ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1870 BY Vol. XXV. cere A PLEA FOR CUBA. BY FRANCIS. 8. SMITH. Freemen of our great Republic, Bend to Heaven the knee— Raise your handsand shout the chorus, Cuba shall be free! Spain, vile Spain, with steel and halter, Hovers over freedom’s altar, Cowards are we if we falter! Strike for Liberty! By the graves of our brave sires— By their great deeds done— By sweet freedom’s sacred fires Lit at Lexington— By our blood-cemented nation— ~, By each bondman’s aspiration— By our hopes of dear salvation, Do not Cuba shun! Hark! across the stormy waters Gomes a piteous cry; *Tis from Cuba's sons and daughters, “Will ye let us die?” Freemen, up! No longer dally! Round fair Cuba's standard rally From the mountain and the valley, Cause her toes to fly! Shall Spain's stabbers wield the saber, Flushed with victory? God forbid! Let's pray and laber! Cuba must be free! Clamor for her recognition— Hurl her tyrants to perdition— Thus may we fulfill our mission, Death to slavery i SQUIRREL CAP; OR, THE Ranger of Raccoon Ridge. By Burke Brentford. “Squirrel Cap’ was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United CHAPTER VY. THE “CAPTAIN”? AND HIS CREW. In the days of the ‘Pony Express,’’ which all far-west- ern men will distinctly remember, the organized rovber- bands, for the purpose of plundering the mail and tindis- criminate pillage, were numerous and powerful, and, despite the efforts of the mititary, held alygaat Bagispnted sway over large sectiOae Of the road. They had their regular “stations” and “agents,” as they were called, located at mtervals along the lovelier and wilder por- tions of the road, with relays of horses to carry messages from one point to another, with information of military movements, the approach of wagon-trains, and the sup- FRANCIS S. STREET, FRANCIS S. SUITH, — ————— posed value of the expected mail, and frequently derived powerful and valuable assistance from the treacherous Savages and unscrupulous trappers and mountain men, not afew of whom were found willing, from interested motives, to further the endsof the desperadoes by all secret means in their power. At the period of the opening of our story, there was a lone cabin situted in a wild dell of the Rattlesnake Moun- tains, near a passage of the Sweetwater, known as the Devil’s Gate, and about two miles fromthe National Road, which at this point commenced its southwesterly swerve through the gigaatic passes of the Rocky Moun- tains, leading through Oregon and California, A rude stable and other out-houses were connected with it, but the glen was so secluded, and the path connecting it with the main road so tortuous and poorly defined, that but few not intimately related to the robber-band that made the place one of its chief rendezvous, would have dreamed of its existence, while passing along the main road. On a cold and stormy night, when che weird, dark pines that forested the slopes and chasm-brinks were heavy with accumulated snows, a number of lawless men were assembled together in the principal apartment of this Rovber’s Ranche, while others of the gang kept vigilant watch outside. Those in the interior were variously en- gaged. Some were gambling at small tables with dice and cards, others were drinking at the rude deal counter which answered the purpose of a bar, and others were lounging negligently before the roaring fire. A single glance from an outsider would have apprised him of the character of these men. Desperadoes from every clime, bushy-browed Germans, fair-naired Anglo- Saxons, bearded Californians, booted and spurred, reck- less Texans, with the true ranger swagger, New York rowdies, ruffians from the Missouri border, and nota few copperhead half-breeds, all were armed to the teeth, some of the belts fairly bristling with bowie-Knives and revolvers. Words were high and oaths were loud and deep, when a difficulty between one of the band and the bar-keeper—a Jew named Moses, of ultra villainous aspect—gave every indication of developing into a general quarrel. “1 tells you, Mr. Moody, | vill have mine monish, or no more pure spirits you gets at dish bar!’ exclaimed the Jew, vehemently. “Pure spirits! Come, now, that’s a good ’un,’’ shouted the other, with a volley of oaths. “Do you hear the plan- dering cur, comrades? Hecalls this benzine he selis us at six prices, pure spirits. He’ll next be giving the name of lemonade to burning brimstone.” “Vell, vell, den you needn’t drinks it," said the other. ‘*You owes me for tree bottles of champagne last night and two dis mornings. I vants my monish,” “Give me some whisky, or I'll cavein your head!’ roared the ruffian. “Not without minemonish!’’ “Give him the whisky!’ ‘ Don’t hurt him, Jim !” “The Captain may dropin every minute!” cried a chorus of voices, some wishing to encourage the disturbance, and othere to quell it. Bat Moody had the Jew by the throat, and the latter, not deficient in courage, was clutciing for his knife, and the whole room was in an uproar. The door opened suddenly and softly, and a clear, mu- sical voice, rang through the crowd: “Silence!’’ The riot ceased, as if by magic. Great men slunk into their seats like rebuked school-boys, and the originator wavered and hesitated, with his hand still upon his an- tagonist’s throat. ‘Release your clutch, Moody! By heaven, do you not hear me?” The new-comer’s brow darkened, his teeth shone like a flash, and his small hand flew to the revolver at his belt with the rapidity ofthought. The ruffian left his oppon- ent free, and slunk back, abashed. “| axes your pardon, Captain,” said he, sullenly; “only, you see, this miser wouldn’t give me any liquor.” “Because he wouldn’t give me mine monish, Captain!” sputtered the Jew, still purple-faced from the severe choking he had received. , “Silence, both of youl’? exclaimed the new-comer, ‘* Moody, you were wrong to attempt to bully Moses, and both of you were fools! Be quiet, for tere may be work to do. Moses, give me some brandy, and then open the cabinet.” The speaker, who appeared to exercise such absolute power over the wild and desperate spirits who surrounded him, was of such extraordinary appearance as to merit something more than a passing glance, He was small of stature—barely five feet four—and light and graceful of limb and frame as a woman. His hands and feet were small and delicately shaped, and the former ornamented with rings, of raré value. His fea- tures were Castillian in their dark and refined regularity. A delicate line of black moustache penciled the nervous upper-lip; the ject-black hair fell in scattering ringlets almost to his shoulders; and a pair of eyes, dark as mid- night and singularly large and piercing, gave incense emphasis to the wild beauty of the face. A close-fitting fantastically-cut suit of brown velveteen displayed his light, graceful form, to the best advantage. The pistols ee ae wana } Proprietors, YP , Yi Yi Ye ty kL Z, 5G ae “RELEASE and poniards, which garnished the folds of the scarlet sash at his waist, were smaller than usual, and some of them richly jeweled at the hilt. Every movement was instinct with the soft, sinister grace of the leopard, and a sort of treacherous beauty seemed to envelop the entire being, like a tropiccloud. Afra Diavolo, of the West, was the Captain, and, combined with the general evilness of his aspect, he possessed the unmistakable magnetism of command, _ The “cabinet,” as he had rather ostentatiously termed it, was nothing more than a small adjoining apartment, ae a clumsy desk, and other conveniences for g. After remaining alone in this apartment for some mo- ments, the Captain reappeared: : “The new recruit, Gaffer, will be here to-night, with in- formation from the fort,’ said he, in his quick, nervous, musical voice, which sounded strangely in proceeding from lips so steeped with crime. “He knows not the pass-word, and some of you will have to meet him onthe post-road, and guide him along the lines. Varley, you and the Thumbscrew, go out for that purpose.” The two worthies addressed—a pair of as villainous- looking cut-throats as ever went unhanged—departed without a word. “Moody,” resumed the Captain, “did you meet any one when you rode down the Sweetwater the other day ?”’ “Only Squirrel Cap,” was the reply. “He was return- ing to the ridge from the fort.” “What did he know?” ‘He said as how they knowed about the last mail-rob- bery, at the fort. Some Injin had fetched in an open let- ter as he had picked up somewhere near Rock Indepen- dence, and given if to the major.” “T heard as much this morning from some Indians near Laramie Peak, This comes from the carelessness of some of you blundering fools. It wasn’t easy enough to de- stroy the letters, buf you lad to leave them scattering over the prairie, to betray us to the troops. The next mail will like enough come with a cavalry escort, and all our plans be foiled. When I bring you the intelligence to plot and plan, Why can ye not display an atom of sense in furthering my schemes? Did the trapper say that any- ae, known of our having occupied this line of the a “He wasn’t certain on it, but thought as how they were still in the dark.” “I wish this Squirrel Cap was one of us-in fact,’’ said the Captain, leaniug against the counter and toying with one of the daggers at his waist. “If | might be allowed the question, Captain,” said Moody, lowering nis voice, ‘‘are you sure the ranger is to be trusted ?”? “Have you reason to suspect him?” asked the robber- chief, bending his dark eyes piercingly upon the speaker. “I don’t Know nothin’ agin him,” said the man, “only I heerd as how he had had a dusty turn-up with Ringtaii Gaffer, the very man we are expecting here to-night.” “I heard all about it from a half-breed at the Peak this morning,’’ said the Captain, with a smile. ‘It was noth- ing but a friendly contest in which the Texan was badly worsted, both in wrestling and target-shooting; and, as far as I could learn, it seryed him no more than right. However, it is perhaps best that we should preserve the ranger as a friend in-his present capacity.” The sound of crunching steps upon the snow without arrested the attention of all, and presently Varley and the Thumbscrew entered, followed by our redoubtable acquaintance of the first chapter—Ringtail Gaffer. The gigantic frame and brutal countenance of the latter were instantly fastened upon by twenty fierce eyes, study- ing him to the core, but he made little account of them, and simply made a surly brow upon being presented to the leader, whose small and boyish figure he viewed with mingled astonishment and depreciation. “Will you take a drink, after your ride?’ asked the leader. “I didn’t have none before it, SoI reckon I will,’’ was the reply, and the newcomer helped himself to a brim- ming bumper from the black bottle that was placed be- fore him. ‘‘Here’s lookin’ toward’s yer, Captain!" But the leader said not a word. His eyes were riveted upon the countenance of the new recruit, as though his history were graven there, page by page. “You wish to join our band ?”” “That’s what | come for,” growled the other, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the piercing eyes. “When I question you, do not growl, but speak.” “I brought yer some valuable information from Fort Laramie,’’ said the other, feeling still further discomfort. Manni! =a SORT A SS a CN SS NEW YORK, APRIL 21, 1970. 2ERMS, aes PRES RSE. STREET & SMITH, IN THE CLERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK. Two Copies Five Dollars. i Sod Dollars Per Year. No. 23. YOUR CLUICH, MOODY! BY HEAVEN, DO YOU NOT HEAR ME?”? “You are a Texan?” queried the Captain, paying no at- tention to the other’s remark. ey am.’? “You served with Cortina’s\band twelve years ago ?’’ “I did,’’ said the other, with evident surprise. “You were with him at thetapture of Matamoras?’’ *‘Ye—s,” falteringly. “You were reprimanded by Cortina for attempting an — upon a young danspuse, called ‘La Hita del aso’? “Trae ! Man or devil, which are you??? ‘You were supposed to have been privy to the abduc- tion of the little child—a girl, who was given up to the Cemanches ?? “It’s false !” cried the.other, gazing upon his question- er with a dread akin to superstition. ‘Cortina did that himself, hopin’ to git power over the dancer by holding a brat, which the Comanches afterward stole from 1im ! “The Mexican is in his graye and cannot answer you. However, it is of no consequénce at present. Swear in the new recruit.” This was done with very little ceremony, the oath being pronounced by kissing the cross hilt of a dagger, and the novitiate being surrounded by the entire crew, with weap- ons drawn threateningly. m When this was done, the Qaptain asked, the new rob- er: ‘ 0 oa is the information you hring from the fort, Gaf- er? I’ve been two days in making the trip, Captain,’ re- plied the Texan, with a certain respect in his manner and tone which he had not exhibited at first. “Yesterday morning a large supply train was to quit Laramie for Fort Bridger, on the other ride of the mountains.” “Pshaw ! it’s route doesn’t lie on our line !”” “Tt does till they reach Laramie River, where they branch southward, in order toreach the Grand Pass of the Rockies.’’ “True ! what escort will they have?” “That I could not find out, Captain. I suppose * ‘“] did not ask you what you supposed—l can Go ail the supposition, myself.” The Texan scowled. He eyed the light, girl-like figure before him for a moment as if he would gladly have rushed upon him, and annihilated him with a single blow of his brawny fist ; but the little jeweled hand was play- ing so naively with the ivory butt of a revolver, and the black, insulting eyes looked at him with such devilish penetration, that he speedily desisted from the intention, if indeed it had existed, and turned on his heel to make acquaintances among his new comrades. ine Captain paced the floor feverishly for some mo- ments, and then, turning, addressed the man Moody: “Jim, where is Mike, the Mormon, to be found ?”” “Like enough at the second station, Captain—six miles to the northward.’ “Saddle up, and go to him at once, and say—No! I will go myself. Someone of you fellows saddle my horse, and bring him around to the door. And hark yel’’ he continued, as one of the band departed to do his bid- ding; ‘‘no more quarreling during my absence. This sup- ply train cannot reach Laramie Junction before to-mor- row night. If the Mormon enn raise enough redskins, I Will risk the attack. We cau raise thirty of our band, well-mounted, on this very spot; and I want you to bein readiness at daybreak,.’’ “But mine monish! mine monish, Captain!’ exclaimed the Jew. “these fellers all of dem sheats me like every: tings. “Then you shouldn’t trust them, Moses. all take a drink at my expense before I go.” This invitation was accepted with alacrity, and, ina few moments, the leader’s horse was at the door. He gave a few parting words of instruction, and:then, drawing on his gloves, and enveloping himself in a heavy Military cloak, he vaulted lightly into the saddle, and dashed down the defile. ‘oPears to me as how you wait on that ere Captain of yourn as if he was a young lady, goin’ to a ball,’’ said the Texan, with a sneer, ‘You be sure vow wait on him when he tells you to, or he’ll make you sick,’’ said Jim Moody, in a sinister way. Come, men, CHAPTER VI. MIKE THE MORMON.—THE RAID. The Captain bestrode a spirited animal. Hesoon reach. ed the post or government road, and then, turning north- ward, sped along at arapid pace. It was a wild and sol. emn scene, with the dark, pine-belted mountains on eithe hand, and the long road and waste places gleaming in the starsbine with untrodden snow, and might well have awakened uneasy feelings in the breast of any lonely wayfarer. But whatever were the reflections of the rob- ber-captain, he passed on in perfect silence, not even vyouchsafing a@ word to the good steed beneath him. It was only in crossing a torrent, where the horse slip- ped and stumbled, that he gave utterance to a sharp Spanish oath, accompanying it by giving the animal a se- vere beating on the head with the butt of his loaded whip. There appeared, indeed, in all motions of this strange personage a refined cruelty which it is difficult to de- scribe, and which was incomprehensible to ali but him- relf. He presently branched off from the road, and, after pro- ceeding about a quarter of a mile, sighted a small, low cabin. No-light was visible, nor any other sign that the place was inhabited; but the lonely rider made no hesita- tion in dismounting and rapping vigorously at the door with his loaded whip. There was no answer for some time, but. at length a light twinkled from the window of a sort of loft asove the door, and a man's head was thrust out. “Who's there??? “Ts that you, Luke?’’ “Who's there??? repeated the voice from the window, louder and sharper than before. “The Captain.” “Oh! excuse me, Captain. I’! open the door at once,”’ said the voice, with a decided change in its tone, and the head at the window disappeared. In a few moments it was opened, and the Captain ad- mitted to the interior by a:short. bushy-headed fellow, who appeared to have just been awakened out of a sound sleep. Te set the candle upon a rough table, which, with two or three stools, constituted almost the sole articles of fur- niture of the room, and began to ste aD the embers of a fire, which still glowed ashily upon the hearth. “Never mind about. tne fire, Luke,’’ said the new- comer. “I want to see the Mormon.” “Who—Mike? He’s at the Arrapahoe encampment.” “How far is it?” “Apout a mile back in the mountain.” “Pat up and feed my horse, and go to Mike at once. Tell him that I await him here, and must see him in- stantly.”’ No one relishes being roused out of a sound sleep, to take a sndden journey through the snow, however brief, and the man’s face fell, and he scratched his head rae- fully; bata glance from his superior was sufficient. “All right, Captain,” he replied, and instantly began to prepare for his departure. When he was gone, she Captain threw some wood on the fire, till it blazed up brightly; and then, seating him- self again at the table, drew out a pocket-map of the Ter- ritory, and consulted it narrowly, making marks upon a sheet of paper with a gold-cased pencil at the same time. Having completed his diagram, he mounted nimbly to the loft overhead, and descended shortly afterward in an entirely new disguise. He now appeared as an officer of cavalry—the natty little jacket, well-fitting gold-striped trowsers, and jaunty cap, with broad gold band, appear- ing to become his small, graceful figure even better than the suit he had discarded. Shortly afterward, hoofs were heard on the snow with- out, and the sound of voices. “Surely Luke cannot have finished his errand so soon!”’ he exclaimed. He sprang to the door, and shot the bolts, just as there came two heavy raps upon it. . “Who's there?” “Luke and Mike.’? “The pass-word ?? ‘*Yellowstone!”’ He opened the door immediately. : “I met him on hi’ way here, Captain, that’s why I’m back so soon,” said Luke, entering the cabin, followed by a sanctimonious-looking Villain, with straight black hair and asmootn face, who instantly greeted the Cap- tain. “Sit down, Mike, I have much to say,”’ said the leader. ‘Luke, youcan goto bed again, as soon as you have stabled the horses.’’ “Wall, neow, Capting,” said the Mormon, who, despite his name, was more of a Yankee than an Irishman; ‘‘yeou really can’t have more work for a feller, can yeou ?”’ “Why pot? You have seldom been backward before, Mike, when there was a good stake in prospect.” ‘No, but then I’ve had some yearnin’s laiely, Capting.”’ “Yearnings for what? Don’t be a fool!” “Yearnin’s for the holy Tabernacle at Salt Lake, and i My nine wives and seventeen beautiful children at Grass Valley, Capting., Ah, yeou ain’t a happy husband and father—yeou ain’t married, Capting,’’ groaned the Mor- mon, in a hypocritical, nasal voice. : “I should rather think you were—a good deal!’ replied the Captain, with a half smile. “But that is mot the question. Do you want to'come into this thing?’ ‘““T may determine, Capting, when you condescend to inform me what the thing is.’? “Good! Here is the mapand the diagram I have drawn,’ said the Captain. spreading out the documents once more upon the table. «‘A heavy supply train from Laramie to Bridger will camp at this point, Laramie Junction, in all probability, to-morrow night. I propose to stampede their mules, and capture the wagons.”’ “Tf the train is a heavy one,’’ said the other, cautiously, “it, will, like enough, have a heavy guard of the Gentile soldiery.” ; “Exactly.” > ; no yeou can’t raise more’n’ thirty or forty men, all old.’ “Precisely; and that is why I want you and your In- dians, to aid the attack.” ‘‘My Indians!. Do tell. Iwant to know!” exclaimed the Mormon, appearing to be very much shocked at the implication. “Mow many can you raise?’ queried the other, disre- garding the hypocrisy of his companion. “Wall, neow, Capting, do yeou really take me for-——” ‘How many can you raise?” repeated the robber-lead- er, angrily. : ene one hundred and twenty, with Fanfire at their nead. “Good! Will you bargain to be with them at this point, Cedar Canon’’—indicating the point on the map with his pencil—‘‘to-morrow, at noon?" “Same old terms??? ‘Phe same—share and share alike; half fer you and your savages, the remainder for my gang.”’ “TH doit.” The Mormon arose and prepared to depart, with the air of a man who has business on hand. “Stay,” said the Captain, ‘the girl I was speaking of? Do you find any traces of her ??’ “Nothing certain. Some of the Arrapahoes traced a girl, who they said answered the description, to a wan- dering Dacotah tribe, with whom she was living.” “Hal the Dacotahs are our friends. Then there is hope?” “Not much, Capting, on the score of the gal I refer to. Her own tribe lost her in the great snow storm of abouta week ago. She’s nodoubt an icicle long afore this. Good night, capting.”” But the robber-leader_ heeded not the departure of his companion in crime. His head was buried in his hands. “Gone! gone!’ he murmured; “and all these wasting years of sin and sorrow for nothing. But, perhaps, after all, this one was notshe. lt was but the faintest clue. I must still hope on, hope on, though J feel that it is de- stroying me by degrees.” He arose, bolted the door, and flung himself upon a rude couch in one corner of the room, Whatever was the nature or acuteness of his suffer- ings, physical fatigue conquered him, and he slumbere profoundly. It. was at the close of the following day that Lieutenan Panvers; with his Hngish friend, St. George de Gransb’ rede forward somewhatin advance of a large gove ment wagon-train, to select an encampment for the ap proaching night. “Do you think as ’ow there are hapy hof the wild na tives in this neighbor’ood; lieutenant?” asked his verdant relative. “Plenty of them,’ replied the lieutenant, smiling, ‘‘but none that are deemed hostile.” *"Ostile? Aren’t they hall ’ostile?”’ “By no means.. With some of the tribes we make trea- ties of peace.” ~ “Hand do they halways ’old to their treadies hon these hoceasions?”? “Not always; but if is to be hoped that they will at pre- sent.’? 7 They had just forded the small stream, or rather creek, known as Laramie River, and reached the level of a large grassy space, affording excellent pasturage, which the lieutenant decided should be the camping ground for the, night, The long wagon-train now began tocross the river, with Lieutenant Morton, the second in command, bring- ing up the escort of forty cavalry in the rear. The wagons were unharnessed, the mules turned out to pas- ture, and the first fires of the camp began to twinkle through the air, when one of the outsiders who had been sent forward to reconnoiter, came galloping in at the top of his bent. “Indians! Indians!’ he yelled. “They have already killed my comrade, and are upon us!’? Lieutenant Danvers had seen Indian fighting before. He immediately drew up nis troupe of horse in front of the corral—that is, between it and the direction from which the scout had proceeded—and ordered Morten to take charge of the teamsters and bring the mules inside of the inclosure formed by the wagons as soon as possi- ble. Before this could be done, however, the Indians—all mounted and numbering over one hundred—appeared at the summit of the ridge, and dashed down upon the level plain. “Charge! cried the lieutenant; “they’re only three to one!”? ine order was obeyed with precision and spirit; and, at the first slieck, the savages were scattered every- where. ‘Upon them! Cut them down!” rang out the clear voice of command. And the discomfited savages were mercilessly pursued back over the ridge. But anumber of random shots in the rear caused the pursuers to pause and turo. It was only to behold the Captain and his robber-crew sweeping down upon the comparatively defenseless train, with pistol and steel. The cavalry wheeled about, and sped to the protection of the devoted train. But it was too late, The flight of the Indians had only been aruse. They now rajlied and attacked their whilom pursuers with fierce pertinacity, while a portion of the desperadoes de- ployeu from the surrounded train and assuiled them on the other side. The cattle were already stampeded, and the train in the hands of theenemy. The tew teamsters, with Mor- ton at their lead, were slain or captives: and the entire robber force were upon thecavalry. The latter fought valiantly, but there were five to one against them, and they were driven slowly away from the wagons, aud in the direction of the tord they had lately crossed. Prominent among the charging reuskius, was the ferm of Mike, the Mormon, crying out sanctimoniously, even in the heart of the contest: “Down with the Gentiles! Strike for the Tabernacle and the sainted Brigham!” But the most noticeable figure among the robbers was that of the Captain. His revulvers appeared to be inex- haustible in their missives of death, and mounted upon a magnificent roan, he seemed to fairly fly across the field, encouraging his band at every turn with his shrill, sharp accents of command. , “On, this is agony! agony!’ groaned Lieutenant Dan- vers, as step by step, with his depleted troop, he was fore- ed back to the river’s brink. ‘We must not, must not fly. Oh, for one moment hand-to-hand with that flying fiend,” he continued, as the rubber leader swooped al- most within reach of his hand, and was then away again, like a phantom of the fight. ‘One more stand, men—one more stand.’’ f He was about to dash forward in pursuit of the Captain, when a sharp, tingling pain shot down his arm, from the shoulder to the wrist, and he felt the hot blood gushing over his hand. “Qld hon, Danvers, ’old hon,’? shouted the Britisher, whose blood was up, and who had by no means been idle duriug the fray. “I’ll’ave that fly-away wagabone, or die in the hattempt.” He was a fox-hunoter in his own country, and rode like acentaur, Snatching a saber from a wounded trovper, who was just fainting from his saddle, he waved it over his head, putspurs to his steed, and dashed into the cen- ter of the pursuers. “It is useless—useless,’? groaned the wounded lieuten- ant, as his handful of men with difficulty repelled a third vigorous assault of the enemy, and his own horse was al- ready splashing in the shallow waters oi tne ford. mn With a heavy heart, and a spirit crushed witk bumilia- tion, he gave the order for flignt. They dashed away like the wind, and the train and their killed and wounded were left in the hands of the robbers and their still more savage allies. ae, 2 ¢ THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. & CHAPTER VII. THE WOUNDED ENGLISHMAN—A FRIEND IN NEED. Night descended upon the plain, and when the stars be- gan to twinkle in the sky, not a living soul was to be seen where afew hours before all had been commotion and bloody strife. ‘ The vast train of wagons had been spirited away to the recesses.of the mountain defiles, The captives and : barriedo : 1 to permit the \sca braving and siecess complish this Fesult E Bat one figuy@an ingly over the there was still aif ’ tall, awkward figure, and itmoved now stoppingt Hsten attemtively, devious way,@ fag aug examinik : a it passed. Soe ne Neer All of a sudden, this man descried another object, like hat ofa human form, moving slowly, aS he was doing, over a distant part of the plain, He bent low, almost to the ground, and crept toward it, rifie in hand. The object, as he drew. nearer, proved to be a solitary Savage, returned to the field for the. purpose of scalping the slain. He saw him stoop at intervals, make a quick, circular movement wilh his right hand, and theny-brac- ing himself with both feet, fag with all lis foree—a move- ment, significant as it was ghastly. The silent watcher drew nearer, so near that he could Observe every movement of the spoiler with distinctness. He saw the savage stoop over one form that gave signs of life. The prostrate form threw abroad its hands,- groaned, and even spoke. But the scalper—the painted ghoul of the carnage-scene—ouly gave a gutteral grunt, and proceeded to serve this victiin ashe had served. the bodies of the motionless slain. Bat at this moment, the tall, awkward form of the watcher rose erect, his brow darkened, and his whole figure dilated with indignation and scorn. He glided forwardlike a shadow. The next instant, his hunting knife was buried to the hilt between the should- - of the-savage, who fell forward, with a single death- shriek. f “A rat! dead for a dead-cat, dead ! as Guy Fawkes said to ‘the Mayor, of London!’ exclaimed a. well-known yoice; and, in another moment, the Ranger of Raccoon Ridge had the head ef the would-have-been, victim of the scalping-knife between. his knees, whiie his hand felt at the heart to know il it still throbbed with the energy of existence. : “Only two or three stunnin’ blows on the mug ater all!’ he; sohloguized.,.“Reekon I’ve got a, chance to rescue oue of the poor devils alive; anyhow 1” He laid the head of the wounded man down again, and ran:to the stream for some, water, taking a canteen from the dead body of a trooper to getitin. A quantity of the cold wave dashed upon the suiferer’s face, caused him to revive and even speak. “Now, take a pull at this!’ said Squirrel Cap, ap- plying the nozzle of his »brandy-flask. to the sutierer’s lips. The wounded man took a long draught,’ which caused him={o,gam/ ay sitting posture, and look around him in a bewildered way. “Where ham hi??’;he asked, feebly. “By crimminy,:it’s the Englisl»chap as 1 teached how to shoot bufferler!”? exclaimed the trapper, in amazement. “Hob yor ’ave come'to make fun of me; and ’old me hin contempt! go away, hand, leave me to diel’? groaned the Englishman, logubrious}y. “I aint on'that air lay so much as 1 was onct,’? was the cheery repiy. ‘‘Aveyou able to back a muel, my friend 7” The other looked at him with a puzzled, mournful ex- pression, se “I mean, can you sitin the saddle?” “Yes, I think 1 ham hable te.” “Well, then, try an’ get on) your shanks, an’ put; your: arms around my neck.” The wounded man -did’so,; though with great difficulty. “Now, grab hold of \this ere rifle of mime—that is, if you kin, without losing your hold on my gullet.” The wounded nian managed to do so, and the trapper, lifting his burdem with the utmost;case, started; for tie near stream at a deg-trot. {To be Continued.] yage-allies, ) 10. Ce Prt Ss Owly and cautiously, id then pursuing its THE Shadowed Altar: Betrothed, Wedded and Divorced. & Story of New York City Life. By NED BUNTLINE, (E. Z. C. JUDSON.) — {The Shadowed Altar” was commenced’ in No. 16. Back num- bers can Ue had of all Newsdealers throughout the U. 8.] CHAPTER XLI. Edgar Mansfield sat, wrapped in gloomy retrospections, in thé quiet bdck parlor belonging/ to tne suite of roonis taken for himself and his sister atthe Everett House His pale face, his contracted brow, told that he was sul- fering intense mental torture. “Brother—dear brother!? whispered Pearl, as she put her arm around his neck an@ pressed her pure lips to his ot forehead—“you are not all alone. Pearl is with you. : “Yes, my angel sister, yes—you, my only comfort, true as the steel that has flashed in Iny’ hand‘ threugh war's terrible tempest, are here to comiort me! © Bat, Pearl, it is so haz#@ to be wronged, even in thought, by er upon whom l have bestowed every thought’ of my heart—the whole treasure of my Jove! She has condemned me, un- heard; listened only to the Secret ‘enemies who have stab- ‘ bed me in the back.’ ‘Hdgar, lL feel for you, ‘an@ I feel for Zier, for she, too, is @ Victims | She'is as wretched’ as you, Knows “She drew me to her sobbing bosom, and there we wept together. But when I heard her mother charge you with what! ’ knew was cruelly false—say that she had seen’ your offer wie, Lrose and ‘turhed from them all to go with you Wherever you went.”’ “Itisa Cruel, déep-laid plot. womanewho would ‘stoop, from any: cause, to utter a falsehood. She las been imposed on, and some woman, pretending to be my wife, as been introduced to her. Had she been just, she would nave: confronted this woman with me—just to me, to Anna, w herself. She did not, but rather chose to madden me with a false ac- cusation, ana to give me no choice but to leave a roof Which could not shelter me and my slanderers,”’ “But, Edgar, you will hurl back’ these foul slanderers upon the heads of those who originated them.’ “Alas, my dear little Pearl, those who could plot so Well thus far, have undoubtedly made every preparation to sustain themselves by perjury. The life of the best man, the honor of the purest woman in this great city can besworm away in a judicial trinunal, I know,of my own knowledge, of a man now living, clouded by a deep sor- row which never will rise fromehis heavy heart, who by perjury was robbed of an idolized wife, a precious infant boy and sent to a prison celh' as innocent as you are, of the charge on which he was convicted. Knowing this, Jeeling that I amin the same meshes, that perjury, bribery and corruption will all be employed against me— why should I strive against them??? “For Anna’s sake, my brother!”? “Por the sake of one whose love could for an instant be blinded by the clouds of detraction? No, Pearl—no. 1 can die forthe love which will not, cannot leave my heart. But pride revolts at the very idea of innocence sullying its white shield in defense against perjury and infamy. Tne judge who condemned him to whom I al- luded but now, fattens on the gains of infamy. I will not help to fill any villain’s purse by a useless resistance to wrong. We will go, my sister, far away—away to some quiet home among the mountains of the West, where we can dwell in peace. I grieve only for you, fitted as you are to epjoy life and life’s social pleasures, but every dol- lar I have shall be laid,;out for your comfort and I will live only for you!’? ‘Dear, dear brother!”’ Pearl laid her cheek tenderly against the face of Edgar and with her small hand pushed the brown hair back from his white forehead. A rap at the door and in answer to a summons, a ser- vant entered with a very dirty card in his hand. “The man whose name is here, sir, says he has very important business with you, sir, and asks to see you for only a minute”? “Muggins—Lieutenant Muggins—the fellow I. once kicked down stairs atthe Metropolitan! 1 wonder if he wants another repetition of the exercise!’ said the colonel, glancing at the card and tossing it into the grate. “You may tell him to come up and then provide yourself with a good cudgel should I deem it best to improve on his, last lesson. “Yes, sir}? And the servant separated, grinning. “Sister, leave me alone a few moments, whue I am in- terviewed by this fellow.” Pearl went to her room and. Lieutenant Muggins en- tered: He looked even more seedy now than he did on his first visit to the colonel. His face was,a shade deeper in its purple hue—his eyes a little more bloodshot. He had evi- dently been indulging in strychnine and prussic acid as retuiled Over the bars of the metropolis under fictitious names. J “Well, sir—what do.you want?’? the colonel asked, sternly, Without noticing the profound bow made by. Mr. Muggins. “To retarn, good for, eyil, sir. You kicked me down stairs the last time we met, and I deserved it. So it wasn’t mucii of an evii, after all... But I won't speak. of that, sir. You've got a couple of enemies in the men line of business, aud another who wears, petticoats, that. haye been trying to ruin. you and) have maae a pretty good start in the work.?? ‘“‘Well—well, what is all this to you 2"? “Not muehk just yet, sir, put Ltheught L might make it = since / Know ali the parties aud can help you to head thems off? “Your motives in. coming to me are to make money.” “Of course, sir—don’t I look as if J needed it?” “Then you have visited the wreng customer, for I have no money toe spare.’’ “ot to get your rich wile back ?”’ “Villain —thesoouer you jeave here the better for your 11) offer f ( ‘| you do+etue place Where J room is on that cara / am _ Moggins turned away, but eve he did so, laid a ther | Te: Rec hight liaye been roaming ¢rouch- } q ud, examining bodies, see IE] «Stops? said Mansiicld, abruptly. | ¥ ps aitering offife in amy breast. was a) } said thé colonel., “You Jo foolish like other girls—s Mrs.) Marston is mot a} bones. Breathe but the name of the lady with whom I have been connected and I will have yeu cudgeled from the house.”’ “Colonel, Ullspeak no names. But if you’d let me be your friend, 1’@ expose the most rascally plot ever heard of and help you to get back your own. ,1.don’t bear you no spite because you kicked me dow forl se again I deserved it. Butl know mor ee do, and_ the day isn’t far off when you'll Wish th Muggins.2 mi back. For Muggiis knows enough to beat thieay y ‘that i$ trying to beat you, Kut yowre your dignity,\ lls on mine till I starve before help you again, without you send for me, If cal irty ¢ard of the center table. Muggitis stopped and faced about, | a very needy. There are notes to. the Qmount of fifty dollars... Gef I ments and seek work. Lét drink alone and you may yet be a better man. Iam myself poor, but if 1 can aid any man to reform, I will do it.” ; 13 Tears started in the eyes of the ex-lieutenant. “You're too kind to a wretch like me, but you sha’n’t be sorry for it,’ he stammered, / *“V’ll help you more than you dream of—see if I don’t! , Don’t go out of the city till you hear from me on paper, sir—please don’t !? And grasping the,money in hands which had long been unused to soap and water, Muggins left the room. An instant Jater a fine-looking young man, whose Wwell- filled garments were a credit to the cuisine of the hotel, looked in at the open door, “Excuse me colonel,” said he, ‘I did not know but you wanted that. seedy-looking visitor .removed, vé et arnvis, so 1 came up myself, it being a part of my duty to super- intend the removal of all annoyances to guests!”? Mansfield smiled and replied: “1 thank you, Mr. Flowers—the poor devil walked , off without having annoyed me particularly. Mr. Burrows is very fortunate in possessing an officer so attentive as you are to his guests |” 3 CHAPTER XLII. The face of Alexis Volski, usually so ghastly white that it resembled bleached parchment, was purple with an ex- citement which he did not wy to suppress. He stood in the favorite boudoir of Miriam, where the portrait of her mother, his sister, hung before him on the wall, and listened while Amalek told of the strange disappearance of Miriam and the boy. They had gone outin the carriage, had left it as usual to make several visits and returned, but at last, alter dark, leaving it-in Broadway near Liberty street, with or- ders to wait, did not return, though the driver waited one, two, even three hours, by the iron-tongue of the Trinity so near by. When midnight passed and they did not come, the ari- ver returned to report to Amalek, who waited, nour after hour, Knowipg that his young mistress had willful ways of her own and would be apt to resent any report of her absence without he had cause to apprehend that absence caused»by accident or a detention of some will beside her own. Bat at last, thoroughly alarmed by her long con- tinued stay, he had informed the old man, whose whole soul, even beyond what seemed to be his raling passion, money-muking, was bound up in her. ; Alarmed, the latter had left everything to inquire into this new trouble. The carriage driver had been closely questioned, everything of her movementson the after- noon and evening, when she was last seen, explained as Jar as the driver could explain it. f efhe habit which Miriam had of always leaving the car- Ylage at a distance from the place she intended to visit, made it impossible for the driver to say where she usu- | bc went, except When she stoppedjat a store to trade. an herefore, 10 important light could be gained from the driver. < WF Salk. a sk eerie ' #Amalek, mine good friend—where, where do you think mine shild, mine. Mi - has gone, She. was not ie Was not one to love, and if she did, She would have been .too bold, too brave, too truthful not to tellme, She cannot have gone off with any one.” : ; et “No, sir—never. Her whole heartwas devoted to but two thoughts—the disecevery of the mother whom she be- lieved to be yet alive, and the punishment of the heart- less man who wronged that mother so cruelly, and who léft his children and hers to perish, rather tham to rear them as his own.” Piece. sitte «Then what do you think? Hashe ny thing to do with her strange disappearance? Speak, Amalek, mine good friend—speak and tell me just What you think??? “It must be he who has caused her to disappear, for he alone is interested in checking heringuiries. But yes- terday she told me that she felt Suré of being able, with- in a few days, to press her dear living mother to her bo- som, and she spoke of him with such bitterness that I shuddered.”? . t “You do not think, Amalek, that he has mzdered her? i ; ‘ i “I think, my good master, that he is villain enough to races oR “Youdmay mean well, buf Ldo not Heed your ee Get food and cleaner gar- | allusion to his deformity. ‘But I’ll answer you in spite ofthat. I attend the legal interests of Horace Blachart, Esq., and I will see that he is neither annoyed or fright- ened by an old ruffian like you. You say you willcharge him with the murder of some party or parties you hame. lL will. defy you to prove that he has ever seen, or knows ling about the parties. Make your charge and you be laughed at by any magistrate you go_ before. ‘if, and you shall either sleep in a prison this night on @ Counter-enarge, or,you.shall go.tothe Black well’s Isl Lunatie Asylum.” We defy you—yes, we defy you!’ Horace Blachart, with this new defender quickly regained hisself-possession. ; “Yes, Alexis Volskil? he said, tirmly—‘Z defy you. uid lave llstened to gyhat you had.to me to me without a threat on your lips!) #1 recall all—I apologize—send that man" away and let oe talk to. you alone about mine shild—muine sweet shild, for Miriam has been so long, so long With me} she is deg " ie! g ae a ae | ‘The manné¥ of the Jéw had@’changed fron? anger to sup- ant humility all at once.» His,eyes were cast down. | But the compressed lips, the neryous hands, teld yet how he really felt. “Grump—go into the next room, and wait there till I cali you. I will hear what this old man has to say,’ said Blachart. “Can’t he call me @ crooked angel instead of a mis- shapen devil, by way of cortectiun, belore I go,’? sueered tle lawyer. ’ ’ “TJ makes you an apology. not what I say,” said the Jew. “That is right—lI accept your apology, and retire,’’ said the lawyer, With another of his grinning smiles, And with a series of fantastic whirls he made his way out of that room into the next. , Sen Alexis Volski; I will listen if you will *be reason- able, “Ts it not reasonable that I ask to give to me the child whom T have caret for since she was left a waif, a poor foundling on the mercy of the world—the child I found by accident, but have clung to these long, long years. Oh, I love her so, so much!”? “J know not where she is! I have had nothing to do with her!’ said Blattart, but his voice trembled and his eye shrunk from meeting the earnest, imploring look of Volski.”’ “Horace Blachart, will you swear this?’ “My word is given and itis as good as my oath.” “Yes—neither can be believed. But there is one thing may reach your heart. All your life you have worshiped gold—you are, rich as you are, yet a miser, even more than I, For you love gold for its own sake, and I love it for whatI may do with it. I am rich, very rich, and I will bring back my child, if she lives. If she does not live, you shall be punished, if it takes a pound of gold for every drop of blood in yeur body. Name your price to restore her to me,’ é “Have I 0% told you @gain and again that I know nothing of her.” “And I know l was very mad—I know rou dol? a: “Well—have your way. it shall make no differ- ence.’ If shéwere % i conid produce her—restore her, as you say, to You;. w woulda guarantee me from fuviier® annoyiiness rent + riiiculous thought your sister yet lives andis in my” . And that property of mine belongs to her or them wham vow call my children. Wio will guarantee me beyond all legal doubt that Iam annoyed no more.” “J, Alexis Volski, I will swear by the faith of my fathers that you:shall never be troubled by herorme again. On- ly let_.me see her once more—let me pressher to my bosom. She needs none of your money, forall of mine is hers. Restore her to me, and [ will neversee you more.” - “Will you guarrantee me in writing, under seal, that byt _hever—never make aclaim upon meof any —respyes.” ae Under the penalty of forfeiting all your own boasted wealth 7? ? : ; “Yes, yes!” Benfet it s “Then let the document be drawn, and I willseeif I cannot aid you in finding the lost girl. Gramp—Grump, you are wanted here.”’ es : : oe The lame lawyer came in, and under dictation from Hor- ace Blachart, drew up an instrument So cunning that, keen as the Jew was, h@did not realize on how slight a pretext he might be forced to yield up the almost fabu- lous sum at which he rated his wealth. © {To be Contiiued.} —--- > e~«—. ot neni BY MRS. HARRIE? LEWIS. procure her death before permitting her to unvail his’ wickedness to the world, as she intended to do on #i discovery of her mother. ButIpray Heaven she i yet live, and with her brother, yet return to us.” “Amen, my Boge epinloy, Suen Bat prayers wil find here’ We mustlook.\; 1 did not intend ever, to tuat bad man upfil I brought him to j¥dgment. B 0. ) st know become of ,bimuast know what he plead with him—yes, I will bena myself ith him forbersake, when Iought not to he vack Yhy hand from his slaughter. It Will be hard to fae him ahd Keep downamy hand while I think of all he la Uonebut £ will) swive—for I nuust: find Mirlam—I must. find Miriam.” ™ ’ “May not I go with you, my master?” ¥ “NO, good Amalek, no. Mie will not harm me, fort will ec1iploy an oflicer of the detective force, whom I know to go with me and to remain near while I hold the inter- view.”? . “Tnen I must remain idly here?” “Not idly, Amalek—not idly, fer you have millions of dollars in money and in preperty to guard.” CHAPTER XLIIL Horace Blachart was seated in his library, wearing a complacent smile on his face, for he had just heard Eldad Grump detail the complete execution of the plan which had placed Miriam Volski and her brother inside the strong Walls of Doctor Merle’s Asylum. “It1s well done, Grump—well done !' You are a capital fellow, Grump, a capital fellow, though you arerather too avaricious. The Park property 1s yours, and if you hold on to it, it Will make you a very Tich man—a very rich man }? ‘ John Eager entered. His face was wliite and his man- ner very nervous. “What is the matter, John Eager—what is the matter’? You look as if you had seen a gnost !”? “lve seen just as bad, Mi. Blachart—just as bad sir. Ile—ev brother, is here !’* “What—not that Polish Jew, whom we supposed to be forever disposed of?” “Yes, sir. Alexis Volski. And he is not-.alone, A well known detective is Witt tim, and the Jew demanas to see you immediately !” ’ “The liand of Satan is in this. —what shall I do?”? “Hold ‘an interview, learn what his hand is, and then you will know what game to play. Place ine where |] can listen unseen, and after the interview ends [ can ad- vise you better.” “I dread meeting that man. He is a devil.” “You might as well get used to meeting devils now as not, for you aresure to see a good deal of them by and by,” said the lawyer, Witi: acynical smile. “Come, have tie man admitted and hear what he has to say. I will step into the next room and ifI find it necessary will come out and join you.” “Well—let it be so,” sighed Blachart. “John Eager, you can show him up. And mark you, after he comes, do not go out of hearing of my call. He is a bad man and has threatened years since to slay me.” John Eager went to call in the visitor, while Eldad Grump hopped away into an adjoining room, leaving the door ajar behind him. Mr. Blachart hurried to the drawer of a table, and tak- ing from it a loaded revolver concealed 1t on his person. He then went toa side-board, and pouring outa full glass of brandy drank it off. Coward as he was he could not face his approaching visitor without a stimulant to sup- port his sinking nature. Alone, leaving the officer below, Alexis Volski entered the room. : His face was as white as the snowy hair that clustered about his temples. His black eyes had a wild, danger- ous lightin them. He was the first to speak. “So we are met again !” he said, in a low, fierce tone, as his forehead contracted: above the lieavy eyebrows, into a cloudy frown. its “Yes, and the meeting is sought by you, not I,” said Blachart, averting his eyes. “You know why, Horace Blachart—you know why 1 have come !* hissed the old man, and his long, bony fingers trembled as if he ached to clutch the trembling wretch whom he confronted, by the throat. *T do not,” said Blachart freely. “You lie, you dog, you lie. You dare not look me in the face, Ido not come to speak of my Ssister’s wrongs— Icome to know what has become of her daughter, yous daughter! And your son, too? Ah—you tremble now— you have not dared to murder them?” “Murder? Man, you are mad. Ido a murder—I, who am worth my millions, stoop to crime ?”° “Aye, for crime hides crime. You would not be the first rich man by hundreds in this great city whose hands lave been reddened by blood. Produce Miriam Blachart —now known as Miriam Volski—produce her to me I say, and the young boy, her brother, or I will openly charge you with their murder.” For an instant the millionaire seemed affected by the threat. But to his intence relief, the lame lawyer hopped into the. room, and with one of his stage-like smiles, bowed to the visitor. “Thave heard what you have said to my wealthy and most respected ‘friend and client, old man,” said he. “And as a legal practitioner of positionand weight at the New York Bar, L would warn you that charges made to extort money are serious matters to those who make them. In the next place to ake a charge is one thing, to prove it another. Ifyou know when you are well otf, you will go about your business and let my friend alone.” “Mis-shapen devil, who are you tliat interferes between me and this bad man ?” “You are complimentary for a Baxter street shark, What shall do, Grump de hi p ¢ the cru "TG S| excelent eotnsels and offers of assistance d mee “pan 41 panse - am company with Jack Marlow, he remained on board the Se sloop. giving hiniself up to the pleasures of eating and drinking, dt A istening to the marvelous tales related by the-seaman. day or two-after the events related in the preceding chap- ter, Loraine was.in a boastfulmood, and saton_ the deck of the little vessel, engaged in relating stories of his life in Australia to his admiring listener. His favorite subject appeared to be of rs growing suddenly rich by finding enormous nuggets of *k was loud m hisexpressions of surprise. ‘Oh nothing,” said” Loraime,in an off-hand manner. “Thing’s commor—common ’s dirt! Why, look me, my honest frien! S@ifmude man, ’self! Jes’ look me.” The seaman obeyed, and Loraine exparded his chest, clap- ping it with his hands with an air of great self-importance. “Yes, Jack,” continued the owner of the sloop, tipping back his hat and bracing his fect upon the deck, while he directed an affectionate and mournful glance at his employee, ‘‘onee was no better *n you. Look mé now! Do’s Pye done, m’ trien’! If liked, could ride in carniage’every day, by side real lud. Could, really!” “Is it possible ?? exclaimed Jack, greatly impressed with the grandeur of his employer, whose eccentricities he/exeused on the ground of his belongivg to the ‘quality.” “Yes, possible! If wanted to, could live with lad, an’ drink bes’ wineevery meal. Could have Jot o’ rooms 10 ‘self, and do- zen Wilets de shambers to wait’pon me! Can keep secret, frien’??? The sailor replied inthe affirmative. “Then, le’m'tell you,” said Loraine, cont a lnd—real.lud—none ging’bread ’stocracyj : “Possible?” ejaculatea the seaman. ‘Wal, I ain't s’prised. He looks like a lord; every inch of him.” “Oh, you mean Walter?” exclanned the owner of the sloop. “Waler’s artic, not lud!, Don’t mean Wal'er—but won't say more—said too much ’ready.” “Butifyoucan have all these things, sir, why don’t you?” demanded the practical Jack. ‘ Loraine looked nonpiussed, tipping his hat still further back, and assuming an air of profound reflection. Jack repeated his question, and his employer then replied: “True enough, my frien’. You’ve moresense ’n look to. Will have ’em! This very day. Go now!” jj Refusing to answer another question of the seaman, Loraine’s OQ —) identially, ““my son’s a6 at-his back, Fay eh: 7 wish he were dead.” £ say, had you ‘4S mine poor sister was—yes, dear @$ mine Own life to" : ” ie * > Shy Ever since his last visit to the Earl of Montfo carl’s } suggestions, in regard to getting rid ot Walter Borain d rung in ae and he had pondered over the subject da night, deriving encouragement from th: fact thatah@ear! } advised Rimeto:.doptsuch a @ourse. He had thongh f a great number “Weil,” he said, mildly enough, “I have no fears cf his find. ing out our secret..You will be careful not o reveal it for your own sake. But wish you had given him no explanation—I wish, in fact, that yeu hai kept your promise, and put him ouz ofthe way.’ “No use frettin’ ’bout it,” declared the visitor. forget all,bout Waler, am’ enjoy own prosperity ?” “I cannot forget hiteso lougeas he stands in my way, as he now does!” wered Rosenbu “He has won Lady Rosen- bury’s ld le: Baer thatI sfippose I have no right to complain— only she incends to leave litt her fortune,” at oes 7” ; oa ae i a Pg "Yes, and that isnot al, Thave eet in Ii : “Why not ithe Lady Geraldine on his acéount. 1 hate him and ear | I ( Lorajm@enoved about fme@asily in his cliair, nok kehowin o reply. ei ie i ; There Was a brief silenee, during which Rosenbutyes took $ meet hue, and desperate schemes acquired sty wis mind, ‘ Mee i ‘2 what fib chts Peth in <— >a of plans for destroying Nis rival, but he-was too cowardly ac heart to undertake anything that might prove his own ruin. He determined that Walter’s destruction should be accom- plished by treachery. Walter and he having come to a rupture, he could not hope to effect his death himself, but must depute somebody of whom the artist would be unsuspicious. The'person whom he had thus chosen to be the instrument of his purposes,was Colte Loraine, To noo her person would he dare confide his wishes and schemes, but Loraine beinz already in his power, Wouldnot dare resist his will, he thought. When he spoke, atJength, there was a huskiness in his voice and agitationiamhismanner that evinced how termbly he was in earnest. “Loraine,” he said, drawing nearer his guest, and pushing from him his fallen meerschaum, “I have something of great importance tosay to you. 1 want to speak to you of Walter.” “Of Waler? Well, go on.” “You made one attempt to remove him, and failed. must try againe He must die!” “Die, Raymom! Wal'er die!” “Hush! Don’t speak so loud., I tell you I. cannot breathe freely while he lives. He wowtfld rob me of her jadyship’s for tune, of the Lady Geraldine’s hand—ot everything I prize in this world. He may even find means of gaining your confi- dence, when you are under the influence of drink, Some” time, and I shall then be a beggar—wretched, houseless, despised beg- gared! [tell you agai what 1 told you once before, I shall not see one easy, happy moment while he lives.” He stopped to regard the face of Loraine, and then resumed : “The Karl of Montford himself advised me to remove Walter——” pores interrupted him with an exclamation of astonish- ment. “He did, indeed, and he avas right. I bave thought long on the matter, and got over the squeamishness I felt at first in re- gard tosuch things. Walter endangers my happiness, and he must die! I have made up my mind to it.” 5 “No, no, Raymon’!” cried the visitor, ina voice of honest en- You treaty. “Waller never meant to harm you. You dom know how good he is. If youtouch him you injure yourself.” “JT don’t intend doing it myself,” returned Rosenbury, quietly. “You must doit tor me. You have accessto him, and you know - would suspect any professions of friendship I might make to him.” ‘IT must do it! exelaimed Loraine, quite sobered by fright. “Tumust kill Waler! Can’tdo it, Raymon’. No use ask me. Can't, and won’t.. Waler’s been better to me than you’ve ever been, given me money and good advice; wasn’t cross when I went in when girl was there and scared her away, and forgave | me when I tried kill him. Won't injure hair his head.” } Rosenbury flushed with anger at this decided response, and answered: “Do you think more of Walter than of your own son? You certainly seem to, by your refusal.” “Well, Tcertnly do!” declared Loraine, with dogged emplha- sis. “‘What you ever done for me, compared with what Waller done? Iwasa fool, as youjust called me, to ever do what did. If brought you up asson, you’d been mere gardener, nothing more, and might treated your old father decently. As *tis, you browbeat me for bein’ your father, no other reason, and throw me money just keep tongue still, as you,d throw bone to dog, keep it trom barkin’.. Un’stand you perf’cly. And Wal'er, who’s my real lud, treats me with oul’ard ’spect, and d do any- ng for me.” j _ The ex-gardener concluded his speech with a sob that had in it real griet and heartfelt suffering. Tt was not so much ause Raymond did not treat him weil that he grieved, forhe Had very little tatherly affection for his realson. In early boyhood Raymond had ordered him about, treating him with overbearing superciliousness, as it he were -an inferior being, and he had resented those manifestations of his son’s nature, only comforting himself with the reflection that in due time, when he should have declared his relationship to him, he would have arch reward. Butnow that he had re- turned, and made known his secret, he saw clearly that Ray- mond only endured his occasional presence because he feared him, and that he gave him money only to insure ‘his continued silence. Butall this did not cause him one pang of suffering, his Son’s separation from him since his infancy having deadened all his paternal affection, so thathe regarded him very nearly asa stranger. : The cause of his grief was the contrast afforded by the gene- rous, noble conduct of Walter, who had literally heaped kind- ness upon him. _ He had always loved Walter,whose bright,handsome face had, in earlier years, elicited from him a remorseful tenderness, much asit had from Mrs. Loraine. ; These feelings had been dulled by his dissipated habits, and, when he departed for Ausiralia, be hoped amid new scenes to utet pangs of his guilty conscience, and quite succeeded in THE BELLE OF THE SHASON, | cued, saiid ite tad sitee been enduring terrible and eon | his face clouded heavily; and he said: «1 have.be: manner became mysterious and reserved, and he soon atter went ashore, intent, as he said, on claiming bis rights. As will be foreseen, he proceeded as rapidly as his condition would permit to the residence of Lord Rosenbury, and demand- ed to see his lordship without delay. Although his appearance excited some mirth in the liveried servants who admitted him, no one dared send him away or be rude to him, Rosenbury having given orders that his “late fath- er’s former gardener” should be treated with great respect and consideration on account of the late Mrs. Lorame’s faithful ser- vices to the family. Tooks, the selt-important valet, departed, with the name of the visitor, and speedily returned, saying that his lordship would see the person. Loraine followed the valet to Rosenbury'’s smoking-room, a luxurious, nondescript apartment, where its owner was seated engaged in coloring a meerschaum. The visitor bowed several umes, queetiping in a tone ot humility, intended for the ears. of the valet: cs tappy see you, m’lud. Hope see you well. Hope la’ship well!” The humble, respectful tone in which these words were ut- tered, was marred by the series of significant winks he private- ly bestowed upon Rosenbury, as if wishing the latter to notice and admire his great cleyerness in diverting suspicion from their true relationship. Instead of- having the effect intended, itincensed Rosenbury, who returned sharply: “Oh, it’s you, Loraine! Ithink you presume on your late wife’s devotion to the family in coming to me so often for assist- ance. Tooks, you may go!” The valet had lingered, affecting to be busy about the apart- ment, in order to learn the business of the visitor, but on jear- ing this command he reluctantly departed. : ey, then turned upon the stiil bowing visitor, and said angrily: cWhy didn’t you write and give me your, address, instead. of coming hereste make gosstp among the servants s” “Now, Raymon’,” said Loraine with tearful reproach, ‘don’t be hard on poor old father . “Stop!” commanded Raymond. “Don’t let me hear such an allusion from your lips—you'stupid!”’ J Loraine sat down, drew his handkerchief from_ his pocket, and made a display of maudlin griet, muttering that “the poet was right insaying that a thankless child Was worse than a ser- pent’s tooth mi one’s heel.”’ “Oh, dear, dear!” he ssniveled. ‘Wouldn't believed it! And Wal'er—poor injured Waler—is so good me! Wish ” He paused, leaving his wish a matter of uncertainty. Rosenbury regarded him for.a tew, mements with a clouded brow, and then, commanding his temper, said, more calmly. “Don’t go on m that way. Why not be Sensible? Stop cry- ing, and let us haye a qniet talk. together.” Loraine dried his tears, set his hat further back, and prepared to take his part in the proposed conversation, wath a comftorta- ble conviction that his display of anguish had softened Rosen- bury’s heart to 2 proper sense of his filial duty. “Walter has returned from .iis involuntary voyage, I see,” said Raymond, after a brief pause. “How did he escape your designs?” “You've seen him?’ inquired Loraine, rather confusedly. “Truth was Raymon’ drugged him, an’ liked never come to ag’in. Poor Waler! Thought Id killed him, an’ was goin’ hang ’self. Thenshe came to, an’ tol? him ny “You told him the whole story!” interrupted_Rosenbury. “You told bim that I had hired youtokillhim. Don’t deny it —he told me s6 himself.” Loraine’s confusion deepened, and he muttered some unintel- ligible response. “He told me he would be silent. for Lady Rosenbury’s sake,” eontinued Kaymond, bitterly. ‘‘If you had kept your promise, he would have had a more potent reason for keeping silent.” “But Waler don’t ‘spect the truth,” said Loraine, eagerly— “that is, he don’t spect that you’re my son, you know, an’ that he’s the real Lud Rose’b’y. He lays your hate to love of girl.” Rosenbury felt some relief at this assurance, although he had known the fact before from Walter’s words and manner. He, of course, knew thatif Walter had suspected his own identity, ° who is under police surveillance, if I am not mistaken as to your identity,” said Gruinp, turning very pale at the the effort. But when he returned to his native land, and beheld in Walter mentai struggle. : bile Something of this Raymond felt as he regarded his father, and ved to treat you coolly because of my posi- what the world may say. But I have felt all the while, and wiil soon give you a proof s, in contibuting handsomely to your sup- ‘in this -position, and I think you owe it to me secure, by removing Walter -entirely. I lant get rid of him when an infant.” and declared that there never was. a World have destroyed his master’s son, } him from his rightful position, he agreed ‘for and treat Waiter as their noble narse- work! he passed as their son. ‘hack on my word now,” he added. “I’ve 1 oke your mother’s heart, and married an- Re } iAustraly, andl never made anything by my wickedt ess. Itief’me poverty-stricken and with bad habits, but *thout adrien’ but Walver. I've ‘bout resolved turn over new leaf, an’ be.somebody. Waler’ll help me—promised he would. I never killed anybody, and I neyerwill. If you want anybody de such work for'you, must..get-some one cise, But I give you fair warnin’, no one’s to touch Wal’er.” “If you are going to turn over a new leaf, perhaps you'll e- gin by aconfessicn?” said Raymond, deadly pale, ahd with a menacing light in his eyes. “No, shan’t do that,” returned Loraine, with a heavy sigh: “Too late now to own totruth. You're safe, Raymon’; but ?joy yourself, and let Waler’lone. It'd take something more’n or- ‘nary to make me confess all and run risk transportation. ’Sides | lve no wish blight your Pa But one thing must be un’- | stood between you’n me—Waler must be lef ‘lone, to marry the girl, or do what he likes. Manecan’t have cverything. You've got property’ and title, and ought to be contented.” This reasoning by no means suited Rasenbury. His ‘intensely selfish nature desired to grasp evyerythipg that seemed to him yahtable, and, as long as there remained one desired object be- yond his reach, all the rest seemed to him nearly valacless.in comparison. “You can’t understand my feelings,’ he said, with’a lofty air- “In fact, lam entirely beyond your comprehension, and there’s no use In arguing so foolishly on asubject you cannot compre- hend. Tam willing to give you anything you may demand for the service Lrequire, and I shal! Lot only. be safer in Walter’s death, but you also——” : j “Pm tired subject,’ interrupted Loraine. ‘No use saying more "bout it. Wouldn't kill Wal’cr save my neck from rope. Came here to see you “bout “nother matter. Mus'haye iy nights.”’ “Your rights 1” “OCervnly, Raymon’. -What do you s*pose changed you and Water for when both babiés? Why, so when you should grow up and be Iudship-I’a like live king. ‘Time has come for me joy | myselt, Like luxuries and plenty money. Don’t like see son living asyou de, and poor old father no’count in the world, livin’ on son’s bounty. Short, Raymon’, I'm going to bring lug- gage to-morrow, and move in. mus’ have suite rooms, and vilet de chamber, like you have.’ Rosenbury was frightened atthis demand, and the dogged resolution with which it was uttered. He, e¢ssayed in vain to break the visitor’s determination, pleading with him to have patience and waita little longer, and declaring that. such a course would be sure to arouse the suspicions of Lady Rosen- | bury. “No such thing, Raymon’. Pass for’ one your *countable whims. ; Sure you Pll be credit to you. I want see something tushionable society. See no reason why shouldn’t marry rich widow, when my son's aspiring to daughter and niece of earl.” Raymond would have laughed at the absurdity of this aspira- tion, had it mot been too menacing to his own happiness, A eold perspiration stood out upon his forehead as he replied: “Ifyou have any fatherly feeling, think of the position in which you would place me. I will give you money to go away—— Loraine interrupted him by a peremptory refusal. “But I cannot have you here to-morrow, oF at all. after to-morrow willbe the earl’s bali——” | “An Pm goingtoit”) — Rosenbury was in despair. : He argued, promised, threatened, and cajoled by turns, but found Loraine obstinate and deaf to allhis words, his visitor de- claring that he had waited long enough for the reward of his crime and should be no longer deprived of it. Loraine was unable to comprehend how his presence at Ros- enbury House could endanger Raymond's position, and he re- garded hisson’s arguments as originating from a teeling of con- tempt for him, and such an emotion.called up all his pride and selt-assertion, as well as antagonistic feelings. lf Rosenbury had hated Walter Loraine, he now regarded his own father with mingled terror and aversion, and darker thoughts than he had yet fostered gathered in his mmd. He was ¢ver tempted to spring upon Loraine as he sat before him, and put an end forever to his demands and claims. Conquering the impulse, he essayed again to argue the ques- tion. On the day “No use, Raymon’, said Loraine; “you must manage the matter; for I shail come to-morrow.” “If you must, I suppose you must,” said Rosenbury,{ huskily; “but give me a day ionger to arrange the affair with Lady Ros- enbury. I don’t know how Ishall manage to gain her consent to your takmg a seat at our table and becoming a member of our family—the thing is almost impossible. But I will make the effort, and come down to your sloop to-morrow afternoon about dark, and tell you her decision.” “Very well. Dllcome home with,you whether she cozsents or not. Youcan have to-morrow to argue with her,” i “You forget that this is her ladyship’s house, and that if she refuses toreceive you here, I cannot have you against her will?” “I forget nothing,” replied Loraine, significantly. “But I know that I’m as good as my own son, and that where he goesI can go. Lady Rosenbury supposes you to be her son. and she certly wouldn’t refuse you such a {rifling reauest. It does, we moarie her know her. will ain’t law avways.”’ Seeing the unreasoning state of his father, Raymond dropped the subject, and remarked: “Ofcourse you'll have your seaman out of the way f6-mor- row? Ishouldn’t like him to overhear our conversation.” Loraine did not notice the ill-repressed eagerness of his son's manner as he spoke, and replied: ‘ “Cert’nly, Raymon’, he shall be out the way. I'll send him *shore spend evening, an’ you’n I'll have sloop ourselves,” | A strangely dark expression flitted over senbury’s face, and he set his teeth firmly together ina way that brooded no good to the object of his reflections—Loraine. j The visitor rose to,depart, well satisfied with the results of his mission, and said: . “Now, min’, Raymon’, Water's not'be touched by anybody. Won't have hair his head harmed. When I come Ros‘b’y House to live shall Nave Wal.er here every day, to make up to him for what 1l¢prived him.” With this he took his departnre, and Rosenhury muttered: “When you come here tolive! Ah, when! It will be long time first, I think. My yisit to-morrow evening to that lonely sloop will not be without results very favorable to-me.” (fo be Continued.) —-—---- > . , A sister, dark-haired and beautiful, with classic fea- tures, sat at the melodeon and when the candidates en- The hall was filled to overflowing. The knowledge in the work had been spread abroad, and there was only room for the candidates to move from point to point to receive the solemn obligation and to listen to the sacred charges. ie The initiation was over; the vows had been taken, pledged to fraternal love, purity and fidelity, allin that room joining hand in hand, heart linked to heartiga). - noble cause, rejoiced. Speeuily the official business of the Division was con- cluded.’ No-useless waste of time was had in vain de- vate on points of order, or petty questions, With digni- ty and decorum the work went through, and then came the chair which had been yielded to him asa well-mer- ited honor, and the regular W. P rose to say the time had come to listen to speeches for the ‘good of tne or- der.”? Would sister M., the fair singer at the melodeon, open that part of tue exercises with a temperance song? The lady, without any affectation, like one conscious of her power and proud to work in such a cause, did not hesitate, but at once sung that touching and beautiful piece, “Father is a drunkard and mother is dead.” Sung it with such feeling that there was scarce 2 dry eyein the room, while some sobbed audibly. Among these were Mrs. Westcott, her daughter, aud the sad young initiate whom rum had widowed. The song, hallowing every feeling, floating on the full rich tones of the singer imto every heart, prepared the Division for what was to follow. The good man whose elevation to the chief office in the order fas proved @ blessing to the cause, rose, and taking that song for elit": spoke in a voice at times almost choked with emotion of the homeless ones in the great city, who had. been left poor, wretched, destitute, by the intemperance of those who should have cared for them. While they listened to the wailing wind which swept through the broad streets and the narrow alleys, piercing through broken panes and hingeless doors, swinging shutter and sign to and fro, thousands hungry and cold, barefoot and illy clad, could be found hovering near the the very doors of the inen. who had made them thus wretched. ‘The seller of strong: drink, rich in his ill-got- s, Standing in(tke gate of his palace ef sin, proud y e clothes and glictering jewelry, could look forth and see his squalid victims on every hand. He need not, ‘poor house, or ss go to the prison, the insane asylum, the 9 the potter’s field tosce the victims he had sent there, or the graves he had filled, the children of want made by his own hand wretched were ever there to stare him in the tacts; , oa nssiia't-e ate Gri} oe “How. long, oh, Father, must this. continue?’ he cried, with uplifted eyes. ‘How long, oh, ye. people; will you fold your arms and let this trade-go on?* In the name of liumanity, rise and cast off the politicians’ slimy yoke. Inthe name of Him who died to save sinners, rise and do your. duty to. your country, to yourselves and to your God | Brothers, and sisters, let work, work be our thought and our cry! Let your prayers rise on every zephyr wnat bears the suiferers’ cries to Heaven. The fatien lay all around you. Pick them up. Whisper ofa blessed work .to do here, that there may be a blessed hope hereafter}. Victims to temptation sigh for your as- sistance. Let them not sighin vain. Teach the.rum- seller tha iere he casts down, we will upraise. \Teacn even 0ul nies to respéct wlile they hate—make them to see tl d weare doing. And may the All-wise— help us all!’ _ like a sweet echo from a hundred voice Had rang, ut reyel im days long gone by, but who had now brought harmooy to Harmony,” and given his. tsients toa no- bier cause, , HOC ile Sang ‘a noble-sounding ‘melody in a style which would have done credit to a professional rather tham an amateur, , Then another brother was called upon to speak, and taking yet another view of the work to. be done, he caHed on the brothers and sisters to work with zeal to spread the principles of the order among those who did not un- derstand tyem—to circulate the books, tracts, and papers ofthe. National Temperance Society among all within their reach. If to every tenth book, or paper, or tract distributed but one man was redeemed trom the inebri- ate’s fate—if light was by that one carried into a darken- ed home, a glorious work would be done. Another song, aud then the closing hour had arrived. Now, for the first time, after the closing ede was sung, Mr. Merritt had uw chance toask why Eugene Westcott and his young wife had not come. He was answered by the starting tears in that mother’s eyes. in alow tone she explained what had happenea, Temptation even thus early had met and had overcome her son. She had not been able to learn the-particulars. Eubhe-liad fallen—sie felt no longer even a hope fer lum. She despaired of his rescue. . “While there is life there is hope!’ said the: good man, e W. P., a brother rose, whose inaloy, kind tone. “Do not despair. To-morrow I will go to him—to reason, to encourage, to persuade... L Will ot let him perish for want of aid. He needs more than ever all our hielp, all oursympathy, all we can do to lift him up. He has been met by some enemy to our cause, perhaps jeered at and scoffed, and ha not the noral ¢ eto bearit. We must not blame too rashly, nor yield up one we love too easily. Be hopeful—l will see him to-morrow.”’ pt ; CHAPTER XY. The next day Mr. Merritt did call to see Eugene West- cott, but the Jatter could not be seen. Sick from his last debauch, bruised and battered by the blows received ina fight which he had provoked and brought on, he was so unfit to be seen that, much as she desired to have the good man Visit him, the devoted wife begged Mr. M. to defer his call until Mr. Westcott was in a condition to lis- ten to his words. She would send forhim as soon as it’ was advisable for her wretched h to see any one. His mother and sister called—not to see him, but to in- quire abont his health. They had been too deeply morti- ‘tied, too much shocked, to desire to see him when they felt that only reproaches would look from their eyes, even if such did not leave their lips. Only the patient, loving, forgiving wife clung to him— washed the ragged and festering wounds, bathed his gprning a Peet the cold water to his hot lips, which once more tast etter t ll other drinks. Mr. Pendleton had been informed Hint “Eugene had drank again, and had merely laughed. “I thought he wouldn’t keep the tee-total pledge long,” hesaid. “He was a foolto signit. If he eouldn’t stop drinking without signing, he couldn’t with doing so. He must do as he, Mr. P., did—drink moderately. He didn’t see why he couldn't.” ; Alas! even while Mr. P. was using this specious and too general argument, he was increasing his own daily pota- tions to an extent that he did not realize. He was be- coming so reckless in basi that the faithful old clerk, who had taken the place of Eugene as cashier and gene- ral superintendent, We offen -alarmed, and would dave remonstrated had he dared. But he knew it was as «uch as his place was worth to attempt it. He was mar- vied, with a family of little children growing up, aud he could notatford to.risk the loss of his situation. Four days passed and then Alfred Neville came to see his /riend, Bugene Westcott. Hating to sce him, almost scorning herself for speaking to him, Florence went -her- self to tell this man that Eugene did not wish to see Nim. He was too sick to. see. anybouy, we lessrone who had been a witness to his last, as well as Nis first, error, and who might have restrained him, but did not. With a supercilions air, Alfred Neville, listened to her cold words as she stoou at the door and then said: d and cheery in song at many a } think Ican in a very brief conversation convince her that it is very necessary I should see her husband.” “Perhaps he owes you money. If so, 1 will pay it— name the amount.”’ “Only a trifle of seven hundred _ dollars, lent money—it was nien, but he handed me two hundred back,” said the scoundrel. 1 ; - “Thank Heaven, Ihaye so much about me. I was to have goue shopping on the day he was taken ill—and did not,?? The young wife counted the money and handed it to im. > Neville received it with aslight bow and said, with a, most annoying persistence, : ‘*| must still insist that a brief conversation in your parlor, will convince you that I ought to see Mr. West- cott, and that immediately.” “Tell me here, sir, what you would say there. Ido not consider it right for me to hold interviews with gentle- men, at which my husband is not present!” “Since you will have it, and are so particular, know that if 1 do not interfere to prevent it, your husband is a ruined man. “what a glorious head she has—by ar |’ a ' “Humph,’? grumbled Davenport, at Margaret’s. other Sides dsbad egg... at isi él - ; | Margaret met the fall gaze of a pairof fascinating eyes, green-tinged, and yet chameleonlike, changing with every ripple of the soulfrom green to flashing black, or tender gray, or handsome brown.) | ; 7 The small and well shaped head which had awakened such rapturous admiration fromthe chevalier, was poised delicately upon a neck round and white and bending as a swan’s. Tne hair, a light, gold-brown, shone sometimes molten in the sunlight, sometimes flaxen. It seemed to possess the chameleon-powers of the eyes, and took to itself all shapes anil tinges, as se ied-like creature flashed a look from side to side; an = iong snake-like tress floated carelessly peneatii her | down her back, and was suffered to ripple and twist itself into tiny ringlets, or waves, or coils, just as its willful nature-im- pelled it. ; : Margaret looked once and fully into the .beautiful stranger’s face, aud she was forced toadmit to herself that with all ber fascinating blithesomeness and would-be innocence and frankpess—sne did not like it. «She hides a history !’? was her conclusion. But the chevalier seemed actually entranced; he bowed profoundly, the instant their eyes met, and listened with eagerness to every low-toned d ion she gave to the waiter, and with great gallantry passed whatever she re- quired over to her, for which attention the fair woman only bowed with the most distant, though the prettiest air imaginable. ad vl Gad Y She often looked at Margaret evet Davenport spuke to his ward, with her little ear bent to catch the reply; and at last she contrived to meet Margaret’s eyes, and to smile in a sweet, engaging man- ner, as if she longed to make her acquaintance: and Mar- garet, without in the least Knowing why, crimsoned and dropped her eyes instead of responding to the overture. Tne lady did not finish her lovster-salad, but svon rose and swept tothe door, which the gallant cuevalier sprang to open. Scarcely acknowledging his politeness, she cast a Bioive over her shouider at Margaret which haunted her Il the afternoon. , ; It seemed to say as plainly as if the lady had spoken ts 19 tO “You donot like me, but Lam determined to win you over in spite of yourself.” _ And in spite of herself, her thoughts wandered toward the lovely stranger for hours, and she grew quite impa- ye for the dinner hour to arrive, that she Might see her again. “When it camé, Mr. Davenport being absent, receiving or sending some telegrams to a village nearithe seat of war, in which there seemed some reason to believe the missing colonel was with @ detachment. of Vermonters, the chevalier, with great politeness appeared at Marga- ret’s door to escort her to the dining-room. Poor Margaret was by this time so inured to petty and his father-in-law would, te save public exposure, and to. Faithful Margaret; = $ leuth -H 0 u n d of Castle Brand view,” said Margaret, struck by the unlovely shrewdness _| protest. however, as if anxious | to make her out, and paused in her dainty nibbling whien- night she rarely asked what success they had had in their search, though she clung with a fond belief to the cheva- lier’s often vaunted integrity, and would not allow the lawyer’s suspicions to enter her mind. “Did you notice the pretty madame your visavis at oe ?” asked Calembours, as they descended to- gether. “On, yes. I have been thinking of her all the after- noon.”? “Ma foi! and so have I! General Legrange, who knows everybody, tells me she is Madame Hesslein, a young widew, whose husband was Plenipotentiary from the French Court to Austria; and I have been fortunate enough to find out also that she is a Frenchwoman—by gar! she is a Venus di Medicis! Ah!’ reughly aspiratea monsieur, and became silent with admiration. There under the blazing gasalier, whose strong light might have b:ought into 100 bold relief the imperfections of other women, sat the fair stranger, serenely pecking at her viands, and seemingly unconscious of the general sensation which her beauty created; in ‘So absorbed in thought that she paid no heed to g outside of the small circle formed by her own plate. She was dressed in a dark green velvet. evening dress, whose white lace bertha was carelessly pinned with a guificent solitaire. _ Her hair was combed out like a fleecy vail down her k, and glittered with diamond powder until it resem- bled the gorgeous plumage of a tropical bird. _ She formed so bright a center to the room that every eye instinctively wandered that way to admire her glit- tering clothing and fascinating face;.and yet again, Mar- garet took her seat opposite with the same uneasy feel- pa aes upon her now which had weighed upon her re. _ Almost immediately the extraordinary green orbs were lifted from their meditative study, and Madam Hesslein bowed her recognition, and smiled with honeyed sweet- ness. _ “She has some special purpose in making my acquaint- ance!’ thought Margaret. CHAPTER XXVIII. Dinner over, the ladies scattered, some to their rooms, some to go walking—Margaret and Madame Hesslein sim- ultaneously entered the drawing-room. They turned to each other, the glittering bird of Paradise, and the gentle ring-dove, with a resistless impulse of attraction, and each examined the other keenly. “You are Miss Margaret Wulsingham, a celebrity, even in America,’’ quoth madame biandly. “Your colonel was much talked of here for his bravery. Il am quite delight- ed to meet the Woman who has fought so spiritedly for the colonel’s rights.” Margaret gazed earnestly at her, she was reading that artial simplicity of madame with regret, and pitying the fine woman whom the world had spoiled. “Your praise is very disinterested, Madame Hesslein,”’ returned she simply, “Il thank you forit. lam very strange here and can’t tell what the people say about my my aifairs, I had hoped that they Knew nothing about me. _*Pshaw! my good lady, you can’t expect to pass through life with your history and not excite remark,’ retorted Madame Hesslein with a flirt of the jeweled fun. “No heroine does, be she a good or a bad one. Men must talk—give them someihing to talk about.”’ _ Margaret watched her spirited face with secret fascin- ation. (yr)? as ti ; “Yon are reading me,” laughed madame, clanking her golden bracelet on her dainty wrist: ‘‘you are wondering what a woman of the world likeme wants with a saint like yourself, are you not ?"? “fam thinking that nodoubt you have a purpose in of the lady’s speech. Madame Hesslein waved her dainty hands in graceful “Quite wrong, Miss Walsingiiam,’’ she cried; ‘I have no purpose, as yet, save the pleasant ene of studying a daily disappointments, that when her friends returned at ee ee a can’t help my face veing like twenty other people’s in a breath, can I, Miss Walsingham ? but I would like to think that Chevalier Calembours had known me previously, for Lalways have a warm side to Frenchmen fora special reason.”? The chevalier was himself again, his doubts had fled, and he was laughing at himself for his momentary illu- sion. ‘Madame has explained the sweet hallucination,’? he said, Nand on heart. “We have not met, except in dreams. Ah! that we had been friends in those days of glory when I was the favorite of the Hungarian court, the Count of Calembours, owner of diamond’ mines! Mon Dieu! my homage was worthy ofits object then!’? Mon- sieur launched into his loftiest braggadocio, and madame listened well, and drew him out wih skill. “So monsieur was born‘in Hungary?’ “In Hungary, madame,’ aye “Have vou seen the pretty river Theiss?” “Hem! Yes, madame. 1 lived in Irzegedin.”’ “ “Ahl’? (with a mocking smile). ‘the sid ences of the et are particularly magnificent in that city, are they n “Madame is right. Madame must have been there.” “Oh no, my dear chevalier, else I should have Heard of Count Calembours, without doubt. And Chevalier de Calembours left his princely fortune behind when he came here to fight?” “Madame is a good listener.” ree é “Brave chevalier! but yon will return to your estates ?”’ “Without doubt, madame, when I am weary of glory.” “Admirable man!” cried madame, with a silvery laugh. ‘What an enviable lady your wife is.” err ne “Dear friend, I have no wife’”—({complacently.) “Js that credible? A young and handsome man with- out a wife? Oh, chevalier)? 7 “My wife,” with a frown, ‘my wife is gone long since.”’ “Alas, how sad! You must have been adored by her,’’ breathed Madame Hesslein. ; t “Ah, pawvrette, yes. She wearied me with that grand passion of hers.” : ; Madame's smiling face hardened into. a. stone mask, but her eyes Seemed to pulsate with smothered fire. “Wearied monsteur, did she??? (with a threatening smile into his eyes). ‘Silly, clumsy wretch!’ ae ale “No, no, madame,” la ‘ 0 hed the chevalier, “she w a pretty enus, but unsophisticated, unformed, somew vulgar.’ > pe! : “and your indifference bro e her heart—she love of you?” questioned madame, wickedly. © ~~ “No, no, madame,” laughed the ehevalier again. “She consoled herself. She ran away witha cotton lord from Manchester, and I heard of her no more.”’ oe “She was mad, she was a fool!’ cried madame, blandly mischeivous, “she should have polished her dull iustre, and recaptured the errant heart of her neble chevalier. { should have done so.” “You, exquisite madame!” sighed the chevalier, con amore. ‘Ah! but my wife was not clever like you, nor beautiful.’? ; “She was only affectionate ?’? whispered madame. “Only affectionate!” and monsieur bowed. : Again their eyes met, her’s streaming forth a bewilder- ing lire, his wistful and adoring,’ and though her words stung the Chevalier de Calembours, the victim could not choose but hover close, and closer to admire the serpen- tine grace of his tormentor, if Presently, becoming weary of the amusement, the syren sent him ior a chess-board, promising him a game of back- gammon for reward, ahd turning to Margaret, witha laugh of derisien, her excitement burst forth. “See how that man throws himself down to be tram- pled over by me,” she whispered, exultingly.. "See how he licks the dust from my feet! Ab, if 1 could only spurn him into ruin I would. doit.” She thrust her loveiy foot of. Andalusian grace from out its velvet folds, and contemplated it with a smile.. “I am more beautiful than that creature who loved him long ago on the banks of the Theiss, ami? Then by vir- tue of my bDeauty, I shall avenge her cause, and my own, i shall humiliate our noble count.” 4h a for a ‘nature which I cannot imitate. I have. been celebrated in my day, but not as you; women are your worshipers, women cry—‘noble, generous creature |’ women only en- vied me, and presumed to criticise; *twas men who gave me homage.”’ “Don’t jest, madame, upon my history, it yet may end in a tragedy,”’ said Margaret. ; “An,ah !’? breathed madam warningly, “‘you are one of those great-hearted, soft-souled women, who suiter af- fairs of the heart to trouble them. Don’t sutfer attairs of the heart to trouble you, Griselda the patient. When one hope dies, pursue another, and have a hew one every day. Ha! ha! Joliffe (my husband) used to say, ‘“‘Hono- riasees no trouble, for her heart is never at-home to grant aninterview.’ ” . “Your husband is dead ?”? asked Margaret, coldly. “Yes,andno. Dead tome these five years. though. Fact is, Miss Walsingham, (don’t feel horror-strickep) that Joliffe wasintolerably prosy, we had a quarrel, and 4 ran off, Why not? Smee then, we have got comfort- ably divorced, and I can marry as soonas J like again. Joliffe was.so jealous. Iimust not drive to the general’s. L must not walk with a senator, 1 must eschew the mili- tary, and the best witsof the day are military men. Hor- rors! I must devote myself to Joliife, and he only on the. embassy at, Wasnington.’? § ti Madene, appealed impressively to the icy Marga ret, i ~} « General Le _ here dec that you : 1e widow of a f Pha 0 , 1 ae sue said. ‘% “Does he indeed ?” cried madame, With the gusto of ha- bitual vanity, ‘then I shan’t contradict him—den’t you, Miss Walsingham. They must always faye about me wherever! go. lLamaccastomed to it; let them say what they choose. I please myself, and the world gives memy way; I’ve been North and South, East and West, and al- though I have seen trouble lhave ever trodden over it; no woman has ever gotinto the wrong box so often and come out of it to a higher grade; no woman has ever borne. so much scandal, and been popular in spite of ib; 1 survive itall, I eat, drink, make merry—am feasted, courted, and adored, and all—because I don’t let affairs of the heart vex me, Idon’t mope, and muse, and turn, melancholy as you (a good creature, too,) are doing.”’ The fine, small face of Madame Hessiein shone with wicked animation; her thin, scarlet lups parted in two beauty curves with a string of pearls between; with small glittering head poised on one side, the gorgeous parakeet studied the plain, tender creature before ler, and laugh- ed at such a contrast. § th jn is “Do you know why I am _ here?’ queried Margaret tremulously. Madame Hesslein smiled, and nodded. ‘All New York knows why the somber English dame is here,’’ she jibed, ‘for your stupid lawyer has bored the city for news of your Colonel Arana . “Mr, Davenport only does his duty.” Madame grimaced charmingly. ‘ «Duty !? she mocked, foh, Jaggernaut of good people's lives what unwilling Victims do ye crush veneaih your wheels in your heavenward maren.”) ; “Have you been crushed ?”? asked Margaret, smiling. “Oh no, Mr. Dayenport is too pompous to eXpect any- thing ofa woman. Stupid wretch.” “Had you known St. Udo Brand,’ cried. Margaret, blushing, ‘‘you could not laugh at nis destruction. He was bitterly proud, but he was true as steel.” “Was he so??? breathed madame, aud her green eyes grew black, ‘1 should have liked to meet him then. I have yet 10 meet the nran who is as true as steel. Griseloa, you are one who should win back a man—but, oh, you'll never do it ! never |’? A wild change swept over the fine face, her wondrous, globular eyes grew deep and passionate, and her beauti- ful hands were clasped in covert anguisl. “I pity your sad life, madame, if you have proved all false,’? said Margaret, with feeling, ‘for there are good men on earth I uoubt not,” re “The best die; the fairest, the most loved!” said madame, faintly. “Miss Walsingham, 1 had one son—ah!’’—she shivered and closed her eyes—“and he died miserably. I loved him, I did love him and he was my only consolation for many years.” She dashed her tears away and looked up sternly. ‘You make me talk to you, with your soft, | true face,” she exclaimed; bitterly, ‘and I must not talk. But mind, I’ve told you nothing, you can’t say that LT have narrated any of my history to you.” “I had riot thought of saying so,” replied Margaret. *Ah, you are a good soul, and [ iike you,” murmured madame, patting Margaret's hand with a touch like fall- ing rose-leaves. “So sweet, so heroic, so humble! you remind me of myseli-many years «yu iu old Austria, when I was in love with—-my destroyer!’’, Her face hardened, her green eyes glimmered with the deadly light of hate. | Ste turned or her momentary remorse with a heartless laugh, and rattled her collier of golden lockets. : “Hach-of these lockets,” sneered madame, ‘‘contains a victim to my power of fascination, [there were at leasta ddézen,] and the whole string of them was presented to me by an old vice admiral who fell in love with me at Barbadoes last winter, aud escorted me to the Bermudas when I went there. My good lady, that first foolish pas- sion of mine has so desrreyed my powers of mercy that I love to torture mankind and madden them with false ex- pectations, if only | mizht be revenged.” The beautiful lips of the iady suddenly compressed with a cruel expression, and looking up, Margaret betield the Chevalier de Calembours hurrying across the room to join them. - “Tne Chevalier de Calemnvours wishes to be presented to you,” said Margaret. hose gleaming, chrysolite orbs flashed a full upward glare in the chevalier’s face; he recoiled, he changed color, and became strangely silent. “So glad to meet the chevalier,” murmured madame, with an inimitable elegance of manner, Monsieur’s face relaxed, he drew near her, dazzled as with the eye of a rattlesnake. “Incomparabie madame, where have we met before?’ inquired ie, with soft insinuation, She honored him with a glance of astonishment and an artless smile. “Indeed 1 cannot say, chevalier,” she minced, “unless we’ve met in dreams.” “Pardon the presumption, madame, 7207 amie,” per- sisted the chevalier, growing very pale, *‘but I think we are not strangers.” Another cliange swept over Madame Hesslein’s ever- changetul face, all. resemblance of her late self disap- peared, and a bold, brilliant, haughty ereature sat in her place smiling with sapercilious amusement at the little Bohemian’s blunder. *] should indeed feel honored if monsgieur would recall thé circumstances of odracqusaintance,’” she said, bland- ly; “for lam frequently accostéd by strangers who vow that 1am known to them, and. who afterwards discover laugh, of wieked é Stern dislike which has settled upon your face ever since youiscoyered that ladded gambling to my other sins— 1 shall make you like me in spite of yourself. Come, chey- . that-my resemblinée to the pérson ‘they took me for was owing solely to tie Protwn- expressions of my face. She whispered it gayly to her sumptuous bracelets, turning and clanking the golden'shackle on -her shapely wrist; but her tine, small face was wild with malice. “You hate my friend, the chevalier, with a strange per- versity,”? remarked the disapproviug Margaret. | **Doubt- less that hapless woman. was much to blame as he. : “Ah, was she?’ breathed madame, turning pale. think he said that her only fault was her passionate love, — which his shallow soul wearied ef. Ob, Heaven! how ~ cruel you canbe! Her case, Miss Walsingham, is like my own—how keenly I can understand. such wrongs! Pshaw! I shall moralize no more. Ihave long, long ago left these stormy waves behind, and now float ona glassy sea, lit by rays of golden’ ambition.» 1 have buried the god of iuckless youth, poor Cupid, and t upon his grave the god of the Tnirties—yellow-faced Pluto. My motto is: ‘No heart, and a good digestion,’ and taking heed to its warning, l expect to. live, handsome as a/picture, to the age of old Madame Bellair, who— ee eI “ Lived to the age ofione hundred and ten, And died by a tall trom a cherry-tree then?” The chevalier returning with the chess-board, madame and fie enjoyed several hours oftheir game; she playing more games than that of back-gammon, although all her faculties seemed to be rin bi ated in winning the chev- ier’s golden ~ m bim, Which she did with mar- sou relish, sce oe with marvelous precision. arr ; - She ended heygame of backgammon -by transferring. < the last piece in the charmed chevalier’s purse to her\ own; and she ended her game of hearts by dropping the | net of bewilderment completely over poor Calembours; and then she thought of tightening the cord. _ *Poor Miss Walsingham,’ said madame, witharippling | glee; ‘I shali chase away that. look of “her accounts, which she did aliex; turn my music’? ; She strolled gracefnlly down the long drawing-room, attended by the elated chevalier, who had never been so happy in his life, and followed. by the wondering and ad- miring eyes of a score of both sexes; took her seat at the iano. { ; y But Margaret turned her back, and shut her heart against the bold and erring ereature, whose beauty was but the fatal bewitchment of ¢leyer wickedness; whose spasms of grief were the last expiring gleams of a better nature which she sedulously quenched. Madame played some airy, fairy nonsense, that her little hands might glamour the rapt chevalier in» their bird-lke glancings here and there; and then, with a de- fiant glance over her shoulder atcold Margaret Walsing- ham, She stole into a theme with sentiment, with soul in every chord. Ah, those strains of tender sadness! how they rose and fell in persistent plaint! how they mourned, and whis- pered of hope, and mourned again in hopeless accents! Then these waves of stronger passion—how they surged from grief to fury—how they gushed from beneath the glancing hands in menacipg sirains and conquering thun- der ! It was as if a Frederic Chopin sat before the keys, in- stead of that small Circe! : Tnen these songs;.so wild, so .carroling, so purely joy- ous—could Sapppe sing more buruingly of happiness and luve? Margaret forgot her chill disdain of, the perverted na- ture, forgot her own, heart treuble, even torgot St. Udo Brand io her trance ef rayishment; and unconscious that she didsso, rose and, stood, beside the wondrous St. Ce- cilia, Madame raised, her mock-simple eyes—they were not disappointed, Margaret was benuipg over her with a fas- cinated lace, and the chevalier was wrapped in his study of the fair muscian. “Thanks for that act of homage,” said Madame Hess- lein gravely to Margaret; then, dropping her tones, and rising: “1 thopght. L could make you like me. I came here, to this hotel, to make you lkeme, because I had something pleasant to tell yeu; and | never do a favor for any ope Who presumes to criticise me unfavorably. : Gris- elda, patient soul, come to my room and we shall talk.’ She drew the astonished Margaret's hand within her arm, gave a majestic bow to the flushed chevalier, and, jed tbe unresisting girlout of the drawing-room to her own luxurious apartinents, Hadame Hesslein and her maid did what they could to occupy half a dozen of the finest rooms in the - Ho- tel; and she showed her guest into the fairy-like boudoir with the airof a princess burn to such splendors; and seated her upon a velvet diven, tirowing herself beside her in the attutrde of a Clytie. “Now, my goud lady,” observed Madame Ilesslien, air- ily, “i have conceived, something like appreciation of your humdrum goodness, and since 1 see a good deai of intellect at the back of it, 1 am disposed to do you a good turn, heping that, charity-like, it may cover a multitude of my :sins.?? “What is itthat you haye to communicate?’ asked Margaret, earnestly. *‘How can it be that you, a stranger, have become acquainted with my concerns?’ “Pshaw! English exclusiveness again !’? mocked madame. “But 1 do know somewhat of your affairs, gen- tle Griselda. For mstance, | lear that you are searching for Colonel Brand, that you may make over your fortune to him. Now, Miss Walsingham, how can, you be so fooiish ?” “Madame, I only do my duty.” “Ugh! You horrify me with your. crucifixion of the flesh, you devotees of Duty.” “Culonel Brand is worth sacrificing life itself for,’’ said Margaret, with giowing eyes. Madame watched her with sudden interest. “Ah! L.thougnt so,” gurmured she, sadly; “you care for this man—you love him.” “Madame! deprecated timid Margaret, coldly. “Yes, I see it. Poor creature, you should not love any-. thing, do you know that?’ said madam, pityingly. “You are right,’? replied Margaret, wit’ a meck, quiet despair. “My plain face and manner will never win me love”? Madame Hesslein looked at,her with a curious smile—at the spiritual face, the soulful eyes, the tall, magnificent figure—and she patted Margaret’s hand with daaty ten- uerness. “Your humility is very prettily done,” said she, ‘and would really look well. on myself, for I have none-of it. But you mistake me; { meant, that singe love is, eternally being met with treachery, why do you waste 1%? and es- pecially upon such a poor parti as a colonel? Ileavens! she troubles her digestion about a colonel! Whyare you not more ambitious? If 1 were yon, | wouldn't look be- low a major-general. Idon’t intend to give myself to any man who can’t give me a lift in lifes Iam going to marry Vice-Admiral. Oldright, who . followed me to the Bermu- das. lhave worked hard to entyap him, and | bave suc- I! ceeded. 1 crossed the Atlantic five times fer his sake, and” > “T : or bo ER < egadas = ‘ompennens dang oR om, ee eiaseiuaiecee sealed aman I mean to get him; because, when he is an admiral andI am his wife, | shailtake precedence of all other women in my circle.” “Ambition is not worth a true woman’s pursuit,” said Margaret. “Well said, St. Griselda—such an apothegm deserves applause. Ah, well, Miss Walsingham, perhaps you are right, but you are not wise. You will stick to your colo- nel in spite of my advice? You will give him your for- tune, and live on your wits in future? Poor creature! However, 1 will not reproach you; for, as St. Chrysostom wrote to Pentadia, ‘I know your great and lofty soul, which can sail, as With a fair wind through many tem- pests, and in the midst of the waves enjoy a white caim.,’ You will depart on your Utopian enterprise, contented with the white calm of an approving conscience in the midst of the waves of starvation. Men are such beasts, they prefer the bold and grasping Kestrel like myself, to rewarding the fidelity of a ring-dove like Miss Walsing- ham.” Margaret was gazing breathlessly in the brilliant, heartless woman’s face, and her voice faltered as she asked: : “Can you send me onthat enterprise? Do you bring me news of Colonel Brand ?? 7 And madame, with a glance of pity in the passionate eyes, replied: “Yes, 1can. When at Key West, a month ago, I saw Colonel Brand driving out with a friend. Does that please you??? Margaret’s face was quivering with joy—with a noble triumph; she turned it from those scoffing eyes, and whis- pered a quiet ‘Thank God !? (To be continued.) —_——__—__ >- eo ___—___- Lucy Randall Comfort has been engaged to write for the New YoRK WEEKLY for some years to come. MP ARADRAR AIA Ae en eee New York, April 21, 1870. RDP DIDI LOO eam The Terms to Subscribers: One YeRr—Sinwls Copy. 6. Sikes oss oscc gig ee o's Three Dollars. ad ‘© Four copies ($2 50 each).............. Ten Dollars. 89 > RIGMY, CONICS wc cce ps tat pete nara Twenty Dollars. Those sending $20 for a clu of Eight, all sent at one time, will be entitled to acopy rrer. Getters-up of clubs can after- ward add singic copies at $2 50 each. All Letters must be directed to STREET & SMITH, Office 55 Fulton Street. Box 4896, N.Y. AN ANSWER TO COL. JUDSON’S APPEAL, My Temperance Brother, (for, as I am a temperance woman, I may call you brother)—I hasten to say, in an- swer to your appeal in the New YORK WEEKLY, that the cause you espouse is a noble one. I know of no greater vice on earth than that of intemperance; and as I look around me and see the devastating work on every side, I only wish that your pen might be one of fire to imprint on the drunkarda’s heart your words of warning, and stop them in their downward path to which strong drink will most surely lead them. There is no sin on earth that causes so much sorrow, misery and wretcli- edness as intemperance. Oh, go on ! and God grant that some heart may be reached, and some life saved from the drunkard’s fate. * I am pleased to say that all my friends take the WEEKLY, but as there is nothing on earth I hate so much as ‘‘rum,”’ I shall endeavor to have your story read by some who do not call themselves drunkards—and yet they drink of that cup which will yet lead them tosorrow. Messrs. Street & Smith, need have no fears in regard to “the subject’? of tempérance “being too dry.’? Go on, have no fears but that your story will be read, and I sincerely hope it will do much good. IzoLA STEVENSON, ———___—_>-6©+--_______—__ The Josh Billings Papers. " , TIGHT BOOTS, I would jist like tew kno who the man waz who fust invented tite boots. He must hav bin a narroW and kontrakted kuss. If he still lives, i hope he haz repented ov hiz sin, or iz enjoying grate agony ov sum kind. Lhav bin in a grate menny tite spots in mi life, but generally could manage to make them average; but thare iz no sich thing az making a pair of tite boots av- erage. Yu kan’t gitan average on the pinch ov a tite boot, enny more thian yu kan on the bite ov a lobster. — Enny man who kan wear a pair ov tite boots, and be humble, and penitent, and not indulge in profane litera- ture, will make a good husband. : He will do more than that, he will do to divide up into several fust klass husbands, and be made to answer for a whole naberhood. On! for the pen ov departed Wm. Shakspear, to write an anethema aginst tite boots, that would make anshunt Rome wake up, and howl agin az she did ence before on a previous ockashun. Oh! for the strength ov Herkules, totare into shu strings all the tite boots ov creashun, and skatter them tew the 8 winds of heaven. Oh! for the buty ov Venus, tew make a bigg foot look hansum without a tite boot on it. Oh! forthe payshunce ov Job, the Apostle, to nuss a tite boot and bles it, and even pra for one a size smaller and more pinchfull. Oh! for a pair of boots bigg enuff for the foot ova mountain. I hav bin led into the above assortment ov Oh’s / from having in mi posseshun, at this moment, a pair ov num- ber nine boots, with a pair ov number eleven feet in them. Mi feet are az uneazy az a dog’s noze the fust time he wears a muzzle. I think mi feet will eventually choke the boots to deth. Lliv in hopes they will. I suppozed i had lived long enuff not to be phooled agin in this way, but i hav found out that an ounce ov vanity weighs more than a pound oy reazon, espeshily when a man mistakes a bigg foot for a small one. Avoid tite boots, mi friend, az you would the grip ov the devil; formenny a man haz caught for life a fust rate habit for swareing bi encouraging hiz feet to hurt hiz boots. I hav promised mi two feet, at least a dozen ov times during mi checkured life, that théy never should be stran- gled agin, but i find them to-day az phull ov pain az the stummuk ake from a suddin attak ov tite boots, But this 1z solemly the last pair ov tite boots i will ever wear; i will hereafter wear boots az bigg az mi feet, if i have to go barefoot to do it. I am too old and too respektable to be a phool enny more. Eazy boots iz one of tlie luxurys ov life, but i forgit what the other luxury iz, but i don’t kno az i care, pro- vided i Kan git rid ov this pair ov tite boots. Enny man kan hav ihem for seven dollars, just half what they kost, and if they don’t make his feet ake wuss than an angle worm in hot ashes, he needn’t pay for, them. Methuseles iz the only man, that ikan kall tomind now who could hav afforded to hav wore tite boots, and en- joyed them, he had a grate deal ov waste time tew be miserable in, but life now days, iz too short, and too full ov aktual bizzness to phool away edny ov it on tite boots. Tite boots are an insult toenny man’s understanding. He who wears tite boots will hav too acknowledge the corp. Tite boots hay no bowells or mersy, their insides are wrath, and promiskious cussing. Beware ov tite boots. a‘ 2? 4G Every purchaser of music must have felt the need of just such a work as ‘Peters’ Musical Monthly’”—a musi- cal magazine—not simply so much printing. and paper, but a work combining quantity and quality; a musical magazine that could be subsoribed for with the same de- gree of confidence in its unpublished numbers, as one feels when subscribing for a New YorK WEEKLY, or any other first class journal. Suchis*the name that Peters has wonin the musical world for his ‘‘Monthly.’? The publisher had the prestige of his name in starting his new enterprise, and his magazine well sustains the world-wide reputation of his house. No musical family should be without it. —_——__ > 0+ TO NEWS AGENTS. We are printing a large edition of SHoo FLy for distri- bution by the News Agents. All Agents who forward their business cards, for insertion in the SHOO FLY, will be at once supplied with the number which they can distribute to advantage. —_—_—__~_ > @<+ ______ PROF. WM. HENRY PECK Will soon commence a new story in the NEw YORK WEEKLY, entitled “£15,000 RE- WARD, DEAD OR ALIVE.” -of their engage: THE BOSOM SERPENT. BY NATHAN D. URNER, Deep in my breast, with many a fold, It makes its loathsome lair, This heavy horror of speechless pain Goes with me everywhere. Sometimes it sleeps so still and sound, That I fondly deem it dead; But a thought, a word, and it wakes to life And lifts its hooded head; And the coils lash out, and the deadly eyes Their dazzling spiendors dart; And I shudder and moan to the depths of my soul, As the fangs go into my heart. I shun the look of a little child, When its look issweet and mild; For then the snake hisses down to my soul: “You, too, were once a child!” When I move among the pure and good, The innocent and gay, THis snake in my breast uprears its crest, And 1 tremble and turn away; For the eyes of the good are angel-like, The haunts of dark, unhappy thought, 7 And of passions wild and fierce. vd I cannot crush it by will or deed, By labor of hand or brain; : It kisses my heart in the dead of night With a kiss of clinging pain It writhes about with a hideous joy— If a snake could laugh, i¢ would; And twine and leap with the fiendish thought That my life is its daily food. The arching coils rise up tomy throat, Till I struggle and gasp for breath; And my brain is filled with dancing lights, Or shadows like those of death. Oh! many, many there are who bear Such horrors within their breast, I see them oft in the gayest throngs, And mark their wild unrest. Isee in their ¢yes that glitter of guilt, And they know that I look them through; And I hug myself with the solace drear That they have their serpents, too. Oh! for a prayer that would soar to Heaven— For a rolling Lethe to drown The memory of a life misused, And sweep this reptile down! For my soul, and my heart, and my lonely life Are by this horror beset— By the Basilisk of Remembrance— The Adder of Regret. KITTY HOLT’S PROPHECY.” BY HOPE HOLLY. They had been strawberrying over on the mountain side tnat heavenly June day, a merry party of a dozen or their pails and baskets were filled, so laughing and chat- ting they turned toward home. ‘ It was one of the happenings you have all noticed, that Ford Marcy and Kitty Holt strayed from the others and went their way alone, ; Grossing the meadow, Ford espied a tall bunch of swamp pinks, sweet and fragrant as Kitty’s breath, and pure as her loving heart, so Ford told her as he gathered a branch and placed it in her rosy stained fingers, Kitty broke off a bunch of the creamy bloom, and drew — a through Ford’s buttonhole, saying with a little ugh: “Keep it Ford for an amulet. Like the prince in the ‘Arabian Nights,’ while 78 wear it you will be safe; but lose it and ail sortsof misiortunes will come flocking about you.” “What misfortunes, fair sybil?” Ford asked, in the same bantering tone. . : “OQ, the same, of course, that always come to the young. You did not think that I was proplhesying a bald head and the rheumatism, did you? You are to lose your for- tune and your lady love.” “My fortune would be no great loss, and I have great faith in the constancy of my lady love,’’ he returned, and his arm stole around Kitty, and he kissed her red lips behind the bayberry bushes. ‘I am sure you love me too weil, Kitty, to let any slignt thing come between us.” “] wonder Ford what would be strong enough to part us,” Kitty said, musingly, lovking up in her lover’s eyes. “Nothing less than death, I think,’? Ford answered stasy to Kitty, and her face was hidden on his heart as she answered: / “When the maples are yellow and the oaks are brown, Ford, I will be your wife.” “Heaven bless you, little Kitty! You shall never re- pent that promise.”’ ; : . They waiked home happily as ever lovers walked, and when they parted ut Farmer Holt’s door, Ford whispered: “Remember, Kitty, when the maples are yellow and the oaks are brown.” : And Kitty flushed again and returned: “Be sure you do not lose my amulet.” “Who do you suppose I saw at Squire Marcy’s to-night, Kitty?’ asked. Tom Holt, Kitty's big brother, as he came up the walk, about ten that evening. “I guess: you saw Fanny Sweetser when you arrived there with her,’ Kitty laughed in reply. Tom’s brown face colored a little deeper, for it was not the first sly thrust Kitty had given him on his very evi- dent admiration for the squire’s pretty niece, “Who else??? he asked again, “Tell me.’ “Delia Manton.?? ‘What in the world brings her there?’’ “She comes for her health she says, but I fancy if the squire had no son she might look for her health in some other direction; if I remember aright, she never took particularly to Lansby society when she iived ‘here.”’ “No, indeed,”? returned Kitty, a little petulantly, ‘she was always a proud, cold thing, whom nobody liked.” “She is very rich now that her father is dead,” said Tom again. ‘At any rate she was dressed like a queen to-night. You must look sharp for her Kitty, or she will carry oif Ford before your very eyes and marry him, She is certainly very handsome.” “It’s too provoking,” said Kitty, pouting. ‘She'll take up all Fanny’s time, 1 suppose.”’ : “And Ford’s, possibly,” retorted Tém, as he passed on and went up stairs to bed. Kitty remained in the door half an hour longer, think- ing of what Tom had said. She had perfect confidence in Ford, and Tom would not have said it if hehad known ent. Nobody knew that. They had only been engaged a week, and Kitty was waiting for Ford to speak to ner father about it; but Tom thought it was a good way to get even with his teasing sister. The next afternoon, according to promise, Kitty went over to visit Fanny. Delia Manton wasin the parlor. Dashing in look and in dress, Sparkling with jewels, she quite eclipsed Kitty in her neat pink lawn and white, ruffled apron. Yet a deep- seeing person would have found more beauty in Kitty’s chestnut curls and bright hazel eyes than in the rather coarse features and chalked skin of the other. “Ford was not at home—would not be till evening—just in time to escort Kitty on the way home,” Fanny said, laughing. Miss Manton opened wider her large, black eyes at sig of Kitty’s blush, and settled languidly back in her rocker. May I show Kitty your lace scarfs ?’’ Fanny asked, by- and-by. Miss Manton graciouly assented, and led the way to her room. A sweet, familiar fragrance filled the air, and Kitty, looking about her, discovered its source in a bunch of snowy pinks in a ruby vase upon the bureau. Noting the direction of her visitor’s glance, Miss Man- ton explained: ‘Ford gave them to me last night. Sweet—aren’t they?” ee answered, with a little tremble in her voice: “Very. ” She did not go into raptures over the elegant scarf, but she was forced to adtmit that Miss Manton’s Detnine —" looked very graceful draped with its delicate length. It was not a very merry afternoon for Kitty. She was wondering in her mind how Ford could give away her flowers after all they had said about them last night. Before dusk Kitty expressed her determination to go home. Fanny begged her to wait till Ford, came home; but Kitty did not wish to meet him that night, So, the squire, finding her resolved, offered to take her home in his buggy—he was going right past the door, “How do you like Delia?* he asked, as they rode slow- ly along the winding road. “She is very handsome.’? “Make Ford a good wife—don’t you think so?” “I don’t know,” Kitty answered, confusedly. “It has all been arranged for several years,’”? Mr. Marcy said, confidentially; “and Ford seems to be coming to the point at last. I shall be glad when they are married, for I want to get the farm off my hands, and I fancy Delia will be ready when Ford says the word. What’s the mat- ter, Kitty? You are shivering. I guess the wind is getting east.” Kitty answered never a word till the squire bade her good-night at the door. Then she ran into tne kitchen, and dropping upon the floor, laid her headin her moth- er’s lap, and cried. “What is it, Kitty?’ asked Mrs. Holt alarmed, for it was seldom that lively Kitty cried. And they must be Keen to pierce q ways lived there since. more boys and pon Now the sun was. going down and | solemaly. 5 Ree id Kitt ‘w closer shudderi Sond ts - “0, Ford, Bis Bi. get gion of-guch dreadfut’ The clasp of his arm and the light in his eye were ec- |° “Let me go away, mother! all the answer she could get. “Where do you want to go, my child?” “QO, anywhere—lI do not care where, only away from here! Let me go downto Aunt Mary’s!? Kitty persisted in her request, and before bed-time she had gained her parent’s consent. Aunt Mary lived two hundred miles away, in a neigh- boring State. She was an aunt of Kitty’s mother, un- married, old, rich, and an invalid. She was delignted with her pretty niece, with her neat dress and quiet ways; and so tiie visit was prolong- ed again and again, till five years had slipped away, and Kitty was twenty-two, Then the old lady died, and Kitty returned to Lansby. Mrs. Holt was growing old, and Tom had taken Fanny Sweetser home long before, aud there was a three year old Kitty Holt pattering about the house, and a baby in the cradle, Squire Marcy and his wife were both dead, and the old house shut oF About Ford Kitty asked no questions; but one after- noon Fanny volunteered the information that he was practicing law in a neighboring city. “You see,’ said Fanny, ‘‘Uncle Marcy’s place was heay- ily mortgaged, and he tried to make a match between Ford and Delia, that her money might relieve him; but, /somehow, he could not bring Ford to ls way of thinking. ‘Then uncle died, and the place had to go. I think that ‘as what killed aunt. She had come there a bride, and Her children were all born eré, and there all but Ford had died. When she lost her husband and her home, she lost gree hing, and the shock was too much for her. I believe Ford blamed himself when it was too late. When everything was settled, there wasn’t a cent left, and how he ever got through his stuad- ies 1am sure] don’t know. But the city don’tagree with him at all, and his health has suffered terribly. e have invited him to come out and fry tne effect of home air. That night Kitty sat long in the dusk by the window breathing the perfume of the early roses outside and thinking, thinking. She lighted alamp after a while and went to the en A little taller, a little older and a trifle graver than the Kitty of old was the picture she 3aw there; but the eyes were as bright, the bloom as fresh and the red lips as smooth and full. c Then she opened a drawer in her desk and took outa folded paper. There was nothing in it but a few dried leaves and a cluster of wrinkied and yellow flowers. She folded it again ina moment, saying softly: “You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will.” But the scent of the roses will cling round it still.” Two days later Ford came. If Kitty had noted a difference in herself what could she think of this transformation ? Instead of the brown-faced, smooth-cheeked farmer jad, she looked up to a rather pale and very intellectual face witha heavy growthof brown whiskers, and the first glance showed the polish of a gentleman, Fanny introduced them: “Mr. Marcy, Miss Holt. anyeed to think you very inti- mate friends.’ -Tnen their eyes met for an instant as Ford said some- thing about hoping to renew the old friendship, and a pinker tinge crept up to Kitty’s forehead at the thrilling touch of his fingers. sf - After tea Ford and Tom sat down in the back porch to oke and talk, and Kitty busied herself with putting her ittle namesake to bed. a "She was. easy that night. She could fot work, and she read. ; e I want to go away !”? was . Her mother and ° at work int , and she could not talk to with- out putting herself in Ford Marcy’s way. So when the little blue-eyed girl had fallen asleep Kitty sauntered down the meadow path inthe .moonlight, through the bars and out among the clumps of bayberry bushes. A fragrance like a sweet reminder of the olden time came on the soft evening air. High apove her head the pinks were oh toeir spicy clusters. Kitty stood still looking up at them. “The very same clump,” she said aloud. ‘Ah, Ford Marcy, how could you say such deceitful words to me?’ - Then she tried to reach the blossems, but they were too high, and the stems were,.stout and unbending; but a hand higher-reaching, and stronger than her own, seized the bough and broke off cluster after cluster of the fragrant bloom, and a voice—the same well-remembered voice, but deeper and richer—said:' “Why did you think my words were deceitful, Kitty?” “Because 1 saw the flowers I gave you upon Miss Manton’s bureau, and your ‘father told me that your marriage with her was ailarranged. That was suili- cient,’”? answered Kitty, decidedly. ° “But it was not sufficient, Kitty. I did not give her the flowers, she took them from my room, and the marriage was only arranged by the old people. Inever loved Delia Manton, and she was iong ago married. I have waited for you, Kitty. Havel waitedin vain?’ _ His arm crept close avout her waist and his bearded lips sought her cheek in the old sweet way, and Kitty Holt laid her brown head against his whiskers, the hap piest girl in Lansby. : “The maples have been yellow and the oaks brown five times since we stood here before Kitty, and we have waited long enough, have we not, my darling?’ Ford hig! 1 could i nebas whiners: ie Nsy oer and Kit F dance over th green sward through tie | § kissed her as he whispered: es» . /| long br sof summer, — BITS SG Re. A Vad “You are to be all my own a great many years before And when the'soft wind bri p fromthe meadows | as that, 1 hope, darling. “And now, Kitty, when will you | the sweet breath of the F ees J Marcy tells his wife | come to me? Tell me to-night, love, and let it be svon,.” | witn a laugh ibisthe refrain of her prophecy. Leon Lewis will soon commence a new story in our col: umns entitled “THE FLOWER OF Supa.” Items of Interest. kay During a strike of the printers at Pesth, Hungary, the proprietors of one of the papers invited the suoscrib- ers to a large hall, where all the manuscripts of which the journal would have been composed, had the printers not stopped work, were read aloud. This might answer for papers of small circulation; a not for the New YorRK WEEKLY. Fancy some thunder-toned speaker, like Ed- win Forrest, endeavoring to muke himself heard by half a million subscribers! _ ; ' eile ka The wealthiest widow in the world is Queen Victo- ria, whose annual allowance from the British government is £385,000, to which must be added £25,000 from the duchy of Lancaster—making a total of £410,000 per an- num. Sheinherited over £100,000: from her husband, Prince Albert, who died on the 14th of Dec., 1862. As she has not spent one-third of her allowance since the death of the Prince Consort, it is estimated thatshe is worth £2,000,000. : + ie . “a> A clergyman in Berkshire, Mass., deducted 90 cents from the wages of a servant-gi ho was working at $1.50 per week, because her friend, another servant-girl, lodged with her one night. We believe it was a Berk- shire widower that objected to paying F, for digging a grave for his deceased wife. ‘What! he exclaimed! “you ask two dollars for digging a grave in tnat soft spot? ; 4@=- Mr. Fechter, the actor, excels all others in one re- spect—rapid utterance. Even the late Charles M. Wal- cot, as Caleb Quotem, couldn’t am up with him. Fech- ter’s hurried delivery, in the part of Claude Melnotte, as performed recently at the Brooklyn Academy, made a triend of ours term him a “short-hand actor.’ Certain it is that a knowledge of phoneties 18 necessary to under- stand some of his passages. #@- A religious old lady, living in Muskegon, Mich., wrote a private letter to a friend, in which she stated, “We can’t go to meeting this weather; but the minister stopped with us three days; we gave him ten pounds of butter and a ham, and you'd better believe we kept him praying while he staid.” ' , a) 4a The English papers report that in New Sonth Waies a larger proportion of persons are married, a larger pro- portion of cnildren born and a smaller proportion of per- sons die than in any division of the Uniteud Kingdom, or in France, Austria, Italy or Spain. . kas The flight of a hawk, when its powers are fully ex- eried, has been lated at 150 miles an hour; and of the eider duck, 90 miles. The American carrier pigeon will ay a mile a minute, and the albatross ninety miles an our. 4G The worst sold man in America lives at Laiayette, Indiana. He has been winding up a clock every night for seventeen years and fouad out that it was an eight-day clock. ka New York State has 914 lodges of Good Templars, coutaining 74,308 members. This looks well for the tem- perance cause, f ka Cincinnati is swe with importance, and pro- poses to annex suilicient of thesuburbs to make it a city of forty-two square miles, Pi 4a> An undertaker in @ town in Vermont having aban- doned his undertaking for the @hoé business, invites the custom of his old patrons. i % 4a> St. Louis now measures fifteen miles from her northern to her southern limits, In annexing Carondelet, its dest was assumed, which amounts to $230,000. ka The box-office keeper of Brigham Young's theater takes chickens in pay for tickets, and makes change with eggs. ka The florist who succeeds in producing a blue danlia can take the £20,000 prize deposited in the Bank of England by an enthusiastic bontanist. 45> At the Charlestown Navy Yard, on Saturday, with the morning gun there was a Simultaneous discharge of a large number of laborers. dertaker to the Erie Railroad.’’ As an offers to do the work at wholesale prices, 4a Corn-shelling is now done for the Illinois farmers by persons who travel from farm to farm with a machine. #a> Liquid ammonia, injected into the veins, has proved a successful cure in the most critical cases of snake bites. 4a=- An Italian edition of the Bible—the first since the Retormation—has just been published in Florence. inducement, he Be Mary Kyle Dallas will seon commence a new series of articles in the NEw YORK WEEKLY. 4as- A droll fellow advertises for the position of ‘‘Un- SLEIGH BELLS. BY EDWARD MINTURN. “The bells, the merry bells,”"—how sweetly they rang out on the clear, moonlit air one sharp February night, of the present year, up in the grand old hills of Broome county, where I went to visit some dear cousins that I had not seen for “‘an age’’—as one may say. It was George Kelley who drove up, with his well- matched team and his slender little wife, with room for just two more and an invitation as warm as his own big heart, for us to drive over to Whitney’s Point, at the junc- tion of the Canandaigua and Otselic rivers. “Cousin Helen, will you go?’ I asked, turning to the merriest of the lot, one Who had seen shadows, but had seen them pass away and turn to an even more glorious sunshine. “Yes, Cousin Edward, if you wish.”’ And Cousin Edward did wish. ‘The furs, and shawls, and tippets, and hot brick for the feet, ever thought of in the country, were soon put on and into the sleigh we bundled. “Jingle-jingle came the music of more bells, and up came Juddie C. with la belle Florence, and Vincent J. with Fanny H., and the party was complete. The bells rang a merry chime as we slid away after the swift horses, and the belles in the sleighs sang many a cheery roundelay as we flew over the glittering snow. On past Glen Aubrey, and then we began to ascend the hills that tower above the banks of the fair Otselic. The wind blew sharp from the northwest and the light snow in places began to pile in drifts. “Look out behind—look out for a capsize!” cried George, with a gay laugh, as he plunged into a drift. Scarce had tne words left his lips before there was a sudden whirl in his own vicinity and over went his sleigh, and out went we with a laugh and shiver into the blind- ing, driving snow. And to follow our fashion was but the work of a second for those behind, and such floundering, such screaming, such laughing, one seldom hears mm this vale of life. Oh! it was fun, it was indeed. A little cold without, but what of that. Warm hearts throbbed within and the merry music was not chilled by any of the wordliness which makes fashionable life so icy. In a little while we were all right once more, and on we went faster than ever, until we reached Carl Allen’s, at Whitney Point, where a roaring fire, hot coffee, de- licious crullers and mince pie, made by his pretty wife irene, put us all in the best of condition for a homeward ride in the small hours of the morning. If we were not members of the church we should have had a dance I Know, but we got along very well with song ana story and had “a time’’ which will never be for- gotten by ws at any rate. AS every body takes the NEw YORK WEEKLY up this way, the record of our sleigh-ride will go the rounds we kKnow—but it is true, and we don’t care if it does. Mrs. Helen C. Fisher, author ot The Unloved Wife, will soon commence her new story. To Correspondents. Gossip WITH RxrapErRS AND CoNTRIBUTORS.— Ajax.—ist. The days of the week were named by our Saxon an- cestors after the idols which they worshiped. The following is the origin of the names: Sunday takes iis name from the idol of the pun, which was worshiped on that day; Monday is from the Moon, which was worshiped on the second day of the week; is called after the idol Tuisco, and the day was called by the Saxons Tuisco’s Deag; Wednesday derives its name from Woden; Thursday trom Thor; Friday from Friga, the wife of Woden; and Saturday from Seater. Wefully des- cribed the idols trom which the days of week take their names in No. 28, Vol. XXIV. 2d. Isinglass isa very pure form of gelatine or animal jeily, prepared from certain parts of the entrails of several fish. hen removed from the fish the en- trails are washed with cold water and exposed to the air for a short time to make them stiffen. The outer skin js then remoy- ed, and the remainder cut out and twisted loosely into rolls, ac- cording to the size required. The article which is much used im stoves and lamps, and commonly called “isinglass,” in no way resembles that article, as it isa mineral. It is found in de- posits of shales, sandstones, and other sedimentary deposits, and enters into the composition of most of the eee, rocks. lts poner name is mica. You write a fair hand..,... EG. D.— We are not in possession of the information...... Furniture,—ist. Itis the gentleman's place to speak first when meeting a lady acquaintance. You should make a personal call and in- quire the reason why no answer had been received. 3d, There are many sales—bogus and otherwise—of second-hand furniture in this city, aud there appear to be more people ee in the business than are necessary to do it all... ..P. W. H—Your pracuee in writing does not seem to be very careful, as your pady ting 13cm uniformity. Ifyou would be a good penman, commence slowly, form every letter pertectiy, and avoid ail ornamentation. :... A .—We know of no such records, consequently cannot inform you where to procure them...... Black Shark—We not......James Dorset.—You can find the will, if a will was lose 8 the proper office of record in your county. If your grandtather left aught to your tather his heirs can recover it. ‘no will was lett, then your father’s heirs are entitled to his sbare, which they can recover by suit at Jaw. You should consult a lawyer...... W. S. B.—A quack...... a W.—Go to your family doctor and have nothing to do with Pi shet, San Franciseo.—Iist. A medicine that Would compe air to grow on baid heads ¢ Yr in a fortune to. overer. No such i not but - ae et m Pegoered, 2d. che use of t injurious, but especia a he. ) Yr "4 was serg TE I S oy. eo of the world ase J e, o> ustrelia 714,- do not regard States, tak he U w more tovacco in tee orate 13,968,000 Ibs. we: the second heaviest tobacco raisil w 108,102,000. 4th. 7 ulturists claim that both coffee and tea can be raised m e Dao States, 5th. Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass., and) oliege, New Haven, Conn., are the most celebrated ats of learning in the Unijed States. 6th. We cannot give the t pararrest ite, as we have no other data to de- that of the census of 1860, when the following ged in the following order as to population: New adelphia, Brooklyn, Baltimore, ‘Boston, Cincinnati, t. Louis, Chieago, Buffalo, Newark and Louis- fs yscian none other..... learn would be calls nks this city ..... Karl iendon.—A sét Of quacks...... K. F. J.—No trouble will attach to yon. ou have given up the practice. W: w Phisay tela titan the open air = mach as b tritious food, avoid tobacco and alcohol, and take a bath in cold water two or three times a week...... is,—Ist. Evi- dentiy you are troubled with catarrh of the pose. If you want .to get raged of a-gooa ysic ‘the nostrums of quacks, and seek the advice ian. 2d. In almost every number of the New “York WEEKLY fora yeur past, a recipe for the cure of piniples ‘has been published. We have not room to repeat the informa- tion every week. 3d. To gain admission to the Union you must be twenty-one years of age......Blue Bird.—We are sincerely sorry that we cannot give a recipe which would be aspecific for the pangs of “love despised; but we know of no medici which will cure a “‘mind diseased. pluck from the brain ‘rooted Sorrow,” nor of any certain salve for a heart that has ‘been Wounded by the tender passion. Time, however, is gene- rally very affective in removing all traces of the wounds from Cupid arrows....... S. C. R.—\st, Were a lady to treat usin the way which you were treated, we should think that our com- any was not wanted. 2d. It would depend on circumstances. f the visitor is the young lady’s admurer it would show consid- eration for the feelings of both did you retire after the lapse of a few minutes:...... G. B.—ist. The hat snould be raised, when a gentieman is bowing to a lady, with the left hand, so that the right may be tree to shake hands. 2d. The story is out of print. a goat W. R. Winchester.—Nimrod was a grandson of Ham, and is supposed to have been the founder of Babylon. He is also sup- posed to be the first king and the first conqueror. In the scrip- tures he is called “ta mighty hunter before the Lord.”’...... Maud ol.—ist. Your handwriting fits you tera copyist. Copyists cannot, if kept constantly at work, make more than a living. 2d. Ifa married woman goes into business she should use her roper name. A woman’s name is never Mrs. John Smith, but Mew Mary Smith, or whatever other name she received when christened. 3d. The story will not be republished...... A. Scrin- ton.—Ist. We should think that by as one made under your own'supervision you would be bestsuited. 2d. We have not the least knowledge us to What a wagon would cost. You must receive a license from.a U.S. Assessor, which costs $10, and in some of the States you will be compelled to pay a State license, or you cannot exhibit. 4th. The composition of the note is gra- matically correct, and the penmanship is fair...... Edna Verne. —We do not believe it possible. 2d. You write a fair hand...... Curious.—The stories may betrue, We have in our own time seen sume malformations almost as extraordinary as those of which you speak........ H. B. Fosdick —Ist: You do not state clearly what you want to know concernin we have not the space to print it entire. to Fernandinia, Fla........ B.C. D.—A quack...... . D. : Your writing would not keep you trom obtaining a bookkeeper’s situation ..... kt. C. Stephens.—Salt_is a mineral, and the only | minéral which enters into the food of man. Incountries situat- ed near the sea coast, common salt is frequently obtained by the evaporation of mines; but this sea sait is notof as fine a Kind as that of the sea-water or salt springs... P. Nadig.—We ¢an give no recipe which will keep the bair from growing on the face; nor can any such recipe be given which would not at the same time destroy the skin. .. Enos Consand.—The of March will oc- cur and has happened on Sunday. In 1849 the 4th March occur- red on Sunday, and Zachary Taylor was inaugurated President of the United States on Monday, the 5th...... A Hunter.—ist. The best part of the West for hunting is on the line of the Pacific railroad, between Omahaand Cheyenne, Tnhisis not the season for trapping, which always is best in fall and winter. The neighborhood oi the head waters of the Yellowstone is the best trapping ground. 2d. The passage by emigrant train to Chey- enne isabout $50. Circus.—Yourneice can recover the money which she signed away. The lawis that minors cau dono act tothe injury of their property. In case one should do so, he or she may repudiate itor rescind it on arriving of age. Every contract which is to his or her injury is void; and any contract that is uncertain, whether injurious or beneficial, is voidable or not as he orshe may choose. Ifaminor be coaxed, cajoled or forced into an unwillitg contract, he or she may repudiate it on becoming of age......F.ora B.—We do not know of any way in which a lady can become acquainted with a gentleman when she does not know any one who is acquainted with him. ... . Matthew R, McPharlow.—Col. Judson is a member of most of the different orders of temverance m the United States. That Col. Judson has been a hard drinkeris well known; but for nearly four years he has not touched anything which contained alcohoL Since he has become a ntember of a temperance so- ciety he has given all his time, not employed in literary labors, to furthering the advancement of that cause. We know many temperance men, but not one that is more sincere, more earn- est, or more enthusiasuc in battling the foe of morality, of ace of happiness—intemperance.......... A Disabled Soldier .— he man isa quack,..... B. Summers.—ist. We do not think that you could make a living by engaging in the manufacture of the rticlesnamed. 2d. By starting a news agency, you would probably be able to earn a living. Before starting in the busi- i s the bounty law and . It costs $20 to go ck L. ness you should go among your neighbors and learn how ae of them will take papers trom you, and what papers they will buy. The business requires but little money, and if you are at- tentive you will find that it will gradually increase. 3d. Part of the district of country is well fitted for raising garden truck; but some of it isso sterile that no amount of manure would make the land return a decent percentage on the labor and money expended. 4th. The highest speed which has been at- tained on any railroad fora few miles together, is 93 miles an hour. A speed of 68 miles is made daily for short distances, and sometimes even of 78 miles an hour. The average speed on the English roads is ahouttwenty-fire per cent. greater than on those of the United States. This is owing to the superiority of the English roads toourown. In England, the construciion of the roads have averaged a cost of $1 a mile, while in the United States, where labor and materials are both dearer, the THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #-- average cost has been about $40,000 a mile........ Pechabile.—Ist. We believe not. 21. A letter addressed to the genticman, care or the New YorK WEEKLY, will reach him. 3d. He can be en- paged to lecture by temperance societies. 4th. A Jady should on the inside of the walk when incompany witha gentieman —that is, when they start; butin a city itis nighly ridiculous for a gentleman to be droppimg his lady’s arm, every time they turn a corner, so that he may recover his base on the outside lines...... Reporter.—\st. By making personal application. 2d. Yes. 3d. By getting works on phonography and studying them. ia.—Nimrod, Cid, and Aster would be appropriate names....../ A Friend.—The story will appear just as soon as our arrangements will permit...... T. C. Parkins.—\st. There is such a firm in this city. 2d. Your penmanship is good. 3d. The story wi)l be published in the present volume. .....Beeswax.—“Buffalo Bill” can be obtained only in the columns of the New Yor«K WEEKLY. The story will not be published in book form...... : Tyons,—The familiar term “Yankee,” applied by foreigners to all the inhabitants of the United States, aud by the people of the United States to the residents of the six New England States, 1s supposed to be acorruption of the word English by the North American Indians, who pronounced it Yenghees or Yanghees Thais Charles H.—Neither the readers of the NEw York WrEKLY nor its proprietors take sufficient interest in prize fighters to care when or at what place one of the brutes pummeled a te1- low brute...... John Jones.—\st. Both the men are dead. 2d. We will soon commence the publication of a story by Margaret Blount’ 3d. Yes. 4th. One of the most commonplace of twad. diers..... E. T. Carver,—\st. There are several tamilies of the name residing in the streetnamed. 2d. You write a pretty good hand. 3d. We return you our thanks for your efforts in Behait of the New York WEEKLY......K. F. J.—Quacks...... G. H. 0.— Ist. Alad should have toomuch manliness to feel offended at the innocent fun of young girls. 2d. A iad of sixteen should be attending to his studies, instead of thinking of escorting misses of fourteen...... Db. E. C.—You went to the mght place to eniist. We were not aware that recruiting for the navy had been stopped, as we see bills posted up catling on men to enlist. This may be but a dodge, however, of the recruiting agents.......... Awnings.—lst. The piece of timber contains 60 feet. 2d. Your writing 1s good......Admiral.—Not at present........ Luzern.—We know nothing about the firm...... Idand City.—A quack instito- tion......Subscriber.—There are several makers of telescopes in this city; but it is against our rules to publish places of businces in this department... .Dan Beaumont.—\st. "aul quacks. 2d. Fer- fectly proper. 3d. There are now 37 States in the Union fhe following have been admitted since 1860; Kansas, in 1861; West Virginia, in 1862 Nevada, 1n 1864; and Nebraska, in 1867. 4th. Etiquette makes itthe partof the gentleman to give the firsr sign of recognition on meeting a lady acquaintance. 5th. You write but a commonplace hand...... lte—We cannot... ... YF ak J. B. Enos.—From one to ten dollars......4. M. W.—The proper word to use in the sentence quoted is “me.”...... Ramon —The best way to acquire a knowledge of music is io get ine aid of a competent teacher. Ofcourse, without such assistance you can learn the notes, and perhaps play on some instrument fairly; but you will never be a skillful player unless you have had a good teacher...... Silas Wegg.—We have not space in our columns to give the names of the various Emperors of Rome, of whom there were somewhere near seventy... .- Far We#t.—The best work youcan go at is whatever offers tor you to do—if it be farming, logging, carpentering, etc., go at it with a will. Those who go to the west determined to -work at anything tbat offers generally succeed in advancing their fortunes; while those who will not work unless they can choose their employment are al, most certain to tail...... G. D.—We think that all “divorce Jaw- yers” are unreliable—utterly unworthy of the least contidence. Josephus.—Both the individuals named are quacks........... 4 Sufferer.—Ist. A quack. 2d. The medicines sold by nim are those used by his school of physiciaus....4£ Aa, B,—Ist. On one side of the paper only. 2d. It 1s not necessary in a legat pome of view; but common honesty demands that you should receive the author’s. consent...... Sculptor —The only honorabie course for you to pursue is to go tothe lady and mform her that you no longer love her. Youcannot craw! out of your engagement honorably. If she is satisfied to give you up, as we have not the least doubt she will be, then you will be :elieved from turther attempts at discovering tonorable ways, which are not straigiit- forward nor manly ways, of breaking the engagement....... .. Don Pedro.—ist. American coins are stamped. 20. Gold for coinage and jewelry is alloyed with copper....Hich gan Reader. —lIst. The deed can be in hisown name; but Bo business man will seil land toa minor, Whocan at any time break the con- tract. 2d. The firm is an honorable one... .ZInnocence Mcuinnis, —Ist. Mario is the most celebrated of living male singers. 2d. We have never heard of any such vocal feat being performed. Muggins.—1st. Had you given the number of the paper it would opesgpeen forwarded. 21‘. Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, whose story. “Leighton Homestead,” is now running tireugh our columns, is the author of “Sunshine and Shadow.” 3d. There would not be the jeast harm in marrying a second cousin. 4th. You must apply atastore where music books are sold...... J. C. Harper-— We cannot add to our list of paid contributors...... J. F. Larkin. —The story was published in the Literary A ose. -+-. POEMS. — Milton’s, of the three named, would be much the best; but we think a lady would appreciate Tennyson’s more...... Artington. —ist. In the game of euchre, where the partner assists the deal- er can play ‘alone’ with some players; but the best players of the gamein this vicinity do not per, uit of the dealer playing alone after his partner assists. ou can deal in euchre either two rounu and then three, or three round and then two, just as = please. But if you deal the first player two, you cannot deal the next player. three Sur r.—Iist. The best way to obtain employment is to advertise. . We do not an- dertake to point out the best works on this and that science, as it is impossible for us to keep the run of all the publications on the arts and sciences. ...Cincinnati.—The best wayis to follow your taste, and ee yourself toa sign and ornamental painter Jas. D.—The best authorities on etiquetie decide that it is the place of the gentlemen, when meeting a lady ac- quaintance, to make the first sign ot recognition...... Dulins.— We know sotbing concerning either of the firms n Verona.—Ist. A normal school is an establishment for the edu- cation of teachers. There isone at Albany in this State, and most of the States of the Union have » schools, which are supported by State appropriations. 2d. English blank verse is in the heroic measure, wloch isan iambic of five teet. Gould Brown says: “It is, per the only measure suitable for blank verse.” If the line contains more than five short and five long syllables, the measure 1s not correct...... Thos, Rothwell—\st. It is in the very worst taste for a gentleman to appear in a public ge hojlding the hand of aljady. Heshonid give her his arm. . When men and woinen goto church, they are supposed to go there for devotional purposes, and not to study the tripperies of etiquette. 3d. Tne largest stones used yn the construction of the pyramids could be lifted by power now in use, but not to the hight of some of the pyra one of which is 450 feet high Fort Mohave.—ist. A quac 2a. You w We 8. + ae you —— “grate Re are acquainted, in company witha ; ‘should raise — hat when bowing to him out ths the in his com DID. 49 A, H. Q.—Apply to n News Co. for on etiquette. It they have them not on hand they will get them for you.... 9) —Ist. See “Know Box,”’ in No. 17, for yiamat bens inks. 2d. The toHlowing are the twelve largest cities in the worjd: London, Yeddo (or Jeddo), Paris, Pekin, Canton, New York, Constantinople, Philadelphia, St. Petersburgh, Vienna, Berlin, and Madrid. 3d. Robert Stephen- ON: 2. ..s Louis Leick.—\st. The story was written by the first a named. 2d. The name Geraldive is pronounced thus: er-al-deen...... Oneida.—Youths are eligible to West Pouit be- tween the years of 16 and 21...... Jacob inp ie If he does not jump all he forfeltsthe man. 2d. Ask her if she will honor you withhercompavy. 3d. Quacks. 4th. Letitgo. 5th. We should look ore it as an intimation that our company was not desired. An Old Reader.—There is no better watches made than those of the Waltham Co. You can get a gold watch at any price from 550 to $1,000...... Sir Charles Grump.—lst. Your penmanship is fair, 2d. We will, in the course of some months, publish a se- quel to “Buffalo Bill.” 3d. As to your getting a situation as clerk, we can express no opinion..... Twin Sisters.—1st. As you mereiy made the mistake of bowing to a stranger, when taking him for an acquaintance, there isno need of your making an apology. Do nothing atall, 2d. You thould get some male relative to make inquiries into the man’s character...... Fish.— The stickleback istound in fresh water, and is from two to three inches in length. ‘She stickleback is celebrated for the parental cure which the mates take of the eggs and ' ¢ They breed insummer. The males the nest; season the male has a carmine red throat, and r bluish green, the other puris above being asl abdomen silvery and translucent. Am catch you aquantity fora shg consi i quack tie.—The nileman has” putation of thor oughly_understanding his busmess, and is an educated oo cian. You should write to him about the effect the medicine had upon you...... Brooldlyn.—ist. Regularly bound apprentices are not common in this section of the country now. which is ea to the apprentice, asthe same troubie is not taken to teach him the trade that the master workman took when ap- prentices were regularly indentured. 2d. We think your views sound, and hope you will actin accordance with them........ James Fellow,—ist. The story was taken from the French. 2d. We have on hand all the numpers in which “Buffalo Bull,” ap- peared. The papers will cost you 72 cents...... Wild Bill.—The real “Wild Bill,” the one presented in Ned Buntline’s story, is oot Gead...... C. Erie De la Paw.—\st. Prince Arthur was born May 1, 1850, consequently he is within a month of being twenty years old. 2d. The cause of the riot in which the “Bowery oys” and “Dead Rabbits” were engaged, in 1857, was an at- tack which the ‘‘Dead Rabbits” made on the headquarters of the “Bowery Boys” on the night of July 3. On the afternoon of the 4th 2s a body of the Metropolitan police were marching through Bayard street they were attacked and driven by the ‘Dead Rabbits,” and then the “Bowery Boys” dashed to the as- sistance of the police, as by so doing they were enabled to take revenge for the insult of the previous night. 3d. There is no regular price—some writers receive good pay, others poor.....- M.S. H.—\1st. Your writing is up to the bookkeeper’s standard. 2.d You should seek a practical surveyor, and take lessons from Hie To Contributors.—We have in hand many MSS. which shall be appropriately noticed next week. 4 NEW NTORIES 4 Kour Great Authors. FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE, HELEN CORWIN FISHER. P. HAMILTON MYERS, EDWARD MINTURK. The stories named below will be commenced 4s soon as we can find space for them: CONRAD THE CONVICT; oR, THE BRAND OF CRIME, By Francis A. Durivage, . Author of “Ramon the “a ete. THE SKY TRAVELER; 3 OR, THE MAGICIAN OF THE LAKES. By P. Hamilton Myers. Who Did Lady Violet Marry? OR, THE MYSTERY OF HE BLACK DIAMOND. By Helen Corwin Fisher, i Author of “The Unloved Wile,’’ etc. 4 THE WITCH OF THE OCEAN; OR, * a THE LADY OF THE SILVER SPRAY. By Edward Minturn, Author of “Red Douglass,” ete. The above are four really charming stories. They will » Wih whom » ea ereeee soon be commenced. rite a good hand. __ * Dy teweeris™ ee 4k 4 + A SONG. BY ELSIF, In the stillness of night, By the moon’s pale light, Sadly I am weeping; For the one whom I love Is in Heaven above, And my lone-watch I’m keeping. At the dawn of the day, When the sun’s first faint ray O’er the valley is creeping, The dew will arise Up, up to the skies, From the grave where she’s sleeping. Whence, falling in showers, Giving life to the flowers So lovingly weeping Over the grave of my love, Now in Heaven above, Where the bright stars are peeping! BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR. | The Rose of Kendale. By the Author of ‘Peerless Cathleen,’? and “Lady of Grand Court.’’ (“fhe Rose of Kendale’ was commenced in No. 20. Back num- bers can be from News Agents throughout the country.} CHAPTER VIL. uy father! blessed name, y the holy angels kee Watch around his troubled head And guard him in his sieep.—Oxtp BAtiap. Duval started in amaze. Fancliette’s father—! Was ~ this odd, gray-haired, sad, careworn-looking man, the Earl of Kendale? he who ought now to have been fourish- ing in the very zenith of his manhood, placed at the hignt of human prosperity, titled, power/ul, in the enjoy- ment of sirong health, boundless wealth, and all the hon- ors which the world showers upon the rich and noble. Was this man, stealing back like a tnief to the lands ; dad scheming to gaia an interview with , aS might some presumptuous lowly his man the Earl of Kendale? leman broke into a dreary laugh, he The unhappy - sank upon a gone. and looked sadly inte the handsome, earnest face of the young officer. “I see that you doubt me, young gentleman,” he said, ely, but there was a melancholy tone in his jocular- ity. “You 10l believe that Kendale Castle, the lands thereto appertair , and all the henors and titles of the Germains, earls since the Conquest, have descended upon this head, whitened all too scon by care and suffering. If I were to tell you my story, you would not believe it, per- haps, but it is weil known among English lawyers, tre his- tory of my father’s annatural will, and how I was handed over, bound as it were land and foot, to become the slave of my mother’s caprice. Ah! such an unnatural mother! She broke my wife’s heart, and I, who was away on a journey, returned to find my dear love dead and buried. After that I took an oath never to sleep under my moth- er’s roof, never to be beholden to her again for a'crust ; and I wept abroad to try and earn money, On ir one single act dol owe my mother any gratitude. } took my motnerless babe home and reared her ; put even here her tyranny stepped in. She has devoted the pure, bright young creature to a convent cell ; at nineteen, Fanchette is to be immured for life, and the wealth which my moth- er has it in her power to leave away from = will go to endow the Church. I shall come in for Kendale, but I shall be a childless, miserable, and desolate man. [ have made some money in the New World, and I can afford to take Fanchette away and give her a refined though nota splendid home, anu uow I wish my child to choose be- tween her father aud her grandmother. J! wish to gain speech with Fanchette, to induce her vo leave the coun- tess, and come to me. Will you take her that letter, and will you wait for her answer? Something in your coun- tenance impels me to trust in you.” Duval had grown crimson and white by turns, while the earl spoke thus, and now he turned towaru tlie fath- er of Fanchette, his very heart on his lips. “My lord,” he said, ‘‘command me ; to the last drop of my blood {| am your faithiul servant.’ The earl broke into a laugh, not so sad in its tone as the first. “My dear young gentleman,” he exclaimed, “you talk like a knight of the midle ages, not as a nineteenth century man ; but | see that the chivalrous spirit has not died out in your case ; and now let us dine; see, they are bringing in the hot roast fowl. Let us enjoy our dinner, and talk of the plan of entrance afterward over our wine.” Very excellent was the cooking at the Kendale Arms, and the two gentlemen did ample justice to Mrs. Tapple- ton’s roast foul and damson tarts. “Quite am English country dinner,” said the earl, as he sat with Duval over the wie and walnuts. « They moved the little table to the open window and lounged there, with the twilight sky looking calmly at them, and the sweet scent of the clematis and autumn roses wafting toward them upon the gentle stirring even- ing breeze. “Listen,’? said the earl. “The great old clock in the castle tower is just goivg to strike seven. Boom, boom, boom. Ah, that sound brings back no memory of a sun- ny cluldhnood tome.” And the nobleman sighed. “My young days were always embittered by tne severity of that Countess of Kendale wnom I have never been able to honor as a mother. To me she was ever the veriest of tyrants. I have been locked in dark closets. Nay, 1 have been taken to the brink of a horrible historical dungeon and made to look down, and threatened with that if | failed in obedience.’ ‘The earl sighed agai. “There, the solemn calling voice of the great clock is at rest, only its vibrations yet load the air as with a melancholy mem- ory. Now, Mr. Duval, are you ready to undertake the commission to the castle?’ “| have told you to command me,” replied Duval. “Listen, then. Itis the cuetom of the countess, when she inhabits Kendale, to dine on Sunday evenings at seveno’ciock, and the dining-room at the castle opens with enormous painted-glass windows upon a raised stone terrace, from which steps lead downto a large, level lawn. You must get through the shrubberies into the park, from thence to the back of the castle, and after that you come to a high wail, which shutsin the great flower-garden. You must watch your opportunity to climb that wall, or rather to ascend it by a flight of stone steps which are cat into it—for that wall is the most an- clent part of thecastle. When you are at the top, you will fiad a green bank sloping down to the flower-garden. From thence make for the lawn and the terrace. Then you will see tlle great lights beaming through those enormous windows, painted by some Italian of renown. The shut- ters to that Window let down with pulleys, and are never closed till later in the evening. Watch the place. You will find the window a iittle open on a hot night like this, and if you approach it you may see tne countess, Lady Fanchette, the servants, the plate, the candles, all the style and state which the old countess loves. When the meal is over, it will be wonderful if Fanchette does not steal out fer a moment upon the terrace for a breath of fresh air. Then go forward and give her thus ietter,” and the earl put a letter into the hand of Duval. “She may scream, or faint,” said Raymond. “| do not believe it,” said the earl. “She ought to have brave blood in her veins; but if she does, you are quick-witced enough to escape detection.” Duval rose, put on his cap, and sallied forth without uttering another word. i ‘ The castle-grounds were not far fromthe highroad. By dint. of leaping a fence and scrambling through a hedge, the active young officer was not long in getting into the park, and ten minutes’ brisk walking brought him to the back of the castie, and the high wall which the earl bad described. But wuere werg#the steps? After much diifi- culty, Duval managed to diScover them by the faiut light of the risingmoon. Then he beganto climb. ‘They were steep, narrow, and slippery, but soon he stood on the top of the wall. Another moment and he had run down the sloping bank into the flower-garden. There, about fifty yards ahead of him, gleamed the large painted window, all its magnificent colors glowing like jewels with the lights beliind it, Duval came on stealthily, and then he heard the sound ol corks being drawn, and tle faint, refined ring of plate and crystal, and porcelain. One moment more, and he stood where, through the balf-open window, he could see the countess. Lady Fanchette, the governess, just as the earl had described, and besides there was a tall, grave, severe-faced old man, the Catholic priest, who was do- mestic chaplain in the great house. Flowers, and vases, aud splendor, pomp of liveried ser- vitors, glitter of golden plate—what were all these, com- pared to the center of the tableau, the peerless Fanchette! She wore a low dress of blue silk, which set olf the pink and white hues of her splendid complexion to exquisite advantage. Her golden hair was elaborately arranged. She wore turquoise ornaments on her white throat and arms, Duval felt his heart beat fast when her large, dark eyes wandered unconsciously toward the window where he Was peering in like a thief, They were at dessert; the old countess, in a head-dress of flowers and feathers, a high, black velvet dress, a great diamond brovch and ear-rings, and a large Elizabethan ruff, looked—with her sour, hard-featured, wrinkled, yet clever face—like a living picture of that virgin queen who sent Essex to the scaffold, and never smiled afterward. ‘*Hard, proud old face,’’ mmused Daval; ‘‘cruei, yet self- righteous old creature; how she watches beautiful. Fan- chette! 1 can’t hear what they are saying. New, oh Heaven! it is as the earl predicted—the Lady Fanchette is approaching the window!”’ Duval retreated further and further along the stonc terrace. He saw the slight, stately form walk along wi alight step. All atonceshe paused, and looked up at the meon slowly rising over the belt of hills in the dis- tant landscape. Never was a more serapluc face turned upward toward the night sky. A moment more and she had turned again, and now—now she _ is close, close to where Raymond crouches behind a large statue of Venus, which ornaments the terrace. His leart fails him, he has not the courage to speak. She turns away again. Now, now, this time, if sue comes so close again, he must muster courage, he must present the letter. He waited, ugam she came near—this time her silken garment brushed against his dusky head; he rose up, and cried in a trembling whisper: “Lady Fanchette 3 The Lady Fanchette did not scream nor even utter the faintest exclamation, only she started, sprang aside with the graceful agility of a young antelope, and held her head superbly alort, with a species of astonished pride that was not disdain. Raymond Duval hesitated, his voice failed him, and the Lady Fanchette spoke in clear tones, like the ringing of silver-voiced chimes: “You mentioned my name,” she said; “have you any question to ask me??? He answered by putting the letter of the earl into her nd. 7 “What is this?’ she asked, in a tone a little louder than she had yet used, ‘a letter for me?” “A letter from your father, Lady Fanchette, who is in the village of Kendale; ‘“‘will you read it? Write an an- swer and come out to me here again. I will wait down by that belt of trees on the lawn.” “How is it ble??? she asked, in 4 voice broken by agitation. “I am watched on all sides. My dfather—did you say my father? You are not deceiving me?’ Her voice took a tender tone of piteous eutreaty which went to the very soul of Raymond Duval. “l would rather lay down my life than deceive you. Lady Fanchette lama soldier and a gentleman. Your father is just returned from Australia, and he is staying at the Kendale Arms, he is longing to see you.” She had placed the letter inthe pocket of her dress, She trembled now so violently that Duval longed to sup- port her in his arms, but he dared not. “Sit down, Lady Fanchette,” he said; “seat yourself upon the stone step, lean against the base; now, will you tell me what message I may take from you to tne Earl of Kendale?” : “Fanchette! Fanchette! Fanchette!’’ cried a harsh, rasp- ing voice from the glowing window-place. The girl started like a frightened nare. It was easy to see in what dread and awe siie held the proud old grand- mother. Fearless as the bravest of her noble race where the rest of the world were concerned, Fanchette was tim- id as a very babe before her stern and terrible countess grandmamma; it was the long fear of past years—the spirit of Lady Fanchette was as the spirit of a little child before Lady Kendale. “Oh, what shalll do?” she gasped; ‘“‘tell me—see— stay! I will come out again to-morrow here after dinner with an answer. We dine half an hour later week days.” Then she fled toward the window-place, that glorious colored light which gleamed like the entrance to an en- chanted castle. Duval watched the slight form step into that light, and disappear like a spirit in a fairy scene; the next moment the furious barking of a hound came to the ears of Duval. “Seize him! seize him, boy!’’ cried the voice of the harsh noe countess. “There is a trespasser about. Hi! hi! ai!” A great savage dog came bounding toward Duval. He could see the large red eyes gleaming like fire-balls on the dark terrace. Ruymond was unarmed; he cast about to fiud a stone, but there was not one on the smooth ter- race steps; he doubled his fist and aimed a heavy blow just between the eyes of the brute as it sprang upon him with a savage growl. So well planted was this blow,that the dog reeled tor an instant stupefied, and then Duval, leaping down the wall of the terrace, made straight for that other wall by which he had entered; but he was some time in finding the exact spot where he had ascended the steep steps. Meanwhile, the dog had recovered himself, and now came scenting along the ground, still uttering his low savage growl. He was upon the track of Duval, and just as the young officer found the steps, he perceiv- ed the head of the dog, with its savage, red eyes gleam- ing close to him, the animal prepared for a deadly spring. Duval turned and clutched the beast by its throat, just as it would have clutched at his. It was a powerful bull- dog, and Duval had to struggle for his very life. One hand thecreature caugnt at and tore; but now Duval, maddened with pain and rage, twisted the throat of his enemy, and in a moment more the dog lay strangled on the grass plateau at the top of the wall. Duval descend- ed the steps, rushed across the park, and made quickly for the snelter of the Kendale Arms, The cheerful lighted windows of tho village inn, with their glowing red curtains, seemed to smile a welcome to tne fearless young man, far more kindly than that splen- did colored window at the castle had offered. He went into the little parlor where he had dined, a lamp was burning on the table, the white-haired earl who called himself Mr. Maston—to the good folks at the inn—rose up from the book he was pretending to read, and eagerly scanned the bronzed face of the young officer. “Well, well, what news?’ he broke forth. “An !? for Devers hand was torn, and his sleeve was drenched with blood. : “A souvenir,” said the young man, with a laugh, “of Kendale Castle, and her ladyship the countess.” Then he told the earl all that had happened. The earl rang for sponge, hot water, and plaster. Good Mrs. Tappleton brought in all these herself, and entreat- ed that she might be allowed to remain and dress the wounded gentieman’s hand. — : “This will be noised abroad to-morrow,” said Duval, speaking French to the earl; ‘and when the landlady hears that a burglar has strangled the dog at the castl she wili think of my hand,and draw her own conclusions, It will be best, I fancy, to make a friend of her and te her some part of thie 77 em , Tne earl agreed; then Duval said: , “7 have just strangied the bull-dog of the old Countess of Kendale, Mrs. Tappleton; but before 1 performed that valiant deed the brute tore my hand in the manner you perceive.” “What, sir, was that Suffia? the great bull-dog !° Oh, how the village cilildren and their mothers will bless heen sir: that dreadful dog was the terror o! the place. I as- sure you I was irightened to death to let one of my chil- dren get into the castle grounds. That old countess—I don’t wish to speak against my betters, and I don’t mean to say that her ladyship has not been kind to some peo- ple where she took a great fancy orso, but even then you must be aslave, sir. Lor bless you’’—turning toward the earl—‘‘you would not believe me, sir, if 1 was to tell you sir, what slaves that old dame makes of everybody about her. Down into the dust, sir, down, and grovel at her very feet, you must, sir, in one shape or another, or else have her your bitter enemy for life.” The earl sighed, a sigh that was almost a groan; the words of the unconscious landlady cut to his very heart. “If anybody goes to contradict her in the least, she is down upon them like a thunderstorm—sudden, violent, loud! Why, as for trespassers, I think sne is inclined to have them shot ifshe could only manage it. Nothing makes her so savage as anybody daring to venture within the park gates. Poor tittle children coming home trom market in the winter, when the snow chokes up the roads, would sometimes be giad of the short cut tnrough the park, where the path iskept swept. Why, two littie crea- tures were found there one day, and the game Keeper, having had his orders, marched them, if you believe me, to the lock-up in the market town, and the poor things nearly died of cold and fright; and they were brought be- fore the magistrates next day and condemned to one day’s imprisonment. What a hullabaloo their mothers did make, to be sure! I really almost wonder they didn’t burn the great castle down aboutthe ears of that good- for-naught old lady. As for the dog ‘For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Tappleton, don’t speak so coolly of burning down Kendale Castle,’ eried the dis- guised earl, turning suddenly toward the voluble land- lady. ‘You must be aware there is an innocent youhg girl in the castle, the Lady Fanchette.”’ “Ah,” cried Mrs. Tappleton, “a sweet young lady, the face oi a Saint in a picture of glory, and the voice of an angel, and the step of a goddess, and the heart of a Christian lady, and that’s far, far more than can be said for the old grandmamma. What a sin and ashame it seems, don’t it, gentlemen, that that beautiful young creature is to be shut up in a foreign convent aimost dli- rectly. The wicked old countess—l can’t but call her so —has made up her mind that the young thing is never to marry. Heaven alone knows wnat her reason is for all this. She says she is resolved the girl shall be offered up to the Church as a sacrifice for the sins aud follies of her parents.”’ The disguised earl started violently. “And she intends leaving away every penny that she can from her son, Lady Fanchette’s father, who is out in foreign parts, they say, earning his bread like a poor man.’ By this time the wounded hand of Duval was plastered up and the landlady withdrew. Sitting over the tea-table an hour afterward, the incog- nito earl and the impassioned Duval discussed the best possible means of gaining speech again with the Lady Fanchette. “She will be forbidden to leave the dining-room to- morrow night,’? said the earl, musingly, ‘‘and you may nave another dog as savage as the one you have dispatch- ed set upon you. 1 do notlike exposing you to such dan- ger. I think you must throw yourself in the way of the carriage to-morrow when my mother takes Fanchette out to drive, and then Iam almost sure the dear child will throw you aletter from the window. Such a life of strict surveillance and rigid discipline must, I fear, have taught my little girl to be plotting, and even artful toa certain degree; it would be a miracieif she were otherwise.” “She could never be artful, with such a face!’ began Duval, passionately. The earl looked at the young man inquiringly. There was a flash in his splendid dark eyes which spoke vol- umes. “Are you romantic, young sir?’ he asked, with a sad smile. “Ah, I might have understood that such heroic devotion had a foundation much stronger than the mere wish to oblige an old man, even if thatold man be,the disguised Eari of Kendaie.” “Alas, my lord,’ said Duval, ‘‘there is a tone of bitter- ness in your voice; but you should be too generous to liarbor unworthy prejudice or suspicion. I have seen your daughter, and I consider her to be the most wonder- ful creature the sun evershone upon. She is like a dream —she has such eyesas one sees only ina dream. But, my lord, lam not mad, I am not presumptuous, I know that I shall never be anything more to that proud and peerless beauty than a poor servitor, accounted worthy of little save a smile, a gracious, condescending word or two. Once, perhaps, in my life, if 1 am able to render her any real service, 1 may be permitted to hold her hand in mine for an instant, while she thanks me with the air of a princess, but I dare not hope for anything else. 1 have not raised my expectations too much, have I, 1n looking forward to a day when the Lady Fanchette wilt offer me her hand in friendship, and thank me? 1 am a poor sol- dier, my Lord Kendale; | have nothing in the worla save my profession to depend on. Your daughter is the great- est lady in broad England.”? ‘Fhe earl smiled, “Love levels all distinctions,” he said, ‘and the love which you profess is the deepest, the most enduring, the most daring, inasmuch as it is willing to dare all obstacles that it may attain itsends. I ean give you no hope, neither can I tell you that yonder poor enslaved child, doomed toa convent prison, and watched bya cruel grandmother, is too bright and high a prize for your am- bition toaspire after; only believe me thus far, I will throw no obstacles in your way if you succeed in winning her love, and, above all, if you prove yourself worthy of it—and something tells me that you will.” Duval bent his head in reverence to the unhappy earl, the distressed father, the man whose life had been blighted by the unnatural cruelty of the woman he called by the sacred name of mother. A hope awoke within him also—a wild, sweet hope, timid as the first love-sigh ofa pure souled maiden. The brave young soldier ventured to consider it possible that he might, after all, wiu the heart of proud, noble, graceful, peerless Fanchette. If she left the castle of the ogress grandmamma, if she fled to to the longing arms of the bowed-down, sorrowing earl, was there not in that case hope for him? She would not be such a very great heiress if she offended her countess grandmother, she would have to wait for her fathe’s inheritance; he might marry again, a very small fortune, in fact, reasonably speaking, might be hers, and therefore all the less pre- sumptuous would be his aspirations, tor though he was a younger son, there was noble blood in his veins, and his name stood high among those renowned for English heroism and spotless honor. Long did he cenfer with the earl respecting the most likely means of gaining an interview with Fanchette. “If my mother had the faintest idea that 1 was in the heighborhood,” said the earl, “she would hurry Fan- chette off to to the continent to-morrow, force her into a convent, and insist on her taking the vail. 1 know what she is; to balk my every hope, to blight my life, and with- er my heart, has been her object ever since my birth.” “Incredible, unnatural!”? exclamed Raymond Duval. “Do you not exaggerate a little, my lord, unconsciously to yourself, of course? A mother! it seems impossible. My mother is dead,’”’? added the young man, in a tone of deep reverence, ‘‘she died when Iwas achild, but my memory of her is enshrined in the holiest thoughts; her spirit, 1 believe, watches over me continually.” “The Countess of Kendale is an unwomanly woman, an unmotherly mother,’ said the earl. ‘But let us now dis- cuss the chances of your gaining speech with Fanchette.” A plan was laid, and, in consequence, Duval repaired the next day, at about eleven o’clock, to a favorite haunt near the great park gates, where be had often lain under the shelter of the thick trees whith bordered the way- side watching the Kendale carfiage roll out into the high-road. The splendor of the equipage, the dazzle of the liveries, the prancing of the magnificent coal-black horses, which it was the whim of the ola countess to drive, had been nitherto like the surroundings of a dream to the soui and fancy of Duval, while the centerpiece, the goddess alike of his imagination and of hisheart, the Lady Fan- chette. in her straw hat and white plume, had appeared too distant from his sphere to excitethat fever of anxiety which awakens only when hopédares to walk hand in hand with passionate love. But now, alas for the philo- sophicat calm of our hero, hope had awakened. twasamellow day ol! lovely September; the deep blue of tne arching heavens, the blended colors, amber, scarlet, purple, green, of the gorgeous autumn foliage, the heavy white mist, pierced with the giory of the sun- shine, rising like incense from the verdant meadows and yellow corn-fields, the scent of the herbage, the songs of the birds, made a sort of festival to the soul and senses of the impassioned young soldier; he lay hidden, and waited for the carriage. . At last—yes, there 1t was, that sound he had longed for, the crunching of the gravelunder the rollof the wheels, then the coachman’s cry of ‘‘gate,” n the heavy swinging backward of those-massive iron frames, and benold the carriage has bowléd through, and he sees the divine face of Lavy Fancnette. Tne sweet parted lips, the white plumed nat, the slender graceful tnroat. He rese up and showed himself for an instant, caught her eye, and made a slight ges full of respect, urgent entreaty, devotion. He saw the sweet, proud face color, then grow pale, and the surprised eyes of a grave, solemn lady governess met his. rd “Alas, and alas! that woman saW me wave my hand,” he murmured to himself, ‘and if she betrays Fancnette, what becomes of our hopes?” The old countess, in her heavy lavender satin bonnet and embrodered cloak of the same, fastened with a great diamond brooch, was not, formpately, looki#g in his direction; but that governess might, nay, would, he thought, betray her. j The carriage rolled on. Raymond leaped the hedge on the other side of the road. Fanchette saw him, but only she could Know or guess how that he kept up at the top of his speed, side by side with the prancing horses, for the tall hawthorns and ciambering honeysuckles hid him from signt. He ran along, hoping, wondering, watching whether Fanchette, in womanly tact and filial affection, was equal to the circumstances amid which her youth was placed. Yes, yes, yes;even while he ran he saw a white object fluttering over the hedge, thrown from the carriage on the other side. How had she managed to evade t i nt eyes o wa ' a 1G : ~ Duval p he billet passiomately to his lipg, then hastened back to the Village. and the Kendale Arms. There in the little sitting-room he found the earl‘pacing up and down impatiently. Hestretched forth his hand eagerly to seize une letter of his child, tore 1t open with- out stopping to ask how Raymond became possessed of it, and hastily ran his eye down the page. ‘Heaven bless her!”? he murmured; “she has her moth- er’s heart.” : ; Then he handed the note to Duval, who read as fol- OWS: “My Faroer:—Beloved, though unknown, your Fanchette has prayed for your mght and morning ever since she could speak. She wil: meet you to-morrow, at four in the afternoon, in the pavilion summer-house in the shrutbery. May Heaven bless you, my father, prays your dutiful, loving child FANCHETTE.” CHAPTER VIII. Faiser than all fancy phantoms, Falser than all songs have suag! Comfort, comfort, scorned of devils, This is true the pvet sings, That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow Is remembering happier things.—TENNYSON. Evangeline Stanfield and her little maid bade adieu to old Ephraim Bell. With many expressions of gratitude, not untinctured with respect, Evangeline, with some feeling akin to shame, produced her purse and urged upon the old sootnsayer’s acceptance a piece of gold. He looked at it as it lay gleaming in her white hand, anda smile broke over his withered lips, : “] will take ir, young lady,” he said, for lam buta poor man, cultivating my garden and sometimes hob- bling into the village to sell my peas and gooseberries in the hot summer days. Butl would1 could take and keep some kindlier token of your gentle presence. Were ita ribbon you have worn, anold glove, anything, in fact, that I migh guard jealously as a remembrance. I would willingly pierce this piece of gold and wear lt at my girdle, but lam too poor to throw money away in that fashion.” “See,” said Evangeline, ‘‘hereis alittle old French coin, a nalf-frane piece with a hele through it. Willi you keep that as a reminder ofme? When you look at it you can remember that you received me kindly one gusty autumn night and told me what bad become of my friend, and other things beside, and you may say to your- self, ‘She is grateful to me for the trouble 1 have been at on her account.’” The young lady put her delicate hand into the hard, horney one of the work-bent old Man, and soon after- ward she was hastening homeward, her heart and fancy filled with images conjured up by his remarkable words and statements. She managed to reach the grounds and to enter the mansion by the way she had quitted it, quite unobserved. She dismissed Vinette, leaving a present in her hand which delighted the heart of the young girl~it was a small gold brooch of circwiarform. Then Evangeline, having locked her door, flung herself upon her bed, and gave way to a burst of passionate weeping’. “I weep for Eustace,” she said, ‘‘and he is indifferent toward me, nay, does he not in his own heart confound me with the cruelty he has received from others? Does he not think of me as one of those heartless Staufields? Ah, does he not imagine that I have no pity for his wound- ed and vleeding pride ?—that I talk and think of him as Clarivel talks and thinks, as papa talks and thinks, and as Mamma, poor, easily led mmainma, will learn to do in time? Oh, that 1 had his address in Paris! Is he really going to live in Paris? and then to work in the art schools —starve in a garret! what not! Ob, Eustace, Eustace,’’— she clenched her hands in her strong agony—‘‘to think,” —she said, rising to her feet and pacing the floor—‘to think of all that precious love which I, faithful heart, would have died to obtain, being poured out upon my beautiful, cold, thankless sister Claribel. Claribel, it is hard for me to forgive you, it is difficult to feel toward you as I ought, for you have wrecked his life and made him doubt everybody and all things that are good and true and gentle. If] listened to my own promplings of my own outraged heart, 1 might hate you, Claribel; but 1 will not, no, I will not.” And then the pure-souled young girl knelt and prayed long and fervently. Sue arose from her knees strengthened, refreshed, and calmed. She went to bed afterward, and her slumbers were Visited with visions of the absent Eustace, pale, thin, studious, sorrowful, and with a certain intense expression on his face which she had remarked the last time she had seen him. He looked away from her all through those perplexing dreams, looked as though he saw her not, yet was she conscious of a certain influence over him, of which he was not himself aware; she Kuew that she was by her prayers turning him away imperceptibly from some purpose unworthy of his noble nature. In crowds she met iim, always pensive, his hat over his eyes, his drawing implements wnder his arm, always pensive, silent, sad, abstracted, and she,.gifted, it seemed, with some power, like a guardian angel, was ever upon his footsteps, unseen, unheard. She was awakened by the joyful chiming of the village bells, it had been the cus- tom now for the last week to ring those jocund peals every other morning, in anticipation of the great wedding feast when Claribel would become a countess. Evangeline arose, called for her bath, dressed, and de- scended to the breakfast room, where the family were al- ready assembled. That day arrived numbers of visitors, who were to re- main in the house during the auspicious days of the wed- ding feast. The house was one scene of festivity, merri- ment, splendor, and gayety. Evangeline schooled herself to act as others acted, to take a great interest in the decorations, the flower wreaths that were to adorn the ball-room, the arches of triumph in the park, the tables that were tobe spread for the vil- lagers and tenants, the dresses, jewels, and magnificent gifts of her lovely sister. The day arrived, a bright, clear autumn day; the village church of Earnscliff resounded with the joyful. clamor of its bells from early morning to midnight; and in the lord- ly mansion, guests fair and noble, waltzed to the sound of a noble military band, while in the park, and later in the servants’ liall, the humbler guests bounded and leaped in the country dances which they loved, to the music of two Violins from the nearest town. Evangeline, in white silk, with a wreath of blue forget- me-nots in her golden hair, glided adout like some beau- tifui angelic being apart from all the worldly glare, glit- ter, and grandeur which surrounded her. It was ar- ranged that the bride and bridegroom were not to start on their wedding tour until the morning. They remained to open the ball and to preside at the magnificent supper, where gold plate was common as glass, and rich wine was poured out like water. Claribel, bride though she was, had not chosen to wear pure white like her sister, her raven hair was bound about with a diamond and ruby band, her ball dress was rich satin of a pale’ pink color, her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets were of min- gied diamonds and flashing rubies, and these rosy hues suited well with the style of her rare and queen-like beauty, her ebon hair and eyebrows, her ivory throat and shoulders. All eyes were fixed upon Claripe]l, Countess of Chesterton. Evangeline, shaded by a great flowering shrub in the conservatory, Sat and watched the guests. Suddenly she saw passing the open door which led into the ball-room a figure which made her heart leap, her blood tingle, the tears start into her pure blue eyes, “Eustace! Eustace!”? She could not be deceived, although he wore the long robe of a monk and a domino was before his face. There were about twenty of the guests who had agreed to increase the fun and merriment by appearing toward evening in masquerade dresses. Most of these were yourg gentlemen staying in the house, and very few la- dies had consented to disguise their beauty with masks ; and Evangeline was sure, certain; convinced, that. the young monk was Eustace and none other. The eye of love is quick, and cannot be deceived. Evan- geline arose and followed the monk, followed him ata distance all through the crowd of the ballroom, saw that his figure excited no particular remark, since there were so many others more fantastic and amusing. Evangeline still followed. What was Eustace seeking? A few moments more, and he stood close to the brilliant bride, in her glistening robes of faint resecolor. Claribei leaned upon the arm of Lord Chesterton, but a gleam of recognition shone out of her eyes, those eyes which had scorched the soui of Eustace, those wonderful eyes, at times shadowy and fathomless, at other moments earnest and lustrous as twin stars, anon cold and spark- ling as the surface of a sunlit lake. As it was, the eyes were hidden, the long lashes rested on the delicate rose- leaf hue of the cheek. Eustace stood near, and watched his false love mov- ing gracefully in the dance to the sound of sparkling airs. Evangeline fancied she covjd count the throbs of his heart beating fast and loud under his monk’s dress, Presently she saw him follow Clartbel into the conser- vatory ; for the moment the bride was alone; then Evan- Reine came close upon tiie footsteps of the seeming monk. h ! he stood close to the bride. She had broken a scar- let flower from a bush, and was holding it lightly between her gloved fingers, a smile played upon the cold faultless mouth. Could Evangeline be mistaken? Surely Eustace would not address woras of polite badinage to the woman who stood before him ou her bridal night, in her glisten- ing bridal jewels, robed and crowned as it were with all the regalia of her newly won honors? Yet Claribel smiled, and the color neither deepened nor faded on her cheeks, and the young monk bent his head and spoke low soft words. Evangeline caught their import. They were the merest compliments, no more than a beauty so regal as that of Clarivel called for as its lawful homage, but couched in the most graceful language, and spoken in the softest tones. Yet the voice was not as the voice of Eustace, Evangeline then remembered suddenly that William Eustace had possessed the power of altering the tone of his voice in a wonderful degree. She heard tue monk say: “A beauty so transcendent should needs clothe a soul pure as an el's, a heart charitable, warm and loving, true and rafal as a holy saint’s; those eyes should never have darted forth false beacon lights to lead astray a human soul into shipwreck and despair on life’s stormy sea; those lips should never have uttered words bewild- ering with double meaning, warm and kind to-night as the balmy air of a summer evening, cold and blasting to- morrow as the breath of the wibu on the snowy Siberian wastes ; if you be free of these sins, bright bride, I wiil give you a priest’s blessing, otherwise you will have to listen Lo other words.” “Who are you, Sir Monk ?? asked Lady Chesterton, in avery gay tone. ‘If 1 answered you according to your Hall expect I sh im, treat a maryelons string of compli- nts, Duc I will ub cked and honest and Jet you know the truth,’ she adg@ed, a brignt, heartless smile playing on her cold mouths “I have been very false to one poor wretch, and driven him almost mad. Before I knew Lord Chesterton, I practiced the art of enslaving upon a mis- erable protege of mamma’s to such a degree that he be- came nearly insane. I smiled and whispered and meant nothing all the while. 1 laughed in my sleeve at his agon- ies and his false hopes. I never thought of him save as a playching, and when I heard he was almost mad I tri- umphed in wnat } had done. It is a sad confession,” she added, lightly, “but it is one 1 have made a dozen times to Lord Chesterton. So now, Sir Monk, if you be of the straightlaced sort you will be considerably shocked. I am in a hurry to hear those other words you threaten me with. I am tired to death of compliments and bless- in ” Trinkeine saw the slight athletic frame of the monk tremble and quiver asareed quivers in a storm. She comprehended that the soul of Eustace was raging with the flames of anger, as a burning forest might rage and roar in a storm of wind. He did not speak for a moment, but then suddenly he clutched at the white arm of Claribel, and held it as in a vice. Lady Chesterton thinking it part of the game, did not reproach the daring of the young man. : He bent his head, and begun in a whisper, which grew and intensified into a hiss. “I curse you from this time forth and ever more in the name of the heart you have broken, the life you have poisoned, the soul you have condemned to ageonies here and perdition hereafter. I curse you—well and ill, gay and sad, noisy and silent. 1 curse you in the revel and by the sick bed, standing up and lying down. I curse you in the husband you have chosen, anc in your chil- dren yet unborn. I curse your future, your present, your past; that 1 way torment you with its memories, | call upon the evil one to circumvent your path and blight your prospect. lcurse you to the last, lying in your grave and silent, and I curse yourmemory and your name to the end of all ages.” jt was the voice of a maniac; it was the tone of one pos- sessed. , The fierce grasp tightened on the slender wrist, and proud Claribel uttered a cry of pain, fear, and anger. “Madman. Eustace!” she screamed. ‘This is a violent and cowardly assault.”’ Her cries brought a crowd into tie gay compartment, with its flowers, its blossoms, its lights. Tnen the monk rose to his full hight, and escaped through a door which led to the right wing of the house. “Follow him! follow him!” cried Claribel. ‘It is the serpent Husiace! See how he has hurt my wrist; look at this livid mark.” An indignation without bounds took possession of the whole company. A whole troop of gentlemen, men-ser- yants, even lady guests, went in pursuit of the miserable young man. Evangeline, with clasped hands and rigid lips, followed, wondering and fearing. Soon the crowd were in a long picture gallery, from which there was no egress on the other side. Eustace had passed into ita moment before in the sight of them aul. “Now we have him—the villain, the rascal !’’ shouted the crowd. Yhe place was lighted with gas, but no Eustace was visibie. “J am positive he entered here,’’ said one gentleman, ‘and since the place isiighted in the roof, he cannot have escaped.”? : “Now may Heaven deliver him!’? murmured Evange- line. {To be Continued.) —_—_—__>- 9+ Jehial Slab’s Remarks. Don’t mortgage to the devil. His notes are all payable “on demand” and there is no telling when uv may take a notion to foreclose. y We are like tailors. We make coats readily and gladly enough for others, But we rarely try them on to see if they fit ourselves. ; ; Lawyers generally act as though they believe, with Lord Brougham, that “to have no couscience but their client’s interest, (income, I call it—and to pluck that in- come to the pin-feathers, I will also add while my hand is in), is the key to the practice of the law.” ... Part two fighting relatives, and, nive times in ten, both will turn to und do their level best to break your own head. Some of us speak words that touch roughly the charac- ter or business of our neighbors, and think little of it, when the mere thought of a tune on Sunday quicker than Old Hundred, gives us a regular electric shock of horror. Men usually are great only relatively. A man may be very great in the little, quiet village tor instance. But when it comes to spreading him over the whole State, or the whole United States, the matter wears quite a differ- ent look. The bread at such times is often found to be rather too extensive for the butter. Possibly there may not be a great many honest men in this world, 1 have always thought, however, that I could employ my time to better advantage than that other old radical did in ancient times, when he fired up his lantern in broad daylight and went out to look for one. One man is built large, strong, symmetrical—right up from the foundation. Another looks asif he had becn put together with a pitchfork, leaving him as much elled, and forked, and pronged, as a huge Merino potato. And yet, very often, the mere furniture of the latter is worth more than the whole house and furniture of the former. The rich man who takes advantage of your ignorance or necessity and swindles you, the world usually calls re- spectable. But the poor, needy scamp who inquires for your money in some Jonely place, with a pistol at your ear, it terms a highwayman. 1} think when the latter springs the devil’s trap, he will find that the former has got a foot ora hand in too. Locksmith of Lyons: THE WEAVERS’ WAR. By HOWARD W. MACY, AUTHOR OF “THE BANKER OF CHICAGO.” “Locksmith of Lyons” was commenced in No. 18. Back num bers can be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United States. ——— CHAPTER XI. BARBE ROUSSEAU MEETS—A MAN, The artisan opened the door with a single cast of the hand, and Barbe Rousseau stepped in two paces instant- ly and halted, rolling his crab-like eyes from one to the other of the three persons before him. Blanche recognizing at a glance the hideous visage of the man who had terrified her in The Golden Loom, sprang to her feet with a little cry of terror. Mamma Grimo, evidently vexed and alarmed, wheeled her back toward the unwelcome intruder. The artisan, with eyes that glowed like coals of fire,did not retreat an inch, but with the formidable envenomed knife of the old woman in view, said haughtily: “What right have you to intrude here?” “Oh, then my presence is an intrusion is it ?’? asked Barbe Rousseau, insolently at heart but urbane in tone. “Tam sorry for that, I wished to make the acquaintance of alocksmith, by name Robert Lackville, sometimes eall- ed handsome Robert by the men, and always so called by the women. There cannot be two locksmiths in Lyons as handsome aS you are. Doubtless you are Handsome Robert! Is it not so ?? , The ugly eyes of “The Baked Crab” fiashed from head to heel over the stately and handsome person of the young locksmith, as he spoke; with great difficulty re- straining a glare of malicious envy as he remarked how noble in form and feature was the man before him. Superlatively hideous himself in shape, features, and mind, Barbe Rousseau instantly conceived a bitter aud deadly hatred fora man whose every glance told of a high and noble spirit. Besides, he had discovered that this man was not only the lover of the beautiful girl he had stared at in The Golden Loom, but undoubtedly beloved by her. When Barbe Rousseau saw Blanche in the saloon of Fanfan it was not for the first time. He had seen ber at an early hour of the morning, passing her in the street, amazed at her extraordinary beauty, aud also by her resemblance to one whom he had yearned to make his own many years before. He had endeavored to accost her, put lost sighe of her in the crowd. The image of her beauty,the flerce reminiscences if ex- cited remained in his heart and brain, torturing him. Chance had given him asecond sight of this beauty in The Golden Loom, and his intense eagerness to become intimately acquainted with her, had led bim to offer to pay for anything and everything she might desire in the saloon. We have seen how his extended violent pursuit of her was baffled by his unlucky leap and fall over the two strangers in “‘Tne Golden Loom.” After the visit and departure of Mamma Grimo he had been detained inthe saloon by the entrance of sundry persons with whom his affairs were connected, and it Was not until after his appearance at the window to sa- lute the procession of iguorant weavers, that he had suc: ceeded in witharawing himself from the saloon, with a resolution. to make the acquaintance of the locksmith whose fame appeared so bright in that quarter of La Croix Rousse. Having exchanged his conspicuous red hat for a black cap, and cast a long gray cloak over his red garb, he had glided through the marching, shouting crowd in the streets unnoticed, until he arrived at the locksmith’s shop, formerly the lair of his old comrade, Papa Canton. Finding the shop vacant, and hearing the sound of Mamina Grimo’s ee ee in the room beyond, he had glided to the door and listened eagerly. But he had heard but a few sentences of the conversa- tion carried on within when the locksmith opened the door suddenly as related in the preceding chapter. With the deep cunning of his fox-like nature, he ap- peared to take no notice of the presence of either Blanche or Mamma Grimo. The single swift glance which he had swept over them as he entered, was all the attention he bestowed upon them, and his whole soul seemed. concentrated upon the ar- tisan. : Resolved to secure his confidence and even friendship, if pessible; he assumed @ mest respectful and flattering air, taking off his cap and bowing as he spoke. He ever tried to soften his shrill, rasping voice into a tone of hu- mility. A glaace atthe noble and resolute face of the young man had warned him that this Robert Kville was not a person to endure the slightest appe threat or insolence in those who addressed him. “Finding your shop-door open,” he continuc holding his cap in his hand, “I entered, hoping te you within. The shop being vacant and seeing this door, T was advancing to rap at it politely, when my ith! it was thrown wide open, and as you see—I am . Jam charmed to see that you well ueserve the sobriquet of ‘Handsome Robert,’ and to be able to say it does not flat- ter you atall. Halhal!litis no wonder all the ladies ot La Croix Rousse are mad about you. My faith! my young friend, had I that face and figure, 1 would aim for a prin. cess of the blood-royal.”’ “I do not desire your acquaintance, Barbe Rousseau,’* replied the artisan coldly, and gazing upon him sternly and haughtily. “On hearing the name, “Barbe Rousseau,” thus dis- tinctly and pointedly spoken, tne intruder started vio- lently, and a fiend-like glare sparkled in his hideous eyes, “What name is that which you spoke?” he hissed, his whole aspect instantly bristling with Suppressed wrath. “Barbe Rousseau,” replied the artisan, coldly, but pointedly. ‘And you apply it to me. “Why not? it is yours.”? “That name is dead.” “Perhaps. But the man to whom it belongs, is you. You are alive, are you not? You may have cast thename away but it lives yonder in the criminal records of Paris. It is possible that you may have become ashamed of the name, and undoubtedly true that you are afraid of it. Come, I know you, and this old woman is your sister, the once infamous Lisette Malus. You and she may now de- part.’ Mamma Grimo, who, until this moment, had held her back toward Barbe Rousseau, faced about quickly on hearing herseif spoken of, and her squinting eyes met those of the intruder. “Hal? snarled Barbe Rousseau, as his right hand gli- ded into his boot-leg, where he often carried his favorite weapon, the knife. “I recognized you in Fanfan’s.” “Aye, and | you,’ snarled back the old woman. “Bravo! and you told this cocker, eh!’ hissed Barbe Rousseau, his rignt hand half hidden in the long leg of his boot, which rose above his knee. He was stooping and crovching as he spoke; his left hand on his left knee, his right hand as we have said in the leg of his boot, both knees bent nearly to the floor, both elbows of his long arms bent far outward, his shoré flat body curved, his high sharp shoulders up to his ears. In that posture, with his cloak fallen off and_his red garb revealed, it was plain that Barbe Rousseau deserved the sobriquet of ‘fie Baked Crab!’ It was also plain to Mamma Grimo that he was about to flash a formidable knife from his boot-flap and spring, as only he could spring, either at her or upon the artisan or upon both. She had not forgotten the mode in which this terrible man gave symptoms of the horrible madness he ever dis- played in his conflicts. “No,” she cried, shuddering too, for there was that in the eyes of Barbe Rousseau which told her he meant to kill her if he believed she had revealed his identity. ‘‘No! I did not tell him anything. Take care! he is not a tulip to be cut off at a blow, as he holds the sting of Le Scorpion in his hand. Come, you and i had best be friends again, the way things are going.” “The sting of Le Scorpion!” said Barbe Rousseau, not changing his attitude, but glaring no longer at Mamma Grimo. His ugly eyes now gleamed surprise and caution as well as rage at the artisan. “Yes! do you not see the gimlet-knife in his hand? It is fresh smeared with the venom of the coral-snake! Take care!’ The venom of the coral-snake of Brazil! The poison of the most beautiful and most quickly, deadly of all the venomous reptiles that crawl on earth, whether the cobra, the tuboba, the cerostes, the white-lady, the puff-adder, the rattlesnake, or the horrible vipers of the eastl—a venom that invariably turns the blood of man or beast to jelly, as the venom of the cobra de capello changes the same blood to yellow water, but far more rapid in this dreadful, tatal transformation than the venom of the cobra! “The poison of the coral snake of Brazil!” hissed Barbe Rousseau, trembling in his turn, and recoiling toward the old womau, no longer feeling for the haft of his long boot- knife, but jumbling in his bosom tor the handle of apis- tol. ‘Devils! how came he with that?” “He snatched it from me, asI was about to make an endofhim. Don’t draw yourpistol! You might miss him, and then it would all be over with youinasecond! Heis a tiger, I tell you. Within a few hours he has beaten Esark Hasserbrek nearly to death, and laughed at the dagger of Le Scorpion.” “A pistol shot may do his job, Lisette. I am sure on the trigger,”” whispered Barbe Rousseau hesitatingly, and sorely tempted to risk a shot across that small room at the scornful, defiant eyes, which watched him with a vig- ilance that could not be evaded. r “You might miss, and he is quick as gunpowder—as quick as that,” said Mamma Grimo, with an emphatic snap of her claws. ‘Besides, the report of a pistel will bring in a crowd, and then what a rumpus and a mixing up With the accursed police again. Come, we had better leave, and have our revenge at a safer time.” ec oe, “Bah! if I point him out to the people as an enemy of mine they wild tear him to pieces!” exclaimed Barb Rous- seau. “Try it, Baked Crab,” said the artisan, scornfully, for he heard this boastfulspeech. ‘Try 1t, rascally robber and assassin, and you will learn that the people you are deceiving are not like yourself, cowards and assassins. Try it and you will find that Iam of the people. Perhaps somebody would be torn to pieces, but it would not be me, it would be Barbe Rousseau and his sister, the hag there. Well? You do not point me out tothe people! Iam waiting to be pointed out, Barbe Rousseau. You hear them passing by in the street—the tail end of the great procession you made repeat the empty words with which you and your brother demagogues are deluding them, and leading’ tiem to death, and prisons, and shame, and mis- ery. Call them in, Barbe Rousseau, once chief of the ‘Snake Charmers.’ Dog, you dare not! Now go! you and your vile sister who. hides the crimes of Lisette Malus ,under the name and garb of Mamma Grimo! Depart, or it will be the end of both of you.” The artisan spoke in a tone of cold, cutting contempt, and had the deluded weavers. of Lyons seen then their favorite and mysterious champion, the “Baked Crab,” they would have seen him slowly grasp his cloak, toss it over his ungainly shape, and creep, awe-Siruck, toward the door, followed by Mamma Grimo, both eyeing the scornful artisan and the. poisonous gimlet-knife with glances of fear and. distrust, as they sneaked away out into. the shop, and thence. into the still crowded streets, where they vanished, clinging to each other, separate and two in person, but one in fear and hate of this lion-heart- ed locksmith, who gazed scornfully and defiantly after them, until the human’ deluge in the street swept them from his sight, From the moment of the entrance of Barbe Rousseau, Blanche De Mounlaine had not ceased to tremble. The very presence of the man, even though he did not once again glance toward her, filled her with terror and loath- ing. There was this strange and unpleasant peculiarity nat- ural to Barbé Rousseau: when in a rage, or greatly ex- cited in any manner, an acrid, pupgent, and disagreeable scent arose from his presence. He was like the rattle- snake of America in this respect—a venomous reptile, which, like the ferret, gives off, exhales from every pore, an unpleasant and fetid odor when enraged, while at other times it.is odorless. Thus one may know that he is in the vicinity of an enraged rattlesnake, without being able to see the reptile; a strong odor being very percepti- ble—tne perfume of a freshly-cut ripe water melon com- bined with the rank muskiness of a he-goat. ‘A strange mingling of scents—one delicate and pleasant, the other. horrible. Those familiar with the habits and peculiarities of this formidable reptile of America are well aware of this fact, ; ; 3ut such was not the odor which was exhaled from the person of Barbe Rousseau under great mental or physical excitement. History tells us that a very sweet and pleas- ant perfame was exhaled, by the skin of Alexander of Macedon; but that exhaled by Barbe Rousseau was by no means sweet nor pleasant. It was pungent and sicken- ing—it was the odor of acertain plant. Blanche’s delicate nostrils had perceived this scent a moment after the artisan called the intruder “Barbe Rousseau.” At the entrance of the man she had felt sick and faint with the terror his very presence inspired; when this odor struck her nostrils she became sick with loath- ing. This disgust made her deathly sick and faint, and she had clung tothe bed upon which she sat, fearing the scent would stifle her, — But fear for the safety of her lover nerved her to resist her desire to rush into the air to escape that efMuvium. “Oh! it is horrible!’ she said, when her lover, seeing ne more of Barbe Rousseau, turned his eyes toward ler. ; “Courage, Blanche! They are gone.” “Ah! is it poSsible that you do not perceive if? ex- ciaimed Blanche, with her face plunged into her hand- kerchief, : “Pah?” cried the artisan, understanding her and open- ing # window, “The smell of the ‘Symplocarpus Fwti- aus! “The what.!? said Blanche, wonderingly, and staggered by the heavy words... “The Symplocarpus Fetidus,” repeated the artisan, smiling, and openiug another window. “Come, I do not, know what that is,’ said Blanche, “but it must mean something that smells very bad. Is it an animal, or a.bird, or a fish or what?” “It is a plant, Blanche.” “A plant! Ob, there is no plant in the world with such a perfume !’’ 2 “You have never studied botany ??? “Oh no P* : a “Some day we will study it together, and then you will learn that the plant Symplocarpus Feetidus is the skunk- cabbage—and you know what that is?” “Ah, Rebert, how learned you are. But why is the odor of that unpleasant,plant to which you give so ter- rible a name, filing this room? “Ah, the air is cold, bat how delicious from the bosom of the river, after, that— oll I ratiier dislike that kind of cabbage ! Do you keep it here? . “No, indeed!” laughea Lackyille. “You are smelling Barbe Rousseau. “Good Heaven !"! 1 {i is. true, Blanche,’ he continued séridusly. “Some serpeuts, some animals, some insects when enraged or ex-’ cited exhale.a yoy bad odor. Barbe Rousseau, though aman, has that peculiarity, He could net preverit it if he would... Ifis.an infirmity with him.” “A yery ridiculous infirmity !’ criad Bianche. how did you know that?” ; “Some day I will tell. you. Let us say no more about it now, and let us pray that neither of us may ever mect him again. It was fortunate for all that-I wrested this knife from Mamma Grimo, But for it there would have been @ struggle. Barbe Rousseau was about to,draw a Knife frem his boot and fy at me. See—I place it in its sheath.. Take it.” ‘Z1 Oh, I, dare, not touch, it,” exclaimed Blanche, shrinking from the sheathed weapon in borror. “It niay sometime save your life, dear Blanche,” said theartusan gravely. a “My life! Oh, my, life is not threatened, dear heart! No one can wish to take my life.’ wk we “We do not: know that. .That.old woman is.very vin- diciive. She is capable of any crime.. in fact, she has committed many crimes already... Besides, | know now that you have three other enemies.’! “Three other enemies! 1, Robert!” “You. Barbe Rousseau, Esark Hasserbrek and. Le Scorpion.’ “Ob, Heaven! and why are they, my, enemies ?” “T do not know. Perhrps I shal! learn from General Henri La Mothier, who is to explain tome why he had an impress of your key.” : “The key. Hereitis, Mamma Grimo has gone away without if,” exclaimed Blanche, clasping Ler little hands in terroy, ; “You. forget; that you are to care nothing for Mamma Grimd.. That you and she are now separated forever. Let her open or, break in her door as she pleases. Know that she and the three I mentioned are your enemies. Henceforth, dear Bianche, you are to be under my protec- tion, but it may be that tirey will contrive to attack you in some way. Take the weapon, Blanche. There is no danger in carrying it sheathed.” “But in defending my life i might. take a life! said Blanche, still shrinking from. the weapon. ‘Oh, not even to save my life would i take the life of another! It would be dreadful to have the blood of a fellow-beipg upon my soul! Horrible!” She shuddered ana covered her face in her hands. “They will not first attack your life, Blanche,” said the artisan, gravely; so gravely that sne let fall ner hands and stared into his face. “They will first make you wish you were dead. Do you understand 2?” She artless and innocent as she was, understood. There was a lurid, fierce, terrible meaning in the dark eyes of the artisan which told her what he meant. “Give me the knife, Robert,’ she said, huskily. ‘If I do. not, in my extremity of peril, use it against any of them, 1 at least shall not become their prey.’? “Good Heaven!’ exclaimed Lackville, ‘‘you would use it upon yourself !”? ‘Do you remember the Roman story you once told me, dear Robert—the stery of the noble lady, Lucretia? Well, I would imitate Lucretia. Tiere, give me the weapon.’ “Remember! a scratch from its envenomed poimt or edge will be certain death.’! “} shall not forget that.’’ “First let me show you howto useit. Hold it thus; unsheathed, I mean. Strike out thus, as one delivers a blow with the fist—strike at the face, the throat, or the breast+strike boldly and with all your strength. The blade is double-edged. You understaud ?” ; “Yes, but. Ido not think I shall have any need of it, dear Robert, guarded by you.”’ . “Ah, I cannot always be with you, my life. There, put the weapon where you may reach it readily.” ea these enemies of mine are your enemies too, my Robert? ’ “7 amaman!” he replied, while his eyes flashed de- ance, “They are reptiles, Come: we'll now go to the doctor's, and then I will conduct you to one who Wil re. gard you as @ daughter,” and taking her by the hand, he left the place, alter locking it up securely. But ~ CHAPTER XII. THE WHIP OF RAOUL ANDRE. There were many persons still in the streets of that quarter of La Croix Rousse when Blanche and the lock- smith turned away fromthe shop. But the great proces- sion of turbulent weavers had swept by, and these then tramping the streets were hurrying on to be where there was tlie wost to be seen. The procession had been put on foot by the disaffected only to display their immense strength to the city author- ities, and beyond yelling and shouting there had been little disturbance. The time had not come for violence and shedding of human blood; but that time was not many days away. “This way, dear Blanche,’’ said Lackville, as she clung to his unwounded arm. ‘fo not wish to consult any of the quacks of La Croix Rousse. I intend to cross the Place Bellecour.”’ “Anywhere you wish, dear, Robert,’ she said. ‘You are now the only one in the world to whom I have a right to cling; and no right have I to do that, beyond the love 1 believe you bear for, me.”’ “You are weeping, dear Blanche,’ he whispered, ‘‘why do you weep? Not, because of love for that evil woman , . “Ohno! no! Idetest her!’ she interrupted, clinging more closely than everto his strong arm. “Ah, Heaven knows that I have always detested her, though she called herself my mother’s sister. I have never known, what 16 is to have a mother, my Robert. So far back as I can re- member, Lremember only Mamnia Grimo, as I have of- ten told you. But there is the power of habit, my Rob- ert, and now it has rushed upon. my mingd crushingly— that lhavye taken a step which I can never retrace, There was very little for me to abandon, my Robert,” she said, forcing back a sob, ‘but such as itis, Lhave aban- doned it for the love L have for you.” “Bless you, my Blanche, for those dear words, “replied tha artisan tenderly. ‘You are weeping—oh, because yoware a woman.”’ “It is strange,” said Blanche, trying to laugh, and fail- ing, “that Ishould shed a tear at parting from Mamma rimo.’ “Strange, but natural, my Blanche—at least if not nat- ural, it often, happens, I have known a man—oh, but I need not speak of that,” cried the artisan suddenly, and setting his teeth hard. 7 “You have known a man, you were saying,’’ remarked Blanche. “Whatrelse?” “Well, I have known a man who shed tears on turning his back upon the accursed galleys of Toulon, in which he had been a slave for three years, and where he had been beaten and treated cruelly.. But Ido not think the tears he shed were tears of regret like yours.”’ “Like mine. Oh, my Robert, mine are not tears of re- argh I do not know—I can not tell why I was weeping.’’ “Yout? “Yes, Your tears are the tears of a tender, modest, in- nocent maiden, who sheds them, because she is very hap- py in leaving forever the cruelty of an old misery-making wonian to become the wife of a young fellow who adores her, but of whom she knows very little, and who may in the end bea worse tyrant than Mamma Grimo! That is the only way in which I can explain your weeping, so don’t weep any more.”’ “Oh Robert.” “Besides, you are wondering what is to become of you. But trust in me, my Blanche. .The day may come when you will turn your back on me.’’ “Good Heaven, why do you say that?’ she demanded, With a pinch of the arm to which she clung, “Come, lama very great man in your eyes now, am I not?" “Yes, now and forever. my Robert?’! He gazed down upon her charming upturned face, his dark, deep-thinking. eyes reading only fond love and trusting affection in every faultless feature, as the light- streaming from a window near by shone upon them, “On, he thought, *‘she does. not suspect asI do, that in rank sheis far above me. She does not suspect that which I have never dared to tell yet to her—that I have been a gaterien!. Perhaps Ishould have told her that, be- fore I won her heart. But J will tell, her before we are wedded, and perhaps I must tell others, who may have a right to know, I must not compromise them nor her.’’ “Oh Robert, why are you gazing so. sternly upon me.’ “Sternly! Iwas thinking of something of which when I shall have told you, you will say tome: ‘Itis enough! Leave me forever.’? Blanche stared at him in wild surprise. “Oh, letus hasten tothe nearest doctor,’’ she cried trembling. ‘“Youdon’t know what you are saying, dear Robert. Some of that poison has mounted to. your brain, and you don’t mean to wound me with cruel words, But you are, in saying such things.’’ ' “Itis not the poison, my Blanche,” he said, with feigned gayety. ‘Not the poison of Ze Scorpion; but perhaps. it is the poison of Fanfan’s decanter. The brancy makes eee spin out here in the open air, Here! Driver!’ Why do you speak so gravely, at once drew up near. them. aft ‘We will ride, Blanche,”?. he said, as he assisted her into the vehicle. hen, after a careful glance cast in every direction, he added to the driver, in a whisper; , “To Dr. La Planche—147 Place Lellecour.”’ Then again, still ina whisper: ‘Keep a Sharp eye out, and if you pect that you are followed by any. one, let me know. Here is double your fare in advance.” “Trust to me, sir,’’ replied the driver, as he pocketed his fare, and closed the carriage door upon the artisan and Blanche. 8D In a moment after the carriage rolled away rapidly. The streets were well lighted, but here and there were patches of shadow as black asink. Whilerollingthrough one of these deep shadows of lofty houses, something | bounded up from the street and clung to the foot-board behind the carriage. : ment, and as seon as the carriage began to move from the spot where Blanche and the artisan had entered it, a man who had held them in view from the moment they left the shop in La Croix Rousse hailed a cab, gave an order to its driver and sprang into the cab. At the same time, a person with whom this man had been conversing until then, shook a pair of wrinkled hands after the carriage of the artisan, as if hurling curses at it and its occupants, and then hurried away toward La Croix Rousse. : At about the same time a man, all bruised and band- aged, and scarcely able to walk, leit the barracks of tue National Guard, entered a cab, and said to the driver: “Drive very slowly, for the least jarring gives me the agonies of a man broken on the witeel Drive to 145 Pace Bellecour.® ith “<) aa he ay t ogres This man, bruised and* bandaged, twas) Hsark Hasser- brek, andeat'l145 Place Bellecolirwresided.|General Henri La Mothiers ) ) Sivoo er The carriage in which were Blanche and the artisan} was an open batouche, and not ‘many minutes after the something’ bad settled itself upon the footboard, the driver Jéaned back and over his seat,.and whispered te Lackvilley wito Was sitting alone upon the seat below and vehind him:* ) “Sirwe are followed.” “An ory z i “By a cab, sir.” : " “You are sure of that?” ; ; “} know it, | have made several unnecessary detours here and there. The cab does the same.” a “Can you not give the cab the slip ?”’ in “Oertuinly. My horses can put us three miles apart from the Gab in an hour. But there is some one clinging to tne footboard.” Fas “Oh! you see him?” :f “It is impossible to see him. without his perceiving that his presence is suspected.”’ ‘Phen how do you know he is there?” . “My horses know if, sir. They always lash out at noth- ing when any one hangs on behind. It is'a trick Lhave tuoght them. l could easily cut the fellow’s» face into ribbons with my whip, but I thought you might lke to find out who fie is.” “It does not matter; lonly wished to learn if we were being kept in sight by any one, and not toavoid any one.’ “As you please, sir, but I have anitching to scorch the hide of the fellow behind,’’ whispered the indignant ari- ver, who had not ceased to drive steadily and rapidly while this whispered conversation continued. “Very well.-Just before you arrive at Dr. Planche’s give him all you can.” “Good! Ican give him three stingers. cab, sir??? “Take no notice further than try to identify it. you manage that?’ ‘With ease, sir,’ was the prompt reply, and there the conversation ended, ; Not leng after this the carriage was halted suddenly just after rounding a corner ata rapid paces Very soon after the pursuing cab came furiously around the same corner, its driver fearing he was abeut tolose sight of Lhe carriage he had been ordered to keep in view. Perceiving the carrizge, the driver of the cab drove on, to excite no Suspicicn, and in amdment after the car- But about the Can e called to a carriage then rolling by, and the driyer; have cause to sus-|. 3efore this something succeeded in effecting this lodge- } ba) “My faith, the nian moagt be dead. ed my nmeck.’? to his carriage. Besides, it was plain that this fellow was not simply stealing a ride, but was playing the spy upon Raoul’s patron. This was an insult and an outrage! A. making of hix carriage and of him and of his horses, a vehicle for some rascally, cowardly purpose. In fact, it Was an act that pesles for the punisiment of leaden balls armed with nee- es. Raoul Andre was the man to inflictit. A few nights before a fellow had played this hanging-on-behind trick upon one of Raoul’s patrons, and Raoul had been accused of betraying a secret to which he had pledged his faith. After that Raoul had vowed vengeance condign and original upon the next spy that he could reach. There- fore he had prepared the apparatus we have described. When all was ready he swung his whip in the air. He was one of those experts who can snap off a fly at fifteen feet with the tip of a whip Jash. , Suddenly he gave asharpcry to his horses, and they sprang forward at a tremenduous pace. He stood erect, swung the loaded lashes here and there for an instant in the air, then leaned far over the interior of the. carriage, and with a swiftness that equaled the Clawing of a fight- ing cat, and with allthe strength of his long muscular arms, dealt three furious strokes at whet he could not see, but knew was crouching and clingirg there behind, “One | two ! three ! as rapid as the feiats of a fencing- master, and then a howl, a yell, ashriek, and Le Scor- pion was climbing over the back of the carriage, knife in hand, to take murderous vengeance upon the man whose pat blow had put out ong of his ugly, Many-coivred eyes orever. Le Scorpion, after his affray with the artisan in the shop, had, as has been told, fled from the spot, assured that he whom he had stabbed with his poisoned dagger, would be a corpse in a few minutes. Afterward, while mingling with the procession of wea- vers, he was amazed at seeing the artisan leaving aud closing the shop in company with Blanche. “He must be poison proof !’? was the reflection of Le Scorpion, as he resolved to follow the pair. He was doing this when the artisan and Blanche enter- ed the carriage. “Good!” thought Le eeemop “Tt is much more pleas- ant to ride than to walk. ‘Besides, it may chance that 1 may secure that key. Thistime ] shall not take an im- pression of itin wax. 1 willslp the chain oif over the girl’s head.’ Our friend Le Scorpion was not aware thatthe chain was in the pocket of Fanfan. ‘In truth, perhaps an easier way would be to snip the chain with my scissors—they can cut any watch chain | ever tried my hand on.’ So watching lis opportunity, he soon secured a clinging place behind the carriage, Hie was very pleasantly situated there, dreaming of his rascally purposes, when, boof! crash! bang! came the three needie-armed balls squarely into his face! One ball smote himinthe right eye, slantingly, the needles with whichit was armed piercing, lacerating, and destroying it, even dragging it from its socket, and leaving it hang- ing upon his cheek, a bloody pulp forever sightiess. To this ball belongs the word we colned above— ‘poof )?? The second ball smote Him in the mouth, and crashed in four of his upper and two of his lower front teeth. To this ball belongs the second word—*‘crash }’ _ The third batt hit himon the top of his forehead, mak- ng his brain roar and spin. We may call this third ball “bang! y Now, the “boof !? “crash ’ and “bang !”? came all to- gether, three dreadful blows in cne, and instantly follow- ed by two other triple blows; and the two last were dis- tribu by chance allover the astonished person of Le Scorpion. : H 1 a2.common man, perhaps he would have been I he judye tuinbied to the pavement badly hurt. . Bad &he pee being Tarmore demon than man, inste thinking of raunaing away, he thought only of revenge. 4 5 7 In an instant’ jis, knife was out, and he was half over » Raoul Andre had a stout and ike that of death seized upon his d 0 arriage lamps revealed the hid- cous visage of Le Scorpion struggling toward him—one eye hangipg on his ¢heek, a bloody mass, and we other fixed ou Raoul and blazing like a coal. Le Scorpion, whese agility was that of an ape, would have cleared the back of the barouche at a single effort, and his second leap would have carried tis knife across ihe throat of Raoul,had not the back of the barouche yielded suddenly under his weight and tripped him head- long, so that for an instant his heeis were higher than ius ivead, 3 tail Thag instant of disaster to him saved Raoul. . The arti- san was at Le Scorpion like a tigerin hisleap. One hand grasped Le Scorpion’s wrist, rendering useless his weap- uh; tue Other seized Le Scorpion’s waistband, and then Le Scorpion was hurled into the air, as a man mignt toss a hateful car. “Oh, Heaven!’? exclaimed Raoul, seeing Le Scorpion whirl over and over inthe aw and come down upon the paved street with a tremendous thud, “he must ve dead after that.’? “Your horses are going too fast—check them,’ said the artisan, calmly, and resuming his seat. By this time the speed of thie horses had carried the ba- rouche 4 hundred yards irom where Le Scorpion had fall- en, Raoubchecked thea juto a slow tres, luutleriug Le @er his grizaly beard: ée The police will find, then there Wil be a Stir about it. I have lost my Ywui Oe ol.must. have let it fall when I saty that rascal trymeg te get at me with his knue. Qorl-hehad tue face of afiend. Lf must have hit him in the eye. 1f he is not, dead, he Will remember my witip. Mousieur,”? he added, leaning back imto\the barouche, 1 have lost my wiup.’? 4 «No matter. Hurry’ons .1 fear the lady has fainted,’ replied the artisan, who liad twice addressed Blanche and received no reply. I “No, 00! sald him. befoxe morning, amd Blanche, rousing herself. “I am well, | but terribly frightened. As Le Scorpion—l am sure it was he~as he tried to get into the carriage, he made a blow at me with his Kuife. It istrue, for the knife barely miss- Venomous wretch!’ exclaimed the artisan. ‘I hope le is dead.”? “Oh, if heis not, some of us will soon be,’ muttered Raoul, who, driving slow again, coulu hear’ a little of what was said in the barouciie. “‘And if he is dead, mon- sieur ?”’ ey “yy *Well, then he is dead.’ ‘But the police ?’ “The police Nave been wishing him dead a very long time,’ replied the artisan, calinly. ‘Do pot fear, my good friend. If Le Scorpions dead, I killed him.” “Le Scorpion! Did you say he was Le Scorpion, mon- sieur!?? ; } “Oh, then you have hearaigethat man ?? ‘“Heard.of him! it Was: he who they used to say poi- soned his knife. And he was trying to get at me! 1 snail hereafter attend church andbe a pious man. But here we are at Dr. Planche’s,’”’ drawing up before an elegant mansion. ~ iy FE rae DE a” tks « oN fury “And theitab?y. >) Rhu l wu “Oh, it is not far off, sirpimpourivear.’’ 5 ei “Very well. Remember Stold you.. Your name?” ‘At your service, monsieur oul Andre, varoucke No. 17; residence, 45'Piace Tibauli,, My card,” : “Thanks; Raoul ‘Andre, and here’ ismine—George Her- bert, designer, 147 Place Beliécour. And here are two gold pieces tor the witip youhavelost.”? “An, what generosity, sity? said: ‘Raoul, as he lowered the'steps of the cartiagés “Ah, and my faith! itis the face of anangel hetiast at his side,” he muttered, gazing at the beautiful . iche.aS the artisan assisted her from the barouche and conducted her up the broad, marble steps of the mansion. +. A moment after, the two entered the house. Racul scratched his head, closed the door of his carriage, riage overtook it, passed it, anW went on. “[ know the cab, sir,’’ whispered the artisan’s driver. “You are sure of that?” “Oh, yes, aud the man who’ drivesitis a friend of mine, sir.’ . uu iw y “Phat is good; you must learn from your friend.who is in the ¢ab, or geta description ef the person as soon after our arrival at the::doctor’s as youscan; and then leave all the informatioa you obtain in a letter addressed to George. Herbert, at Dr. Planeche’s. Do you under- stand ?? “Fully, sir. Information in a George Ilerbert, at Dr. Planche’s.” “Rigut—uow drive on.”’ “All, We are nearly there, sir, and | must »think about my unknown friend behind there. 1 must reward him ior the tronble he has taken.”? So saying the driver quietly fastened two lashes to the end of his whip-stock. ‘hese two lashes, iong and slen- der, he took from a box under: his seat. At the end of each lash was a ball cf lead as large as a musket-ball an ounce in weight. Each balbwas studded with eight steel prongs cr heavy needles of steel, each point an inch in length. To the usual lash of his whip he fastened a third ball, exactly like the other two. ° His whip-stock. thus prepared was. armed with three long lashes, aud atthe end of each lash was a bail of lead an ounce in weight, each ball bristling with eight large’steel needies, euch needle an inch long. The driver was a tall, long-limbed,. athietic man, as familiar and skillful with the whip as a fencing-master is with the foil. At If there is anything especially hateful to. the driver of a carriage, it is a fellow stealing a ride ‘by hanging on be- hind. Wehave known the best-natured coachman in the world thrown into spasms of wrath by such outrages upon the sanctity of their vehicles. Then woe to the hide of him who can be reached by the slashing whip. yikit Our driver of Lyons, whom we shall call Raoul, and of whom the reader may see more before the end of our story, Was not by any means acruel man, nor fond of inflicting pain. { tie knew that it was not an urchin hanging on behind. The actions of his horses told him that, for he had trained the intelligent animals especially inthis matter. Had the rascal behind been simply a vagabend boy indulging in a frolic, the horses would have informed their master of the fact by a few simple restive kicks anda snort or two perfectly intelligible to Raoul. Then would Raoul have shouted ina terrific voice: “Begone, little vagabond |” and contented himself witha sharp backhanded slash or two. The urchin being hit would haye scampered’away Howling like a burnt mon- key; orescaping tiie merited slash would) have scamper- ed away yelling and jeering triumphantly and inocking- ly, after the manner cf boys. But Raoul’s sagacious auimais having reared and paav- ed, and lashed out behind, and neighed, ‘he knew that something heavier than two orthree boys was hanging leiter—addressed to scratched his head .agaifi-—tins time witn both hands, stared up at the house, an@then at the one adjoining it, “Ip is surange—that facel* Where have seen it? or one very much like it?) I remit | | tock up two fares yes- erday, a lady and:gentieman—L remember the gemtle- man asked me to send iim asmart fellow for a footman. l sent my brother, Conlot Audre—a very sharp fellow is Coulot. And the gentieman gave me hiscard. Oh, it was General Henri La Movmer. And tre lady was his wife—yeés, aud as beautitul aSan ongel, but pale and sad. That is it! The face of the dauy, we Countess D’Aucre! Mon Diéul the face of Uns Young iri m the red dress 1s astonishipgiy like the face of the countess! 1 will speak to Coulot about it. Bak! itis none of my business. I will go lovk for miy whip.) {fo be Continued.) Our Knowledge Box. A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING. QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.— S. G. Applege.—l. To remoye superfluous hair, see “No. 21. 2. See No. 14. 3. In another part of this cc-lumn you will find a remedy for freckles. 4. Cannot auswer........ Rowan Green. Sorry we cannot oblige you. A coptectioner woala, prebably enlighten you... .....&uby Blazes and Virginia W.—Waitt Harp Soar.—Seyen pounds of soda, three ot lime, four gallons of Waicr; boil together tul dissoived. Let this stand to settle; then pour off as long as a remains clear, and add water to make four galions. Boil this, adding four pounds of grease and two tablespoopfuls of borax, boil till thick. Take up and put away to cool. When it is cold, cut the pteces rather larger t .an the size you want them, as it shrinks in _drying.——TRANspar- ENT £0'aP.—Shave in thin slices one’ pound of vrown bar soap, and put it in a junk bottle with half a pint of alcohol. Without corking: the bottle, place it in a basin Containing water, put the pasill Gu the stove,and hoil ten minutes. Tneu remove the botile fromthe water, and turn out the liquid to cool. Before cold add a few dropsot oil of bergamot.or lemon to scent.—— ExceLLent Tomet Soap.—Four pounds white cliemical bar soap, one fourth of a pound of sal soda dissolved in one gallon of soft water. When all is disselved take from the fire, add one-half onnee each of aqua ammonia, spirits of eamphor and sulphuric ether. When nearly cool, color with one ounce ¢€s- sence of sassafras; then run into molds.——GLycerin Soap,— An excellent article is made by using one pound of bar soap, containing olive oil; one pound glycerin; one pint of alcohol, and one pint of water. Shavethe soap tine; put the alcohol and water ina Kettle over the fire; add the soap,and when dissolved ania greater part of the alcohol has been evaporated add the glycerin: Continue stirring for two or three minutes, and add any perfume you like......- Mahl-stick.—A visit to some. estab isument where the work is dene, might elicit the desire information...... Ww. .—Thnree or four times a day. It is per fectly harmless...... Sub.—We know of no way by which a sear caused by a burn or sore may be removed.... ...£dgar Harris.— Haik-Dyxine O11,—We have heard that a liquid which, will color the Nuit black, and. not stain the skin, may be made by tuking ove part of bay rum, three parts of olive oil, and one p rtof good brandy, wy measure. The bair must be washev. with the mixture every morning, and in a short time the use of it will make the hair a beautiful black, without injuring» 1t in the least. The articles must be of the best quality, mixed in a pottie, and always shaken well before being appiled. “Addres TO THE NERVOUS AND DEBILITATED WHOSE SUFFERINGS have been protracted from htd- den diseases, and whose cases require prompt treatment to render existence desirable: If yon are suffering, or liave suffered, from involuntary discharges, what eftect does it produce upon your general health? Do you feel weak, debilitated, easily tired? Does a little extra exer- tion produce palpitation of the heart? Does your liver, or urinary organs, or your kidneys frequently get out of order? Is your urine sometimes thick, milky or flocky, or is itropy on settling? Or does a thick scum rise to the top? Oris asediment at the bottom afterit has stood a while? Do you have spellsof short breathing or dys- pepsia? Are your bowels constipated? Do you have spells of fainting or rushes of blood to the head? Is your memory impaired? Is your mind constantly . dwelling upon this subject? Do you feel dull, listless, moping, tired of company, of life? | Do you wish to be left alone, to get away from everybody? Does any little thing make you start or jump? Is yoursleep broken or restless? Is the luster of your eye as brilliant? The bloom on your cheek as bright? Do you enjoy yourself in society as well? Do sou pursue your business with the same ener- gy? Do you feelas much confidence in yourself? Are your spirits dull and flagging, given to fits of melan- choly? If so, do not lay it to your liver or dyspepsia. Have yori restless nights? Your back weak, your knees weak, and haye but little appetite, and you attribute this to dyspepsia or liver complaint? Now, reader, self-abuse, venereal diseases badly cured, and sexual excesses are all capable of producing a weak- ness of the generative organs. The organs of genera- tion, when in perfect health, make’ the man, Did you i For Moth Patches, Freckles & Tan. TSE “PERRY’S MOTH AND FRECKLE LOTION.” The ) only Reliable and Harmless Remedy known _ to Science for removing brown discolorations from the Face. Prepared only by Dr. B. C. PERRY, 49 Bond St, N. Y. Sold by Druggisis every where, w22-13t It VD wn FREE! FREE! FREE! No charge will be made if DR. TOBIAS’ CELEBRATED YE- NETIAN LINIMENT does not cure Chronic Rheumatism, Sore Throats, Mumps, and paing in (pe chest, limbs or back, when apphed externally, and Croup, iarrhea, Dysentery, Colic, Sea- sickness, &c., internally. Warranted to be perfectly sate to give or apply tothe youngest child. Ithasbeen 23 years be- fore the public, and has never failed. Sold by all the Druggists, 25-28-31 at 50 cents and one dollar. Ww22-25-2 LOOK HERE { Why always plod for somebody « else, when you can be your own master and make $3 to $5 a day sure, or 50 cents per bour for your spare time from other business? Reader, we will tit you out with full particulars and samples for 10 cents, Address, w22-lt GEO. S. MELLEN, Lewiston, Maine... RUNKENNESS !—The Most HOPELESS Cases Cured. Send ome for evidence C. C. BEERS, M. D., Boston, Mass. w22- , OY 5 A DAY !—40 new articles for Agents. Samples sent /ree. ae) , B. SHAW, Alfred, Me. HUDSON River Institute and Claverack A first-class institution for both sexes. College course for la- dies and Academic course for ladies and gentlemen. Nine de- partments and seventeen professersand teachers: TERMopens April 4th. For catalogue containing full particulars, address Rey. A onzo Flack, A. M., President, Claverack, Columbia Co., N. Y, ~~ ELGIN WATCHES MANUFACTURED BY THE NATIONAL WATCH COMPANY, Pronounced by DEALERS and connorssrurRs throughout the coun- ty to be the Best TIME-KEEPERS now offered to the public for LADIES’ OR GENTLEDIEN’S USE. They combine improvements not found in any ether Watches of either Foreign or American make.- Ladies desirous of pur- chasing a handsome, strong, and correct tmepiece will find the elegant Watch bearing the ‘trade-mark of “LADY ELGIN,” to be all that they desire. Inquire of your Jeweler for the LADY ELGIN. NO MOVEMENTS RETAILED BY THE COM- oe _to make it the most ¢ ever think that those bold, defiant, energetic, persever- ing, successful business men ain always those whose gen- erative organs are in perfect health ? You never hear such men complain of being melancholy, of nervousness, of palpitation of the heart. They-ere never afraid they cannot succeed in business; they don’t become sad and dibdémibs ged; they are alivays polite and pleasant in the company of facies, and look you and them right in the face—none of your downcast looks ue any other mean- ness about them. Ido not mean those who keep the or-. gans inflated by running to excess. These will not only ruin their constitutions, but diso those they do business with or for. How many men, from badly-cured diseases, from the | effects of self-abuse and excesses, have brought about that state of weakness in those organs that has reduced : ‘the general system so much as to induce almost every other disease—idiocy, lunacy, paralysis, spinal affections, : i { | suicide and almost every other form of disease which hu- : manity is heir to, and the real cauSe of the trouble scarce- : a one. *Diseases' of these organs require the use of a Diuretic. Helmbold’s FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU . Is the great Diuretic, and is a certain cure for diseases of the Bladder, Kidneys, Gravel, Dropsy, Organic Weakness, Female Complaints, General Debility, and all diseases of the Urinary Organs, whether existing in Male or Female, from whatever cause originating, and no matter of how jong standing. if no treatment is submitted to, Consumytion cr Insani- ty may ensue. Our flesh and blood are supported from these sources, and health and happiness, and that of pos- terity, depends upon prompt use ofa reliable remedy. Helmbold's Extract ‘Buehu, established. upward of eighteen years, prepared by H.'T. HELMBOLD, Druggist, 594 Broadway, New York and i04 South Tenth street, Philadelphia, Pa. Price $125 per bottle, or six bottles for $6 50, delivered to any address. Sold by ali Druggists every where. None are genuine unless done up in steel-engraved wrapper with fac-simile of my Chemical Warehouse, and signed H. T. HELMBOLD. PANY, Business Office and Salesroom National Watch Company, 159 and 161 Lake Street Chicago. An illustrated pamphlet entitled. “Making Watches by Ma- chinery,” by the late A. D. Richardson, sent free on application. w22-2t Bliss’s Select GARDEN SEEDS. B. K. BLISS & SON, Nos. 41 Park Row, and 151 Nassau Street NEW YORK, Importers, Growers and Dealers in Garden, Field and Flower Seeds, Soriicultural Implements and Garden Requisit<¢s, Would inform their friends and the public that the Sixteenth An- nual Edition of their ILLUSTRATED SEED CATALOGUE and GUIDE TO THE FLOWER AND Kitcuen GARDEN, is now ready for distribution. No pains or expense bas been spared in preparing this edition plete work of the kind ever published in this country. a It contains 120 pages of closely printed matter; upward of Tio Hundred Choice Engraving: of Favorite Flowers and Vegetables, and two beautifully colored Lithographs of the celebrated) Liliwn. Auratum, and a group ot Prize Pansies; aud a descriptive list of Tio Thousand species and. varieties of Flower and Vegetable Seeds including all the novelties of the past season, with directions their culture; also. a list of upward of One Hundred Varieties of Choice Gladiolus; With many other Summer-Flovering Bulls, and ao useful intormation upon the subject of. gardening gener- ally. A copy will be, mailed to all apeiapte inciosing ticenty-ive cents; customers supplied without charge. Add ; ee B. K. BLISS & SON. P. O. Box 5712, New York. € W22-2t-eow DO YOUR OWN PRINTING, WITH A NOVELTY JOB PRINTING PRESS. The only low-priced press ever made that will do good work. No greater convenience can .be added to any business office, andno more valuable SA} means of advertising can be em- plowed than one of these presses and a few dollars’ worth of type. No 5 nore nséful, éntertaining or instruc- 4 tive present can be made to any boy than one of these presses and asmail quantity of printing material. He would find it a neyer-failing source of instruction, pleasure and profit, PRICE OF PRESs- ES, $15, $30, $32. $50. Send for full descriptive illustrated cir- culars, wilh testimonials and specimens of printing, types, bor- ders, cuts, rules, &c., to BENJ. O. WOODS, Proprietor, 351 Fed- eral St., Boston, Mass. w22-4t WAS cured of Deafness and Catarrh by asimple remedy, and will send the receipt tree. Mrs. M. C. LEGGETT, w222teow > 42 Hoboken, N. J. % \ SFeRRSSE RRS RGSS Fs hh hsggS g § TO THE WORKING CLASS—We are now prepared tofurnish all classes with constant employmentathome, the whole of the ime orforthesparemoments. Business new,lightand protitable. Persons ofeithersex easily carn from De. to 35 per evening, and a proportional sum by devoting their whole timeto the business. Boysand girls earn nearly as much as men. Thatall who sce thisnotice may send their address, and test the business, we make this unparalleled coffer: 71 such as are not wellsatistied, we willsend $1 to pay for the trouble of writing. | Full particulars, a valhiable sample, which will doto com- mence work on, and acopy of The People’s Literary Compenion— one of the largest and best ly newspapers published—all sent free by mail. Reader, if you want permanent, profitable work, address E. C. ALLEN & CO., Augusta, Maine. w3-13t dens THE NEW ARTICLE OF FOOD. For twenty-five cents you can buy of your Druggist or Grocer a package of Sea Moss Farine, manufactured from | pure irish Mossor Carrageen, which will make 16 quarts of Blanc Mange, andalike quan- tity of Puddings, Custards, Creams, Charlotte Russe, &c. &e. Ht is by far the cheapest, healthiest and most delicious ly ever suspected, and have doctored for all but the righ: food in the world. Rand Sea Moss Farine Co., 53 Park Place, N, Y. eee Ss. T.-1860.—-X. This wonderful vegetable restorative is the sheet-anchor of the feeble and de- bilitated. As a tonic and cordiai for the aged and languid it has no-egual among stomachics. Asa rem@fy for the nervous weakness to which women are especially subject, it is superseding every other stimulant. In all climates, tropical, tem- perate or frigid, it acts as a specific in mines the bodily strength and breaks ¢own the animal spirits. Sold by alj Drugzists. - x ~ : 2 499 AG REA DaiO EF baty Horace Waters, 481 Broadway, will dispose of ONE HUNDRED PIANOS, MELODEONS, and OrGans of six first class niakers, AT EXTREMELY LOW PRICES, FOR CASH, DURING THIS MONTH, Dr wil! take from $5 to $20 monthly until paid; the same to let, and rent money applied if purchased. ’ w7-1? ENOCH MORGAN'S SONS’ SA POLIO "ri. Dest and cheapast thing 1a use. SAPOLIQ— "cent Steinke ir: work, &€., &c., &e. SA POLIO" iron, Steet ana allan Syetaces SA POLIQO—ahiser equal to'new arucies SAPOLIO— "incr iaatan Sams aE ee try itand youll Depot, 211 Washington St., New York. Everybody uses tt. Sold Everywhere. w22-eow-tt 3 IVORGHES LEGALLY OBLAINED IN DIFFER- J ent States.» Desertions, &c., sufficient cause: No publicity. No charge until obtained. Address M. HOUSE, 78 Nassau st. w5l-1l3teow | Peer ek JULIUS .CASAR HANNIBAL'S FAMOUS | “Scientific Discourses” are resumed iv the april ; “ 7 T Cc 4 Nv x ” | i now ready at all ne wsdealérs. —Ten-cents a copy. w22-1t Ax. ) Pomp slealegn we of ARES (RE every species of disorder: which under- as oat al ey eae as WONMEDE GE teat Te ee oa or ee ange sam meme eT Wl! gl INIT mi lll 00 Pt rr eat flags ~ mre mmm # . ~ b te o~ oo » THE NEW YO “ah nat af f Grp WORTH OF MUSIC FOR $3. $4 WORTH OF MUSIC FOR 30 Cts. Every number of PETERS’ MUSICAL MONTHLY contains from TEN to FIFTEEN Pieces of Music, by such au- thors as Hays, Thomas, Kinkel, Becht, &c. f Tt is printed from full-size music Prates on Fine, White Paper, and contains only our BEST MUSIC. CANVASSERS AND PIANO TUNERS can easily make from. $200 to $300. per month, by getting sub- scribers for $50 Peters’ Musical Monthly. Single copies, 0icts.’ One year, $3 f 2 Copies BS: feopies, $9; 6 Copies, $13,505 12 copies, $24. Agents’ Rates still cheaper. Back Numbers for 1868, $2; for 1869, $3; from January, 1868. to December, 1870, $8 (Phetmree years contam $125 worth of Music). Address, J. Li, PETERS, Post-office Box 5429 1-2, New York. Stores, 599 Broadway and 198 Broadway, New York. ~ HOW TO GET PATENTS IS FULLY EXPLAINED: in a Pamphiet of 108 pages just issued by MUNN & ©Oi, 87 Park Row; New York. “SENT PREE. MUNN & CO., 3'°7 Park Row, New York, 5 YEARS’, EXPERIENCE), have taken PATENTS.—More Patents and examined More Inventions; than any other agency. Send sketch and description for opin- ion. NO CHARGE. W22-4t MELOYMENT.—$200 a month with Stencil Dies. Samples free. S. M. SPENCER & CO., Brattleboro, Vt. w13-13t. AGENTS, READ THIS! We will pay agentsa salary. of $30 per week and expenses, or allow a large conimission, to sell our new wondertul inventions. Address M: WAGNER § CO., wi2-13t Marshall, Michigan, RIVORCES LEGALLY OBTAINED FROM TRE Courts of different States. No publicity... Advice free. wi0-13t FRED?’K I. KING, Counselor-at-Law, 363 Broadway BERTHA NEIL, OR THE MAD HOUSE BRIDE; A STORY OF NEW YORK’ LIFE, Overfowing with Romantic Truths. BY GEO.-C. SMALL, AUTHOR OF ‘WHAT BECAME (OF BER,” “AFTER : SEVEN- VEEN YEARS, “THE STOLEN PRINCES,” &c., &¢., &C. The Proprietors of this paper would be glad to publish this too true and intensely mteresting and exciting narrative, but the wholé of tlie slory Of the life of Bertha Neil will only be pub- lished in the National Police Gazette, commencing in the issue or April 2, 1870, Namber 1283. It is the most beautiful, heart- touching, and lonely, sadly sorrowing tale of real life that has ever been written. The Natiomal, Police Gazette now ranks among the foremost Tilustrated literary publications of the day, and besides the highly interesting. news .columns, it contains sortie of the finest literary gems tobe found anywhere Besides the story of Bertha Nel, it contains MY LOVE KATE, R THE DREADFUL SECRET; BY PIERCE EGAN, one of the most celebrated authors of; the age. it can be pttrehased at all News depots, Subseription price, S4yer year. Allbletters must be addressed GEO. W. MATSELL. & CO., Box 6712, New York. EVERY MAN His GWN PRINTER. With one ef our presses, and the material accompanying it, every man.can do bis own printing, thus saving much time and to W22-1t exposes Cirealars contiintug full information mailed 4reée on} appiation. Specimen-boaks of? eee a borders, <4 Ray 10 cehts.. ADAMS PRESS 9O.,S3 Murfay St., N.Y. AS4t Ps : > ADT Wa Pan ¥ ‘PIMPLES ON THE. FACE. Comedones, BlackIicads,: Flesi » Worms. or, Grubs, Pimply Eruptions and Blotched distigurations cn the Face. originate froma Suppressed: Scoreiony and are positively eured by PERRY'S COMEDONE AND»PIMPLE REMEDY, Tt tones the Skihy opens thé- pores; exudes morbid Secretions and contains no Lead poison. Prepared only by DR. B..G. PERRY 49. Bond street, New York. Sold by. all Druggists,, Send for circular. wil5-13t DA RENESS AND LIGHT, _ BY MATiIb MARIO, This earth-born life, how changeful The shadows come and go, - To-day we're lured by pleasure’s smile— To-morrow wracked by woe! There is a brighter; sunnier clime Beyond time’s fleeting shore, A misty vail shuts out the light, Yet death will ope the door. Our vision is on earth obscured From fadeless scenes so bright, We cannot raise the vail between The darkness and the ight. Yet, still, we know when earth-ife ends, A home’ of bliss is given To. those whe struggle e’er to win A fadeless crown in Heaven! Leighton Homestead; EDNA’S DEBT, AND HOW SHE PAID TT.. BY MRS. MARY Jd. HOLMES. “fhe Leighton Homestead’ was ‘commenced in No. 17. _ Back numbers may be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. it CHAPTER XVII. WHERE EDNA WENT AND WHAT SHE DID. ‘To Canandaigua first, of course, but not to the semi- mary, nor yet to the jeweler’s, as she had once thought of doing. She liad heard from her aunt that Mr. Greenough was paid, and she shrank from meeting him face to face, or from seeing any ome of her oid friends. vailed, she sat quietly in. the ladies’ room, waiting for the first train going east, and thinking il would never come. Sne had bought her ticket for Albany, but, with her thick ‘black yail drawn so closely over her face, the ticket agent never suspected that she was the gay, light-heart- ed girl he used sometimes to see at the station, and who recently had become so noted for.the tragic ending of her “marriage. No one recognized wher, for it-was not the hour when ithe seminary girls were ever at ‘the depot, and ‘when, at Jast, the train came in-and took her.away with it, nobody Was the wiser for her having been'there. And 7ciizre Was she going? Have you, my reader, ever crossed’ the mountain range between, Pittsfield and Al-) bany? And if you have,do you. ®emember how many little towns, villages rather, you Saw, some to the right, some to the left, and ailmestled amang, and sheltered by those tall mountains and rocky hills, with here and there a stream of water, as Clear and ‘bright as crystal, rippling along under the shadow of the willow and the birch, or dancipg headlong down some decliwity ? Well, Edna was bouta for one of these towns—which one, it does not. matter fer you to know—for if:you did, you might straightly set to work.and pick out the house she wae going to, and, piekimg out the wrong one, would Say the story was not true, because there was no. sucli Well-curb, and fence, and garden around your house, and Chat no scch man eyer lived there,as Uncle Phil Overton: while I say there did; and he was Edna's great-uncle on ner Mother’s side, though Edna lad never heard of him until she met her cousin, Mrs. Dana, in Chicago. Mrs. Dana lad Known the old man well—had lived with him for afew months while she taught in the little academy witch stood upon the common, le was.am eccentric old men, Who for years had lived among the mountains, in the same okl yellow farm-house, a rile, or more, from the village, which represented to him the world, and ree we _ call Rocky Point. ; dna could not tell why her thoughts kept turni Uncle Phil as they did. In her mer deapale. while fo. ovag to Aunt Jerry’s abusive greeting, her heart had ried ont; Oh. what shall I do, and where shall I go 7” 4 ‘Go to Uncle Phil,” was the answer which came to her on she had clung to that asa drowning man to a = civ Mrs. Bana 1:20 Said lie Was kind and generous, if only So, closely. you touched the right “chord. He had no~-wife;-no children, but lived alone with a. colored woman, who had been in the family for years. He was getting to be old— sixty, if not) more—and, perhaps, he wenid ‘be glad of some young creature in’ the house, or, at all ‘events, let, her stay till shé could look about and find something to do. Maybe she could teach in the academy in town. Mrs. Vana had done so, and Edna felt that her acquiremelts were certainly équal to those of her cousin: And so she was going to Rocky Point, and Albany lay in her way, and there she stopped until Monday, and took her watch and coral to a jeweler’s and asked what they wete worth. ; : lt was'a beautiful little watchyand the chain was,of exquisitely wrought gold; and; as the jeweler chanced to be an honest’man, he told her frankly what it was worth, but said; as it was second-hand, tie could not dispose of it so readily, and consequently could ‘not afford to give her quite so much, provided she wished to sell. She did wish to sell, and, accepted his offer, which was more than she had hoped for, and, with a bitter pang, left the watch ana coral lying in the glass. case, and, going back to the hotel, wrote a letter. to Roy, and sent, him one hundred dollars. was uot so very far from Leighton Place, and how) she was tempted to. take the New York train and go to Chazlie's home;.not into it, but to the town, where she could seé it once and visit Charlie’s grave. But a few moments? reflection showed her the inexpediency of such an act. She had no money to waste inuselesstrips. She should need it: all, and ‘more, unless’ Uncle Phil opened his door to her; and so she put the scheme aside, and took, instead, the Boston train, which long before noon left her upon the platform at Rocky Point... Everybody knew Uncle Phil Overton, and half a dozen or more an- swered her questions at once and wondered wio she was, whether relative or visitor, or both, and What the queer old chap would do with such a dainty bit of femininity as she seemed to be. One man, a farmer, whose road home- waxd lay past the Overton place, offered to; take her there, and she was soon riding along through scenery so wild and romantic, even in early December, as to elicit from her many an exclamation of surprise and delight, while her fingers-fairly ached to grasp her pencil and paper and sketch some of the beautiful views with which the neighborhood abounded. The man was very respect- ful, but rather inquisitive; and as his curiosity was In no wise abated by the sight of her glowing face when, at the top of a hill, she threw back her vail and asked him to stop a moment while she gazed at the scenery around her, he began to question her, and found that she was Phil Uverton’s grand-niece, an orphan without friends, and that she had come to Rocky ,POint, hoping to find something to do. Did he know whether they were in want of ateacher in the academy, and did any of tlie scholars take lessons in drawing or Music? She could teach both, though drawing was her erence, Mr. Belknap was very sorry to tell her that the old academy was closed—“played out,’he_ saidjpand the ‘Deestrict’? School had.been commenced for a week),or more. ‘But then,’ he added, as he saw the look of dis- appointment on Edna’s face, ‘maybe we could scare up asleck school. We had one laSt winter, kep’ by a man inaroom of the academy; but he was a poor stick, and the boys raised the very Old Harry with him. They wouldn't with you, a slip of a gitl Aim’s you pretty young to teach ?*? , ine’ perhaps so; but I must do something,’? Edna re- plied. : ~ She did not tell him she was a widow; anger her clothed in so deep mourning, the man naturally con- cluded it was for her parents. Just across the field they were passing there were two graves, made only the year before—one his wife’s, and one the grave of a daughter, who was about Edna’s age, and whose face-hadin ita look like this young girl be- side him, in whom he began to feel a deep interest, tell- ing her she might count on his children—four in number —if she opened a school; that he would: also say? her to get scholars, if needful; and then asked if she had any, idea of the kind of chap Uncle Phil Overton was.* Edna had some idea from having heard Mrs. Dana talk of him, but something in Mr. Belknap’s question set her heart to beating, especially as they just then turned the were. Close to it in fact, and Edna had@tio time to ask-if there was anything so very dreadful about the man whose hospitality she had come to Claita. “J-wish you success with Uncle Phil,’ Mr. Belknap said, as hé handed Edna from the wagon and deposited her trunk upon the stoop. “Maybe l and the girls will drop in to-night and see how you get on,” he added, as he climbed over the wheel, and Me irruping to his horse drove off, leaving Edna/standing i. e door whose huge brass-knocker sent batk a dull, he echo, but did not for some little time briag any answering response. CHAPTER ‘XVIII. AT UNCLE PHIL’S. It was one of those old-fashioned farm houses rarely found outside of New England, and even there growing more and more rare, asyoung generations arise with cravings for something new, and a feeling of haying ont- grown the old homestead withits ‘front entry” ane crooked stairway leading to anotlier ‘“‘entry’* above; it two. “square rooms” in front and its huge kitchen and smaller sleeping apartment in the rear. These tiie Joe generation who do not emigrate to some where Yr pr: e@ faeur free scoye td row have shel ar: feel a conten old brown houses which once dotted the New Eng hills so thickly, and so these veterans of a post gen eny’ have gradually given way to dwellings ‘of'a moré modern style, with wide halls and long balconies’ and bay” win- dows, and latterly the much admired French roo But Uncle Phil Overton was neither young nor a radical, nor was there anything progressive in his tastes. As his house had been forty years ago when by his: father’s death and will 1 came to him, so it was that day when Edna‘stood knocking at the door. It had been yellow then; it was yellow now, a pale, faded yellow, showing marks of time and looking full its age, a dozen years or more, for Uncle ‘Phil did repaint occasionally, “to keep the old hut from rotting,” he said, and for this same pur- pose he cut down the’ big: maple trees -which’ grew so near his house that their long arms swept the lower part of the roof wliere the gréen moss’ clung so tenaciously: Uncle Phil did not believe in trees which shaded the house, and so, as there was no One to plead for them, the intruders were removed and the’ louse stood wholly un- protected ‘save by the horse-chestnut’ which grew near the gate, and ‘which, struggle as it might, could throw no shadow, either upon the house or in the great, glaring rooms inside. Uncle Phil liked light, a great deal of light, he said, and held it a sin to shut out Heaven’s sunshine, so there never was a blind upon his house, and the green paper shades and curtains of Holland linen which somehow had been smuggled in and hung at a few of the windows, were rolled up to their utmost capacity, both day and night. Uncle Phil had no secrets to shut out, he said, and folks were welcome to look in upon him at any time, so he sat before the window and washed before it, and shaved before it, and ate before it, and dressed before it, and when his housekeeper, old Aunt Becky, remonstra- ted with him, as she sometimes did, and told him “folks would see him,’ he silenced her with, “If it's a woman she won’t look; if it’s a manI don’t care.” And so he had his way in that as well as in everything else. Many years ago it was said that he had thought to bring a new wife to the old place which he had brightened up a little, putting a red and green carpet on the fioor of the north room, painting the woodwork a lightblue and cov- ering the walls with a yellowish*paper o st wonderfal design, chariots and horses, Pharaoh a his army it would seem, with the Israelites in front and Moses stand- ing between in a marvelously bright dress of crimson and gold. Six chairs and a looking-glass, and bureau, and table had completed the furnishing of that room to which no bride ever came, and as Uncle Phil had been wholly | reticent with regard to her the story came gradually to be regarded as a mere fabrication of somebody’s busy } brain, and Uncle Phil was set down as ohe Whose heart had never been reached by any thing fairer than old black Becky, who had lived with him for years and grown to be so much like him that one had only to get the serv- ing woman’s opinion to. know what the. master’s was. Just aS that stiff, cold north room had looked years ago, | when made ready for the nrythical bridé, so it looked now, and so, too, or ey so, looked the south room, with its Franklin fire-place, its painted floor, and the two strips of rag carpet before the fire; its tall mantel-piece | with two cupboards over it, holding a most promiscuous | medley of articles, from a paper of sage dowm to the | almanacs for the last twenty years. Uncle Phil didn’t believe in destroying books and kept his almanacs as re- ligiously as he did his weekly paper, of which there were barreis full, stowed away in the garret. Besides being the common sitting-room, the south room was also Uncle | Pin’s. sleeping apartment, and in one corner was his | turned up bed, with its curtainef copper-plate, of a most | wonderful design and coloring. Beyond the window was the clock shelf and the clock, and under, a tail red piece of furniture, which did doujle duty as a writing-desk where Uncle Phil’s valuables were Kept, and a chest of drawers where his shirts and best clothes were laid away. Two or three chairs, one on rockers, and one, Uncle Phils, an old-fashioned wooden chair with arms anda cushion in it completed the furniture, if we except the table.on which lay Perry’s Dictionary and the big Bible, and Edwards on the Will, and a }ook of sermons by some Quitarian divine, and Uncle Phil’s glasses. The very choicest room in the whole heuse was the kitchen, the large, airy kitchen where Aunt Becky reigned supreme, even Uncle Phil yielding to her here,,and never saying a werd when with her own hands she made and’ put down a@ mespectable rag carpet at one end of the long room, the end she called her parlor and where she Kept her Boston rocker for company, and her little stuffed sewing chain for herself, and,her square stand covered with a towel as white as the driven snow, and on it a pretty cushion of biue which some one had given her and which matched the staing of robins’ eggs ornamenting the little glass hanging beside the window, withits box of brush and combs made of pasteboard and cones. This was Aunt Becky’s parlor, and her kitchen was just as neat and in- viting, with its nicely painted floor, and unpainted wood- work, scoured every week and kept free from every speck of dust and dirt by daily wipes and dustings and a con- tinued warfare against the luckless fies and insects to whom Becky was a sworn foe. Out in the back room there was a stove which Becky sometimes used, but she would not have it ia her kitchen; she iiked the fire-place best, she said, and so in winter nights you could see from afar the cheerful blaze of the logs Becky piled upon the fire, giving the ‘‘forestick” how and then a thrust by way of quickening th merry flames, which lit up her old black face as she stooped upon the heart, to cook the evening How near Roy.scemed to her there ‘in Albany, which ¢ ° } corner in the road and came in sight of thenduse. They ) a and Ik 3H 4, Ae e a —_ i ONS meal. Uncle Phil’s tablewas always bountifully supplied, for close as.he was in many UWungs, hedndtiged the inner man, and Becky’s cookery was famio § for miles fh Pan And here we are reminded that during “all, tis time while we haye been describing the house, Edna has “been standing ontside Smioekinig TOR why, ler, Knock remained so long. tnansivered.” | Old Becky was atthe barn hunting for éggs with which to make her mnaster’s favorite custard pie, andneyer dream- ed that she lyad‘a guest until with her woolen dress pin- ned.up around lier waist and.a wisp of hay ornamenting her tolerably straigtit hair she returned to the house, and entering the kitchen by the rear door, Heard the knock which by this time was loud and@ inmperious,”° No one; but strangers ever came to the front door in winter, conse- quently, Acnt. Betky who had ‘a “good deal todo that morning, bristled at once ahd wondered ‘who was mak- |* ing that to do and why they didn’t come’ to the kitchen do,’ and not make her all that extra trouble.” :s “Whale away,’? she said, aS Edna again applied herself vigorously-to the knoeker# ‘“ishan*t come till I’ve put: up my digs and let mypetticoats COWD,”? » , Vhis aoné, she started for the 661} "and.catching sight through the window-ofEdna’s trunk, exclaimed: ‘ “For Heaven’s sake, if tharaim’t a.chist.of,¢l s,bag- age, a Visito?; Miss Maude, perhaps, and I~ nothin? for inner but a veal stew, or, yes, [can open a bottlé of to- marterses abd roast some of themtfall pippins.” : And with this consoling reflection, old Becky undid the iron bolt.and opened, the door, but started back when in- stead of the possible. Miss. Manueé she saw a total Stranger a young ginl dressed in black, “with. just the sweetest, sorriest, anxiousest face you ever. seen, and which made her bowels yearn to oncet,” shesaid to Miss” Mande, ‘to whom she.afterward related the particulars , of er frst. introduction to Edna. , op tt, it. ‘Dees Mr. Philip Overton live here ?”?, Edn. timidly that Becky, who was somewhat. deaf, , could, only guess at.what, she said, from¢atching the, name Overs, ton. ; i3 went 4 | Sy “Yes, miss, he does; walk. in, please,*t.and she inyolun- tarily courtesied politely to the Foung lady,who, Save that she was shorter and smaller every way, reminded her of her favorite Miss Maude, who to her mind, embodied all that was lovely and pure in young womanhood. ‘You'll have to come right into my kitchen, I reckon, for when master’s out ali day we never ligSa fire in the south room till night,” she continued, as she Jed the way through the “south room)? into her pleasant quarters, which inspite of the preparations going on for dinner, looked homelike and inviting, especially the bright fire which blazed upon the hearth. ' ; Edna went up to this at once and held her celd hands near the blaze, and Becky, who Was a close observer no- ticed first the cut of her dress aud. then decided that “it had as long a tail as Miss Maude's, (the reader will bear in mind that this was before the days of short dresses), but was not quite as citified. She noticed the hands, too, the little, plump, white hands which Edna held up to the fire, and said within herself. : “Them hands has never done no work, I wonder who she can.be.? j - Hdne told her after a moment that she had come from Chicago, from Mrs. Dana’s whom Becky might perhap veto remeber, a8 ste was once an inmate for a little time of % the farm house. Becky did remember Miss: Susan, who was there as much as ten yeas ago, and after expressing her surprise and regret at her suuden death, she con- tinued: “You've come to visit yer uncle—have you ever seen } him ?”? Edna never had seen him, and she had not exactly come visiting either. In fact she hardly knew why she had come, and now that she was here and had a faint inkling of matters she began to wish she liad staid away, and to wonder herself why she was there. To her uncle she in- tended to tell every thing, butnof to Becky, though she instinctively felt that the latter was a person of a great deal of consequence in her unele’s family, and must have some explanation, even though it was a very lame one, So she said: eS Hs i "“] ived with Mrs. Dana whensstie died. 1 have lost all my friends. Ihave no home, and so I come to Uncle nie stay a while till I find something to do. Mrs. Dana faid he was kind and ‘ rs 4 ye mst Overton, hoping he would let good.) _ 4 . ne a a + ; Yes butmighty curis in hiswways,”? was Becky’s re- joinder, as she wondered how her master would ive this stranger, who had no home nor friends unless Hg gave her both. “It’s jest as the fit catehes him,” she thought, as she asked Edna to lay aside her wrappings, and then told her to make herself at home.till the “marster”? came. “He's gone over to Millville, six or eight miles or so. ‘and - rode old Bobtail, who never trots walk, so he won't be home till three o'clock, and I’ve goine 10 have dinner and po. to oncet, but if you’re I know you be, il Jes nd steep a drawin’ of tea,” she said. ~ But-Edna was not hungry; she had breakfasted at the Station not mapy miles from Albany and Could wait.umtil- her uncle came. $ saegaren Pt hes “}']] fetch. yer things im, “only 1] dunno whar marster’i have’em put. Any ways, I’m safet in the back bed- room,” she said; and with Edna’s help her trunk was brought inte the house and carried up the back stairs to @ little room directly over tne kitchen, where the bare floor and the meager furniture sk cold and chill to Edna’s heart, it was so different’ from any thing she had ever known. f $5 bale A outs Vegan Ok at Aunt. “Tha : fs t room und half resolved” f not knew where. There Was no e for ler, no homefand im utter Joneliness’and despair she continued to cryuntil Becky came up with a pitcher of warm water and some towels across her arm. She saw that Edna was Cryibg, and half guessing the cause) said very kindly: 3 “I reckon you’re some homesick, and ’tain’t to be won- dered ati*tiiis room hain’t tie chirkest in the house, and ‘tain’t no’ Ways likely you’ll stay here, but I dassen’t put you in no other without marster’s orders; he’s curis, and if he takes to you as he’s sure to do, you’re all tight and in‘clover right away. He sarves *em all dis way, Miss Maude‘an’ all, but now nothin’s too good forher.” Edna didnot ask who Miss Maude was, but she thanked Becky for her kindness, and after bathing her face and éyés; and brushing her hair, went.down to the Iitenen to wait with fear and trembling for the comingof the “mar ster Who was’so curis in his ways.” ’ Becky'did not talk much that morning. Shehad “too many irons im the fire,” slie said, and so she brought Edna a book which she said Miss Maude had left tliere more than 4 year'ago, and, which might’ help to pass the time. It was “Monte-Cristo” which Fdna nad never read, and she received it thankfully, and glancing at the fly- leaf saw written there, ““Maude Somerton, New York, May 10th, 18 ” Becky’s Miss Maude then was Maude Somerton, who lived in New York. and whom'some wind of fortune had blown to Rocky Point, where she seemed to be an im- rhense favorite; so much Edna concluded, and then she sat herself down to the book, amd in following the golden fortunes of the hero she forgot the lapse of time until the tall clock ‘struck ‘two, and Becky, taking a blazing fire- brand from the hearth, carried into the north room, with the evident intention of kindling a fire. “Marster always has one thar nights,” she said, ‘and when we lias company’ wesets the table thar.) His bed ain’t no ‘count, turned up with the curtain afore it.” And so in honor of Edna the table was laid in the south room, and Aunt Becky, Who had quietly been studying the young girl and makifig up her mind with regard to her, ventured upon the eXffavagance of one of her finest cloths and the best whité dishes instead of the blue set, and put on napkins and the silver plated forks and butter knife, and thought how nicely her table looked, and wished aloud that ‘“Marster Philip’? would come betore her potpie fell. “Jt or’to ‘ve et the minit it’s turk out the pot,” she said; “an'T waited tillthe lass inminit to give him time. I wish to land he’d come.”’ As if in answer to her wish there was the sound of some one at the gate, and looking from the window Aunt Becky joyfully announced that ‘“marster had come.” (To be Continued.) >< THE BOY WHALER. CHAPTER LI. A BOLD STEP. While Lily crouched on her fioor, her face covered with her hands, her heart wrapped in the crushing folds of an awful des- pair, and. while her last hopeless wail yet echoed through the court-yard, there came a fluttering noise at her window, and the next moment a light figure sprang into the room, and the maiden was gathered to the warm heart of her lover. “Look up, my darling,” said Richard, showering kisses upon her drooping head. “I shall never leave you again—never ! We will live or die together!” : “Is it yon, Richard?” cried Lily, in bewilderment, yet cling- ing to him as to an ark of safety, and laying her little cold, wet face against his bearded one. “‘Oh,I have beenso airaid! The pirate has been here——” “T know it, my precious. Lily,” replied her lover, soothingly. “TJ. have been imprisoned near you—in the cell beyon@ Zick- ley’s. Iheard the great prison doors open, and leaned from my window to listen to the intruder. I heard the pirate come to your window. fad he entered your room, IT should have found my way here in a single moment, and have protected you with my lite? I heard all he said, my poor tortured little’ Lily !” “He swore to hang you in the morning, unless I consented to be his wife!’ said Lily, more caimly.. ‘What sbali we do; Rich- ard? He is bad cnoush to execute his threats !” “Of course he is. Wemust escape. ,The hour for movement has come. : Better to be shot @ownin an attempt at escape than be hanged. Trust to me, dearest Lily.” “T will—I will,” said Lily. “Phe hour is late,” said Richard, raising her to her feet and going to one of the windows in the outer wall. ‘The village is silent The lights are out. The night will soon be bright with starlight and moonlight. We must be off, if at all, before the moon rises.” “[_amready now,” said Lily, in her usually clear voice. . ‘‘I am no longer weak, Richard. I can be as brave and helpful as you conld ask.” “The first thing to be done is to arouse Zickley—then the Beverleys,” said Richard, thoughtfuliy. “I think I see our way clear, Lily. We will move now.” He went to the court-window and looked’out cautiously. All wassilent and deserted. ,He then crept ott through the narrow aperture, feet foremost, and gained the ground. “Now, Lily.” he whispered, holding out his hands, ‘The win- oo js plenty large enough, Come through boldjy, my dar- ing.” Lily looked out, put out her hands, and was drawn through the window, ang placed upon her feet. “Softly now, darling,” whispered her lover. shadow of the Hall. See how light the court Is. hind this great cactus, while I awaken Zickley.’’ Lily crouched in the shadow mdicated, and Richard crept “Keep in the Stay here be- along the wall to Zickley’s window. qnight ?2 admission and wondering. ta Of of. Jour friend and he glanced auZickley,) asked, $0. hand. | eastern ar faster tian an ant can | be jest. clap on a cold. bite | q rare | It. was-epen. The sailor was Jying. on his. bed, tossing rest- essly to and fro. At Richard’s sott, suppressed call, he, was ‘broad awekein an ilstant. Sao) iis Fal i “Avast there!’ he mtitered.e*What's:up at:thisetime o’ “Hush 1 ‘said. Richard, ina warning whisper. “Weare go- int fo try to escape.” * A eae aay Zickley sprang to his feet: 48 ms ; “Then Vin with you, ? nd returned, in) vearitious! toney “ ‘Bet- ter,danger bor imprisonment aniithe prospect a hanging) That Jocko;says Tinto swing ip thennorning along ofyoms)? | oo He, approached the unser, conten plated: its Narrow pro- BRN comparing theni with “his own bulky figure, add ex- aimed’: owes eh : ' $Tesavo £6, MrP Richard. ‘Ipeant Deon! “My anchor’s'cast here, “Leave inieyandiseck your Owhisafety lr) 00% “Nonsense l/rsaid Richards halfimpatienthy.: Takeoff your ioulee gamnenis, and-squeeaze-through. «Your, fieshy will; give. ust try it,??., » ei ‘ ‘0 Thus adjusted, * Zickley made ~ the tial, He drew off the heaviest of his garments,'tossed Giem ‘out into thé’ eaurt, |and proceedéd to get chrough the window, Héad first. Riehard took hisohands,» and puildd ‘steadily! and strongly, uhheeding) the stifled.greans,and demands toybe leftetoyhisiate. yor! » : ln due. time Zickiey, found himsely an the .c urt, si r fam brnised, battull of unbounded gratitude to Hichat ioe ny hay- ing forsaken him. “Are there’any more’sueh wihdows pered, picking up his bundle) is : sTqa “Only due—-thatlof therBeverleys: )Dthink thatds Jatger.”? Richard creptalong the wallto Lae side, Zickicy ¢eilowing. The maiden andthe sailor exchanged; encouraging Salutations, and the three moved as silently as ghosts’ aloug the wall, tnul they had-reached the apartment o1 theirfriends: 6 9 | Their wittdow, too, Was dpen/ Nhe véndral’stood near it fully attired) ) Mrs Beverley was at his side, dressedbevaty tol her out- door apparel. : boat hbetocalitw. brs } “Wenexpected, yous) said the,former, quietly, as, Richard looked into their room. “We heard what fe pirate.said to Lily, and ‘knew that we must escape to-night,’ We heard you and Lily the'courf'a féw minutes since,and Which the esbape WWe are aH Hdes- oc titshall be!” xesponded Righard-—'1 aillhand -Lilying en- eral, ifyou will take her.” _ ne “ . — _ “Lily Was passed in, and clasp¢d in Mrs. Beverley’s.arms, to Be! passed HE He whis- if ii ry perate. . Letournnotto be, ‘eseape ox death 29? | Richard followed his betrothed. : HY His Window is a little larger than your Zickley{? ‘Said our hero: o“Phe general will help ine pull, andiyow lb be mehere be- fore you know it,” ; It was no time {o consider pain and ‘incénveniencs. Zickley thrust his arms and head in resolutely, and was drawn inté the room considerably more to the detriment of his person.” | “JT know I’m a mass 0’ bruises,’ he groaned, in a stifled man- ner. What’s to come next??? “we must wrench my bars out,” replied the ceneral. {It's almost time for the patrol to come within hearmg. When he has passed again, we will move.” i . They waited in silence until the watchman had passed, crouch- ing u¥theshadowy. corners lest he should look iu.’ He did not doso, however, and so far they were sate. . ‘Now forthe bars!” said Richard, ©‘ “A long pull, a strong pull; and a pull alt gether? will see us ont of our trouble.” - The three men-placed theit hands on the heayy iron bar. Mrs. Beverléy and Lily listened breathlessly. } The bar; already weakened in its setting, could not fesist! the erat oft ne three desperate men. 1 yieided, and came out in 1eir hands. - ; ( thks k Heaven!” breathed Mrs. Beverley. “Phe daa Avas renewed, and a second and third bar camie out.» Aaraperture was chus formed large enough to admit of the easy egress ¢ven of Zickley. } » “fhe guard comes around once an horr,” said the general. “We have suilicient time if we hasten to escape trom the islan¢t re his return. Who will get out first?” “Twill,” said Richard, always ready for the post of danger: He crept out, reconnoitred the scene, and declared that noth- ing was to be apprehended in the way of immediate discovery. ‘Although txe night was light, the moon had not yet risen. “A clump of orange trecs threw a heavy Sliade over the window Which Wes now the scene of operations. >" ily was passed out ard received in the arms of her lover. watchful.» vr: it “Mrs. Beverley came next, and took her station beside Lily, Then came the general, and, last of all, Zickley. . The bars were then put back. loosely into their fermer poéi- tions, the inside shutters closed, and nothing was evident to at- Ty ; She then cowered in the shadow of wall und trees, aiert and i . ; tract the suspicion of the guard, unless it might be the marks of trampling” neerthe window. ; “Now, said Richard, “for a boat! We must keep in the shadow of the trees. There’s a guard on the schooner. We had better get 2 small sloop, if we can do so.” ““here’s only one man on. the schooner,”? said the general. “The pirates sleep on shore with their wives, leaving cilly one maias guard.” ie ; “Then what is to hinder our taking the schooner itself?” said the daring Richard. “If we take that, ‘they can’t pursue us. There are three men of us. We can manage lier.” He did not give his companions tinie to discuss his .cemingly wild pfoject.~ Delay where they were, was dangerous. : He led them into the depths of the orange grove, epee cling the bay by a cireuitous route. He kept close hold of Li'y’s he general took charge of Mrs. Beverley, and Zickicy “brought up ‘the rear. uate rapidly skirted the village, and came out upon the long : : of the two-pronged peninsula. ; ; To their joy, a smaul fishing sloop lay rocking here on the ach. dhe . ‘ : To their greater joy and gratitude, they pereeived that the “schooner lay in a deep shadow tornied by shore and trees, and Lyery near the mouth of the bay. No one Was visible on her ce ad : ei OST é ep, or on shore,” said Richard. ‘We can go out to anseen from the shore, Let usimake a boid move swim by it.” : j The: ed, as did Zickley. Mrs. Beverley and Li'y I @intich confidelce in their protectors to question the wisdom ot their proceedings. ~~~ The little party entered the fishing-boat,and silently approach- ed the schooner, in monientary expectation of # Chailenge srom he deck. They ran alongside, on the seaward side of the vessel. Richard élimbed the side, and stood on the deck. “Hist |? he whispered, a minute later. sleep. Re here you are.” é a Tues saw i} pull off his coatpand hecthen moved away, the garmentin . Jee ae hie \ande “The guard is here,and minnies. The sound ofa faint: struggle ~ Soon air phard made his appearance smiling at sight of their anxious quad exeited faces. ; “fhe fellow’san the told, niuiiedin my coat and bound): se- eurely,” he said» ‘Come up softly.” The fugitives obeyed... ei? us “Cast off the sloop, Zi¢kley,”’ whispered Richard. The sloop Was Cast off. A “Now up with the anchor, and ont with the sails,” said the young man. ‘fhe wind favors us. What a cap-fall is blowing. ‘Tne guard is at the other side of the prisom, Tousdark here: The work lies between yowand me, Zickley... Come on.” The two hastened toiheir tasks ; the anchor was ,hauled up as noiselessly as possible, the sails were shaken out, and the pirate schconer moved slowly toward the narrow straits. “Onee outside, the breeze’ll take us Tight along,” declared Richard,! piacing himself at the. helm. ‘ ; Ts heart throbbed exultingly and with overflowing gratitude to the Provideice, that had so strangely assisted, then. The scooner moyed Onward, asif gathering, strength with each movement, ee , The women knelt in the Shadows.’ General Bevericy strove to render assistance to Zickley. Naw the wind: began to swell! the sails of the schooner and she flew. on faster, with now.and then astunble andw plunge. “We. shall soon be ont,’ said Riehard, flashing a glance back at the island. ’ How still it was. was to be secu. toh fhe shadows of the groves were lifting. rising on the scene. : “We were nota moment too sooninour escape,”’, said the general. ‘Pray Heaven they do not overtake usnow,” *“Here we go into the straits,” cried Richard, as tle schooner planged into the narrows, whose rough waters ‘indicated a rocky betiom. ‘In five minutes:more we shall be out.” How they watched the shore now. Richard kept asteady band atthe helm. Zickley keptito his tasks. Tne women prayed. Suddenly the loud rattle of the watchman was heard in shrill alarm. The lotid report of a’gun came from Look Out Summit. The movements of the schooner were detected. In-an instant the village wasin an uproar. The pirates came swarming ,on the beach. The rising moon showed . the depart- ing schooner, lighting up her. sails and the men on her. decks. The wind brought to the fugitives the sound et an awful cry, made up of terror aud cursés. ‘“Phey afe springing into their boatsin pursuit,” cried the genital. They are coming in a fleet——” “We are safe—safe |” interrupted Richard, in a tone of joyful triumph, as the vessel gave aleap and came out into. smooth water. , “We have gained the open sea... They cannot overtake us now. See how we go.” s The schooner | egan to fly along like a creature that knows itself pursued..: The wind and the tide were’ both in her favor. Another terrible cry came fromthe pursuers. Adozen bul- lets ratlied around Richard, as he stood at his post. “Down with you all!” commanded the young man, “We shall be out of their line in a minute.” ; Another volley of bullets came after the fugitives. A monieut later the scooner had rounded the point, and was out of sight of the pirates. “We have seen the last of them for the present,” said Rich- ard calmly. “They might as well attempt to fly as to overtake us... Zig¢kléy, you may take my place for a litle while. I—I belie¥é'l’'m wounded.” The Tast words were spoken slowly and painfally. We relin- quishett bis task to Zickley and approached Lily, but before he had gained herside a sudden weakness overcame him, and he fell prestrate tothe deck. s _— CHAPTER LI. UNCLIOUDED BLISs, In-an instantiall was confusion on the deck of the schooner. General Beverléy hastened to lift Richard in his arms, and to as- certain the depths and position of his wound. It proved to be but a flesh-wound in bis shoulder, but it had already bled con- siderably, and it was this loss of blood that had so suddenly weakened the young man. Lily and Mrs. Beverley tore theim bandkerchiefsinto strings to stanch the flow of blood, and the sgenenal cared for the wound with considerable skill. ‘ “Do not be frightened, Lily,” said Richard, looking at the lit- tle maiden tenderly. ‘“E fancy I was stunned a little as well as wounded. Iam notseriously hurt, my precious darling. Why, you look as pale asdeath!! Lily sank down at his side, regardless of the presence of oth- ers, and sobbed): » “If 1 bad lost you then, Richard. sily have been fatal. too, dear Richard.” She took his head in her arms, and kissed him with passionate upreserve. And he réphed to her in a m@iner yet more lov- ing, ; the General and Mrs. Beverley looked at each other in won- dering silence. The griet of Lily was not like the grief ofasister. 1t was rather that of a woman. whose dearest happiness has been men- aced. And Richard’s'ardent answers Were not -brother-like, but rather the outpouring ofalover’s passionate affection. ib. Beverleys moved away, leaving the young pair to them- selves. After a little-time, Richard felt sufficiently recovered to sit up and then towalk about a little. By this time the moon had fully risen and was flooding land and sea with its silvery radiance. ‘The fishing sloops were seen in the distance, turning back trom the vain pursuit. Theisland was fading to the eastward... The wind wastresh, theair warm, the sound of the dashing spray invigorating. Richard seated himself on a coil of rope, and drew Lily beside hin. Theirtaces expressed-a sublime contentment.’ They had evaded the perils that had threatened to ingulf them—they were once more frees, What/harm could come to*them now ? “My cup. of joy is full, darling,” said Richard. *How,Provi- dence has beitrfended us. ..We.shall find chart and. compass aboard, with provisions and other necessaries. We will run down to Havana and deliver up this schooner and the secret of the pirates’ retreat.) And then for home and loved ones!” ; ae pave passed» our Jast. peril) Ivam' sure,” breathed Lily, lopefully. “When we reach home, I.shail claim you for my little wife,” whispered the young manyardently. “Mine! My littie Lily, for evermore.” They sat there in a wrapt silence until the Beverlevs drew near, and took seats upon coilof rope within a yard of them. Nota sound, not'a footstep—not an chemy Themoon was softly t f That. wound might so ea- If you. had, died, I inust have perished “T shall be jest black and blue! But never mind me!, Fuurse’s arms quite near to us. the schooner was properly manned, and the tivo yessels wert on jonthegs ners... Tne heare-a muuitled ery «a4 ‘puctaneers. Ini May, Captain Koton and the remnant of his “Tow much -you-young people love each other,” said Mrs. Beverly, smiling. ‘‘] never saw such affection between brother and sister before.” To her astonishment,.Lily-blushed like a rose, and buried her head in Richard’s bosem.. . ae young man looked up brightly, and without embarras- ment, “Lily is more than a sister ‘to mé,” he said, touching her en head reverently with nisi pss “She is the star of my the angel of myy existence., Ly bave doyed»her ever si babyhood, and when we get home she is going to be my v “Youur wife!” ‘eried bis Usteners, involintarily. ‘is she not your sister?” » ; , “No,” replied Richard. .‘‘My name isnot Lawrence. I was adopted 1n nly intancy by Mr. and Mrs.Lawrence. They were so kind to me that Imever ‘knew the lack ofmy own parents.” Mrs. Beverley seemed agitated. ay bat is your real name?” she asked, breathlessly. ‘I do not know. ‘hamoa waif /thatytheSea cast up on the beach of Mr. Lawrence’s home.”? % are ote, uttered an inarticulate cry, and looked at her usband. ; He seemed no-less agitated, and said; earnestly : “Tell us all you know of your history, Ri¢hard. It may lead to something of importance.’ I~we—7voh + He hesitated)and became silent: Me ha “My history is very simple,’ said. Richard, catching the in+ fection of their emotion “Iwas but’‘ayearold when Mr. Law- rence fouhd me on ms. beach oiie,)Malyy’morning. It was the seventeenth of May. 18—” : Gencral Beverley bent over histrembline wite, his form shak- ing like.aleatiin the wind, . 4 “Go on,” he satd, buskily., “How were you dressed 2” “Mrs. Lawrence has preserved my oress,’? returned Richard. “It was white, and remarkable for nothing bat iis loac of em- broidery. - 1 wore, atthe time alocket, whichI wear stil! in my bosom. It has hair within if, and bears the names et my pa} rents, I suippose.’? : Me J ’ “The names??? gasped Murs}, Beverley: “Richard and Annal? 3 ; General Beverly sprang to his’ feet, asdid his wife—both ap- pearing eleetrified. , Richard drew from his bosom his‘cherished locket and hand- ed it for the examinatién of bis friends. : They seized dt, turned itever,;,auds;opened it. Them Mrs. Beverley tremblingly touched aspring, and the locket opened a second time displaying two hidden pictures. Lily and Richard sprang upyand: lookedat this revelation in amazenient. i The pictures ‘expréssed a more youthful look, but were un- mistakably the ‘portraitsof General and! Mrsi Bevertey. Richard loeked)at lus pfriends,.a consciousness of the truth dawning on his soul. , ; . “My son! My-Jest-poyt'¢eried-Mvs-Beverley, clasping him in her arms and sobbing hysterically. ‘‘Now lknow why our hgarts were so drawimto you at sight. My. sen whe: was lest and Js found 1? ; ‘ We will not dwell upon_the joyful scene that followed—how the general clasped-both wife aud recovered son in one strong embrace—how Richard shared the general emetion—bow Lily wept in sympaihy, and how Zickley wonderedit all had not gone mad save himself. sie - When uid first excitenrent had ‘wornofl, allthe mystery was Made plain to the young people, “We niust. uowexplain how we happened ,to Jose you, Rich- ard,”’ sdid the general, claSping ohe of his son’s. hands, svbile Mrs. Beverely held the other. “Aftet eur martitge mj wife and went 16 Europe on “our wedding tour! “We were absent two ¥Gdrs,and brought back +with us our baby sen) a year old atthe pemod of our return.) He: was)|bormun Switzeriand, a year.atier, our marriage, and was. ourddol. .We napied him Richard after myself. Olt Long Island we.encountercd a fear- ful storm, Woich drove us on the Ccodst.* Our boy was in his The ship was wrecked, tlic nurse and child-were torn trom us, and We werelcast into’ the sea. When we regained our senses, soon,lost inthe exposure and alarm, we found ourselves on board 4 coasting vessel hound for New.York.. My wife was sick . there tor weeks. Tiliviged my tine at first between ‘her and search for my lost boy. Three days afteréur arrival ia New York, a little dead body was cast ashore on the southern coast of Long Islang) TI wastelégraphed toland Nastened to identity it. . The relothes hud! nyostly disap. pezred in the buffetings the poor, dittle body, had: receiy it wasof thesame age,as my Jost child,,had hairand te like his. ‘Iremember'l counted the teeth, and rested my faith on their complete coincidence. “P buried the little booy as that of my’ son, and returned to purse my wile, and to break’ to her what I beheved “the. uth. Or course, We made no further search for you.” “Soon aiter,’? added, Mas, , Beverley; “‘we went, to, Florida where we remained some years, returning to New York tinally and remaining there a while. Then, whettthe generaireceived his foreign appointment, we proceeded to China where we have passed many years. When we first’saw }) ou, Richard, T thought that so must our son have looke@ivhe had hyed. We could not understand why we oved you,at sight,,, We could, not: under- stan why life seemed suddenly dark and desolate alter your loss. We haye found our son and a-daughter, too!” she conciuded, drawing Lily closer. “Wehave t®o children now, and lam afraid we shall not know which fo love best.” The remainder of the night passed injoyfulbcommusion, Ail were sleepless and excited, even Zickley, when the, muatter had grown plain to his, understanding, : 2 yt At day break, a sail was deseried to the, northwest, Richard looked through the glass, aud declared: the stranger to be a slocp-of-war. the expedition in company. The sun was half way down the afternoon sky whet ‘the ves- sels approached the pirates’ retreat, They foutd the treebooters warned and armed, but thei small weapons! could wet avail against the guus of both vessels which were. brought to bear upon them. in their desperation, they brought out the prisovers from (heir dungeons, but beiore. they could execute their project of hang- ing them), Ule-fire from the vessels had completely raked the village, and mowed down the larger share of its population. Nothing remained but surrender. Phe scanty cemnant ot the pirates were secured, ironed, and put inthe Jjnold of the sloop-ot-war. ‘The late prisoners were brought on beard,among the, ethers. Captain Stocks aud Mr. Striker, both of whom had been badly wounded in the attack, and who-expired soon after their rescue. A few of the women, Ghildren ‘and old men were left on the island, to earn their sub- sistance by honest pursuits,and by vightfail the sloop-of-war and the schooner nioved away from te island with their treight of captives and liberated persons. ~ Nae remainder of.gur story can be bricfly Aold. gs The yessels put ity the port et Havana, MWhETe “Ottr’ trends were detained inany weeks to give their evidence: against tht wen were executed, andin May Liyvand Richard, with Gene- ral and Mrs. Beverley sailed for homey, inaswift packet, The first of June, three.years after the disappearance of the young pair from tneir homie, dawned in beauty. Shelier Island was in its summer glory, The Home of the’ Lawrence’s was brigtt’y ith verdure and bieom. ; Upon the beach, as three years before lay the Water Lily, with new sails ana the brightest of paint.’ Theovaters of she sound were tranquil, Over at Sag Harbor, as when thescene,was first depicted.to the reader, a Whaleship was. lyimg. The spires of Sag Harbor glistened in the moriing sunshine, and tle light- house towers to the seaward were plainly visible. ’ There were three persons on the beach. : Phe most notewortly of these: wasn delicate dady; whose re- fined and spirited dace, genule air, and gokle tresses, preclaimed her the, mother of.our Lg. She was_all joy and excitement and eng to (he arm or her husband with unrestrainable um- rvatience. : Mr. Lawrence’ was’ a noble-looking*yentleman, fess distin- guished in appearaiice than ‘General Beverley, but the unege of lurge-hearted behevolence and goodness of heurt; . pene utirdamemvyer.otithe group was our old friend, Captain exley. ; He tad encountered the sloop-of-war, set it on the track of the pirates, and then reluctantly sailed homewa-d, the ifterests ot liisamen aiid co-owners forbidding the gratification cf his de- sire to personally assist m the restue of his lost passengers. He bad landed«at New Lendon late in March and hurried over to the home of the Lawrenees:toe impart his stirring news. He found them in receipt of letters from Havana, infonming them of the discovery of Richara’s parentage and promising a speedy, returi. ‘Since then, Captain Wexley had coine unce a week to Shelter Island to'gain the hews from his tavorites, or to learn if they had yetreturned. ; “Tpney must be here to-day,” said Mrs. Lawrence, feverishly. “Oh, James, if 1 had. known that,ihey must delay their return so tong, 1 should have sailed for Havana weeks ago. lung to see my darlings!’ They must have grown. My little Lily is seventecn now |”? “And the harnsomest young lady as wasvever made, I'll take my Oath to that}? cried Captain Wexley. ‘4nd the spirit! And the courage! You ought to seen, the care Mr. Richard teok on her. He warn’t going to let no wind blow rude onto her. 1fso ae as you'say, he arn’t her brother, he’ll be her husband some > ; Mrs. Lawrence smiled tenderly. She had a letter ia her bosom from Richard, telling her of his love tor Lijy and his de- sire that she should be his wife. “The son ot General Beyerley will be a grand match for our daughter,” sdid Mr. Lawrence. “But, Clara, if Dick were still nameless and penmniiess, would gladiy bestow our Lily upon him. He is the noblest lad I ever saw.” At this juncture a boat shot out from the shade that had hid- den its approach, siruck on the beach, and Lily and Richard sprang to the shore and were clasped in the loving arms of their urents. - General Beverley and his wife followed the young people and watched the rapturous meeting with the keenest of sympathy, while Zickley and his old commander clasped hands and wiped their eyes, and undulged in incoherent exclamations. Home again! What words can speak the joy of the wander- ers! Their dangers all past, their Joysovercome ! “fheir adventures have all been tor the best,’ said Mrs. Law- rence, as she greeted the mother of Richard warmly. ‘‘Had our children endured a pang the less, had their imprisonments and wanderings varied a day in time or a mile in space, the mystery of Richard’s parentage would never have been solved, and you would have gone to your grave childless! Every incident was part of a great plan to perfect their happiness and yours.” Afew wecks later, for we Must pass over much that would have been delightful to dwell upon, two splendid mansions on the Hudson River were purchased and fitted up in the costliest style of luxury. They were near each other, and surrounded by groves, and lawns, and gardens inprotusion. To these man- sions the Beverleys and the Lawrences retired, the Shelter Island home having too many unpleasant associations to be re- tained. We regret to say that, not many months later, the lat- ter residence was destroyed ty fire; much to the grief of its purchaser, who fancied it an Eden, ; Ajtew months. later an elegant dwelling arose between the two stately mansions. It was beautified by great bay windows, magnificent oriels, wide arcades, delightiul porches and lotty turrets. From its observatory a wide view could be obtained, Its grounds sloped to the Hudson, and on the beach, chained to a gay boat-house, rocked the vld Water-Lily. Within the mansion all was lhghtness, grace and luxury. The walis were hupg. with costly pictures and niched with statu- ettes. The conservatories aud green-houses were rich in tropi- cal plants ‘and vines, and a great palm grew, under a glass dome, that'reminded one of South Sea Isladde This lovely home, where was’ garnered all that was choice and beautitul, was the homevof Richard and Lily, They : were. married as soonas the house was done, and they live there to-day in the enjoyment of such love and happiness as approximates to that of the angels. Time has changed them little. Richard is more portly, perhaps, thanin his youth, but his countenance is none the tess noble and distinguished. He is an author whose tame has gone through two heniispheres, and Lily is, his gentic critic; his ~ise »counsclor, his. noble, true- hearted Wife. She is stender and. piquant. still, the sunshine of her home, the idol of her husband’s heart, the object of Jier “children’s fondest reverence. She will never grow old. ‘Tinie tonches her sweet brows too lightly and forbears to lay a finger ou her gol- den ripples of hair. She will always be “dainty Jittledily” to those. who know her best, while to the poor she, is am,aigel of mercy, to her .frieiids a triend indeed, and to her childrena grand and noble mother. : 5 General and Mrs. Beverly still live a happy and honored life. The Lawrences are happy in their home, and not a day passes but that the three families, meet. ; i A few miles down the river resides Captain Wexley, who made a fortune inthe “gold diggings,” .and who is settied in & pretty gothic cottage, within easy. Visiting distance of his friends. Zickley, too, made a fortune in Califoraia, married a pretty, ‘iiteligent girl, and ‘has a home ‘inariver village, a mile above ‘‘The Lilies”—Richard Beverley's home. : The.storms and troubles were indeed_all passed when Lily and Richard returned. Their lives are cloudless now, flowivg on as smoothly, as sweetly, as grandly as the river upou whose banks they have made their hozje. THE END. A new story by Leon Lewis will soon be commenced, enti- tled “Tar FLowrER or Supa.” «es THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3—— MINNIE GRAY. BY CARL BOURNES. Brightly dawned a golden morning, In the merry month of June; Softly blew the wildwinds, laden With the flowers’ sweet perfume: Joyously the birds were singing In the deep wood o’er the way, As a-down the land I wandered With my dark-eyed Minnie Gray. Oh! how oft we'd roamed together Down that dear old lane before! But the memory of that morning Thrills me to my bosom’s core. Then, oh, then! my soul was gladdened, For 'twas there I named the day When I'd claim my heart’s own treasure— Blushing, dark-eyed Minnie Gray! But swiftly on the summer glided, And a change came o'er the scene— When the tinted leaves of autumn Lay upon the fading green. Deep into my heart—now lonely— Grief’s dark arrow found its way; Death has robbed me of my treasure— Gone | my dark-eyed Minnie Gray! There, in yonder churchyard lowly, Neath the willow’s silent shade, With the cold earth for her piliow, Gently sleeps the dark-eyed maid. There the summer zephyrs whisper, There the robin trills his lay, And the moonbeams softly glimmer O’er the grave of Minnie Gray. ~<~—__---- FLORENCE'S TEMPTATION. BY CONTENT WHIPPLE. “Miss Willard.’ “Well, Mr. Randall,” and the young girl looked up with an arch smile dimpiing her lovely face, but the ardent fire that glowed in her companion’s dark eyes, caused a sudden drooping of the eyelids, and a flushing of the pretty piquant face.. A smile of triumph crept over the young nian’s handsome countenance, but his tones were modulated to their sweetest.accents, as he bent over her till his dark locks almost touched her forehead, and said, “Dear Florence, I love you.”’ “Ah! Florrie, here you are,” called ont agay voice be- side them, and a sprightly young girl, one of Florence’s friends, approached, leaning on the arm of a gentleman. An expression of iil-disguised irritation showed itself on the countenance of Oscar Randall, for it had been with much difficulty that he had secured this interview with Floreace Willard. “Mr. Randall, don’t look so woe-begone,” said Miss Wyide, the fairintruder. “I suppose we have interrupt- ed some eloquent display of rhetoric, but you will please pardon our lack of discretion, Florrie, I wish to. present to you my friend, Mr. Gray. Mr. Gray, Miss Willard.” Florence, it must be confessed, feit a pang of disap- pointment, at having their interesting interview broken in upon, but not for the world would she have had Oscar Raudall know that such was the case, so Miss Wylde re- turned triumphant to the ball room, baving exchanged partners with her friend Florence, just the piece of diplo- lacy she wished to effect. Florence Willard was an heiress and a belle, in the flush of maidenly beauty, and just beginning to realize her power over the susceptible hearts of the other sex, and with a natural love of conquest she queened it royally over her adoring subjects, Not a coquette, in the true sense of the word, was our heroine, Ske had a true, pure, and noble nature, but be- ing motherless from childhood, and the only daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in the city, flattered, pet- ted and allowed her own way in everything in which it was possible for her to be gratified, having just entered society with all the love of gayety and attention common to girls in general, and possessing besides to a great ex- tent the often fatal gift of beauty, it is no wonder that some rank weeds should manifest themselves in the gar- «cen of her mind. She had become deeply interested in Oscar Randall. He was very handsome, and the most fascinating man she had ever seen, and was reputed to be wealthy. There ‘was not @ girl in herset, as Florence very well knew, who would not have felt proud of his attentions, For a long time she had known that he was more to her than any one else, and his declaration of love found a willing response in her heart. If he had not been interrupted in his love making, she would that evening have become his plight- ed bride. She returned to the ball-room, feeling sure that he would seek another interview before the evening was over, aud the inward commotion of her feelings, caused her to be more brilliant and entertaining than she had ever been before. ! Her vivacity and wit, drew about her a crowd ,of ad- mirers,.and With all Randall's tachanu efforts h¢ could not gain another opportunity of seeing her alone: The lady under whose escort Florence had attended the party, returned home at an earlier hour than usual, and Fiorence accompanied her. Randall found opportunity to whisper a word in her ear as he handed herinto the carriage, and recéived a very faint pressure of her hand in answer with which he had to be satisfied. Fiorence returned home wrapped in the most delicious dreams of happiness. It was anew life to the young givl, the feeling that she loved and was beloved, and it threw a rose-coioring over every thought and aspiration, however commonplace. Butshe had yet a new expe- rience toleara. A change was at hand that plunged her at once from happiness into an inconceivable depth of misery. Sheexpected a call the next day from her lover, and waited with feverish anxiety for his coming, bat the day passed on and ihe did not come. Her father, who of late had been unusually absorbed in business, did not return from his office at his usual hour, and Florence went about the hous? teeling very disconsolate. She could think of no business so urgent as to keep Qscar Randall from her side, after the words spoken to her the evening before, and she could not think why her father should remain so late in his office, for it was some- thing she had never yet known him to do. It was indeed an event of most unusual occurrence that detained Mr. Willard so long, for the next morning one of the clerks found him in his office dead, shot through the heart by his own nand, as was proved by a A ar written by himself which were found upon his desk. Itseemed that by some mismanagement he has lost the whole of his vast property, and it had so worked on his feelings that in despair he had committed suicide. The agony of his child can be imagined. To have an only parent, and one so kind and indulgent as he had always been, thus suddenly taken from her, and in so terrible a Manner, Was enough to almost. destroy her reason. We will pass over the first agony of the terrible grief that assailed her; we will pass over the indifference of former friends who turned Coldly from the desolate or- phan in the time of her sorest need, and the lreartless- ness of her father’s creditors, who took everything that had been his, even to the last. penny, regardless of her wlio was thus: being reduced to beggary or starvation, and ldst of all of. the desertion of one who should have been all to her in this time of trouble but who never even once came to her aid with a word of sympathy. The dread ordeal past, and Florence found herself alione; not a friend remaining of the gay throng. that Were once loudest in their protestations of affection; not “@ relative on whom she had the slightest claim, and with only a few dollurs remaining of the vast wealth of which She had been accounted the heiress. All the hope, and happiness, at least, for the present, stricken out of her iife, many in her circumstances would have given up in sespair. But Florence took the burdens of life, to which she was so totally unaccustomed, into her own hands, aid went about seeking for employment. it was a Wearisome task, and night after night, as she returned to her miserable lodging, her smail pittance fast dwindling away, and ali her efforts for employment unsuccessful, she would feel as though she would wil- ingly cast herself down on her humble bed and sleep her life away. At last, after long, wearisome searches, after meeting rebuffs and insults on every hand, she sncceeded in ob- caing employment that barely kept her from starvation. Months passed, months that seemed years to the lonely toiling girl, Who satin ner desolate aitic tay after day, and night alter night, trying to support a ife which already seemed worthless to its owner, Dreary winter had come tri in her little room, hover- ing over a faint sembiance...: x fire, one pitter cold even- ing, trying witha her stiff fingers to finish some work whieh sie must return in the morning, sat Florence, her beauti- ful eyes dimmed with tears, as ner thoughts wandered back to the previous winter with its comforts and gayeties. Sne was suddenly startled by a knock onthe door. It was so unusual a thing for Florence to have a visitor that she opened the door with some trepidation. What was her surprise, her amazement, to see standing before her scar Randall. The amazed expression of her countenance encouraged him to speak. “Miss Willard,’ said he, in tender but respectful tones, “I have taken a great libeity, I know, but as I could see you in no other way, | have thus intruded into your pres- ence. _ By this time Florence had regained lier composure, and ‘im tones lady-like, but most distant and chilling, she said: “Perliaps Mr. Randall has business to consult me upon, Gf so, will he please state it?” “You will let me come in, won’t you?’? he asked, for she had hot invited him to enter. “Certainly,” she replied, with frigid politeness, “Will you be seated ?” and she pointed to her one Solitary chair mee she had ween occupying by the fire, or rather by the re-place. “No, thank you, I will stand,’’ he said, advancing to the chimney and leaning his armon the mantel, then looking at ber tenderiy with those pleading, passionate eyes, he said: ‘Florence, why do you treat me like a stranger? Have I vo claim even to your friendship, that you regard Me so coldly 2 “No, Mr. Randall, you have forfeited all elaim, if you ever possessed any, by your own coldness, by your neg- lect during all these long and, to me, weary months, and besides, circumstances ” “Florence, hear my plea before you condemn me so ut- terly. I was called suddenly away on business the day following that last evening that you and I were together, aud was detained till after your trouble, therefore knew nothing aboutit. I wrote to you several times, but re- ceived no answer, and when at last I returned to the city, I lost all trace of you. I could learn nothing of your whereabouts by any of my fashionable friends, and it was only by the merest chance thai I discovered you atall. I saw you to-night in the street. I was not near enough to Speak with you, though I recognized you ina moment, aud following ata distance, discovered where you lived. Now, Florence, I. love you as well asI ever did. Have you no word of kindness for me?”’ His words were tender, his voice thrilling with earnest- ness. Poor, friendless Florence, how could she doubt him when her heart was already pleading in his favor? She leaned her head on her hands, and the tears that had blinded her all the evening now fell fast from her eyes, The young man drew her hauds away trom her face and imprisoned them in his own. ‘Florence, dc you not love me?” he asked, pean tna: *O, Oscar Randall,” she cried, ‘you do not know what youare saying. Look atme! Look at my habitation! Would you take your bride from such 2 place as this?’ A glitter was in the young man’s eyes, which Florence did not see, but he bent low toward her as once before, and whispered tenderly: ‘love you, Florence.”” Then he added softly, “I will not press you to answer me hastily, for all this is sudden, [ know, toyou. I will give you time to reflect. Mean- time you willlet me come again, won’t you?’ He took up the garment she had been at work upon. ‘This labor,’ said he, “is what has driven the roses from your cheeks, and is wearing your life away by inches. You must let me furnish you work that will be more remunerative, will you not? Iwill not wound your independence of spirit by offering to give to you, because I must remember that you have not yet promised to be mine.” “Thank you for being so kind,” said Florence, raising her eyes to his, with a look of deepest gratitude. “IT am not disinterested,’’ saidhe, wifh a smile that call- ed the’plushes to her cheeks. ‘My métives are selfish.” Could the pure-hearted girl have whderstood his mo- tives, her feelings would have been fa? different. In the morning he game again, bringing her work, as he had promised, and paying her in advance-far more than she had anticipated, She felt as ifa new light had suddenly shone “own upon her pathway. Randall came often to see her, and day after day he grew nearer to the heart of the maiden; his fascinations exerteda potent spell over her feelings, until at last he felt that she was-completely in his power. One evening as he sat by herside by the now cheerful fire in her little room, he asked her if she was prepared to join her fate to his.. Softly the maiden answered: “If you want me, a@ portionless bride, Oscar, take me; I am yours.” “Florence,” said the young man, “I must tell you my circumstances. Iam the prospective heir of a wealthy uncle. All my prospects are from him. As long as I do Iny utmost to please him he will do eyerythiag to please me, but should I marry’ a poor girl he would cut me otf without a penny. I have pienty of money and an +legant house splendidly furnished; and though I cannot marry you, Florence, darling, tf you will be mine, and come and preside over my splendid establishment, you shall have everything you-wish, and my whole leve and devotion Shall be yours.”’ As the full meaning of his words dawned upon her mind, Florence rose from her seat with every vestige of color fled from her face, her eyes glowing like living-coals, and.her.voice was low and husky as she.said, “Oscar Randall, this from you—you whom 1 loved ! Heaven, my cup of bitterness is full.” The young man’s heart was touched by hér despair, but he did not relax his cruel purpose. “Florence,” said Ne, in his tenderest tones, ‘what have I said to wound youso? Believe me i never meant to hurt your feelings, but I love you so I cannot give you up. Lhave loved you from the firstunoment of our meeting. I am sure [can make you happy. You shall leave this life of toil forever, and it shall be. my chief object to promo’e your enjoyment, -You will be just.as truly mine as though adozen ceremonies were performed over us, You have no friend but me. Why should you cast aside your only friend ?”? “Do you dare call yourself a friend, and yet tempt me to barter away my soul? Oscar Raudall, you will never persuade me to commit this fearful sin. Though bloved you a thousand times better than I have, I would be laid in the deepest grave that ever was made, I would be tor: tured*to death by inches, sooner than I would accede to your base proposals. Now leave me.” She looked a very queen. as she said this, more beauti- ful than he had ever seen her before, and never had Ran- dall felt-so strong a desire’ as at that menient to possess her, ana curb that proud will to his wishes. “7 will leave you, Florence, for the present,’’ said he as she waved hiur from her presence, “but.do not think I shall give youup. You will yet see the day when you will come to'me willingly, mark my words. You know little of the torture you speak-so boastingly of, and you will see that I will conquer your proud spirit, if not by one means, I can by another. Remember,” he added, mockingly, “if you are ever in distress and want a friend, my doors Will always.be open to receive you.” The next moment Florence Willard was alone. e+ Metropolitan Pen Pictures. THE “OLD RAGMEN.” BY NATHAN D. URNER. Nearly all of us are familiar, from childhood, with that antediluvian fossil who buys old rags from our mothers, and who is doubly endeared if he is assisted in drawing his cart by harnessed dogs, or other undersized quadru- eds. f But these are the upper crust of this class ef “street- ers.”? The majority—old women, as well as men, and little wretched girls, as well as little wretched boys—go around the streets, with sacks on their shoulders, and asort of long, improvised boat-hook in their hands, witn which they rake through the ash-barrels, in search of linen and cotton rags, and paper. There have been a few cases, where old men and women in this ignoble FLORENCE’S TEMPTATION.—“NOW, LEAVE ME!’ trade have been miserly, and amassed riches; and I can recall the time when it was reported, by little boys, that diamond rings, me 1d. breast-pins, gold watch nd similar’ valuables ed to be among the n- ings of this gipsy t But, as a general thing, Brey are misérably pooreBheir homes are dens, their id neir very lives the incarnation of squalor and wretchedress. The rag-man, however, never becomes thoroughly set up in business, never arriVes to an actual establishment, until he is able to sport a team—whether of goats, dogs, or a spavined pony—hitched to a cart. There used to be a rag-man of this kind, who was often seen in the upper part of the city, named “Raggy Dolf,” who was quite a character in his way. His vehicle was a hand-cart, witha row of cow-bells suspended from up- right staves across the middle, which, with his stentorian cry of “Rags, old rags !” always gave due notice of bis approach, without at the same time inspiring the mind with any ideas excessively musical. A villainous dog, of large and nondescript breed, and a goat, assisted him in drawing bis cart, Or he seemed to im agine that they did, (which was probably all the same thing), for they always seemed to me to hang back, urag sideways, and get under the wheels, and prove more of a hindrance than an assistance. se ee He caught it up quick—he held it to light— It gleamed like a diamond dazzlingly bright; He shook like an aspen, then shouted in joy: “Cheer up; Count Adolphus! Cheer up, my old boy ! Ball and Black shall decide, In their strength and their pride, This Kohinor’s value!” And to them he hied, Much marvel there was in that fashionable store When the jolly old Ragman burst into the door. The ladies stared, the clerks all glared, But litile hedeny, old Ragman cared. “With the firnr I must deal! “If you are ever in distress, and want a /riend, my Well, she knew thatif once she entered that door, she would never leave it in the stainless purity of virtue, but T have that to reveal That can only be told'under privacy’s seal!” The senior partner he eaught by the coat, The junior he tremblingly caught by the throat; And, “Lead me you secretest closet within!” He gasped; “I’ve a fortune, as sure as a sin! I’ve a diamond as big As the exe of a pig!” Cried the jolly old Ragman, dancing a jig. The iuvulnerable strong-room was opened to them, And there the old Ragman prcduced his huge gem. “Bring your scales! Fix its value! Be lively!” he cried; “Give son Balt what it’s worth, and you’re both rich be- side For my fortune is made, _I’m the pink of my trade!” Cried the jolly old Ragman; “my fortune is made!” “This species of stone, and I rate it quite good,” uoth the senior, “is worth about ten cents the rood.” “Tf you,” quoth the junior, *twould give that for such rock. Why, give it, old fellow—I’ll turn in my stock!” And away from the store— _ Asmart kick before— Sped the jolly old Ragman, to come back no more. A certain rag-man, who is a pretty true representative of the squalid class, haunts the lower part of the city, east of Broadway, at the present time. He may be seen almost any day on Beekman street, with li§bag on his back, and his hook in his hand, picking’ through ash- barrels and dust-heaps, which are cast from the stores of that thoroughfare early in the morning. He was once, I understand totally insane, an inmate of the asylum wii on Blackwell’s Island, whence he was discharged as only semi-idiotic, and able to take care of himself. He is a most pitiable looking object, filthy and squalid to id fast degree’, buc always WIth « vacant smile upon his lips. From a curiosity to see in what sort of den he lived, I followed him, laté. one evening, for along Ways, and then did not succeed in my quest. He went straight out | upon one of the East River decks, and, as [lost sight of him directly afterward—it being dark at the time—lI judged that he made a home among the whartf-rats, under the ier. 7 There have been several instances of rag-pickers being miserly, and hoarding up large sums of money. One of the most noteworthy that 1can call to mind was that of an old man who died a number of years ago, leaving upward of fifty thousand dollars to his grandson and granddaughter, whom.he had well educated, and, at the same time; kept in ignorance of his ignominious calling. The children went to one of the best boarding-schools in the neighborhood of the city, A mystery hung around their origin of which even they appeared to know little, or nothing; but so long as a check for the high price of their tuition came regularly to hand atthe end of the quarter, the proprietor of the school was not over anx- “Raggy Dolf,” himselt, may almost be said to have been a nondescript.. He was a foreigner, but whether Spanish, German, Italian or Greek; it would haye been difficult to determine. In the neighbornood. where 1 lived, there was a tradition among-_the. small boys—who usually made and pressed his acquaintance by throwing stones at his dog, and punching his goat with a pointed stick—that he was a foreign nobleman. Somebody had told them that somebody. else had dreamed that. “Raggy Dolf’ was an. expatriated German Baron, Italian Count or Spanish Hidalgo; und,.on this ac- count, they used to gaze upon him with a sort, of mys- rerious awe, and, at the same time express their Repub- lican abhorrence of titular pomp by stoning his team as soon ashe would start down the street. I do not know what truth there may have been in these reports; but an incident once occurred which at least made them seenr probable, Directly opposite where [ lived there was a large tene- Mment-house, with which Raggy Dolf did a considerable trade in rags. Where they got their rags to sell from. I| never could tell, becagse, 1f the merchant bad taken ali there was in the louse,he would certainly have left three- fourths of its denizens naked; but nevertheless he used to stop there very offen. One day I noticed him ascend the filthiest stairs of this tepement block. Pretty soon he came rushing down again, terrified and bleeding, and pursued by a: half- dressed, foreign-lookiag man, who flourished a cheese- Knife wildly over his head, as if about to run ‘‘amock’’ through the streets of the city. The timely interference of a policeman saved the rag-man from any serious in- jury (if, ingeed, any had been contemplated, which I doubt,) and he and his goat and dog drove away with } their cart as fast as their legs could-carry them; while the half-dressed, foreign-looking young man withdrew into his tenement, muttering any number of maledictions upon the heads of traitors, conspirators, renegades, apostates, ete. Perhaps, then, after all, Raggy Dolf was.an ex-Count Rudolph, or a Baron Adolphus; but, at any rate, his pedi- gree was always’one of the Mysteries of Udolpho to me. But, whether of patrician or plebsian blood, foul cal- umby sometimes would asperse his honesty. In one-of the tenements of which I have spoken there lived a Scotch we with a small family of eighteen or nineteen chil- dren. Once, Raggy Dolf made a prolonged visit up the stair- way leading to the Gaelic domicile, and returned: to his cart with a well-filled sack. He had not got off, however, before the Scotch woman came down afterhim, red with anger, and sounding a pibroch of complaint. “Hoold on, mon! hoold 6n, mon!’ she cried, grasping him by the collar of his greasy coat. ‘‘Wad ye rob me an’ my poor bairns of every stitch of clothing as. we’ve got, Mon ?”? Raggy Dolf said something in a foreign tongue, and held up his hands deprecatingly. “You’ve got my good mon’s sark—his best sark—~in that bag o’ yourn, you Portugee marauder!” cried the woman; ‘‘as weel as little Sandy’s pipper-dn’-salts which he goes to Sabbath school with. Give me the sack!—give it me, you Black Douglas of the tiniments!”’ She snatched the sack from him, and emptied the con- tents upon the sidewalk; and, after repossessing herself of the missing articles, sent the rag-man on his way with a volley of chin-music which would have done éredit to a border raider of the olden time. Raggy Dolf suddenly vanished from the streets about-a year ago, and Lhave seen nothing of him since. Rumor hath it, however, that, in. the course of his rummaging among ald rags, Ragyy thought that he had found a val- uable jewel, which turned out to be worthless, and there- by broke his heart. But thereby hangs a tale. ’Twas a jolly old Ragman plied his trade, Through rain and shine, through sun and shade; And his comrades true were a dog and goat, And this was the music that poured trom his throat: “Old ravs! old rags!” The time never lags With the jolly old Ragman that cries his old rags. Once twelve pounds he bought of a dame very nice, And stowed them away in his sack in a trice; And, when he got home to assort his strange store, A bright stud from a dicky rolled out on the floor. And, ‘‘My fortune is made! ious upon this score. Every now and then, at rare intervals, the children would. be visited by a little, old man, whom they ad- dressed as grandfather. It was a queer little old man, with a pinched face, hard, horny hands, and always hab- ited ina suit of out-of fashioned black whose seediness and rast barely escaped overriding the bounds of de- cency. But he always left them solid tokens of his re- gard in the shape of pocket-money and presents, and was particular in inquiring about their comiort and educa- tional progress, Tne learned professor tried to ‘‘draw out’ the little old gentleman,, but in, vain. Even his grandchildren Knew nothing of his life and business. And so he came and. went at.long intervals. The children grew, rapidly, and daily added to their ac- complshments; until one winter day a note from a city lawyer apprised them of the death.of their eccentric rel- ative, and that they were his heirs—the legal gentleman veing leit their guardian until they should attain their majority. But, accompanying the information, was in- closed—almost.as a,wanton cruelty—a newspaper slip giving an account.of the old man’s.death. He had per- ished In the most, utter squalorin a cellar, surrounded by heaps of the filthy rags whose collection had been his only eccupation for years. What nad induced him to continue in this life, after having, amassed such a competence, may only be ex- pained by those who would seek to analyze the miser’s heart, But we read.of many cases analogous to this; and probably many & romance might be woven out of the li.e of the poor rag-picker. OS Pleasant Paragraphs. BUTY. There are a grate menny kinds oy butyin the warld, and az menny agin different idees ov what buty1z. Every wun takes a different pint from which to draw hiz interences, and gives i hiz judgement accordinly. A yung lady hansumby dressed, with a pare ov brite eyes, rosy cheeks—whose cherry lips are rippled by her smile az.a.mudpudle when stirred by the gentie zeffers ov. summer—(I don’t Kno az this iz a proper metafor, but the fact iz I aint much on metaforin, nor never wuz)—would be kalled butitul by most ov us. It would be well, however, tu: konsider the fact thatthe hansumest flours sumtimes konceal the dedliest pisens. I dont kno az we hey enny rite twexpect it, but I never herd.a femail speke ov buty az bein atall related tuus men. She Konfines ler idees ov. buty tu aiuy oy a bunnet, which konsists oy a bow-not tied under'the chin by tew ribbons, and a vale; «r else tu the watertull onthe back ov her hed az big az a mill- dam. ® Tu sum there iz buty in the glitter ov gold and silver koin, and they worship at its shrine oftner than at that ov their Crea- tor. This iz wun thing oy ,wbich ‘‘Plum”’* aint gilty; for though the frosts ov 8ty summers lye thick ontu hiz hed, and. the kares and trubles ov along life hev rinkled hiz brow, and wore oph liz teeth, yet the holes at hiz elboes, and the patches on hiz nees and elsewhere, prove konelusively that he iz no devotee at the altar ov mamon. Tu the wanderin Arab the ideal.ov. buty exists only in hiz hoss, while hiz wives, though they be peries in torm, are kon- sidered worthy oy nothin, ezcept tu receive the lickins hiz hoss deserves. Most everybody. imagines he haz sttm pint ov buty about him which he eudeavors tvimprove and show on every occashun. The phop admires the sottness ov hiz branes, the whiteness ov hiz hands, and the smell ov hiz hankerehef, exklaimin, in the innereence ov hiz hart, “I’m about rite, an!” The pig haz only asmall porsnun oy pride, but it iz all kon- centrated in the kurt ov hiz tale, and he spends ail hiz lesare minits in kontemplatim the smaliness ov hiz buty. I hey no objectshuns tu enny wuns tryin tu improve on the wurks oy hiz own hands, but when he undertakes tn improve on nachur, I notiss that ginerally it results in a most lamentable phizzle, just az it ought tu.» (lis refers to hare-die, plumpers, palpitaters, etsetera.) Buty iz az dangerous tu sum aza patent eartrige pistil loded tu_the brim would be in the hands ov a loonatick. Enny man or woman who thinks he or she iz an angil, simply bekause God haz bestowed ontu them a hansum face or torm, iz just azmuch mistaken az the frog wuz when he thought he could swell intu an ox. Ihev seen “the end of all perfection,” sais wun; but I take the liberty ov disputin. the assershun—for. I hev lived nigh ontu a century, and hey’nt begun ta see it—neither du I believe it ex ists this side ov Heven. The mewl, perhaps, thinks he haz gota perfect voice for mu- sick, but I defy enny wun tu agree with him who haz ever herd him sing. So we may think ourselves irresistible, vet liv tu see the mask torn aside, expos tu view sui hideus deformity. F _ ‘Pm the pink of my trade!” Oried the jolly old Ragman; “my fortune is made!” a “mane [ aint a som tu say that there iz no such thing az reai buty in this wurld, for I believe there iz; bui it don’t consist in furbe- loes, paint, and other fixins, by a long shot; neither duz it dwell alltogether in brown stun frunts, nor iz it ailus seen on the tash- eee side ov Broetwan lev seen it in a hovel where squalor and rags wuz the ri furnitoor, and hunger and despair iuore trequent ouiters et the clergyman. 1¢ konsists in Kindness ov hart and goodness ov eau one eoerever the monies artikle iz, the plainest ‘ace and ormed body w sar , i Aimity, eves y appear butiful in the site ov the Like the dimond, it not only lends a luster tu everything near way net pay veyed ee tu the adornin oy our own soles w 3 Nsted OV leavin , eon Si , i tor the purson tudu at our We all—I wont except enny—we all, I say (Plain inelnded) are more apt tu be anxus about the timings on the outside ov our koflins than for the soles ov them who lye inside. ELDER Pym. gives out a pure lite itself, but A LITERARY QUESTION, Isit true that the Loeksmith of Lyons went to Leighton Homoricod to pend the ge the do-r tothe Shadowed Altar, at Faithful Margaret, The False Heir ¢ y for the safe return of The Boy Whaler, ye liagalae MH MY BACHELOR FRIENDS, It was to me a happy day, That thrust my single life away, or shirts, nor trowsers more to mend y bach’lor days were at an end. was at peace—I had no strife; And strange to say I loved my wife. She was a beauty, that Pll swear, And we were called the “happy pair.” Bul bach’lor friends with down-cast eyes Observed my union with surprise. ‘Tis strange,” quoth they, “and strange, lis true," The first that. married Sam was you. We little dreamed that you'd decéive us, Or that you'd be the first to leave us. We’ll miss you, Sam, but let no tear Disgrace the words we mention here; Let pleasant thoughts together mingle— You never cried when you were single. We would not now, not for woman, For that, we think is hardly human. Alas! poor Sam, to think we've lost you What cruel wave to marriage tossed you?" *Twas thus they spoke, nor paused they here, They sent me presents for a year, { Sometimes a cake made out of wood, With lines “to eut it if I could.” Somctimes a rope—it was no joke, That if l hada wae - choke~ Ahem my wife—Id get their prayers If T would haug her Guaiaaees or One day they stopped—alas, ‘tis true, The fellows went and married too ! PUTTING THE COWS TO BED R—— wasa quiet country, but was not withoutits funny characters, and one of them was known as Grandpa B., whose son-in-law owned a tarm, and also kept the hotel of the place Now prandpa sometimes took his toddy (as in those davs it w called) too strong, greatly to the annvyance of h ; was avery vious old lady, and also very deaf. It was grand- pa’scare alwaysto bring the cows up from the pasture at night for milking. O1-one of these occasions of light-headed- ness he started soon after dinner for the pasture, and about two o'clock in the atternoon, the old jady, who was looking oui of a window up stairs saw him driving the cows into the yard Raising the window she callec tohim: ‘Why, Mr. B., where are you going to drive those cows?” Steadying himself by the fence and eae up to the window with a comica! expression, he shouted: “Where in thunder do you suppose? I um going to drive them up stairs to their bedroom.” Maup CaRRo_u. A HEAVY “‘HIT” ON THE NOSE. We have in our employ a man whose most prominent feature is a tremendous nose; indeed, it is so large as to somewhat re- semble a “prize beat.’’. This liberal allowance of nose is often the cause of mach annoyance to the owner, whose name is William G. One day, soon after we had tiken on a new hand, whom we shali call Tormm,and as the latter was busy at his work, Bill entered, and _ said, - saluting the new workman: “Good morning, Tom.’’ Tom raised his eyes from the benen, and no. ticing Bilt and his prize beet, returned the salutation by saying “Good morning to ye doth”? Billturned around, thinking an- other person was behind him, and seeing no one, said, Both/ What do you meap, Tom?” Tom ieered comically as he an- swered. *‘When 1 said ‘good morning to ye both,’ meant you and your nose.” PLUMBER. Sam Veraciry € as is wife, who A LONG-NOSED FRIEND. How oft I've sat in admiration rapt, And gazed upon that pniz of thine; And wondered how on earth it ever happ’d To have a noseso long and fine Set ina face whose ghastly pallor i | sation about apple butter. Looks much hke.chaik, but more iike “taller }?” I’ve looked amazed to see it jerk, When tooth or tongue was atits work: And thought with trembling at my knees, What would it feel like shoud it freeze; Or if some “sassy cuss” shonld pall it, Or pepper it with bali or bullet. I turned from these sad pictores wrought By my own fancy, and | thought There must some bivden pleasures be Instore tor.them with no-e like thee. What, if at times, 1t1uterfcre When eating soup or swiggiog beer ? Oan’t you af once, with ‘nary’? waste— Please sense ot smell and setise of taste, And happiness! when at your ease To eat and snuff Limburger cheese ! And what a tube through which tosneeze, Who would forego such joys as these ? But when, with cold, it comes to blows, Ye gods! I would not sach a nose. Now, to conclude, I pray you try Upon that nose to keep an eye; And if at ali, you chance to fall, As soon as you have done it, Don’trise until you’re sure you will Not put your foot upon it! A BRIGHT SCHOLAR. In a Sabbath school in Grand Haven, Mich., last Sunday, Miss Eldred, our teacher,asked Burty Parks: “Who was the father of Zebedee’s children?’ Burty scratched his heas a momentand then asked: '‘ Who did Zebedee suapect ?”” HE¥SY SpPRIKS, ¢ ajarezExatT(CAL PONUNDRUM, low many apples were eaten in Eden by Adam knd Eve? \Ten—Eve ate, and Adam too. SQUENZzICKS CONUMDRUMS, ETC. What quadrupeds are admitted to balls, operas, dinner par- ties, etc.? White kids. . Why is the letter G. like the sun? Because it is the center of ight. ovhy is the New York WeeExty like an onion? Because its contents cannot be beet. Why are umbrellas like good Catholics? Because they keep lent so Well. A NEW WAY TO MAKE SOAP. In_ the townof M., lived a jolly old fellow known as “Uncle Hank.’’ One day, while preparing to make soap, he sent his nephew, Joe, after a kettle to one of the neighbors. Aunt Su- san (Uncle Hank’s spouse), seeing acupot lye on the windew, and supposing it to be cold tea, took it up and drank it. Dis- covering her mistake, she went to the cupboard, procured some meited lard and hastily swailowed it. This caused her to vom- it. Uncle Hank sat looking on in astonishment, and observing Joe coming with the kettle, he yelled out: “Joe, you can carry the kettle back. We won't want it. Aunt Susan can swallow lye and grease, and throw up soap!” Lyx Luck. SLANG PHRASES. “Boys,” said a professor to his students, “you must be very careful of slang phrases, for there are inore in this country now than you could shake a stick at.” SWELLED WITH RELIGION. At a prayer meeting held recently in one of our Brooklyn churches, a very laughable occurrence took place. One of the members (an Italian), who often becomes very much excited, arose, and atter telling part of his experience, finished by say- ing, amid the laughter of the congregation: “When I vos con- verted, my heart swelled until I almost bursted, and I teeled shust like Jonah ven he shumped into the river and swallowed a whale.” Avother member, not comprehending what the Ital ian had said, devoutly chimed in with the exclamation. “Bless the Lord!” W. H. Duepae. THAT KIND OF A BABE, We have three litfle nischiet-makers at our house—Willie, Charlie, and their little baby-sister, Annie. Willie learned to whistle, not long ago, and_ therefore thinks heisaman. One day Annie had her little lips puckered up and was making a noise very much like alow Whistle, when Charlie noticed her and called to his brother Willie to come and see Annie whistle. Willie, with the utmost contempt pictured on hislitt e face, said —‘‘Oh, that’s ashe-baby! That kind of a baby ean t whistle!” EF. P. C SAYING GRACE BY THE QUANTITY. A little fel’ow who was very fond of pork, and thonghtita Waste or Lime to say grace betore meals, was one day standing by bis father as the laiter was packing the pork for winter use. Saddenly.the boy looked op and said: “Father won't you say grace over the pork barrel as we won’t haveto wait when it comes on the tab’e?” It has not been ascertained whether the tather complied or not. Roy LrieéHTon. PAINTED BY NATURE. A servant girl in the town of B——, whose beauty was the subject of general admiration and discussion, in passing a ¢ roup ot officers.in the street, heard one of them explain to his fellows “By Heaven, she’s painted.”’ Turning about she quickly re- plied: “Yes, sir, and by Heavenionly.” The officer acknowleged the force of the rebuke, and apologized. PATIENT TOPERS. Nick Moffatt and s#me boon companions, of Goshen, N. Y., had jast decided to have a ronsing bowl of punch. Soon they had everything ready but the nutmeg, which was rather diffi- cult to grate with an. old file—the only article at hand that would answer tie purpose. Beceming tired of this tedious mode of grating a nutmeg, Nick dropped the file, and snid: “That punch is pretty strong, and as we are not ina hurry to drink it, suppose we throw in the nutmeg whele, and let her dissolve.”’ Witpcat APPLE BUTTER. A conceited fellow, who prides himself on being able to ex- plain and understand everything, was present during a conver He had never beara the term be- fore, and commenced repeating it to himself, when one of his friends said to him, “Perhaps you do not know what apple but- ter is?” ‘Oh, yes; Ldo,’was the answer; “I suppose it is made from the milk of cows fed on apples.” LENNIG. WALKS CROSS-EYED. Tn the fown of S—— lives.a littie bow-iegged boy. As he was passing the residence of a four-year-old girl, she looked up into her mother’s face, and asked: “Mamma, what makes Eddie walk so cross-eyed?” Sis. To P. P. Contrrsutors.—Maud Carroll.—Write often...... Cap. Careless.—In the PHUNNY PHELLOW......A. S.G.—Too long : JM. H.—OtWd Cordell.—Defective rhythm. Try again. iad A. @. L—An oid story. Send us something new......3/.B. Ladd.—“The Extract of Magic” will be tried on the readers of the PHunny PHELLOW...... ¥F. A, A,—An incident similar to your “Powertul Bovines” has been in print.. In your next contribu- tion dispense with unnecessary deseviption and come to the point with the tewest words...... The following MSS. are ac- cepted: “Dinmg Saloon Freak; ‘Sad Mistake;” “Remem- bering the fext;’ “Bashful Benedict; ‘Big Worm;” ‘The First Mule;” “Enlargement of the Heart;” “To KiJl an Owl;, “Chips;” “Boy at the Play;” “Aunt Phebe’s Mistake: “Cut- ting and Slashing; “Tricking a Tobacco-chewer;” “Tailor and Internal Machine;” “Dying with a Dry Head,” “Irishman’s e;” “Cow’s Horn;” “Couldn’t See to Sleep; “Half True; **Hoes, and Rakes}’’s.,. 0s... The following are respectfully declined: “Give the Dog a Spoon:” ‘Fashionable Woman’s Prayer;”- “Dean Swift and His Boy;” ‘Keep the Balance;” “Got Shot; ‘“Facetiolis Answer,’ ‘Powerful Bovines:"’ “Big Pumkin;”’ “Jones” Lake;” “Treasure Notes; “Brevities,” by S. H. 8.; “Show your Hand; ‘‘Anecdote.” by F. Jones; “New Song;’”’ “Night Sounds;" “Eating to the Crust;” “Roosting on a Dollar Bill,’ “Cure tor Love;” “An Adventure;” ‘‘Divided We Stand; “Survey; “Lame Chickens; ‘‘Notis—1870;" ‘Strap Oil;” “By C. 0. D.;” “New Way of Advertising Cigars;”* ‘*‘Com- mitted a Misdemeanor;” “What Did He Roost On;” “A Male and Female on their Wedding Tour;” “Queries,” ‘ Some Snow ;” “Wood-shed;’ “No Time to Sharpen;” “High Sreps;” ‘Born Tired; “Liton Carrion;” “Brevities,” by B: ecby; “Letter for Mrs, M.P.;” “A Big Kick; “The Hunter’s Frizht;” “The In- uiry ;” “The Cat Race;” “Ebbelutions of ny Mind;” Starting in osiness;”’ ‘‘A German Caetus;” “The Way to Get a Turkey ;’ “Singing Staccato,” ‘‘Peter’s Wife’s Mother,” “Sister Agnes;” “Beheving his Own Lies: ‘'Ta be Wiped;” ‘Dutchman’s des- eription of a Fiddle; “Sweet Gin.” —___—_—_>9+ 4a The highest office in the order of Good Templars, in Missouri, is filled by Miss Juiia Drew, of St. Louis.