the wake of his pupil.

“ Hell—ocution Pastengon!” answered the
irate lad, rubbing the saline drops from his
reddened eyes.

“ Where is he?”

“ There 1” said the boy, jerking his thumb in

the direction ‘of the stage.
‘ “Atch—tchezu! seems to me I smell snufl.
Boy, will you tell Mademoiselle Lola that the
manager will send her home in his carriage,
after the play?” ‘

“ Yes, mister, if I don’t forget.”

“There is something to help your memory.
And tell Pastengon that the manager wants to
see him in the office immediately after the cur-
taiu falls.”

“Egg—zactIy, mister.”

“ Confound the snuff! A man might sneeze
his head off with half the dose. Atch—chtzeei

I’ll get out of this infernal hole. Atch—thneize i”'

and he of the thin lips and scintillafing eyes
beat a hasty retreat.

“ Ef there’s anything in phizermahogony,
you’ll get inter an infernal hole one of these
fine days that ain’t to be sneezed at, Mister
* Clubfoot, soliloquized the preter—sharp youth,
and in turn left the besnnffed atmosphere.

 

Alas, poor Ouidai Her mother’s name had
proved but poor protection against so subtle an
enemy as Emile St. Pierre. After weeks of
unremitting search he had found the escaped
quarry in the much-talked-of debutante, and
with a quickness devils might have envied, he
I formed a plan to consummate his hate-born re-

solVes. '

' Being one of the critical few who' either
“damn with faint praise” or make their up.
proval the cbrdon of fashion to a new play or
a dancer’s ankles, and so on intimate terms
with the manager oflthe theater, he had ob-
tained'admittanoo behind the! curtain and so
laid a train by which he heped to spring a
x mine upon the woman already warped with
 double misfortune. ' , - ' ,

.\_

 

 

The curtain rung down upon the last scene,
and twice Ouida respOnded to the tumultuous
call of the enthusiastic audience. Her Portia
had been a success, and something that feebly
counterfeited joy swelled in her breast as she
ran across the pavement from the stage entrance
to the carriage awaiting her.
of the brougham were not lighted and the shut-
ters were close drawn, but in the preoccupation

of her mind'Ouida did not notice this until the ,
carriage was in motion and a faint closeness in '

the atmosphere impelled her to lower a window.
She leaned forward to put her thought in
force, when a strong, firm grasp drew her back
with silent suddenness; a quick, dextrous arm
pinioned her hands helpless at her sides, and
then a handkerchief was pressed tightly over
her mouth and nose, and the deathly sweetness
of chloroform stole all her frightened senses. r
The mania for scientific investigation and dis-
covery had so grown upon Emile St. Pierre
that he had come to regard human life as little

more than an alchemic problem. A second Dr. ‘

Faust in his desires to penetrate the secrets of

creation. and hold communion with them that i

are

“ -—Not like inhabitants of earth and yet are on it,” ‘

he had devoted much time to the study of the
black arts.

In the uppermost story of his ‘house there. I‘

was a room, octagonal in shape, draped from
center-ceiling to floor with heavy folds of black
velvet, wherein he worked out his half-insane
fancies. All about this rOOm were scattered
the beloved results and appurtenances of his
monomania. From the ceiling a golden cen-
ser was suSpended, burning blue, and filling
the apartment with a perfume as of Araby
the blest. At one side a grinning, ghastly
skeleton rattled its wired bones in horrid
obedience to an electrical hand that held it in
its place. A magnificent painting of the Head-
less Horseman hung opposite it, and a hideous
satyr in bronze stood guard over the, crucible
wherein were 'mixing the subtle essences that
were finally to produce the elusive elixir of
life, near which a human heart glowed redly
through the transparent prison of a glass jar.

A splendid magnetic battery occupied a
marble trestle, and near it was a marvelous
combination of polished steel, shining brass
and unvarnished oak, that was at once a clock
and a musical instrument. This was the off-
spring of St. Pierre’s erratic inventive genius.
The lower part of the nondescript Was inclosed
like an organ, while above arose fluted brass
columns supporting the dial. Between the
central two of these columns a round metallic
plate rested upon a cylindrical spring; a chime
of tiny bells, hung between each column, told
the quarter and half-hours, but as the hands
upon the dial marked the hours, a hammer de-
scending struck this metal spheroid, causing,
by the action of its spring, the organ to play a
tune.

It was in this'room Ouida found herself
when consciousness returned, and the first ob—

ject upon which her gaze rested was the man ‘

whom of all others she most feared and hated.

Struggling to arise she found herself bound
tightly to a funereal throne-shaped chair in
which she had been placed.

“ It is useless to beat your wings, my bird;
your cage is secure,” said ‘her abductor, beam~
ing with hateful exultation.

“Why haveyou brought me here, Emile St.
Pierre?" .

“ To make you happy, and gratify your on-
riosity to see what is within this Pandora’s box,
beautiful Ouidai” .

“What do you intend to do with me?”

“ Love you if you will beloved, if not, then
kill you.” . I
' “Kill me then, you venomous abortion! Ten
thousand deaths were better than your love. ”

“ A woman’s no is often changed to yes,
sweet madame. Life is very'sweet and you
are young.”

“Yet old. enough [to die it so I ’scape dis- E

hon‘or.” ~ . i .
“ Dishonor is a thing of time, and love makes
life 5. paradise while it lasts? . _ ~

 

, -.

The side lamps -‘

' i response to the boy’s suggestion.

i

I “ Do you! presume to call the madintatuation V . _ a
; that leads you to force a woman’s inclination ‘~ _
‘ love? You know not what love is, sir!‘ Re- ; 
: lease me, and let me go my way unmolested 1 "

‘ and your protestations. would find some faint ~.
7 corroboration.” -
“Impossible, most charming of women!
Violent means are sometimes necessary to in- ‘

sure peaceful ends-- ‘-
“‘IfIwoo youharshly " ' 
My temper is to blame for‘t.’  , i
, For love of you I have turned traitor to my '
mother’s memory, fostered passion where only
fiercest hate should have reigned, and cursed .
myself for being what I am—a spawn of Satan. , ,3 
i For love of you I could battle the world single .  3',
5 handed, dare the vengeance of heaven, or roast. v f
j in hottest hell. I have staked all upbn the is;
‘ turning of a die. Life is stale, flat, and un- _ , .'
profitable without you, and since you so will it - " 
we will quit the stage together and ‘ count the . ’1
 world well lost.’ ”  
“You surely cannot mean tp murder met! . f  1
Have you no mercy i” ; ’
“Love me and my mercy shall be as infinite
, as the soul’s existence.” v ‘ , 
“Never! I would not buy my life at such. 
’ a price, were it possible to love a thing sow "
. mean.” ,
“ Very well, beauteous Ouida, then deathit is.
Do you see this little can? It contains nitro-
2‘, glycerine enough to raise this house from its , »
f, foundation. I’ll place it just there where  
you saw the hammer, a half hour gone, strike. ‘ '
 When next it falls the curtain falls with it upon
3 our little drama of life. Listen! How siIVery
" sweet those bells sound! They are our passmg
l’ bells, carol Does your heart fail you? No!‘ “0.1
Then, by all the powers of darkness, you are. 
doomed. Yonder grinning skeleton is a fairer ‘ fl '
‘ sight than you soon will be. How loudly the
clock ticks. It measures swiftly our ebbing ,
life-throbs. Ten minutes more of time is left to 
say prayers in. How tenderly will your fond  L,
husband cherish thy memory when he knows £ f”
in what good company thou didst die 1” '  . 
A slight swaying of the velvet drapery',‘ ' “
passed unnoticed by Emile St. Pierre as he 
faced and taunted the hapless victim of his in~ -,  A
formal purpose. . .  J ’«
Five minutes stretched their puny space he» ‘
tween them and the falling of the hammer,’ ,
but '

 

 

 
  
 
 
    
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
   
  
   
     
 
  
 
  

" Manproposes and God disposes." . I

A boyish figure crept from under the velVet
curtains, gathered a coil of bright brass wire".
'in his cautious hand and with unerring aim-44 ;
only possible to one of our Arab gaminswthe
almost imperceptible lasso circled for a second ,
over St. Pierre’s head and then fell,” imprison» 
ing the villain’s arms in temporary helplessq ;
ness. ; ,_ 
“Throw that ’ere spontaneous combustion, j
out the winder, perfessor, while I shook the L,
cuss,” piped the voice of Jake the call~boy, as "
i he seized the handle of the battery to which»

‘ the wire rope was attached. ’ ’
‘.‘God bless my‘soul! A pretty time there’d I,
been if we had been five minutes later,”
breathed Pastengon through his nose as he» -4
emerged from the sable draperyand lifted the
3 can of death from its fatal resting-place. “I.
don’t like such jokes, bless my seal it I do!” 3.
and depositing the can gingerly upon the floor 
he proceeded to unbind the poor pale prisoner; , ’
whose head had fallen on her breast. -. j
“You’d better secure this chap first; 'I..
reckon every bone in his infernal body ring,-
cracked by this time.” ' , 
“ Right, Jake!” said Pastengon, turningin
“ What is'tqj _

 

be will be, and this proves it.” ' v ' v '
Round and round the foiled and withing};
man they twisted the yellow ‘wire, and‘when.“ “
, he was bound, past all danger of escape, Jake, I
came round to view him. *3 » 4 i E
“ How is that, mister snake-in-the-grassi” he . '
asked. “I melt your little game when I .see’d 
o it wasn’t 'the manager’s brougham, so 1 13:1: ,
I jumped up behind for a free ride. Yer had ~
too much on yer hands for to lock the“ door; so '2;- -.
,I ‘jest ‘ pad 03, piped a star/Wharton

.,l

 

 

‘ f

 “" Tasty, and here we be! Unfort’nlt for you,

 

, me for saving your life, but it ain’t yer nater i“
’ , to. Ef yer don’t take my advice and reform
_- yetll be stretching hemp, first thing you know.”
3 St. Pierre glared at the boy with the ma— ‘
lignity of a fiend, but answered him not, and
‘ Jake turned from the contemplation of the
efallen foe to where Pastengon was mingling
-- nasal condolence and execrations in a very con«
‘ fusing way and undoing the silken scarf that i
; Abound Ouida to the chair.
A strange, vacant, yet terrible look was on
, her face as she turned it to the light, and the
. old man urged on by a sudden fear, said:
' “You are safe now, child. Come with me.
, There is no further cause for fear. ”
' "" Soft! The Jew shall have all justice—soft!
 no haste.” -
r ~f‘G03d Lord, perfessor, she thinks she is at i
the the-a—ter!” gasped Jake.
.Pastengon shivered as if the mortal enemy
had fastened upon his vitals, and for once, for-
_ " getting his favorite form of expression, ex-
"  ,w claimed: ‘
 . . “The curse of the old duchess has fallen—she ;
is mad!”
, “ ‘ Parted from herself and her fair reason‘—
Oh, spirit of darkness, thou didst my bidding
' ,_ we!!!” hissed the bruised serpent as he watched
them lead her away through the parted gloom !
‘ of the black chamber.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XIII.
(- x . , GOING HOME!
'  z “The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul
2 ' ‘ Of that waste place with joy,
Hidden in sorrow * * * *
And the arse ing mosses and clambering weeds,
And thew‘ ow branches. hoar and dank,
' And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
‘ \ And the we. e—worn horns of the echoing bank,
~ And the silvei marsh-flowers, that throng
. ' The desolate creeks and ools amon ,
Were flooded over with ed ylng song.’
I FAITHFULLY and tenderly did Pastengon and
I - , his daughter keep watch and ward over poor
‘_ ""Ouida. Indeed, she gave them very little
  .. trouble, for the hour of terrible dread in the
~  black-draped laboratory seemed to have blbtted
' \ from her mind all memory—all will, and she
. sat in the sun through the bright summer days
” thridding, with restless fingers, the wavy masses

 

 

   
   
   
 
   
  
   
   

I

’ .

text of Portia as if conning a task, or singing
softly that exquisite poem called “The Long,
1 .'Weary Day."
 "  Occasionally at the striking of the clock, or
did she come in contact with anything black,
 eyes would dilate as if in sudden terror,
1‘ .and she would start as if some giant hand had
~ / '$ized her; but these were only momentary

i‘gleams that, passing, left her in the same hope-
' less, harmlem condition.
 ‘ At the close of a warm and lovely day, the
I trio composing the ex—actor’s family were seat-
v ed together enjoying the quiet hour when na-
‘ "tare ‘holds her breath to hear the footsteps of
the coming night. Ouida sat with listless
 folded hands by the west window, bathed in a
:?-"pink flush, following the sun's passionate good- »
night, and singing, as was her custom— '
' “The lonely day at last

'In pain and woe has passed.
- x, “ When I in window raise,“
. "I ‘ ' Upon the {light to gaze,
" ‘ I And [am weeping,
~ While all are sleeping."
_, _. “ Alas,'poor lady!” said Meme; “if she only
 f “could Weep, perchance it might lift the weight

 that darkens her sad mind.” i ‘

"He often said to me, _
‘ When sad my heart would be, \
' For me some time shalt thou be weeping;
When I have left thee lone.

, , ,Andfar awayhave gone,

' Shalt thou be weeping, .

While all are sleeping.‘ "

r ‘ X73 " sung the mournful voice, unconscious or unmind-

. of her hair—repeating and re-repeating the ‘-

 

   
 

7 "ful of Meme’s interruption. , .
 ‘f.Where do you suppom her husband is all a
‘3‘  time, father?” I
.2» reading hisjust deserts for his dastardly treat-
. r , H-r ‘ , . . , ,r ’ l r I

'\

 

 

‘ ' ment 'of that poor child,” replied Pastengon,
. ain’t it? Why, you ought to be grateful ter g wrathfull . l

!

“Ah, father, the wrongs of woman rarely "

find redress in this world, except in plays and

novels,” philosophized Meme.

“Neverthelem, there is such a thing as retri-
butive justice on earth. ‘What is to be will
be.) 7! ,

‘ Again the mournful music struck tearful

chords in the listeners’ hearts:

“ Oh, better far to me
Than silent death would be,
To live and mourn, his memory keeping,
For he might come again,
Upon his heart to strain
And say, ‘ Thou art mine, love]
Oh, stay thy weepmg.‘ ”

“ Meme 1”

“What, father?”

“ I have a great notion to write to her father.
It isnbarely possible something might be done
for her that we have not done, and, however
fierce his anger may have been, her present
condition would melt the heart of a stone.
Bless my soul, it would!" and the old man

2 brushed away a tear from his skinny check.

“I don’t think it would be anything more

‘ than right to let her parents know how she is,

but I fear me it would break her mother’s heart
to see her. Her singing makes me think of
Lalla Rookh‘s, that was
“ ‘ ——Like the notes, half—ecstasy, half‘pain,

, ,. The bulbul utters ere her soul departs.’
Just listen how her voicc wails through that
song.” - ’
“ Oh, Lord my love is dead,

To Thee is soul has fled
My heart and soul were in his keeping,

Ne’er shall I see him more,

Fortliat I grieve so sore,
For that am weeping,
While all are sleeping. "

The sunset glow faded into twilight gray;
the evening star flashed and softened like a
heavenly eye; the harvest moon shed chaste,
cool smiles on the heated brow of earth, and
peace, like a cooing dove, brooded over that
homely little parlor in the old tenement-house.
Alas, that change is inevitable!

, That night when all slept the insane woman
crept, with stealthy cunning, from beneath the
roof that had given her such kindly. shelter,
out into the yellow moonlight.

Through the silent streets she fled like some
swift shadow. Now dropping into the hiding
of some doorway until the watchman passed—-
now running swiftly along the pavement, she
reached the city suburbs, where the shrubbery
of full-leaved gardens lent h'ér friendly con-
cealment.

Still on she ran, and, anon, the open country
stretched out before her. Past sleeping villages
and quiet farm-yards she fled until miles in ter-

, vened between her and the city, and her feet,

all unused to such cruel flittings, became un-_
steady. Then, creeping into a dense ,thicket
of sapling birch and maples, she laid her weary
head upon the soft green ferns and slept while
little birds, waking to the sweet surprise of
early day, plumed their feathers in silent won-
der as they peeped from nest and branchlet at
the invader, and then, seeing naught of menace
in her deathlike repose, sung sweet lullabys
above her leafy bed.

Six days came and were swallowed up in the
yortex called yesterday, while yet Ouida wan-
dered, and by some strange chance or provi-
dence she now approached the vicinity of her
old mill-house home.

Distant stars shone dimly through the sheet-

 

ed pallor of the moonlit night as she gained the .

silvery Mourning Kill, and looked adown its
current to where the falls in double cascade
leaped and tumbled in foam-white agony over
the cruel rocks. 

Above the falls the dark still waters of the
pond glided soft and placid, bearing peace
within its bosom, and the mill-house stood like
a great black hat with motiOnless wings out-
spread, casting somber shadows over the mir-
rored heaven of water.

"."0!1 the P011“? or Satan” trident, if he is I ' With weary step and slow the wanderer

drew nearer «be home from whence she had

/ ‘\

i

I flourished triumphantly a long scraggy piece

 

flown in the innocent cloudless dawn of her
life. Alas, how love had wrecked her!

A little boat in which she had passed many
sunny hours of her happy girlhood, was moor.
ed upon the grassy bank of the pond, and me-
chanically the exhausted woman crept over the
side and sunk upon its timeworn seat. With
fever-distended eyes she looked out over the fa-
miliar scene, and as its influence, permeated her
shattered brain she began once more to sing a
song that often her mother had sung when
nestling the Winsome baby-girl to sleep upon
her breast. '

The rippling waters rocked the little craft
with eager lightness, but the singer heeded not
that her weight had abetted the grasping
waves. Slowly the lightsome bark parted
from its anchorage and drifted with the strong
and noiseless current, and still the thrilling
notes of “Der Wanderer” pierced the mid-
night air. Nearer and nearer the falls she
drifted, but neither fear not consciousness rob-
bed the music of its steady sweetness.

One quick whirl—one moment’s halting upon ,
the rocky brink, and the torrent lifted the
cookie—shell in its giant arms, and boat and
burden were lost in' the roaring, seething
chasm, while echoing back from wood and
hill there came '

“ A Sm whisper, ‘Exile, come
To a own land, and to thy tomb.’ "

 

CHAPTER ,XIV.

SIC TRANSIT!
“ Fold thy palms acress thy breast;
Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest,
Letthem rave!”

J L'ST where the groaning willow, across
which young love had lightly leaped to kiss the
tender lips of Ouida of the mill, spanned the
sighing Mourning Kill, a woman‘s face lay
among the waving water—grasses shining white-
ly as the marble features of some fallen Niobe.
One slender arm clasped the old log with the
tenacious clasp of rigid unconsciousness—her
long, bright hair floated upon the water lik-v
tangles of gold-thread torn from its earth
warm bed, and two white feet cleft’ the limx
pid element with the pinky pallor of pond-

v,

‘ lilies. ,

Over the swaying form the old butternut
tree cast leafy shadows, and the boughs bent

3 in min endeavor to raise the body from its

watery crypt. The south wind tossed dewy
tears from the opening eyes of the tall white
daisies, and the robins flew low over the rip-
pling stream, like minor strains of sweetest
music borne on wings.

Along the sinuous grassgrown path leading
from her home in the willow copse to the mill
came “ This world’s Polly,” singing and solilo-'
quizing after her characteristic fashion.

She was intent upon gathering certain roots
of rare medicinal qualities that grew along
the margin of the sad-voiced creek, and car-
ried a basket half-filled with odorous plants,
and a stafl, hook-shaped at one end, with
which she fished some of 'her‘trophies from
their native path.

“T 's is the wickedest world I ever expect
to see till the dying day of my death“ F‘e‘e—
fi-fo-fum, cut off the head of Christopher 00-
lumbus withrthe sharp edge of an illuminated
cotton-bale; Napoleon Bonaparte has gone to
glory in a patch-work quilt made of forty-four
thousand and a half-pieces of bass-wood becs— -;
wax; the man in the moon has been fatally in-
jured by the explosion of a cabbage-head, and
the king of‘the Cannibal Islands has gone up
in a balloon with ten thousand porous plasters
and a small black-bottle of hair invigorate '.
I never did see such times in this world, no,
never! '

“ ‘ Ha, ha, my boy, I’ve got you fast at last,’ ”
at which burst of song the singular creature

 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
  

of crinkle-root that she had after much tugging

and twisting sucCeeded in wresting from the

soft moist soil. , \

“Land 0’ Goshen! I never. expect to get

into another such world, no, over——not if I

live till the‘ dying day of my death! Why,-
.. ‘ a v I I ' I I I , '

  

,, 1 ,,' , y . . 

OUIDA’S LOVE. I

r/

., I, '13,

 

 

they do say that Queen Esther has run away
with the Grand Turk, while Mordecai sat at
the king‘s gate holding a battering~ram by
the horns, but I ‘never heard of anybody
wanting a Turk before in this world, no,
never! A Turk ain’t a turkey, and a turkey
never was a goose in this world, no, never, so
it couldn’t have been Queen Esther that run
away with my goose that the person give me

pand that I wasn’t never a~going to cook in this

world, no, never, but keep to the dying day of
my death to remember the parson by. I won-
der what Methuselah would say if pretty Poll
was ever to die in this world and they put a
white cap on her head and put her in a long
'box with the back breadth cut out of her

dress!

“Mauinselah was such a big boy—tall as the
church steeple and his beard trailed three miles
on the ground, but, that was as much as three
hundred and sixty-five years ago, and I’ll
never see the like again in this world, no,
neverl

u where, o where hasm old oose no?
8:: where, 0%., whereis shell 8 go

That ain’t her in the creek is it? No, that ain’t '

a goose—that is a ghost!”
Polly had caught the reflection of the white
human face through the rippling wavelets ed-

)dying around the piteous obstruction. She

dropped her basket, and walked with steadiest
deliberation toward the spectral figure lying
in such awful quiet against the vivid green of
the floating grasses.

“I never expected to see a ghost in this
world, no, never, and if I live to the dying day
of my death, I hope I won’t see another, no,
neverl It ain’t Christian to drown ghosts in
this world, no, never!” said Polly, as by dint
of hooking and pulling she dragged the drip—
ping, inanimate body out upon the flower-
decked ' greensward beneath the cathedral
arches of the giant butternut.

“ It can’t be a ghost, because ghosts ain’t
never alive in this world, no, never. It ain’t a
goose, nor a teapot, and l’d never have any use
for, it if I lived to the dying day of my death.
I’ll go and get that White devil to blow a little
breath in its mouth, and see if it won’t open its
eyes once more in this world!” and away Polly
hobbled toward the distant roaring mill singing

“we'll talk about mildews and blights,
And we‘llall be unhappy together.”

a “Can this be death? there‘s bloom upon her cheek,

But now 1,866 it is no living hue,

But a strange hectic—dike the unnatural red

Which autumn plants u on the rished leaf.

l It is the same! Oh, ! that should dread

To look upon the same."

The last red splendor of the afternoon sun
reddened the white stones of the old mill, and
struck a glory of light from the windows of the
vine-embowered house as we approach it for
our last look within its familiar Walls before
the curtain falls upon a tale that is told.

The little- parlor, with all its time-wom and
incongruous appointments, appears much the
same as on the sunshiny morning when an
empty chamber wrought sorrow and desolation
in the hearts of both just and unjust, except that
it is unoccupied, and from the open door of that
little chamber come sounds of grief smothered
in their utterance.

Within the little room no change has laid its
unfamiliar finger upon the slightest evidence of
the bygone happy girlhood that once made its
low walls echo with life and song. Still great

Lchange is there, for on the snow-white bed a

,woman, murdered by the divinely appointed

supremacy of man, lay passing into the valley
where
" Duh—and after death great darkness—"

waits.

The dying girl was strangely h‘ke the
.Ouida of other days as she reclined, her head
raised high upon bolstering pillows. Her hair
glistening and spay-like laid in golden masses
about her head and face; a hectic flush dis-
guised the pain-wrought hollows in her cheeks;
her temples were like polished marble—death-
'Veinedy—and a supernatural light had gathered
over the film that precedes death in the wide

'\ ‘1

 

0
blue eyes. Pale hands lay passively at her
side, and the snowy breast, partially uncover-
ed, rose and fell with fainter and still fainter
growing respirations. ‘

The miller sat by the woodbine shaded win-
dow with bowed head, and agonies of grief
and remorse convulsing the iron frame. At
one side of the bed the mother knelt, watching
the life of her darling fade out, with all the
anguish of a mother’s riven heart draining the
fountain of tears; opposite her was Ernest——
Ernest, aged and emaciated almost beyond be-
lief in the past few months, but still, the
Ernest who had won and wounded unto death
the heart that now throbbed so feeny beneath
his hand. No tears came to his relief; only
great dry sobs told how deep his sorrow touch-
ed, and his lips were set with the rigid pallor
of despair.

The miller approached the bed, all differ-
ences forgotteii in that dread hour, and in the
strong yearning of his spirit cried:

“ Daughter!”

She smiled as if her soul was going out in
the light, and answered faintly:

“Yes, father, it is all right now 1”

Then for a moment she lay as listening for
some far—off calling voice, and with another
smile felt feeny for her mother’s hand. -'

" Don’t stay long after I go, mother; Ouida
Wants you!”

A low wail parted the mother’s lips as she
kissed again and again the fair child—brow
upon which the death dews were gathering.

“ Raise me higher, Ernest; the day is fading.”

Another smile illuminated with seraphic light
her countenance, and with sudden energy she
raised her lips to the tremulous face bending
above her, and fell back into his encircling
anus with along sigh as of release— deadl.

“’Tis the curse of the sins of the fathers
visited upon the children from generation to

nerationl” groaned the miller, and the sun

t behind the western hills leaving gray gloom
and night-born tears to earth.

 

The old mill is fast falling into decay. The
water-wheel no longer beats with steady pad-
dle the falling torrents of the. moss—grown
race; only the rank luxuriance of clambering
vine, and the glistening web of the busy spider
indicate aught of life left to the echoing, de-
serted house.

On a little grassy knoll, rising just back of
the old butternut tree, there are three graves
overrun with dark green cypress. Abroken
marble shaft above them bears this simple le-
gend, “Requicscat in Pace!” and here lies all
that was mortal of Hugh Haughton, his sad-
eyed wife, and hapless, beautiful Guide.

,The earth lies tenderly upon their pulseless
breasts; the gray light of heaven falls gently
over their resting-place; at mom and eve cool—
winged zephyrs love to linger there; sweet-
voiced birds sing requiems from the swaying
butternut boughs, and the Mourning Kill flows
by with ceaseless sigh and dirge.

Here must we leave them whispering hope-
fully to the infinite to come:

“ Resurgant!”

“This world’s Polly ” still lives in the willow
copse, refusing to be comforted for the 10$ of
the goose that she “never expects to see again
in this world, no never,” and keeping jealous
watch and ward over her precious collection of
tea-pots, which she still insists she shall do “to
the dying day or her death.”

Emile St. Pierre died as the fool dieth, in
his sable-draped laboratory, strangled by the
noxious gases arising from the impions experi-
ments by which he strove to wrest the power
of endless life from the hand of Deity.

And Ernest Castlemayne still walks beneath

the kindling eye of day, for—-

“Henhavedl andwmshaveeatenthem.
‘But not for 13$..." / ~

m IND.

 

'l‘heabwepuhlicefions forsaleby anew-denier} r a ., i
0 will mant.’ ‘ Al on recei - “m  3;}
image mm $111.1»: Styli. Y. '  3’.ij?

.   ‘ ‘

BEADLE AND ADAMS’ . x a 
STANDARD mil:'PllBllilAWillis;V= 

Speakers. , ._> .

Each volume contains 100 large printed
from clear open compri _e collec-
tion of  and tations. .

_'I'he Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumes,g
vim .

~ .7... ..N.-_..;. v“-..

. 13. echooismk' er. ,' .f‘
1 Ludicrous Speaker. 9;
4'. Komikal Speaker. r , ~51“
Youth’sB .

. American Speak

. National Speaker.

. Patriotic Speaker.
gimme Swag“. Elo uent

. ocutionis . .

. Spegker. 18. er Colum in Speak-

. n or. ~ .

Stump S  19. Serio—Oomic Speaker.
Juvenile pecker.  SFsllect Sgeakeor‘:
S read-Eagle Speaker . nny peak .
Dime Debster. 22. Jolly Speaker. |
. Exhibition Speaker. . Dialect S . 3,;
24. Dime Book of Recitafions and ‘ M V

These books are late with choice pieces for tho .  f?
School-room, the bition, for Homes, etc. 75 to  :
iOODeclamations andRecitations m-eechhook. , ' -  r/

Dialogues, ‘

The Dime Dialogues, each volume 100 
brace thirty books, viz.:

Dialogues No. One.

“wk!

{A
Ddth
«pa

0!

5:155:94»
88

Bilg 8811??? teen. VCR”:
Dial es No. Two. aogues 0. van f 
wedges No. Dialogues No. Eighteen. I ;.V
Dialogues N 0. Four. Dialogues No. Nineteen. , 
Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. TWenty. _ 
Dialogues No. Six. Dialogues No..Twenty-oue.  . _ 
Dialogues N 0. Seven. ialogues No. Twenty-two. . . 
Dialogues No. Eight. Dialogues No. Twenty-three.
Di as No. Nine. Dialogues No. TWenty-four. '
Dialogues No. Ten. Dialogues No. Twenty-live. ,
Dialogues No. Eleven. Dialogues No. Twenty-six. . r, _.
Dialogues No. Twelve. DialoguesNo.Twent seven. ‘5. ,
Dialogues No. Thirteen. Dialogues No. Twen -e ht. ‘ I ..
Dialogues No. Fourteen ,Dialogues No. Twenty no. I e : «
Dialogues No. Fifteen. Dialogues No. Thirty. ‘
15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each

Dramas and ' Readings.

164 i2mo Pages. 20 Cents. , . . ,

For Schoo Parlors Entertainments and the Aim ‘ 4-

ateur S 13’comprisi Original Minor Dram”. 

Comedy. roe, D:'ess eces, Humorous Dialogue =
and Burlesque, by noted writers; and Reel

Readings, 1 (1 standard, 0f 11 'i "m '
3312an an intgggt. nEdited by Prof.  j L '7: ‘
DIME HAND-BOOKS; » 
Young-People’s Series. - [I 

Bunm’s DIME HAND-BOOKS, son Youse m, . 
cover a wide range of subjects, and are especially : v, «

 

 

 

 

 

adapted to their end. . .: ' ‘ “3 
Ladies’ Letter-Writer. Book of Games.  -' ‘
Gents’ LonenWriter. Fortune-Teller. ~ , .,' v:
Book of Etiquette. Lovers’ Gasket. , ‘
Book of Verses. Ball-room Common; ‘ v
Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty. ' ,
Hand-Books of Games. , 5,27
Handbook of Summer Sports. ' -  ‘
Book of Croquet. Yachting and Rowing. ‘ 
Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving. r .‘ I. i
Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestrian». 5‘1”;
Guide to Swi ‘

 

mmm . -
Handbook of gmnter Sports—Skating, etc ,

Manuals for Housewives.
1. Cook Book. ‘ 4. Family Physiclu.’ ‘
2. Recipe Book. 5. Dressmaking nd
8. Housekeeper’s Guide. linery

 

 

Lives of Great Americans ‘

I.-—.Geo Washin 'n. VII.—-David (M
m-Johhgle’aul Jomgi.to VIII—Israel Putting?
III.-—-MadAnthonyWayne X.—T h.
W.-Ethan Allen. IL—Abraham Khalil. . :14
ire—Magma do later 111- on 8. , .h 3.
e . 3111—— sses Gra-
VL—Daniel Boone. ’ .' »  ,i
Song Books. ' *r 

Burma‘s Dnm Sons Booxs. Nos. No.88, containing.’
the only popular collection of copyright son!- '

meiosis»; in” “9 mm 

' Joke Books. v  fl 3
Poede r. JlmCro‘wJoke “ré ’7
mgfcidywmuke Book.  K

      

  
          
 

.esteéttse

H ‘
..

 I Beadle &Ada

' DIME NOVELS.

 

' Incomparable in Merit.
' Unapproachable in Price.

888. Table, the Trailer.
. The Boy Chief.
840. Tim, the Trailer.
. Red Ax.
' . ‘ Stella. the Spy.
. The White Avenger.
. The Indian King.
. The Long Trail.
. Kirk. the Guide.
. The Phantom Trail.
. The Apache Guide.
. The Mad Miner.
. Keen Eye, the Ranger
. Blue Belt. Guide.
. On the Trail.
1 353: \The Specter Spy.
.. Old Bald Head.
. Red Knife Chief.
. Sib Cone, rapper.
. The Bear Hunter.
. Bashi'ul Bill, Spy.
. The White Chief.
. ggmisna, Scogirge.
. e quaw .
‘. Scout of ‘76. py
'. S anish Jack.
. ll asked Spy: '
. Kirke, Ren ads.
. Dingle, the utlaw.
. The Green Ranger.
368; Montbars, Scourge.
. Metamora.
0. Thompath, Trailer.
. Foul-weather Jack.
. The Black Rider.
873. The Helpless Hand.
. The Lake Ran ers.
. Alone on the ins.
. Phantom Horseman.
877'. Winona.
878. Silent Shot, Sla 'er.
. The Phantom Ship. V
880. The Red Rider. '
. The Grizzl -Hunters.
. Time SMad 1;} fr. ‘
. e ter ' r.
. The 1723000 ote?pe
. The Hunch ack.
. The Black Wizard.
. The Mad Horseman
. The‘Privateer‘sBride
. The Jaguar Queen.
390. Shadow Jack.
Eagle Plume. .
.‘ The Ocean Outlaw.
Red Slayer.
. The Phantom Foe.
The Blue Anchor.
Red-Skin’s Pl 8.
The man py.
The lack Rover. ,
Red-Belt.
The Two Trails.
The Ice Fiend.
The Red Prince.
.The First Trail.
t-Anchor Tom.
(1 Avoirdupdis.
ghita Gladiator.
ue ipper.
Red D

an.
The Fire-Eater.
Blackhawk.
The Lost Ship.
Black Arrow.

0

attestsattga

...

‘ 416..Death’s~head Ranger

4117. Captain of Captains.

 418. Warrior Princess.

419; The Blue Band.

~- . The Corsair Prince.
%. Ethan Allen‘s Rifles.
. Little Thunderbolt.

" 431. The Falcon Rover.

 Honest Hand.

“ as. The Stone Chief.

484.va Gold Demon.
. Eutawan the Slayer
. Masked Guide.

 

 

449
450
51

453

. The Traitor Spy.
. The Gray Hunter.
. Little Moccasin.

4
452. The White Hermit.

. The Island Bride.

454. The Forest Princess.
455. The Trail Hunters.

456.
457.
458.
459.
460.
461.
4

464.
465.
466.
467.
' 468.
469.
470. X
471.
472.

A C?

Backwoods Banditti.
I1:113yhlfiolallcid.

ug mg yes.
Mohegan Maiden.
The Quaker Scout.
Sumter‘s Scouts.
The Five Cham ions.
The Two Guar s.
Quindaro.
Rob Ruskin.
The Rival Rovers.
Ned Starling.
Single Hand.
Tippy. the Texan.
'oung Mustanger.
The Hunted Life.
The Bufialo Trapper.

473.0 d 7

482
4&2.
484.

465.

486.

487.

488.
489.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

38%

2
E
s

. Hates and Lo
. Oonomoo, the Huron
. White-Faced Pacer.
. Wetzel, the Scout.

. The Quakeress Spy.

4.

§§ §§§§ §§

1 zip.

. Foghorn Phil.

. Mossfoot, the Brave. ‘
. Snow-Bird.

. The Dragoon‘s Bride

. 01d Honesty.

Bald Eagle.
The Black Princess.

. The White Brave.

Riflemen of the Miami
' The Moose Hunter.
The Brigantine.

Put. Pomfret‘s Ward.
Sim le Phil.

J 0 aviess’ Client.
Ruth Harland.

The Gulch Miners.

. Captain Molly.
. Win enund.
'. The
. The Peon Prince.
. The Sea Captain.
'. Graybeard.

artisan Spy.

The Border Rivals.
The Unknown.
Sagamore of Saco.
The King’s Man.
Afloat and Ashore.
The Wron Man.

Ra ers o Mohawk.
Dou le Hero.

Alice Wilde.

Ruth Margerle.
Privateer‘s Cruise. '
The Indian Queen.
The Wrecker’s Prize.
The Slave Sculptor.
The Backwoods Bride

. Chip. the Cave Child.
. Bill Biddon.Tra per.
. Outward

Boun
East and West.

. The Indian Princess.
. The Forest Spy.

Graylock, the Guide.
11’ and On. .
Seth Jones.

520. Emerald Necklace.
521. Malaeska
522.
. Pale-Face Squaw.

. Winifred Winthrop.
. Wrecker-‘3 Daughter.
. Hearts Forever.

. The Frontier Angel.

. Florida.

. The Maid of Esopus.
. Ahmo‘s Plot.

Burt Bunker.

. The Water Wait.
. The Hunter’s Cabin.
ves.

. Veiled Benefactress.
. Uncle Ezekiel.
-%tt§tfiBitts
. van 1‘.
. Agnes Faikiand.

. Nathan Todd.
Myrtle, the Child of
the Forest.
Lightning J o.

The Blacksmith of
Antwe .

Mad e lde.

The reoe‘Sisters.
if” ET“ cum 1
yrs. e o

IéIdo 7tion.
aw e e my.
Dead Sig

 

ms’

8838353529

 

 

557. The Outlaw’s Wife. 563. Long Shot.

558. The Tall Tra per. 564. Gunmaker of Border
559. The Island P rate. 565. Red Hand.

560'. The Boy Ranger. 566. Ben, the Tra er.
561. Bess, the Trapper. 567. The Specter ief.

. The French Spy. there in Press.

THE ILLUMINATED DIME
POC_KET NOVELaS.

20. The B'ar-Killer. 125. The Girl Ca tain.

 

Standard millennial..."

 

227. lrona.  Dashing D 0035.

228. The Mountaineer. 243. Will-o‘-the- n

229. The Hunter’s Escape 244. Dashing Dick.

230. The‘Golden Belt. 245. Old Crossfire.

231. The Swamp Riders. 246: Ben Bramble.

232. J abez Hawk. 247. The Brigand Captai-

233. Massasoit‘s Daughter 218. Old Strategy.

234. The Mad Hunter. 249. Gray Hair, the Chief.

235. The Reefer of ’76. 250. The Prairie Tigers

236. Antelope Abe. 251. The Rival Hunters.

237. The Hunter’s Vow. 252. The Texan Scout.

238. The Hunter’s Pledge.  Zebra Zack.

239. Rattlepate. 254. Masked Messenger.

240. The Prairie Bride. 255. Brethren of the Coast

211' Old Grizzly. 256. The Boy Spy.
Speakers.

Each volume contains 100 large
open t pe, comprising t e
ramas and Recitations.

from clear
tion of Dialogues,

3. es, printed
est collec-

The Dime Speakers embrace twenty-four volumes,

viz. :

 

 

48. The Phantom Tracker
. Moccasin Bill.
50. The Wolf Queen.
. Tom Hawk,Trailer.
. The Mad Chief.
. The Black Wolf.
. Arkansas Jack.
. Blackbeard.
. The River Rifles.
. Hunter Ham.
58. Cloudwood.
. The Texas Hawks.
60. Merciless Mat. .
. Mad Anthony’s Scouts
. The Luckiess Trapper
. The Florida Scou .
. The Island Trapper.
. Wolf-Cali.J
. Ratt ' ick.
67. She. - ye.
68. Iron- and.
. The Yellow Hunter.
. The Phantom Rider.
. Delaware Tom.
. Silver Rifle.
. The Skeleton Scout.
. Little Rifle.
. The Wood Witch.
. Old Ruff, the Trapper.
. The Scarlet Shoul ers
. The Border Rifleman.
. Outlaw Jack.
80. Tiger Tail, Seminole.
. Death Dealer.
Kenton, the Ranger.
S eater Horseman.

e Three Trappers.
Kaleolah.
The Hunter Hercules.
Phil Hunter. '
The Indian Scout
The Girl Avenger.
The Red Hermitess.
Star-Face, the Slayer.
The Antelope Boy.
The Phantom Hunter
Tom Pintle, the Pilot.
The Red Wizard.
The Rival Trappers.
The new Spy.
Dusky ick.
. Colonel Crockett.
100. Old Bear Paw.
101. Bedlaw.
102. Wild Rube.
103. The Indian Hunters.
104. Scarred Eagle.
105. Nick Do 18

35833583533333

- 106. The Ind an Spy.

107. Job Dean.

108. The Wood King.

109. The Scalped Hunter.
110. Nick the Scent.

11.1. The Texas Ti er.
112. The Crossed ves.
118. Tiger Heart, Tracker
114. The Masked Avenger
115. The Pearl Pirates.
116. Black Panther.

117. Abdiel, the Aikenger.
118. Cato the Cree er.
119. Two-Banded at.
120. Mad Trail Hunter.
121. Black Nick.

122. Kit Bird. ‘

128. The S ecter Riders.

. 124. Giant em.

21. Wild Nat. 126. Yankee Ep .

22. Indian Jo, the Guide. 127. Silverspur.

23. Old Kent the Ranger. 128. Squatter Dick.

21. One-Ey Trapper. 129. The Child Spy.

2.5. Godbold, the Spy. 130. Mink Coat.

26. The Black Ship. 131. Red Plume.

27. Single Eye. 132, Clyde, the Trailer.
28. Indian Jun. 1: . The Lost Cache.

29. The Scout. 134. The Cannibal Chief.
30. Eagle Eye. 135. Karaibo. '

31. The Mystic Canoe. 136. Scarlet Moccasin.

32. The Golden Harpoon. 137. Kidna ped.

33. The Scalp King. 138. Maid 0 the Mountain.
34. Old Lute. 139. The Scioto Scouts
35. Rainbolt, the Ranger. 140. The BorderRenegade
36. The Boy Pioneer. 141. The Mute Chief.

37. Carson, the Guide. 142. Boone, the Hunter.
38. The Heart-Eater. 143. Mountain Kate.

40. The Huge Hunter. 144. The Red Scalper.

41. Wild Nat, the Trapper 145. The Lone Chief.

42. L nx~ca , 146. The Silver Bugle.

43. T e White Outlaw. 147. Chinga the Cheyenne
44. The Dog Trailer. 148. The Tangled Trail.
45. The Elk King. 149. The ~Unseen Hand.
43. Adrian, the him. 150. The Lone Indian.
'47. The'Man-hunter. 151. The Branded Brave.

152.
153.
154.

Billy Bowie 8.

The Valley . cont.
Red Jacket.

155. The Jungle Scout.
156. The Cherokee Chief.
157. The Bandit Hermit.
158. The Patriot Seouts.
159. The Wood Rangers.
160. The Red Foe.

161. Beautiful Unknown.
16.2. Canebrake Mose.
1w. Hank, the Guide.
164. The Border Scout.
165. Wild Nat.

166. Mold of Wyoming.
167. The Three Captives.
168. The Lost Hunter.
169. Border Law.

170. The Lifted Trail.
171. The Trader Spy.

172. The Forest S ecter.
173. The Border oes.
174. Border Vengeance.
175. Border Bessie.

176. The Sons of Liberty.
177. The Lost Bride.

178. Keetsea.

179. The Tonkawa Spy.
180. The Prairie Scourge.
181. Red Li htning.

182. Brave cart.

183. Night-Hawk Kit.
184. Mustang Sam.

185. Hurricane Bill.

183. The Red Out'Mv.
187. The Swaml: t.
188. The Shawnei . _J. 00.
189. Mohawk Nat.

Old J upe.

The Pmirle Rifles.
Old Kyle, the Trailer.
Big Foot, the Guide.
The Red Brotherhood
The Man in Green.
Glass Eye.

The Prairie Trappers
Black John.

Keen Knife.

The Mad Ski per.
The Young py.

 

 

1. American Speaker. 13. School Speaker.

2. National Speaker. 14. Ludicrous Speaker.
3. Patriotic Speaker. 15. Komikal Speaker.

4. Comic Speaker. 16. Youth’s S eaker.

5. Elocutionist. 17. Eloquent geaker.

6. Humorous Speaker. 18. Hail Colum in Speak
7. Standard Speaker. er.

8. Stump Speaker. 19. Serio-C‘omic Speakel
9. Juvenile Speaker. 20. Selects eaker.

10. Spread-Eagle Speaker 21. Funny peaker.
~11. Dime Debater. 22. Jolly S maker.

12. Exhibition Speaker. 23. Dialect aker.

24. Dime Book of Recitations and endings.

These books are re ,lete with choice pieces for the
School-room, the Ex ibition, for Homes; etc.
100 Declamations and Reeltations in each book.

Dialogu es.

The Dime Dialogues. each volume 100 pages. on
brace thirty books, viz.:
Dialogues No. one. lDialogues No. Sixteen.
Dialogues No. Two. "Dialogues 1V0. Seventeen.
Dialogues N0. Three. JDialogues No. Eighteen.

Dialogues No. Four. Dialogues No. Nineteen.
Dialogues No. Five. Dialogues No. Twenty.
Dialogues N 0. Six. :Dialogues No. Twenty-one.
Dialogues No. Seven. lDialogues No. Twenty-two.
Dialogues No. Eight. lDialogues No. Twenty-three.
Dialogues No. Nine. lDialogues No. Twenty-four.-

Ten. iDialogues No. Twentyflve.
Eleven. Dialogues No. T nty-six.
Twelve. 'DialoguesNo.T t seven.
Dialogues N o. Thirteen. ‘Dialogues No. Twen y-eight.
Dialogues No. Fourteen lDialogues No. Twenty-nine.
Dialogues No. Fifteen. ‘Dinlogues No. Thirty.

15 to 25 Dialogues and Dramas in each book.

Dramas and Readings. ‘
’ 164 12manages. 20 Cents.

For Schools, Parlors, Entertainments and the Am-
ateur S e, comprising Original Minor Dramas.
Comedy. arce, Dress eces Humorous Dialogue
and Burlesque, by noted writers: and Recitations
and Readin , new ind standard, of the gametes!
colebrityan interest. Edited by Prof.A.M. unsell.

DIME HAND—BOOKS.

Young People’s Series.
Burma‘s DIME HAND-BOOKS ros- Yovso Pam;
cover a wide range of subjects, and are 05ch
adapted to their end.
Ladles‘ Letter-Writer.
Gents’ Letter‘Writer.

Dialogues N o.
Dialogues No.
Dialogues N 0.

Book of Games.
Fortune-Teller.

Book of Etiquette 'Lovers‘ Casket.

Book of Verses. Bail-room 00me

Book of Dreams. Book of Beauty.
Hand-Books of Games.

Handbook of Summer Sports.

Book of Croquet. ‘ Yachting and Rowing.

Chess Instructor. Riding and Driving.

Cricket and Football. Book of Pedestflanism.

Guide to Swimmin ' .

g.
Handbook of Winter Sports—Skating, etc

§§§

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§5§2

The Indian Avenger.
Rival Lieutenants.

. The Swamp Rifles.
The Balloon Scouts.
. Daeotah Scourge.

. The Twin Scouts.

. Buckskin Bill.

. Border Avengers.

Hannah for Housewives.

1. Cook Book. ' 4. Family Physician.
2. Recipe Book. . Dressmaking and Mil. .
8. Housekeeper’s Guide. linery.

 

Lives of Great Americans
VII—DEVid Crockett.
VIH.——Israel Putnam.

I.—George Washington.

 

210 Tim Bumble‘s Charge

211. The Shawnee Scout.

212. The Silent Slayer.

213. The Prairie Queen.

214. The Backwoodsmen.

215. The Prisoner OLLa
“Vintresse. '

216. Peleg Smith.

217. The Witch of the
Wallowish.

218. The Prairie Pirates.

219. The Huss‘ar Captain.

220. The Red Spy.

221. Dick Darling.

222. Mustang Hunters.

‘ 223. Guilty or Not Guilty.
224

. The Outlaw Banger.
225. Schuylkill Rangers.
226. on the Deep.

<\

 

TE: rlohnAPegl J oaes.

—Ma.d nt 9. e
IV.—Ethan Aug? yn
V.——Marquis de Lafay-

.eritmrreumt.

.-- 1'8.

XIL— outing?“

ette. ‘ XIII.——Ulyssa 8. Grant.

VL—Daniel Boone.
Song Books.

Burma’s Dmn SONG Booxs. Nos. 1 to 83, son
the only pular collection of copyright songs.

elodist, 1 ~

. Joke Books. .
Pocket Joke Book. Jim Crow Joke Book.

o

Paddy Whack Joke Book.
The above publicationsfor sale by all newde

or will be \sent.
BEADLE 8c ADA S,

Wmin 82., N. Y.

 

d on receipt'of price,” ,

 

\

    

 

> ‘©sr9s

as new

 

 

 l' Adventures of Buffalo Bill. From Boy-
hood to Manhood. Deeds of Daring and Roman-
tic Incidents in the early life of William F. Cody.
By 001. Prentiss Ingrahamw

2 The Ocean Hunters; or, The Chase of
Levxathan. A Romance .of Perilous Adven-
ture. By Captain Mayne Reid.

@3172 Ertra Large Minimum

' 3 Adventures of \Vild Bill, the Pistol
Prince. Remarkable career of J. B. Hikok,
(known to the world as “ ild Bill,”) giving the
true story of his adventures and acts. By COL
Prentiss Ingraham. , I

4 The Prairie Ranch; or, The Young Cattle
Herders. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

I 5 Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Thrill-

 

ing Adventures in the Life of J. B. Omohundro,
“ Texas Jack.” By Col. Prentisslngraham.

6 Cruise or the Flyaway; or, Yankee Boys :
in Ceylon. By C. Dunning Clark.

7 Roving Joe : The History of a Young “Bor~ 
der Ruffian." Brief Scenes from the Life of
Joseph E. Badger, Jr. By A. H. Post.

8.1‘he Flynway Afloat; or. Yankee ,Boys
‘Bound the World. By C. Dunning Clark.

9 Bruin Adams, Old Grizzly Adams’
Boy “Para. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. X

[0 The Snow-Trail; or, The Boy Hunters of
Fur-Land. By 1‘. C. Harbaugh.

ll 01d"Grizzly-Adams, the Bear Tamer; f
or, The Monarch of the Mountain. By Dr. 3
Frank Powell.

12 Woods and Waters; or, The Exploits of i
the Littleton Gun Club. By Capt. F. Whittaker.

13 A Rolling Stone 2 Incidents in the Career
on Sea and Land as Boy and Man of Colonel ‘;
Prentiss Ingraham. By Prof. Wm. R. Eyster. '

l4 Adrift on the Prairie, and Amateur “
Hunters on the Buffalo Range. By
011 Coomes.

[5 Kit Carson, King of the Guides; or
Mountain Paths and Pmirie Trails. By A. W.
Aiken.

[8 Red River Bovors; _ or, Life and Adven-
tures in the Northwest. By C. Dunning, Clark.

[7 Plaza and Plain; or, Wild Adventures of
“Buckskin Sam,” (Major Sam 8. Hall.) By
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

18 Rifle and Revolver; or, The Littleton
Gun Club on the Bull’an Range. By Captain
Frederick Whittaker.

l9 Wide-Awake George, The Boy Pioneer;
or, Life in 3 Log Cabin. Incidents and Advenc
tures in the Backwoods. By Edward Willett.

20 The Dashing Dragoon; or, The Story of
General George A. Custer, from West Pointto.
the Big Born. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

.1 Deadhood Dick as a Boy; or. Why
Wild N ed Harris, the New-England Farm-lad, be-

came the Western Prince of the Road. By Ed-
ward D. Wheeler. ' ‘

22 The Boy Exiles of Siberia; or. The
Watch-Dog of Russia. By T. C. Harbaugh.

23 Paul De Lacy, The French Beast Charmer;
or, New York Boys in the Jungles. A Story of
Adventure, Peril and Sport in Africa. By C.

Dunning Clark. '

24 The Sword Prince: The Romantic Life
of Colonel Monstery, (American Champion-at-

, arms.) By Captain Frederick Whittaker. ‘

25 Round the Camp Fire; or. Snow-Bound
' at “Freeze-out Camp.” By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

26 Snow-Shoe Tom; or, New York Boys in
the Wilderness. A Narrative of Sport and Peril
in Maine. By T. C. Harbaugh. ‘

21 Yellow Hair, the Boy Chief of the
Pawnees. The Adventurous Career of Eddie
Burgess or Nebraska. By Colonel Prentiss In-

l

graham.
I! The Chase of the Great White Stag

 

« and camp and Canoe. By 6. Dinning

‘

   

29 The Fortune-Hunter; or. Roving Joe

as Miner, Cowboy, Trapper and Hunter. By
A. H. Post.
30 Walt Ferguson’s Cruise. A Tale of the

Antarctic Sea. By C. Dunning Clark.

31 The Boy Crusader; or, How a. Page and a
Fool Saved a King. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

32 White Beaver, the Indian Medicine
Chief; or, The Romantic and Adventurous
Life of Dr. D. Frank Powell. By Col. Ingraham.

33 Captain Ralph, the Young Explorer: or,
The Centipede Among the Floe‘s. By C. Dunning
Clark.

34 The Young Bear Hunters. AStory of
the Haps and Mishaps of a Party of Boys in
the Wilds of Northern Michigan. By Morris
Redwing

 3.5 The Lost Boy “’halers ; or, In the Shadow

of the North Pole. By T. C. Harbaugh.

i 36 Smart Sim, the Lad with a Level Head.

By Edward Willett.

37 Old Tar Knuckle and His Boy Chums; or,.

The Monsters of the Esquimaux Border.
Roger Sta rbuck. ;

38 The Settler’s Son; or, Adventures in the
Wilderness and Clearing. By Edward S. Ellis.

39 Night- Hatvk George, and His Daring
Deeds and Adventures in the Wilds of the South
and West. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

40 The Ice Elephant; ofi'il‘he Castaways of
the Lone Coast. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

By

l 41 The Pampas Hunters; or. New York

’ Boys in Buenos Ayres. By T. C. Harbaugh.

42 The Young'Land-Lubber; or, Prince
‘ Porter’s First Cruise. By C. Dunning Clark.
43 Bronco Billy, the Saddle  By Col.

Prentiss In'graham.

44 The Snow Hunters; or, Winter in the
Woods. By Barry De Forest.

45 Jack, Harry and Tom. The Three
Champion Brothers; or, Adventures of Three
Brave Boys with the Tattooed Pirate. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

46 The Condor Killers; or, Wild Adventures
at the Equator. By T. C. Harbaugh.

47 The Boy CoralcFishers; or, The Sea-
Cavern Scourge. By Roger Starbuck.

48 Dick, the Stowawa ; or, A Yankee Boy’s
Strange Cruise. By Char es Mo: .

49 Tip Tressell, the Floater; or. Fortunes and
Misfortunes on the Mississippi. By Edward
Willett.

50 The 'A dventurous Lilo of Nebraska
Charlie, (Charles E. Burgess.) By Colonei
Prentiss lngraham.

5 l The Colorado Boys; or, Life on an Indigo
Plantation. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

52 Honest Harry ; or, The Country Boy Adrift
in the City. By Charles Morris. A

53 The Boy Detectives; or, The Young Cali-
fornians in- Shanghai. By T. C. Harbaugh.

54 California Joe, The Mysterious Plainsman.
_ By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. ,
55 Harry Somers, The Sailor-Boy Magician.

By S. W. Pearce.

56 Nobody’s Boys; or, Lite Among the Gipsies-
By J. M. Hoffman. ‘

57 The Menagerie Hunter; or, Fanny Ho-
bart, the Animal Queen. By Major B. Grenville.

58 Lame Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines; or,
Life Among the Black Diamonds. By Charles
Morris.

59 Lud Lionheels, the Young Tiger Fighter.
By Roger Starbuck. - ‘ '

60 The Young Trail Hunters; or, New
York Boys in Grizzly Land. By T. C. Harbaugh.

91 The Young Mustangers. By C. D. Clark.

62 The'l‘iger Hunters; or, The Colorado Boys
in Tigenhand. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr. '

83 The Adventurou- Life of Captain

Jack, the Border Boy. (John W. Crawford,
the Post Scout.) By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

I97=Hurricane Kit; or, Old

 

64 The Young Moose-Hunters; or, Tram?
and Camp-fire in the New Brunswick Woods. By
Wm. H. Manning. " _

65 Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker-hon
Two Brave Boys to the Rescue. By Roger -
Starbuck.

66 Little Dan Rocks; or, The Mountain Kid’s
Mission. By Morris Redwing.

6'7 9Longshore Lije; or, How 8. Rough Boy
Won His Way. By C. Dunning Clark.

68 Flatboat Fred; or, The Voyage of the “Ex
periment.” By Edward Willett.

69 The Deer-Hunters; or, Life in the Ottawa
Country. By John J. Marshall. L r ' -.

70 Kentucky Ben, the Long Rifle of the Plains, " "
or, The Boy Trappers of Oregon. By Roger,
Starbuck. , p .

71 The Boyl’ilot; or, The Island Wreckers.

By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. , y ,, ‘

'72 Young Dick Talbot. By Albert W. Aiken. ’

7 3 Pat Mulloney’s Adventures; or. Silver
Tongue, the Dacotah Queen. By G. L. Edwards.

'74 The Desert Rover; or, Stowaway Diet '
Among the Arabs. By Charles Morris. “ ’ ' r.

75 The Border Gunmaker; or,’ The Hunted . ' ,r
Maiden. By James L. Boden. ‘ ~ ‘

76 The Kit Carson Club; or, Young Hawk'-
eyes in the Northwest. By T. C. Harbaugh. I

77 Left-Handed Pete, the Double-Knife. By ' 
Jos. E. Badger, Jr. ’ '* '~ r

78 The Boy Prospector; or, The Scout of the
Gold Ravine. By Roger Starbuck. "

79 Minonee, the Wood Witch; or, the Squatter‘l
Secret. By Edwin Emerson. .

80 The Boy Cruisers; or. Joe and Jap’s in;
Find. By Edward Willett. ? "

81 The Border Rovers; or, Lost onthe Oven .  T
land Trail. By J. Milton Hoflman. ,’ ,

82 Alaska, the Wolf Queen; or, The Gilt:
Brothers’ Double Crime'. By Capt. C. Howard.

83 The Young Nihilist; or, A Yankee Bog
Among the Russians. By Charles Morris. , w 

84 Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunterl ,5,
By Capt. ‘5 Bruin " Adams. ' - "

85 Fighting Fred; or, The Castaways (I A ‘
Grizzly Camp. By T. C. Harbaugh. ’,.. y 

86 Dr. Carver, the “Evil Spirit" of'thc Plain”. ‘ -
or, The Champion Shot of the World. ByCol. '
Prentiss Ingraham. ' ‘_ ‘ ,

87 Buil‘ Bobsart and His Bear. Bstpt. 2;;
“ Bruin ” Adams. , ’ a - “ v"

88 fagdny, the Cowboy. ByMajorEB.“ : ’v 5‘5:

89 Gaspar, the Gaucho; or, Inst on the ; 

' Pampas. By Captain Mayne Reid. . , ‘ .' ' ~
WA». mm Large Numberrm ‘ l “ '  73

90 Texas Charlie, the Boy‘Ranser. By Col.
Prentiss Ingraham. ‘ , , I

91 Moscow to Siberia; or. A' Yankee Boy

to the Rescue. By Charles Morris. ‘ f g- r

92 Boone, the Hunter; or, The Backwoods   ,7

Brothers. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. '
93 Oregon Josh, the Wizard Rifle; or, The
Young Trapper Champion. By Roger Stan,
buck. ' ' C
94 Christian Jim, the White Man's ll‘ricnd. ‘- ‘
By Edward S. Ellis. ‘ ‘

I

 

 

 

 

   
  
   
   
 
    

hymn."  LA:

95 Pincky Joe, the Boy Avenger.
Hoffman. .

9t} Roving Rifle, Custer’s Little Scout ‘By'fg
C. Harbaugh. . y "~

Lightning out
Rampage. By AF. Holt. " ,u A ,
98 The Broadhorn Boy. ByEd. Willett. - 
99 Little Buck, the'Boy Guidepor, The Gold .   
“Eye “ of Montana. By Barry My. j, 
Anmlwmweah, “ 

Bad:th B ’ ~ for sale b all news " 3
dealer} five ext:  Eofiyf‘or sent by '~
eeipt six cents. ' ‘ ~ ( t I
BEADLE AND ADAMS, Panama, i‘ ‘

ca wmxammeoflmtt. ., “

   

 

I.
r

Whey Bi ~

 

nyt 9

\ American Copyright Novels and the Cream of Foreign Novelists, Unabridged, FOR FIVE CENTS! 

 

ii The Masked B ide; or, Will She Marry
Him? Mrs. Mary Reed CrOwell.
2 Was It Love? or, Collegians and Sweet-
hearts. By Wm. on Turner . .
a The Girl Wife. By Bartley '1‘. Cam belll
4 A Brave Heart; or, Startlineg 
. _ By Arabella Southworth.
V , o Bessie Raynor, the Work Girl. By
V William Mason Turner, M. D.
w 6 The Secret Marriage. B Sara. Claxton.
’1 ABDaughter of Eve; or, linded by Love.

y . Crowell.
8 cart to cart. ~B Arabella Southworth.
9 one in the Worl ' or The Young Man‘s

' ard. By the author 0 “ Clifton,” etc.
 10 A ‘Pair of Gray Eyes. ByRose Kenned .
. g 11 Entangled; or, A Dangerous Game. y
" Henrietta Thackeray
" 12 His Lawful Wi yra, the Child of
. d phens.

e; or, M
ion. Mrs. Ann S. Ste
, the Little uakeress' or, The
et’s Woouig. y Corinne ushman.
» I; Married im. B Sara Ciaxton.
15 A air Face. By Bartle .Campbell.
16 Trust Her Not; or.A rue Knight. By
' Leicester.

‘ 1'! .A 1.0 a1 Lovor. Arabella Southworth.
18 His do]. By Mrs. ry , Crowell.
19 The Broken Betrothal; or, Love versus

Hate. By Mary Grace Halplne.
20 Orphan Nell, the Orange Girl; or, The
Lost Heir By Agile Penn

. e. .
21 Now and Forever' or. Why Did She Marb
r1); Him? By Henrietta, Thackeray.
22 T e Bride of an Actor. By the author
a v, of “ Alone in the War " “ Clifton,” etc.
’ 28 Leap Year; or, Why Proposed. BySara

24 Her Face Was Her Fortune. By Elea-

, nor no. r
I 25 Only a Schoolmistress; 01', Her Untold
2.  . “amount.
on a our . . . raham.
. 27 Was She a Coquettey? or, AmgStrange
‘ Courtship. By Henrietta. Thackeray.
1) Chase; or, The Gambler’s Wife. By

. nn Stephens. B S .
' y ara Claxton.
0 The Bou net Girl. B1271 Agile Penne.
A M Id arri e. By ary A. Denison
Mariana, the rima Donna- or, Roses
1 and Lilies. B Arabella Southwort’h.
The Three isters. By Alice Flemin .
A Marriu e of Convenience; or,
new   .
ga ns er. yC raA ta.
sir Archer’s Bride; or, The Queen of His
Heart. By Arabella Southworth.
(The Country Cousin. Rose Kennedy.
- 8 His 0\vn Again; or, Trust Her Not. By
 I - Arabella. Sout worth. "
 39 Flirtation; or, A Yong?
By Jacob Abarbanell, (E ph Royal.)
By SaraClaxton.
By Alice Fleming.

419
a:
a
‘
~

5
’1
O
R
:3»
O
'1
g
.,
U‘
i
r
5‘

as

om em wwwia 

~l ¢€n 1869 NH

WW

.. I ,d red to Marry.
41 BI n Devotion.
_ V 42 Beatrice, the Beautiml; or, His Second
‘. , i, 1  ve. By Arabella Southworth.
‘43 The Baronet’s Secret. B Sara Claxtcn.
' 44 The on] Daughter; or, rather against
., , V, Lover. y Alice Fleming.
h "tiller Hidden Foe. ByA. Southworth.‘ ~
" ' 46 The Little Heiress; or,Under a Cloud.
y By Mrs. Marg A. Denison.
‘ 4’7 Because 8 e Loved Him; or, How Will
3 i. ’ ,‘ 'It Emil, By Alice Fleming. .
I y .48 In S ite of Herself; or, Jeannette‘s Repa-
: rat on. By S. R. Sherwood. '
49 His Heart's“ Mistress; or Love at First
1 Sight. By Arabella Southwortli..
50 The, Cuban Heiress' or. The Prisoner of
La Vintresse. Mrs.  A. Denison,
By Alice'Flemmg. ,
Messenger; or,an All
By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowell.

. r 51 Two Your!
 . 52le Win c
- - foraHe

’5' '. 53 Agnes Hope, the Actress. By William ’

81,

§ George S. Kaime.

‘5 She Did ot Love Him; or, Stooping to

. Conquer. ByArabells Southworth. .

>56 Love-Mad tor Betrothed Married Divorced

and --—. B m. Mason Turner, M. D.

53 A Brave iiri. 13' Alice Fleming. 5

5 The Ebon ,nas The-onwtcrious

‘ Guardian; By Mrs. Mary Reed L well. A

I A Widow’s Wiles. By Rachel Bernhardt.
360 Cecil’s Deceit. By MmJennie D. Burton.

_ :r 81 A Wicked Heart. BySaraClaxton. '

a ' w 82 The Maniac Bride. By Margaret Blount
i ' 63 The Creole Sisters. By Anna E. Porter.
64What Jealousy Did. B Alice Fleming.
he Wife’s Secret. 1. Juan LeWis.

' Brother’s Sin. By hel Bernhardt
I , 0 Forbidden Bans. ByArabella Smthworth.
. \ - .Weaycrs and Weft... By M. E. Braddoa.

 r 69 Camille. By Alexandre  ,
;' fi,70 The Two 01- hans. B D'Enery.
a,“  “ll  Young Vife. By y Young Wife’s
,\  .72 The 'l‘on‘I/idows. By Annie Thomas.

 38 Rose lilirlml.  Mona-Hilton. . ~

f l. w
 ,f/.i

./ /\.
:2 ‘

«i.
 ,

.L‘Cte

 

 

 
    

Girl’s Good Name. ,

g ' ~Mason’l‘nrn .D
‘ «[64 One. Woman’s ‘Heart; or. Saved irom the .
Street. B ‘

 

118 The Vicar of Wakefield.

NH III HHHHH hi Hill H

74 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage' or, The Story
of a Broidered Shield. By Oui a.
75 The Black Lady of Duna. By J. S. Le

Farm.

76 Charlotte Tem le. B Mrs. Rowson.

77 Christian Oak ev’s istake. By the
author of “ John Halifax, Gentleman,” etc.

78 My Young Husband; or, AConfusion in
the Family. By Myself.

79 A ueen Amongst Women. By the
aut or of “Dora Theme,” etc, etc.

80 Her Lord and Master. By Florence
Marryat.

81 Lucy Temple, Sister of Charlotte.

82 A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orned.

83 Playing for High Stakes. By Annie
Thomas. ‘

84 The Laurel Bush. By the author of

“John Halifax, Gentleman.”

85 Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet.

86 Janet’s Repentance. By George Eliot.

8'1 The Romance oi‘a Poor Young Man.
By Octave Feuillet.

88 A Terrible Deed; or, All for Gold. By
Emma Garrison Jones. ,

89 A Gilded Sin. By the author of “Dora
Thorn,” etc.

tAuthor’s Daughter. By Mary

91 The Jilt. By Charles Reade.

92 Eileen Alanna. IllayDennie O‘Sullivan.

93 Love’s Victory. y B. L. Fax-[eon

94 The Quiet Heart. By Mrs. C ‘phant.

95 Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh.

96 Haunted Hearts. B Rachel Bernhardt.
9'1 Hugh Melton. By Ka harine King.

98 Alice Lehrmont. ByMiss Mulock.

99 Marjorie Bruce’s Lovers. By Mary

Patrick.

100 Throuflt Fire and Water. By Fred-
erick Tel '17.

101 Hannah. By Mss Mullock.

102 Pe Woiiington. B CharlesReade.

103 A esperate Deed. yErskineBo d.
104 Shadows on the Snow. By B. .F‘ar-

eon.

105 grim Great Hoggarty Diamond. By
W. M. Thackeray.

106 From Dreams to ‘Vaking. By E.
L nLinton.

107 oor Zc h! By F. W. Robinson.

108 The Sad ‘ortunes of the Rev. Amos

Barton. By George Eliot.

109 Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. By
B. L. Fa ‘eon.

110 The \ andering Heir. By Charles

Reade.
ll 1 The Brother’s Bet; or. Within Six
eeks. By Emilie Fl z'gare Carlen.
112 A Hero. By Miss h ulock.
1 13 Paul and Virginia. From the French of
Bernardin De St. Pierre.

114 "l‘was In Trafalgar’s Bay. By Wal~
ter Begant and James Rice.
1 l 5 The Maid of Killccna. By Wm. Black.

By Henry Kingsley.
ayside (‘ross' or, The Bald of
By Captain E. A. ilman.

By Oliver

By Annie Thomas.
By Miss Jane

1 1 6, Hetta.
1 17 The V
Gomez.

ldsmith.

119 Maud Mohan.

120 Thaddeus of “’a‘rsaw.
Porter. 1

121 The King of No-Land. By B. I. Far-
eon. v

122 - ovel, the Widower. By W. M. Thack-
eray. -

123 An Island Pearl. By B. L. Farjeon.

124 Cousin Phillis. ‘ .

125 Leila; or. The Sic e of Grenada. By Ed-

, ward Bulwer (Lord Ly ton). .

126 When the Ski Comes Home. By
Walter Besant and' ames Rice. . .

127 Oneoi‘the Fami] . By James Payn. ,

128 The Birthright. y‘Mrs. Gore. '

129 llg‘Iotl;erlleigtlsfl; or, filaments Sweetheart.

. y 00 one ' ntiss 1am- I. : .

130 Homeless; or, Two Orphan Girls in New
York. By Albert W. Aiken. .

131 Sister against Sister; or’, The Rivalry cf
Hearts. By Mrs. Mary Reed Crowoll.

132 Sold for Gold. By Mrs..M. V. Victor.

133 Lord Roth’s Sin. By Georgiana Dickens. ‘

34 aid He Love Her 'l By Bartley T. Camp-

ll. .
35 SinnedA ainst. ByLfllian Lovejoy.
36 Elias l.liihc fills Wife? By Mrs. Mary
rowe . _., .
37' The Village on the Cliii'. By Miss
Thackeray. .
38 Poor Valeria. By Margaret V lount.
39 Mar aret Graham. yG.- .R. James.
40 Wit out Mercy. BiBame T.Camp5§ll.
41 Honor (Bound. By Illian oveiov-
42 Fleeing from Love. By Mrs. Harriet
4
4
4

Irving. ‘ ‘ . I
3 Abducted; or. A Wicked Woman 8 Work.
By Rett Winwood. _
4 A Stran e Marriage. By Lillian Love y.
5 Two G rl’s Lives.~~ Bylirs. Mary
Crowell. “ a r V. .' s

 

The Cheapest'Library Ever Published!

 

on _
' 198‘ Wilma Wilde;

A
08 Bowie the
.2_ What "

 

146 A Desperate Venture' or, For Love’s
Own Sake. By Arabella Sou worth.
147 The War of Hearts. By Corinne Cush-

man.

148 Which Was the Woman ’l or, Strangely
Misjudged. B Sara Claxton.

or, She Would Be

Y
149 An Ambitious Girl'
An Actress; By Frances elen Daven rt.
0 Love Lord ofAll. By Alice Ma F‘lgming.
A ‘Vild Girl. ,8 Corinne Cus man.
A Man’s Sacri cc. By Harriet Irving:
Did She Sin. By Mrs. Ma? Reed Crowe
He Loves Me Not. )3? illian Lovejoy.
Winning Ways. By argaret Blount.
What She Cost “flu; or, Crooked Paths.
By Arabella Southworth.
A Girl’s Heart. By Rett Winwood.
A Bitter Mistake or,A Young Girl‘s
Foil . B Agnes Mary elton.
La elen’s Vow' or, The Mother's
Secre By the Late Mrs.  F. Ellet.
Buying a Heart. By Lillian Love 0y.
Pearl oi‘Pearis. B A. P. Morris. r.
A Fatz-i‘ul Game. y Sara Claxton.
The Creole Cousins; or, False as Fair.
By Philip S. Warne.
A Scathing Ordeal; or, May integers
Mad Marriage. B Mrs. Georgiana D ens.
A Strange Gir . By Albert W. Aiken.
A Man’s Sin. ByRett Winwocd.
The Hand of ate; or, The Wreck of
Two  B Arabella Southworth
Two Fair omen. By Wm.hl.'i‘urner.
Tempted Throu h Love; or. One
Woman’s Error. By an Lovejoy. .
Blind Barbara’s Secret. By Mary
Grace Halpine.
A Woman’s Witcher . By 8. Claxton.
By Corinne
By Georgiana

Black Eyes and B ue.
Cushman. V
The (lost of a Folly.
Dickens.

By A Parson’s
,ls ovc a Mocker ? or, Revenge is
Sweet. ByArabella Sou worth. ’ . _
Adria, the Adopted. By Jennie Dans
Burton.
For the Woman He Loved; or, Fate-
ful Links. By Agnes Ma Shelton.
178 The Locked Heart. yConnneCusluman.

] 79 Parted b ' Treachery. By Harriet Irving.
0 “fast She’u Wife? B Rett Winwoo'd.
y

“Ni-1° 0 ma cameos»..-

b-l Hid HHH H HHl—llfl H HH HHI-lhll-IHH

The Pretty Puritan.
Da hter

Under a (timid. B Claxton.
An American Queen. B 'G. Mortimer.
A P int of Honor. By illian Lovejoy.
Pun-sued to the Altar. ‘ by Corinne
Cushman. . . _ ,
Put to a Test. By Georgiana Dickens.
The 'l‘erriblc Truth; or, The Thornhurst
Mystery. la ' Jennie Dams Burton.

7 Outw.~ttc by Herself; or, A Mother's

Scheme By Arabella Southworth.

188 Flnrette, (‘hild of_ th Street' or,A Pearl
lleyontl Price. By (‘01. ntiss 'ngi‘ahanl.

189 “or innrdiun’s Sacrifice; or,AName
in the Balance. By Sara Claxton.
190 Brett. and Proud. Ly Corinne Cuehman.
191 A “'onmn’s Maneuver;.or. Purse, not.
Heart. By Lillian Lovejcy.’ '; ‘* '
192 The Bitter Feud. By Jennie 1). Burton.
193 Breaking the Fetters; or, The Gypsy’s
Secret. By Georgiana Dickens. ' ' '
194 The Mysterions'Guardian; or, Little
Claire. the Opera Singer. By Corinne Cushman.

195 In the Balance; or, A ShadOWed Love.
ByAi-abclla Southworth. 4 _ r

196 J uie, the JesVess or, the Miser-Milliom
aire. By Dr. Neel Dun r. ,

197 A Sister’s Crime. By Agnes Mary Shel.

or The Inheritance of

Hate. By Jennie Davis Burton. .

199 The geautlglll Demon. By Frances
Helen aven .

200 Morley Befihes; ‘or.'Girlish Charms and

v Golden ‘Dowers. .By Corlxme Cushm' an

201 A Young Girl’s Ordeal; or, “ILoVe You

St 11." B SaraClaxton. .
202 er F:le Genius. ByBarriet having.

203 Passion‘s Reprisal; or. The Bargain

ween hem. By Lillian Love oy.
Bee ting}; bert; or,The loved Hand. ‘
By ilip S.’ ame. ‘ - .
205 A Ministering3 Angel ;- or Royal Thorn-

luigb's, Mistake. y Georgiana Dickens.

206 Ouida’s Love" or. From Generation to

’ Generat on. enrietta E. De Conde.
arria e; or. WasShc an
i

. By Philip S.
A  issue wary week. ,.

THE WAW‘W is for sale hyall Hm
deal the cents per/copy, or sent by mail on're.
ceipt six "cents each ND AD us, Pu

E LE A A banners I,
B  98 William street, New Your. l ' ‘V

I z ' I 7
/ .

oman

Mrs. . . L. F .
a $1111}??? archival-$3,332

A

  
  

).
l" .

-~:*‘~-'>'"':‘. . 

{W e » ,. 7» w.