Vol XX. ee STREET & SMITH. No. 11 Frankfort St. NEW THE BIRD IN THE STORM. BY MIRIAM CLYDE. Sing on, little bird in the storm, Tho’ dark the day and drexry; Your song came in thro’ the rain and wind, And is never, never weary. I sit by. the window; looking down On @ rose-bush budding near; Ite leaves are heavy with drops of rain, And its half-oped flowers in fear. Shrink back as if they fain would chu, To await the sunshiue’s coming, The warm bright days of summer aw< ct, And time of bees’ lew humming. I say in my heart the day is chill, I can find no pleasant thing; Few can that little trembling bird Sit out in the storm and sing? A child goes slowly by in the road, His feet are cold and bare, While the rain keeps falling chill and w=t Onvhis tangled curls of hair. But his little hands are crowded fall Of May-time’s rarest bloom; Why take I not the good I find, Nor murmur at the gleom ? I have said, *‘Ah, mei the dsy ie drear,” An@ filled with complaint the hours, While the bird has sung out in the storm, And the child haz gathered flowers a ee cent 6 Qe amet - FAMILY PRYD & i WriNVED; ) rhe MMorris’s voice startled Katy strange y; her hand came down from his shonl- der, and for an instant there swept over her an emotion similar to what she had felt when with Wilford Cameron she rambled along the shores of Lake George, or sat alone with him on the deck of the steamer which carried them down Luke Obamplaim But Morris had always been hér brother, and she did not guess how hard it was for him to keep from telling her then that she was mora to him than a sister. Had he told her, this story, perhaps, had not been written; but he kept silence, and so it is eurs to record how Katy auswered frankly at last, “I guess I did like him a little. I eouldn’t help it, Mops Vou could not either, ex any one. I belid¥gmaies. Woodhull was more than half.in Jove with him, and ‘she is an old roman compared with me, By the way, what did she mean by introdueing me to him as the daughter of Judge Lennox? I meant to have asked her, butforgotitefterward. Was father WIER ED ACCORDI i ever a judge ?” “Not properly,” Morrie replied. ‘‘He was justice of the peace in Bloomfield, where you were born, and for one year held the office of ids or associate judge, that’s all Few ever ve him that title, and I wonder at Mrs. dhull. Possibly she fancied Mr. Cameron would think better of yougit he supposed you W ox G@y~o danghter of a judge.” “That may be, though I.do not believe he ould do you?” Morris did not say what he thought, but remarked, igstead, ‘<1 ts merous, “What! ietly Wilford! You don’t know Wil- “4?” Katy almost screamed, and Morris re- ed, * hd sisters Not Wilford, no; but the mother and wers last year in Paris, and I met ém many times.” *What were they doing In ‘Paris?’ Katy askéd, and Morris replied that he believed the immediateobject of their being there was to obtain the best medical advice for a little or- nhan grand-child, a bright, beautifal boy, to x know those | * X ; \ my POCR KITTY, YOu widest ¥ le 4? ake aaa . f+ Mores said, and then the mother “and sisters. tm.‘ od ; i \*Were they proud, and did he like them; ' € } much ?” “They were very proud,” Morris said; ‘‘but they were always civil to him,’’ and Katy, had she been watching, might have seen a slight flush on his cheek as hé told her of the stately woman, Wilford’s mother, of the haughty Juno, a beauty and a belle, and lastly of Arabella, whom the family nicknamed Bluebell, from her excessive fondness forbooks, a fondness which which made her affect a contempt for the fash- onable life her mother and sister led. It was very evident that neither of the young ladies were wholly to Morris’s taste, but of the two he preferred the Bluebell, for though very imperious and self-willed, she really had some heart, some principle, while Juno had none. This was Morris’s opinion, and it disturbed the little Katy, as was very perceptible from the nervous tapping of her foot upon the carpet and the working of her hands. “How would I appear by the side of those ladies ?” she suddenly asked, her countenance changing as Morris replied that ‘it was almost impossible to think of her as asseciated with the Camerons, she was so wholly unlike them in every respect.” ‘‘T don’t believe I shocked Wilford so very much,” Katy rejoined, reproachfally, while again a heavy pain shot through Morris’s heart, for he saw more and more how Wilford Oameron was mingled with every thought of the: young: girl, who continued: ‘‘And if he was satisfied, I guess his mother and sisters will be. Any way, I don’t want you to make me feel how different I am from them.” There were tears now on Katy’s face, and casting aside all s lfishness, Morris wound his arm around her, and smoothing her golden . . ' hair, jast! as he used to do when she “was a child and came to him to be soothed, he said, very gently, “My poor Kitty, you dolike Wilford Cam- eron; tell me honestly—~is it not so ?’ “Yes, I guess I do,” and Katy’s voice was a half sob, ‘I could not help it, either, he was so kind, so—I don’t know what, only I could not help doing what he bade me. Why, if he AND Be an ’ YORK. DEC ie run NG TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, Iv 1864, IN CLERK’S OFFICE OF DIZ) , bons titty likes fim, jand he likes her as hops——” Morris Grant could not finish the for he did not hope-that- Wilford would win the gem he had so long egyet his own. He might give Kitty up because she loved anotherbest. He was generous enougs to do that, but if he did it, she must never know how much it cost him, and lest should be- tray himself he could not to-night talk with her longer of Wilford Camere he be- lieved to be his rival. It was time now for Katy to go home, but she did not to re- member it until Morris suggested to her that her mother might be uneasy if she staid away much longer, and so they went together across the fields, the shadow all gone from. Katy’s Heart, but lying so dark and heavy around Morris Grant, who was glad when he could leave Katy at the farm-house door and go back alone to the quiet library, where only God could witness the mighty streggle, it was for him to say, ‘‘Thy will be done.” And while he prayed, not that Katy should be his, but that he might have strength to bear it if she were destined for another, Katy, up in her humble bedroom, with her head nestled close to Helen’s neck, was telling her of Wilford Cameron, who, when theywent down the rapids and she had cried with fear, had put his arm around her trying to quiet her, and who once again; on the mountain overlooking Lake George, had held.her pand a moment, while he pointed out asplendid view seen through the opening trees. And Helen, higt- ening, Knew just as Morris Grant had. done that Katy’s heart was lost, and that for Wil- “ew yt so rey ae GRy® Dei Mwivbe mf ne , whon ford Cameron to deceive her mow would be a | cruel thing. ON, Tho day succeeding Katy nhoxs return to Silverton was rainy. and « tor ard as the city waeron Hudson, River hi tae §6ason, the storm extending as fur of New York, and makiag ford C0 shiver as he stepped frow th BELA 1864 bs Abt 7 a . 2 © STATES FOR SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORE. 4, while on hers, the Rossit- LL. D.’s and D. D.'s, tawyers auvhors and artists, beauties and belies, the wh¢ie forming..an illustrious line of.ancestry, admirably represented and sustained by the present family of Camerons occupying the brown stone front, corner of ___ street and Fifth avenue, where the hand- some carriage stopped and a tall figure ran quickly up the marble steps. There was a soft rustle of silk, an odor of delicate per- fume, and from the luxurious chair before the fire kindled in the grate an elderly lady rose and advanced a step or two towards the par- lor door. In another moment she was kissing the young man bending over her and saluting her as mother, kissing him quietly, properly, as the Camerons always kissed. She was very glad to have Wilford home again, for he was her favorite child, and brushing the rain drops from his coat she lead him to the fire, offering him her own easy chair and starting herself ia quest of another. Bat Wilford held her back and making her sit down, he drew an ottoman beside her and then asked her first how she had been and then how Jamie was, then where his sisters were, and if his father had come home—for there was a father, the elder Came- ron, a qniet, unassuming man, who staid all day in Wall street, seldom coming home in time to carve at his own dinner table, and when he was at home, asking for nothing ex- cept to be left by his fashionable wife and daughters to himself, free to smoke and doze over his evening paper in the seclusion of his own reading room. As Wilford’s question concerning his sire had been the last one asked, so it was the last one answered, his mother parting his dark hair | with her jeweled hand, and-teliiog him first | that with the exception of a cold taken at the | park on Saturday afternoon when she drove | out to try. the new carriage, she was in. usual health, second that Jamie was very well but impatient for his uncle’s return, third that Juno was spending a few days in Orange, and that Bell had gone to pass the night with her par- ticular friend Mrs. Meredith, the blaest, most bookish woman in New York. ‘Your father,” the lady added, ‘thas not yet opy, Six Cents. ; Te 6 1 NE A NR a apne a a ithe well-trained waiter gliding in and out, himself the very personification of strict table etiquette, such as the Barlows had never dreamed about. There was no fticasseed chicken here, or flaky crust, with pickled beans and apple sauce; no custard pie with straw- berries and rich, sweet cream, poured from a blue earthern pitcher, but there were soups, and fish, and roasted meats, dishes with French names and taste, and dessert elaborately and | theatres, hati been admitted as a lawyae gotten up and served with the utmost pre- cision, and wines, with fruit and colored cloth, and handsome finger bowl; and Mrs. Camerun presiding over all, with the lady-like décorum so much a part of herself, her soft glossy silk of brown, with her rich lace and diamond pin seeming in keeping with herself and her sur: roundings. And opposite to her Wilford sat, a tall, dark, handsome man, of thirty or there abouts—a man whose polished manners be- tokened at once a perfect knowledge of the world, and whose face to @ close observer in- Gicated how little satisfaction. he had as yet found in that world. He had tried its plea- sures, drinkige the cup of freedom and aap- piness to its very dregs, and though he thought he liked it, he-often found himself dissatisfied and reaching after something which suould make life more real, more worth the living for. He had traveled all over Europe twice, had visit- ed every spot worth visiting in his own country, had begn a frequenter of every fashionable re- sort in New York from the skatitg pond%o- the b uhad opm a an offi reputa in his p , Dore sanktwen ae! ing t wit lieve“ kek hear tn short, fami he o ter fli Ts Ba ab siaee ; es e on Rroa iway, Cita so 00° s5jon, - a gs with the view. of m and una é US 2g +34 “ + ¢ } set Asie Artificrai ana teed EL while \thiniins nlishmeDts, and style was yet hearty tired of the flitted so constantly around offeri dé caught Jf he would ptr out his her‘ tovegteh them. ‘Dhss he Would not and \cis@agsieu with the world as he saw it in new York, he had gone to the Fae West, roaming awhile/@ipid the solitude ofthe broad prairies, and finding there much ‘that was soothing to him, but not discovering the fal- filment of the gréatawant he was oraving until coming back to Oampndaigna, he met with Katy Lennox. He had Siffiled wearily when asked by Mrs. Woodhull to go with her to the ex- amination then in progress at the Seminary. There was nothing there to interest him, he thought, as Euclid and Algebra, French and Rhetoric were bygone things, while young school misses in braided hair and pantalets were shockingly insipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless, fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua generally and Katy Lennox in particular, he consented to go, and soon found himself in the crowded room, the cynosure of many eyes as the whisper ran round that the fine looking man with Mrs. Woodhull was the Wilford Cameroa from New York, and brother to the proud, dashing Jano Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in town. Wilford. knew they were talking about him, but he did not care, and assuming as easy al attitude as possible, he leaned back in his chair, yawning indolently, and wishing th: time away, until the class in Algebra wa called and Katy Lennox came tripping on & Dat the stage, a pale blue ribbon in her golden hats and her simple dress of white relieved by no ornament éxcept the oluster of wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her graoofal throat. But Katy needed no ornaments to make b more beautifal than she was at the moment when with glowing checks and sparkling eyes modestly cast down for a moment as shé took her place, and then as modestly uplifted to her teacher's face, she first burst upon Wiiford’s vision, a creature of rare, bewitching beauty, such as he had never dreamed about, Wilford had met his destiny, ‘and he felt it in every throb of blood which went rushing throngh his veins. ‘Who is she?” he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that lady knew at once whom he meant, even though he had not designated her, we ehon seme terrible accident had happened in infansy, preventing his walking entirely, and him nearly helpless. dis name was Jamie, Morris said, and as he saw that Katy was interested, he told her how sweet-tem- pered the little fellow was, how patient under sulivring, and how eagerly he listened when Moriis, who atone time attended him, told him of the Saviour and his love for little children. “Did he get well?” Katy asked, her eyes fill- ing with tears at the picture Morris drew of had said, Jump overboard, Katy Lennox,’ I should have done it, I know—that is, if his eyes had been upon me, they controlled meso absolutely, Can you imagine what I mean?” “Yes, I understand. There was the same look in Bell Cameron's eye, a kind of mes- meric influence which commanded obedience. They idolize this Wilford, and I dare say he is worthy of their idolatry. One thing at least is in his favor—the crippled Jamie, for whose epinion I would give more than all the reat, returned, but as the dinner is ready I think we will not. wait.” She touched a silver bell beside her, and or- dering dinner to be sent up at once, went on to ask her son concerning his journey, and the people he had met. But Wilford, though in- tending to tell her all, for he kept nothing from his mother, would wait till after dinner. So, offering her his arm, he led her out to where the table was spread, widely diff-rent from the table prepared for Katy Lennox away among the Silverton hills, for where at the farm-house cars into the carriage waiting f hing first greeting pleasantly the whitegieved ¢river, who, carefully closing the ¢arriage door, mounted to his seat and drove hi: isome bays in the direction of No. —~ 7469 avenue. And Wilford, leaning back among the yielding cushions, thought how pleasant i% to be going home again, feeling glad as he ftequent- ly did that the home to which he wat going was in every particularunexceptionable. The Camerons he knew were a and | highly wak ing mak ing aim. tacnssna leant Oa An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in East Bloomfield, Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from the first day of her arri- val in Canandaigua with a letter of introduo- tion to herself from the ambitious mother, and being rather inclined to match-making, had had Katy in her mind when she urged Sch ASD RNAI Mio Was she pe oli eet ay We wy or Jamie Cameron, sitting all day long in his wheel chair, and trying to comfort his grand mother’s Gistress when the torturing instru- % ments for straightening his poor back were applied, », he will always be a eripple, till God tbe. PF Bc. if : TP A y, E L p"t ¥ seemed to worship his Uncle Will; talking of him continually, and telling how kind he was, sometimes staying up all night to earry him in his arms when the pain in his back was more than usually severe. So there must be a good, kind heart in’ Wilford Cameron, and if my respectable family, while it was his mothe:’s | pride that go back af ‘ar as one might on either side, there could néy ve found a single blemish or a member of whom to be ashamed, On the ;vore - Lil Yon aly 8s, mer- ( and swakholders, pro- Oameron side there chant-princes, banker ee there had been only the homely wares com- mon to the country, with Aunt Betsy's onions served in a bowl, there was here the finest of damask, the choicest of china, cut-glass, and the heaviest of silver, with Wilford to accompany her to the Seminary, Accordingly she answered him at once: ‘That is Katy Lennox, daughter of Judge Lennox, who died in East Bloomfield a few years ao " ago. the costliest of | judge increased its value. Lennox was 2 good name, while the title of Wilford would not Ser Sere 7 ck iets ~~ rest == FS have acknowledged that, perhaps, but it was nevertheless the truth, and Mrs, Woodhull, who understood exactly the claim which Mr. Lennox had to the title, knew it was true, and that was why she spoke as she did. I6 was time Wilford Cameron was settled in life, and with the exception of wealth and family posi- tion, he could not find a better wife than Katy Lennox, ahd she would do what she could to bring the marriage about. “Pretty, is she not?” was her question put to Wilford after answering his inquiry, but Wilford did not hear, having neither eye nor ear for anything save Katy, acquitting herself with a good deal of credit as she worked out a rather difficult problem, her dimpled white hand showing to good advantage against the deep black of the board; and then her voice, soft-toned and silvery as a lady’s voice should be, thrilled in Wilford’s ear, awaking a strange focling of disquiet, as if the world would never ggain be quite the same to him that it was be- fore he met that fair young girl now passing from the room. Irs. Woodhull saw that he was interested, and mentaily congratulating herself upon the suecessfally working of her plan, first gained the preceptress’ consent, and then asked Katy home with her to tea that night. And this was how Wilford Cameron came to know little Ka- ty Lennox, the simple-hearted child, blushed so: prettily when first presented him, and blushed again when he praised recitations, but who after that forg en a Ww iac chatting as merrily in his presence as if she had been alone with Mrs. Woodhall. This was the great charm to Wilford, Katy was wholly unconscious. of himself or what he mightthink of her, that he could not sit in judgment upon her, and he watched her eager- ly as she eported, and flashed, and sparkled, filling the room with sunshine, and putting to rout the entire regiment of blues which had been for months harassing the city-bred young man. If there was any one thing in which Katy excelled, it was music, both vocal and instru- mental, a taste for which had been developed very early, and fostered by Morris Grant, who had seen that his’ cousin had every advantage which Silverton could afford, Great pains, too, had been given to her style of playing while at Canandaigua, so that as a perform tpon the piano she had few rivals in the semi- nary, while her birdlike voice filled every nook and corner of the room, where, on, the I afterher yisit to Mrs. Woodhull, : ; Mian was held, Katy shin énd winning goldex , and perfect self.» Wilford Cameron iditors, no- herself ud not equal phé, as Kats ngers flew « ating a br md diffion!i single mistake, and rece! plaase ti tne Bpedcator wiih; it were an every dsy occufrence. /But when by request she sang ‘Comin’ through the Rye,” Wilford’s heart, if he had any before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy Len- nox that night, wondering all the ensuing day how his haughty mother would receive that young sehool girl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she fanciéd must be equal to the first. lady in the land. And if Katy were not now equal she could be made so, Wilford thought, wondering if Canandaigua were the best place for her, and if she would consent to receive a year or two year’s tuition from him, provided her family were poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he did, feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some extent how Katy was circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull had never been to Silverton and so she did not know of Uncle Ephraim, with his old-fashioned spouse and his older- fashioned sister; but she knew that they were pcor—that some relation sent Katy to school; and she frankly told Wilford so, adding, 2s she detected the shadow on his face, that one could not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not found every day. Wil- ford admitted all this, growing more.and more infatuated, until at last he consented to join the traveling party, provided Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their depar- ture for the Falls he seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well have been hap- pier, unless she had really been his wife, as he so mueh wished she was. It was 2 most delightfal trip, and Wilford was better satisfied with himself than he had been before in years. His past life was not all free from error, and there were many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy at his side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and doing what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the wind, feeling only an intense desire:to clasp the young girl in his arms and bear her away to some spot where with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. This was when he was wilh Katy, Away from her he could remember the difference in their position, ‘and prudential motives began to make themselves heard. Never but once had he taken an important step without consulting his mother, and then, alas, the trouble it brought him was not ended yet, and never would be ended until death had set its seal upon the brow of one almost as dear #8 Katy, though in a far diff rent way. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton un- engaged, leaving ber heart with Wilford Cam- éron, who would first seek advice from his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen the white haired man with his coarce linen coat and coarser pants, waiting eagerly for her when the train stopped at Silverton, but stazviog there as he did, with hia silvery locks parted in the center, and shading his honest, why * ho keys, see with- the ap- y, as if QI a, co as ¢ i D>P~¢ open face, Uncle Bphraim locked like.some patriarch of old rather than a man tobe de- spised, and Wilford felt only a respect for him until he saw Katy’s arms wound so lovingly around his neck as she kissed and called him Uncle Eph. . That sigh grated harshly, and Wilford, knowing this was the uncle of whom Katy had often spoken, felt glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge, Very curi- ously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between Katy and old Whitey, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored vehicle was the one sent to transport Katyhome. He was very moody for the remainder of the route with his Canandaigua friends, they Albany, where he had some business to trans act for his father. And this was why he did not reach New York until late in the afternoo: of the following day. thing, shock his mother’s sense of propriety and make her think less of Katy, impulsive, confiding Katy, little dreaming as on that rainy after. noon she sat in the kitchen at Silverton, with her feet in the stove-oven and the cat asleep in her lap, of the conversation taking place be- tween Wilford Cameron and his mother. They kad left the dinner table, and lighting his cigar, which for that one tims the mother per- mitted in the parlor, Wilford opened the sub- ject by asking her to guess what took him off se suddenly with Mrs. Woodhull The mother did not know—unless—and a between Silverton and Albany, where he parted | going on to| ing in the westward, while he stopped all night in | rious fffma of br gS; 1 an : He was intending to tell his mother every | thé xcept indeed that he paid Katy's bills. | He would rather keep that to himself, as it might | iz strange ight gleamed in her eye, as she asked if it were some girl. ‘Yes, mother, it was,’ and without any | reservation Wilford frankly told the story of | his interest in Katy Lennox. He admitted that she was poor and unaccus- tomed te society, but he loved her more than words could express. ‘Not as I loved Genevra,”’ he said, as he saw his mother about to speak, and there care a look of intense pain into his fine eyes as he continued. ‘That was the passion of a boy of nineteen, stimulated by secresy, but. this is different ~ this is the love of & mature man of thirty, who feels that he is capable of judging for himself?’ In Wilford’s voice there wes a tons warning | the mother that opposition would only feed the | flame, and so t heard him patiently to th she offered none direst, but} ad, and then Guietiy | Katy and her family, es id he know t *the Caneroi “ne re thes z ushte~owil 6b r hatha tak . néhim of ally tf last. Wh it on 960 detract fi infar ai h od lox ~ ~ 1s be ne they eazkeo th ere : cOrmm3 ¥ dlige } ‘end thought of Uncle Bpkraim as he as J seen him) upon the platform /at Silverton, and aa Ok : himself his mother’s conaternation at*behold- ing that man in her drawing room, But he did not méntion the deacon, though he ac- knowledged that Kaiy’s family friends were not exactly the Cameron style. But Katy was young; Katy could be easily moulded, and once away from her old associates, his mother and sisters could make of her what they pleased. “T understand then that if you marry her you do not marry the family,’’ and in the handsome matronly face there was an expres- sion from which Katy would have shrunk, could she have seen it and understood its meaning. “No, Ido not marry the family,” Wilford rejoined emphatically, but the expression of his face was different from his mother’s, for where she thought only of herself, not hesi- tating to trample on all Katy’s love of home and friends, Wilford remembered Katy, think- ing how he would make amends for separating her wholly from her home, as he surely meant to do if he should win her. ‘‘Did I tell you,” he continued, ‘‘that her father was a judge? She must be well conneoled on that side, though I never heard of a Judge Lennox in any of our courts.” “It must have been when you were in En- rope the first time,” Mrs. Cameron suggested, and as if the mention of Europe reminded him of something else, Wilford rejoined, “Katy weuld be kind to Jamie, mother. In some things she is almost as much a child as he, poor fellow,”’ and again there came into his eyes & look ef pain, while his veice was sadder in its tone, just as it always was when he spoke of little Jamie. ‘‘And now, what shall Udo?” he asked playfally. ‘Shall I propose to Katy Lennox, or shall I try to forget her?” “T should not do either,’’ was Mrs. Came- ron’s reply, for she well knew that trying to forget her was the surest way of keeping her in mind, and she dared net confess to him how wholly she was determined that Kuty Lennox should never be her daughter if she could prevent it. If she could not, then as a lady and a wo- man of policy, she should make the most of it, receiving Katy kindly and doing her best to educate her up to the Cameron ideas of style and manner. ‘‘Let matters take their course for a while,” she said, ‘‘and see how you feel after a little. We are going to Newport the 1st of August, Jamie and all, and perhaps you may find some- body there infinitely superior to this Kuty Len- nox. That's your father's ring. He is earlier than usual to-night. I would not tell him yet til: you are more decided,”’ and the lady went bustily out into.the hall to meet her husband. A moment more and the elder Cameron ap- peared—a short, square-built man, with a face seamed with lines of care and eyes much like | Wiltord’s, save that the shaggy eyebrows gave could scarcely repress a smile as he pictured to | farm-houa, glad to see his son, though he merely shook his hand, asking-whatnonsense took him off around the Lakes with Mr. Woodhull, and wondering if women were never happy unless they wére chasing after fashion. The elder Cameron was evidently not of his wife's way of thinking, but she let him go on until he was throngh, and then, with the most unruf- fled mien, sygertted that his dinner would be | cold. He ‘vas aceustomed to that and so he did not mind, but he hurried through his lone- ly meal to-night, for Wilford was home, and the father was always happier when he knew his ’ house. Contrary to his the short summer even- ig with Wilford on va- and thus preventing ion concerning Katy their evening was com- the knee reverently be- r uncle, listening while ined the nighfly blessing, never retired to sleep. But (ifth avenue there was Heaven, no word of osperity so long vouch- prays «cept by the crippled who, remembering the Saviour of whom Morris Grant had told him when across the sea, whispered his childish prayer, thank- ing him most for bringiag back the uncle so dearly loved, the Wilford, who, on his way to his own room, had stopped as he always did usual JuiiS, to say good fight to Jamie, folding his arms around him and kissing his sweet face with a fondness in which there was something half regretful, half sad, as well as pleasing. It took but a short time for Wilford to fall : back ix 4 o bis old way of living, passing a few hours” Peach d in his cfficoe, driving with his mot 2e ling to littl Jamie, sparring with his imperious sister Juno, and teasing his blue sister Bell, but never after that first night breathing a word to ahy one of Katy Lonnox. And still Katy was not forgotten, as his mother sometimes believed. Qn the contrary, the very silence he kept concerning her increased his pasion, until he began seriously to con- template a trip to Silverton. The family’s re- mova! to Newpo »wevor, diverted his. at- tention f », making him decide to Wait and se what Newport might have in store for bin. ie port was dull this season, at least; ough Juno and Bell both found 4 their. different powers of at- mothér was always happy , sr children and knowing At 3 * . Lt % elated. With Wilford it}. } inquirer, cs and taciturn, he went ly routine, wondering happiness there; and | Oaly just look—do, now! I beauty ?—and-this charming swan’s-down edging ? ‘prise; “fof course he is, sir. You don’t know, per- FL 2 though with apparent absence. If any one of them wished to consult her tasteon any point, her invariable answer was, “Just aa you please,” or **‘Waatever you think best.” Suddenly there was a great commotion among the young girls. One of them rushed eagerly out, andin a few minutes returned with equal rapidity. “Oh, miss, miss! here’s your wedding dress comé, and it’s the loveliest thing you ever saw! What a dear !—isn’t it, miss ?” ‘‘Yos,” replied Amy, vacantly. ‘And do look at these chatelaines of orange- blossom and cerastium! Oh; that dear dress! You'll look like a fairy in it—you will really. must try it on. must, indeed. Ah! that is 80 good of you.” Amy stood up mechanically, and the robe was thrown over her. “Charming!” “Delightfal!l” “Exquisite!” went from mouth to mouth. ‘You must see yourself, miss, Qh, it is:such a darling !” A large mirror was placed beforeher. She gave one glance at her figure in its new attire; an ashy pallor spread itself over her features; her eyes less to the ground. will ever come of it, that I am sure of. somebody that’s got something to answer for, that’s certain |” CHAPTER XLII. There was a Hotel. The down train was in. busses, and private yehicles had been some time pleasantness between the horses, whipped into spasmodic efforts, and the passengers jeopardized in life and limb by their headlong speed. This concourss had passed by, and been sacceeded by its usual sequel—_the inward stream which con- veyed the arrivals to their various destinations. bipeds, quadrapeds, trunks, portmanteaus, car- pet-bags, and nondescripts—on the pavement at the entrance door, and rolled tewaward with the remainder of its freight, duced as exhibiting some curiosity respecting Sir Thomas Falconbridge, was about to é6nter the hotel when the ’bus pulled up. He paused, and allowed the stream to pass, scrutinizing it mean- while with a sharp glance. He then loitered for some time in thoughtful remembrance of the fact that a group of famishing people—as English folks always consider themselves entitled to be after a journey, however short—require time to be rescued from the horrors of inanition. ‘When the accomplishment of this work was hinted by the appearance of a waiter at the entrance, anxious to recruit his energies, after the late call upon them, by the soothing influence of a little of what was dignified, in that locality, by the name of fresh air, he stepped forward and accosted him, “Sir Thomas Falconbridge ig staying here. Can I see him ?” “Staying here? Yes; sit, See him? No, sir,” class. “He is ont, then, I suppose?” suggested the “Out, sir!” cried the waiter in a tone of sur- Can’t be expsoted to ba in, sir, I should say. the season, casting all! ie, he wrote us to Silverton on’ the prosumed he should | | ave ling his way to the } # CHAPTER VL PREPARING FOR THE VISI2, (To be Continued.) THE VERNONS: TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF LIFE, (Back nuniders of ‘The Vernons” can be obtained from every News Ageit throughout the United States.] i eal CHAPTER XLL Virgil says, in the opening of one of the Books of the Maeid—we won't bore our readers with the original, but give the passage on “glorious John’s” authority— What none of all the gods could grant thy vows, Thas, Tarnus, this auspicious day besto WB; and poor Amy Weldon, without knowing anything about Virgil, found herself in the position of the Latin hero, Whather tears and entreaties, ex- cited to the utmost, bad failed to extort from her obduratt father, was unexpectedly brought about by a side wind. Sir Thomas was suddenly called to London on busivess of importance, the nature of which he was not allowed to divulge, but which, he more than hinted, was a matter of some importance to the government; and he was, there- fore, himself the party to propose the postpone- ment of the marriage for a month. “An abom- insbie nuisance,” he said; “but there was no help for it. It was po use to kick against these fel- lows, And there was no knowing what the thing misht lead to—a petrage, perhaps, one of these days, if h¢ played bis cards properly.” Such ad- vantages were not te be gainsaid; and Mr. Wel- don, who would no} have conceded an hour to save the breaking heart of his daughter, readily ssw the propriety of *& month's postponement which might make him the father-in-law of a lord. Thus the respite was gained, and poor Amy ob- tained a reprieve; bus, as monte, like weeks, Will comé¢ to an end, the enlarged period of pro- bation atlast expired, and its termination foand everything in the sanie state. It wagnow the day before that which had been definitely fixed for the marriage, and great was the bustle as*Mr. Weldon’s. Servants were hur- rying toand fro, with-looks full of importance, doing and undoing, arranging and settling, and not unfrequently retatling the progress of the work in their hurry to complete it. People were arriving with articles of decoration and creature contort for the morrow. Mr. Weldon was, as he said himself, Rere, there, and everywhere; plan- ning, scolding and directing; grumbling that the things) Were not gay and smart enough, and | grumibli hat they wire invoiced at such an aw- | iul price; tgased like a shuttlesock between his | two mastef-passions, aad half devoured with anx- | iety how to produce a display which should suit | the cultivated tastes and aristocratic habits of his | new son-in-law, and, ai the same time, pay little or nothing for it, Sir ‘Thomas had made brief visit to his in- tended ride; had recerved, in the most benign manng@ Mr. Weldon’s excuses for the cold re- straint, which nob even the consciousness that her fathers eye wis upon her ould quite suppress; and had accepted the extdpuating apology that ‘‘girlg would be ahs | perhaps it was all the better,” with the ga Pot good-humored ac- quiescence. He ba eparted to make his UW preparations, he ide elect was sup- pose to be ovcupied with hers. Aad she cerjaiuly sat yhere among her attend- anw, bat more like a statue than an animated be- ing. Sho exnibited no grief, no distaste, no reluc- taucé, She gave LO ujrections, aud appeared to ivke uo interest in what was going on; but she did them a different expressioa, He was very 2 £ Katy | mechanically what thy told her to do, and, if | haps, sir?” “T know nothing,” replied the stranger, “‘ex- yopt that Z want to see him, if I can,” . Can’t, then, sir,” said she Waiter, with a f tive air; oe lacely tay, benould Not at all likely, siz. “Well, I muist call again, jhen, I suppose, served the inquirer, “What would be time to-morow ?” “Oan’t see him at all to-morrow, sir.” was reply; “‘not at all, sir; certain, sir.” Um 1” said the applicant. “When can I see him, then ?” ‘Don’t know, I'm sure, sir. Perhaps not at all, sir. Can’t say a bit, sir,” was the reply. The stranger was evidently a man saecustomed to feel his way, where he could not see it. “He is going away, then, is he?” he said, appa- rently not at all diseomposed by the previous un- satisfactory answers. “Well, I should have thought as you’d havo known that, sir, when the whole town’s full of it,” replied the waiter; but glancing down at the plain and unpretending appearance of his ques- tioner, he murmured to himself, in 2 somewhat depreciatory tone, “perhaps not, perhaps not.” Then, addressing thé person before him in quite & different manner, he said, condescendingly: _ “Pho fact is, my friend, Sir Thomas is going to be married in the morning to the daughter of the great sword-maker, Mr. Weldon, of the Damascus Works—you have heard of him, I dare say—and, of course, Sir Thomas is full of business now, making all his preparations; and then, as soon as he has got married he'll be off upon his wedding trip. I haven’t heard where exactly, yet; though, of course, I soon shall—on the Continent, I sup- pose, as he’s such a great man—Amstéerdam, per- haps; or China; or the East Indies; or some other of the places where the grand iolks go to on thess ocvasions—the very grandest place, of courss, whichever that is; I den’t know, myself, nor you either, I expect.” “I think Batavia is the grandest place,” re- marked the stranger, with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I’ve heard 80 too,” replied the waitér, ‘though I didn’t like to mentionit. Batavia is the place, then; no doubt about it. So you see where it is—we don’t know when we shall get him back again, He'll be baekward and forward, of course, stb Va x 1? west when he comes home; but he won't come to us, naturally—not to stay, that is, There'll be his father-in-law's; but I suppose he'll look in and out. You've got some litile bill or other against him, I expect,” he added, with another sidelong glance at his companion’s “outward man.” ‘You'd better leave it with moe, and Till seo if I can get him to leave it out before he starts. You won’t mind standing something, I suppose, if I get it for you?” The stranger smiled; but, as even the waiter thought, a little grimly. “I have & bill against Sir Thomas,” he replied, with some sternness in his tone; “but I cannot lsave it with you. I must see him first, to adjust some of the itema, If you can manage that I do so before he goes, I wil stand something, and some- thing handsome, too.” The waiter smiled in his turn, but hesitated. ‘| would be glad to do anything to ascommo- date, of course,” he said; ‘‘but he’s in and out so, you see, that I really don't know what to=— Sup- pose you was to come back in a couple of hours, and I'll see. Dil do everything I can, yon know.” The stranger nodded, and was turning away, when he heard a voice behind him say: “Sir Thomas up-stairs, Bob?” *‘No, Mr. Weldon,” replied the waiter; “but he left a message for you, sir. He said he was obli- gated to go round to your father’s, sir, to arrange about to-morrow, you see, sir. And if you calted before he got back, I was to give you this, sir.” The stranger faced round in time to see a packet of rather large dimensions handed to Henry Weldon. The latter, who appeared in a hurry, retired a few paces and immediately broke the seal. they asked her a question, replied coherentiy, Ign’t this grenadine a You Just for a micute, now—you a 3 ne Be With a disengaged corner in his eye, that néver for an instant lost sight of the entrance by which Henry Weldon must come out, CHAPTER XLMOI. All unconscious of the surveillance te wifteh he was subjected, Henry left the hotel with a Jight and elastic tread— to which, perhaps, the Enowl- edge of his heavily-lined pocket in some measure contributed—and proceeded toward the town, The watcher of his steps waited to allow him to gain some fifty yards in advance, and then fol- lowed at a distance which kept him tully im view, and yet attracted no suspicion. It was not long before he saw the object of his espionage enter the establishment of an eminent jeweler. He now pushed forward at the top of his speed till within a few paces of the shop; then, ekeck- ing himself abruptly, he lounged carelessly in, closed with a sort of shudder, and she sank senae- *““Mercy upon us!” cried the leading modiste, as | she raised her up, “this is a wedding! No good by 5 5 There’s great bustle in front of the Queen’s i Cabs, omni- rattling past the establigment on their way to the Snow Hill Stations#Ome of the former, as time wore on, going ata pace at which it would have been difficult to adjust the balance of un- The portion of that stream with which we are | §“ one : TRESS eens BY Wallen Je oe one immediately concerned, the omnibus con- | DY 4 slight apology for keeping him waiting, and nected with the establishment had deposited— The individual whom we haye already intro- replied the waiter, with the look and tone of his } Only? a } ee #8 he replied justas Henry Weldon was saying to the proprie- tor: “T want some articles in your line for a foreign market; and I believe Ican do as well with you as with any one in the town.” “Well,” replied. the shopkeeper, “I have the vanity to think that you can’t do better, What shall I show you, sir?” ‘I want to seo some rings and chains, and some of your best watches,” said Henry, “Nothing common, mind, nor anything that yon cannot warrant,” “TI can show you some of the choicesé things in the town, sir,” observed the shopkeeper, laying a case before his visitor. “I dare say you are a judge of these things, and don’t want me to tell you that they are all first-rate articles.” “IT see there are some handsome ones here,” was the reply; “and, if your price suits, I dare say we shall deal. What is the cost of this watch, ‘to begin with ?” Article after article was inspected in turn, many laid aside for purchase. Henry was from being as keen a hand at driving a bargain ag his father; but, as he said himself, ‘‘he good thing when he saw it;” and his uneeremon ous rejection of two or three indifferent artic insured him the shopkeeper’s respect. The lat- | ter was far too well pleased with his profitable customer to think of leaying him to attend to the stranger. He only noticed the latier’s presence t an intimation that his young man would be down from dinner ina few minutes, which excuse the person addressed took in very good part, observ- ing tuat he was in no hurry, and would willingly wait. The several articles of purchase were at Jast agreed upon, and the invoice handed to the cus- tomer with ill-concealed gratification at the zmount— £468 10s, 6d. Henry produced his pocket-book, took five Bank of England notes for one hundred pounds from it, nd laid them on the counter. The shopkeeper was in the act of taking them, when the stranger, who had been watching the purchase with appa- rent interest, pressed suddenly forward, and laid his hand upon them. “What do you mean?” cried the astonished shopkeeper, grasping his wrist across the coun- ter; while Henry, who did not doubt for a moment that the intention was robbery, acized him rough- ly by the collar without a word. “Be easy, gentlomen—be casy,” said the stranger, ihiy name is Edwards, of the London detective force. sfmerely want to examiae these notes. I have a réason for it.” “Oh! examine them, by all moans, if yeu wish,” cried Henry, letting go his hold. “You don’t think I stole them, do yon ?” The officer, either too intent upon bis object te hear the question, or acting from pr@fessional re- serve, made no reply; but scrutinized the notes'p very closely, and compared them with one h | drew from his pocket, He then turned to Henry jand asked abrupily: | “Where did you get the Thegoung manu 2 AQ &, 1A “From a quarte: ti the | in your head, will show oe Thad them from » baronet whois OF the town—Sir Thomas Falconbridge.” A gentlemen of the highest respectatility,” added the shopkeeper.. “I have heard a great deal of him lately; and sold.him several sxpen- sive ornaments, Besides, I know this gentieman very well by sight, and his name isn anfficient guarantee of itself, This is young Mr. Wel- don, son of Mr. Weldon, of the Damascus Works,” “I have nothing to sey about the respectability of either of the gentlemen,” replied Edwards; ‘but it is possible for both of them to have been imposed upon. At all events, I have a straight- forward duty to perform, and { must perform it, let the parties be who they may. I pronounce these notes to be forged, and I must trace the thing out. I have no wish to hurt your feelings, Mr. Weldon,” he added; ‘you may te ignorant of the fact,” “May, sir! What do yon mean?” cried Henry, fnshing up. ‘Do you dare ; “You had better not, @@tmin a passion,” inter- rupted Edwards; “‘it’s Hig pwith us. We know nothing of gentle or sif™ple, when we are on duty. Isay, you may know nothing about it, Indeed, I know you had the notes from Sr Thomas, a3 you say; but I wanted & witness to hear you say 80. So far, well; but 2s you are the party detested in the act of uttering them, you must see that you arein an unpleasant position; and the only way of getting. out of it is to give every assistance in furthering the ends of jus- tice,” “Of course, Iam very willing to do that,” re- plied Henry, ‘‘without any reference to myself, But you must be making some desperate mis- take, my friend. You needmot smile; you must, I tell you. You shall come with me to dir Thomas; he is not at his quarters, but I think i know where to find hira, and we will pat this tittle matter to right in a crack.” The officer shook higghead. : ; ‘‘T shall have to see Sir Thomas abont it,” he 3 said; “indeed, I went to loek for him this morn- ing; but this puts a new face on the matter. There is something to be done previously; and we must take things in regular order. In the first lace; I impound these notes, Mr. ———, and eave them in your oustody,, You wiil be auswer- able for their production at any time whon wanted; and will, on no account part with them, without the authority of the poiice, You, sir,” he continued, turning to Henry, ‘‘must, for tie present, consider yourself in custody.” ‘In custody!" repeated Henry, itv @ toneof great indignation. ‘‘Incustody! I?” ‘Tn custody,” continued the officer, slowly and methodically, and quite unmoved by the frown of the listener, ‘‘as an utterer of forged notes, ta hilating my poor hand with his grip, while Misa > Hepsy drew herself wp and made a most demure ~ curtesy, but I saw the wicked, elfish spirit dancing in her eye, and resolved to wateh her well. Mrs. Doolittle threw herself, as if exhausted into a rocking-chair, while her attentive husban untied her bonnet, took off her shawl, placed a footstool at her feet, and handed her my ivory fan from the table, before ensconcing himeeli oa the sofa, The children dropped their wrappers on tho and salt, and the coffee muddy.” Surprise fora moment kept me standing with the study door grasped by my hand, but recollect- ing myself I shut it noisily and entered the sit- ting-room, presented the book to Miss Trotter, floor and scampered away. I picked up and folded the last garment, when a loud scream from the kitchen fellon my ear. I hastened thither, fok.. owed by the anxious pare nts. “ (To be Oontinued.) “iy jn PO ETI iv Re. RPCBEI el ie mile a mE ne ee ; out the length and breadth of the Union. WHEW YORK, DECMEBER 1, 1864. ee cere \ecnenipeapenaier-asenceetqnnesnnee tiiee sannnenevnensraetan satires OUR TERMS, THE NEW YORK WEEKLY is sold by sil respects- ple News Agents throughout the United States. The price is Six Oxn7s, but in some cases, where Agents have to pay extra treigi: or postage, a higher price is necesarily charged. When there ia a News Agent in the town, we desire our friends to get the WEEKLY through him. We do not wizh to mail the paper except to places whore there is no other means of getting it. When sent by mail the price will invariably be £3 004% year, in ad- vance Subscriptions taker for three months. The bills of aiisolvent banks taken at par for subscriptions, Canads subscribers must send one dollar and four cents extra with every subscription to pre-pay the American postage. WHOLESALE PRICE OF NEW YORK WEEKLY TO NEWs AGENTS. To Wholesale Dealers. ...........0 220. eee 4 1-4 CtB. To Retail Dealers........... STURT cent Ke as ..4 1-2 cts, STREET & SMITH. “THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,” 121 Nas- sau Street, New York, are our General Agents for supplying dealers with the WEEKLY. MORE NEW STORIES. In the course of a few weeks we shall com- mence the publication of two more new stories, written exclusively and expressly forthe Nzw Yorr Wreriy. The first is entitled SYRIA, THE JEWESS ; BR, THE MAGICIAN OF TOLEDO. This is from the per of the celebrated LOUIS LEON, whose ‘Silver Ship” and ‘‘Step-danghter’s Por- tion” created such great sensations with the reading public. The second is a story from the pen of that r6nowued lady romaneer, MRS. M. A. GERRY, whose stories in the Boston weeklies have in- terested tens of thousands of readors through- The title of this great work will be given probably next week. In the meantime we would earn- estly call the attention of our readers to Mr. A. J. H. Duganne’s great poem in another part ofthis paper. We shall from time to time publish other poems of a like kind trom this gentleman’s pen. ACCUMULATION. To become fonder of accumulation than of expenditure, isthe first step towards wealth. An agriculturist will receive a few grains of /an , improved species of corm, which he will fot sat, but will plant them and re-plant the pro- iuct from yeax*te year, till his few grains be- came hundreds of bushels, Money is increas- y analagous processes, and success is within the power of every man who shall at- 1in to ordinary longevity. Ifa man at the age of twenty years can save 26 cents every working day, and annually invest the aggre- grate at compound legal 7 per cent. interest, he will, at theage of seventy, possess 32,000 dollars. Many men who resort to life insur- 1. 2 BUMS wy sures which the sun may not look upon, haust a moderate exchequer very quickly. So there are fewer marriages in the class of per- sons whose incomes average $1,000 per year. Marriage as an institution is dying out among them. And the subject becomes politically im- portant. Now, we would beg to submit afew facts which may help to promote a reform in this paiticular, Every worthy young lady ought to have a worthy husband. And thoughtfal young men, whatever their present ideas, pleasures, and inclination may be, will pon- der, and perhaps profit by what we are about to say. Marriage has a certain influence upon the mortality of a people. There are fewer men who die among the married than among thesingle. This is an ascertained fact, Dr, Farr, at a meeting at Liverpool some time age, read a paper upon the mortality of the French people, giving his hearers to understand that it referred also to the people of almost any other country. The mortality per thousand among married men and Lachelors stands thus :— Age, 20 ex- At allages, after 25, Dr. Farr says, married men enjoy an immunity from illness, or their diseases are less fatal than the disease of the unmarried men of corresponding ages. If we idea of respectability, such representations as the above would check the decline of the mar- rying inclination in the middle class of the population. We must go back to old ways of business, and reasonable ways of ambition, old morals, pleasures, and recreations, for a cor- rection of the evil which is now pointed ont, 5» sats — CENTRAL PAPK. Central Park, with its beautifal drives, winding walks, elegant archways, shady nooks, and sparkling fountains, claims our attention for a moment; and though to fully describe its superb loveliness would require an abler pen than ours, still we may hope in some small degree to interest the far-off read- er, who has heard and dreamed of this almost indescribable paradise. . . The first visit one makes to this ‘‘American Garden of Eden” is truly delightful, for the most brilliant objects meet his gaze. He is dazzled with the fine display of nature and art | so freely cast around, and in imagination heis carried back to the beauties and glories of Eden’s bower in the ‘‘good old days of Adam and Eve.” Everything he beholds seems to el- evate his mind, and even the air he breathes is purer—more fragrant. There is something that charms away the sorrows and sufferings of this life—something more alluring than the momentary joys that cluster aropnd the pleasure-haunts of the crowded ¢ity-—some- thing that almost makes this sin-cyrsed earth* a blissfal abode—a delightful Hepyen upon earth. pe Here wé bébeltd Nature in her loveliest garb, most devoutly admired by the feasting eye of intelligent mortals; art, too, displays sweet pictures of a gorgeous hue, and weaves her intrinsic loveliness into the fabric of Nature’s profound beauty. Aside from this there is much to charm the eye, much to educate the intelligent mind, seeking the fountain of true knowledge. Reader! a pleasure ramble through Central could but separate the idea of money from sa n ‘le SHOR above us in the scale of riches—and moreover it will be impossible for you to provide a dress sufficiently rich and tasteful for a masquerade ball.” ) ; ‘I could hire 4 very tasteful costume for the evening, papa” faltered Minnie, ‘Ellen May- nard told me where they could.be obiained,”’ ‘And it would cost-——’’ “Only fifteen dollars, papal” He shook his head. ‘You might as well say fifteen hundred, Minnie. Ii willbe impossible for me to afford Pion Minnie’s countenance fell. ‘Papa, you have fifty dollars in that very secretary. I sawit there only yesterday.” she said, with a courage born of desperation. “The money is ot mine, daughter; it is there only temporarily.” ; “But, papa——” y ‘It is useless longer to urge, Minnie,”’ he said, with grave firmness. ‘My mind is made up, so do not say anything more,”’ . And Minnie went up-stairs to | fading vision-ef the white tul kled with silver stars, and the coro liants arranged in starry sparkles, had so an “What will MrGiliete hink,” she sobbed to herself, “after my telling him I was to be there, and promising him the first quadrille ? Oh! Iam very miserable—very ! I never be- fore realized what & dalamity it was to be so wretchedly poor, When papa might just as well as not lend me that money--it would only be for a day or two, for my quarter’s sal- ary is due on Thursday.”’ Minnie Grove cried afresh as her thoughts recurred to the brilliant evening just beyond her reach, a An honr afterward she had dried her eyes, and was sullenly creeping down stairs, when her father’s voice reached her from the hall be- lov. ad Pe ‘Minnie, I find Iam obliged to go to Bos- ton very unexpectedly. Put up my things in the little valise; and, ie——” ‘Yes, papa.’’ a ‘Lock my secretary and take special care of the key.” ns things, some.demon kept whispering in her ear, ‘‘The money—the money! He will never know that you took it. You can replace it on Thursday, and all will be right.” And at first her heart made answer. “Oh, Icannot! it would be so wrong!” Bat this did not endure long. She found herself entertaining the ides. with less and less repugnance, and thin}iing oftener of the white tulle dress and the qt ille she had promised Mr, Elliott, ” “There can, be no \possible harm,” she thonght. to herself, as Mix, Grove walked hur- riedly down the sireet{@arrying his little va- lise, “and I should hepa? so mich happiness.” She drew the kdy fi cb 3 Po% Set anid fitted it with tremulous fing5.s info the lock... ¢ ‘There lay’ the a roll of bills. “She caught it up, hurriedly rSlocked the seeretary, and ran up-stairs to put on her shawl and bonnet. The rooms were crowded on the night of Mrs, Chesterton’s masquerade ball—but there. was no lovlier person than Minnie Grove in her exquisite dress looking like driven snow gleaming beneath a rain of silver! “You are very charming to-night, Miss Grove,” said Mr, Eiliot, enthusiastically, as ance, can save several times twenty-six cents | park on a cool autumn day, is very delightfal. | © came forward to claim her promised quad- daily; and thus accumulate several times the| pore you may sit beneath the shady branches | Tille. above sum, long before the age of seventy. Nearly all large fortunes are the result of such accumulations. Hence, the men wko amass great fortunes are usually those only who live long. The last few years of. Girard’s and As- tor’s lives increased their wealth more than scores of early years. To be in haste to be- come rich by a few great operations, is.a direct road to eventual poverty. We cannot, how- ever, command long life, but we.can approxi- mute thereto by commencing early the process of aceumulation-—an elongation by extending backward being as efficacious as an elongation forward. Every hundred expended by a man at the age of twenty years, is an expenditure of what, # interest, would, by compounding it annually, become $15,000, should he live to the age of seventy. This lesson is taught practically by savings banks, and well coun- teracts the fatal notions of the young, that old age is the period for accumulation, and youth the period for expenditure. ~——+ «@>< MATRIMONY. Any one who walks the streets of New York after dark, may find a reason forthe non-mar- rying character of young men of $1,000 a-year. Their habits are scarcely sustainabte upon thatincome. They could not keep a wife upon it. Bot why are the hubits tolerated? An intelligent gentleman of the old school tells us that in his days young men had morn- ing walks, and that it was his own good cus- tom to walk from the neighborhood of the Battery to Greenwich village before breakfast, and come home with a fins appetite for break- fast, and a fine capacity also for the business oftheday. Ten o’clock was the bed time then. But the amusements of the present day scarcely begin before that hour. Our theatres can scarcely get an audience together before cight.o’slock at night. Wedinesolate. And if we invite friends for to-day, some of them make a point of not arriving much before to- morrow. Itisfineto belate. It would not do to eome before somebody or. other who is a round or so below us in the ladder of ‘‘specie,” or society. A little while ago it was said we turned night into day, but now we have gone farther than that, and turned to-day into to-morrow. Midnight orgies, however, are cortly. of trees from every clime, and sweetly dream the hours away. Or you may slowly wander beside a sparkling streamlet, and amuse your- self in watching the foaming spray as it is playfally dashed against the pebbled shore. Then the musicians, discoursing sweet and harmonious strains, throw a blissful charm over the dazzled senses; and you go. away from aseene of such rare beauty, feeling that you have been amply repaid for spending an after- noon in Central Park. Ifyou haye neyer traversed the walks of this romantic retreat, and gazed with eager eyes upon the ifitoxieating splendor of its loveli- ness, let me advise you to visit it at your earli- est convenience. T. D. C. Maier. THE MASQUERADE BALL. BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. ‘J am very sorry you have accepted the in- vitation, Minnie!” “Sorry, papa?” Minnie Grove’s blue eyes opened wide with surptise and displeasure, and an indignant flush came over her pretty round cheek. It was a neat little room, but very plain. Mr. Grove was book-keeper in a down town firm, at noyery large salary, and Minnie went out.as daily governess in several neighboring families. Yetthe muslin curtains were white as snow, and the scant furniture was tastefally arranged to produce the best possible effect, while a vase of scarlet autumn leaves and pur- ple wild asters stood on the little center-table, a silent witness to the tasteful touch of femi- nine hands. Mr. Grove was poring cyer some accounts at his desk—a gray-haired, coxeworn van, with mild grey eyes and rather shabby dress, while Minnie stood beside bim, in aldthe bloom and freshness of her eighteen years. ‘She was very fair, with skin like a peach blossom; pale brown hair, with a natural ripple ia its shining folds, and a full crimson mouth, and er plain dress of brown alpaca served only as a icii to her bright, delicate beauty. “Sorry, my daughter’ repeated Mr. Grove, ifirmly. ‘I would rather you kept aloot from But the compliment ‘had lost its charm to Minnie’s. conscience-stricken ear—and the evening was strangely dreary and vapid. She was'scarcely conscious, indeed, of a dull pang of resentment as she saw Mr. Elliot devoting himseif to a rival beauty, crowned with flowers, and dressed as Flora, with the same chivalric attention that had been vont to thrill her own heart with rapture. ‘A mere male coquetts,’’ she murmured to herself. ‘‘And it was to please his fancy—to indulge his spoiled will that I lost the approval of my own conscience and stooped to sully my hands with a dishonorabie action !” Poor Minnie! the roses had faded away from the chalice of temptation, leaving only the black, bitter draught of repentance behind! It was almost with a fesling of disgust that she laid off the beautiful dress of snow and sil- ver that night, and rested herhot aching brow on a pillow that brought neither peace nor re- pose! As she was proceeding to give her ordinary piano lessons the next morning, a gay young acquaintances greeted her. ‘‘Have you heard the news, Minnie?’’ ‘‘No—what news is there?” ‘Why, Bessie Brown is engaged to be mar- ried to Mr. Elliot—ho proposed to her at the masquerade ball last sight. We all thonght you were the favorite teanty.” Minnie made some casual reply, and passed on with pale cheek aad compressed lip. Her heart, fortunately, w/ not irretrievably en- listed—but her pride {1s bitterly mortified. So it was for this(-hat she had risked so much, The lesson was ove; she lingered five or ten minutes, but Mrs. Tarbell made no allusion to the quarter’s money ‘hat was due that morn- ing. Atiast Minnie adverted to the subject with burning cheeks “I believe this is tieJ 6th, Mrs, Tarbell-—if it is quite conveniens, I should like the money that ——’’ i ‘How very emb&trassing,” exclaimed the lady. ‘Iam so sorry, Miss Grove, but Mr. Tarbell is very mach pfessed for fands just now, and cannot by amy possibility let me have the money until next week!” ‘Bat, indeed, Mrs, Tarbell. I want it very Plea~} the heartless gayeties.of those who. are so far! much!l¥ SSS = —— All the time Minniewas packing her father’s. ee ns ee See = «I am very sorry, Miss Grove, but then you must see how impossible it is for me to pay it!” Minnie turned away, sick at heart, and fall of faint, undefined apprehensions. Pay after day passed by and she heard nothing of the missing money. Mr. Grove was apparently in perfect ignorance of its. ab- straction, and as he always kept the key of the secretary, Minnie was unable to get an oppor- tunity to replace the thirty-five dollars that she had not used. The week drew slowly to'an end, and Min- nie’s heart began to experience a faint sensa- tion of relief as she remembered that Mrs, Tarbell’s money must be forthcoming ere long. ‘‘Ob,”’ she pondered, ‘‘if I had never heard of that odious masquerade ball! But I shall never care to go to another, that is certain!” As she entered the little sitting-room that night, she was startled to perceive her father sitting with his head bowed down upon the desk. ‘‘Papa! what is the matter? are you ill?” He lifted his pale, ghastly face towards her. “T have been turned out of my situation, Minnie!” ‘*Papa!” ‘Some one has robbed me, daughter. The money that was placed in my hands by my employers, for a specific purpose, is gone. I was responsible for it—and of course I am sus- pected of.theft—dishonesty! Minnie, I never =. oy ee nr — a few hours, by » strange dail pain in his head, and he perceived that bine muable to rise, Some invisible power seemed to hold him to his bed— ” seemed to have frozen the blood in his veins. He onraid move neither hand nor foot—could noteven speak, Was he really awake, or only dreaming? He was lying upon his back and could see but little more than the top of his bunk. He tried to turn himself, but his muscles would not obe7 his will, He perceived that he could not even move his eyes in their sockets or close the lida, His sense of hearing, however, was not impaired in the least. The washing of the water against the vessel’s sides, and the sound of footsteps overhead were plainly audible to hisears. In the forecastie all was silent with the exception of the deep breathing of his slumbering shipmates. He was not dreaming then—he was wide awake. Hor. tible thought! How long must he remain in this terrible state—this fearful trance? A hundre dark thoughts—a hundred ghastly fancies rushed through his brain. In his motionless body—mo- tionless to all outward appearances—bis soul writhed with anguish, Saddenly a shrill voice penetrated to his ear. Tt was that of a sailor who was calling the other watch, “Ab! at last!” was his mental exclamation; “they will see me, my shipmates, and they will find some means to draw meout of this terrible stupor!” He soon heard the men as they sprang from their bunks and dressed themselves. Oneof them, Malakahoo, called his name, At the same instant the voice of the mate was heard at the scuttle. “Hurry up there,men! Tnhere’s work for you on deck |” He entered the forecastlo a moment later. ‘Come lads,” he added, looking around him, “be lively. Are you all ont. Where’s Harold ?” Malakahoo sprang to his chum’s bunk with the intention of waking him. Bat when he pushed aside the curtains and canght a glimpse of the young man, he started back with a cry of grief and horror, Harold’s ghastly upturned face, with its still thought to see this day!’’ She sank on her knees beside her father’s chair, hiding her hot face on his knee. “Oh, papa, what have I done ?’’ **You, Minnie?” “I took the money, papa! I was base and evil enough to take it while you were gone; but, indeed, indeed, I meant to re- place it!’’ ‘Minnie, what could have been your mo- tive ?”’ ‘I wanted the dress for that wretched mas- querade ball so much, papa, I think I must have been mad to act as I did. Bat, papa, I never intended you should miss it; if Mrs, Tarbell had only paid me the money she owes I could have replaced it.” ‘But, Minnie, you could not have used fifty dollars.” ‘No, there are thirty-five up-stairs, but. I dared not——-” And she broke into wild hysterical sobs. Her father gently smoothed the hairaway from her fevered forehead. tog ‘Don’t cry, d st,” he said; ‘I can easily make up the issite sum, andI do not think my old employers will refase to take me back, after—after I have explained the matter; only you must own, Minnie, that matters looked very dark for me.” “Oh, papa! and it was.all my fault. I wish my right hand had been cut off before it ever tonched tHe fatal money !’* He looked a moment at her pale cheek and ‘(And this was the secret of yoursadnessand abstraction all the week?” Her head sank once more on his knce, ‘TI thought the secret would burn my head away, papa. I could not bear to look at your ind face, nor hear your words of comfort.’’ “He smiled sadly. ‘‘My dear, I shall hardly regret this bitter occurrence, if it teaches you the lesson of what bitter consequences may follow in the train of one fault.” “Tt has been a lesson, indeed, papa,” she sobbed. One which, in after years, Minnie Grove never forgot. ace smote me tin THE DEATH C2Y. A TALE OF THE SEA. BY ROGER STARBUCK. Among Harold Sprays sbipmates in the bark Yarmouth there was a Kanuka, named Malaka- hoo. In stature he was short, his frame was slender, and his head almost as large as 3 full grown Connecticut pumpkin. He had a flat nose, a profusion of coarse black hair, and a pair of eyes that protruded from his head like two knots from the crooked trunk of an oak. That his per- son was unprepossessing cannot therefore be de- nied, but he had a big, manly heart, and for that reason Harold liked him. @ was &@ mere boy in years, but nature had endowed him with great strength. His ehipmates had seen him hurl a gi- gantic Cnilian to the deck with iittle difficulty, and break the bilge of a uew cask with a blow of his nervous fist. One day, while the vessel was cruising in the northwest, a quarrel took place between Malaka- hoo and Barlow, the first mate. The latter was a Spaniard. He drew a knife te stab the Kanaka to the heart, when Harold Spray arrested his arm. The mate then called the second and third offi- cers to his aid, and a desperate affray would have ensued had not the capiain, who waz sn English- man, interposed his authority in favor of the weaker party. ; The scowling mate, however, swore that he would have revenge at some juture time, and Harold could perceive by his manner that he was destined to be the principal one against whom the Spaniard’s malice would be directed. Matakahoo was of the same opinion, “Lookee out for him,” said he. ‘Barlow man with a blackee heart. Cook sail with him last voyage. Knoow him. Devil in de spirit.” A few hours afterward, while Harold was aloft at the masthead, his thoughtfal chum made his appearance at the galley with a cup of cold coffee, intending to ask the cook’s permission to heat it upon the stove, in order that his friend might have it to drink when he should have been re- lieved at his station. Perceiving, however, that the cook was absent, and that his seat was occu- pied by the Spanish mate, who was making great efforts to exiract a hot coal for his pipe, the Kana- ka turned, and was retracing his steps, when Bar- low called him back. ‘What do you want?” he inquired, as Malaka- hoo epproached. white lips, and its fixed, staring eyes, certainly seemed to bear the seal of death. The Kanaka’s exclamation drew every man in the forecastle to the bunk. “Heis dead. There can be no doubt upon that point!” exclaimed the mate in a decided voice. Then, while prekending to scan the sufferer’s features very closely, he contrived to whisper in his ear, *You perceive that I have kept my word, my vow of revenge. The coffee that your chum gave to you contained a powerful mixture, that I had poured into it unobserved, while it was on the stove in the galley. That mixture has taken effect, and you will be buried alive!” Tais fearful announeement came so unexpect- edly to the sufferer that it worked his mind toa perfect pitch of frenzy. He felt that he was in the power of his enemy—that there was no means of making known the trath to his shipmates. Ob! how earnestly did his soul pray to Heaven to break the fearfol spell that was upon him, if it were only long enough, to enable him to dash to the deck the mocking wretch who was bending over him | “Men,” continued the mate, turning towards the saiiors and waying them back with bis hand; “men, I would advise you to keep as far as possi- ble from the corpse, Your unfortunate shipmate, I perceive, is the victim of a sudden, infectious disease, and it is necessary that his burial should take place as soon as possible, Go, instantly, one of you and inform the captain of this affair.” As the mate had the reputation of being a skill- fal doctor, the men did not for a moment doubt the truth of his assertion, and they retreated from the bunk, every man of them, with the ex- ception of Malakahoo. The fear of taking the disease could not keep him away from the corpse of his friend, and bis shipmates were at last ‘obliged to draw him aside by main force. ; The captain made his appearance soon after- wards, and the mate found it as easy to deceive him as it had been to deceive the rest. of the crew, Believing that it was his cdujy to hasten the buriai with all possible dispstahd he gave orders to that effect, and the body wai the deck oni eo upon the carpenter's ber Suen we Ship's Nag was hoisidd at hal?-moat, the main-topsail hauled aback, the waiat-board taken away, and the plank madeready toreceive its barden, which was to be launched into a watery grave. “Now,” said the captain, as the steward de- posited a pile of canvas near the bench, together with twine, sail palms and needles, ‘‘now we want a couple of men to sew up the body.” Iivery man, with the exception of Malakahoo and the first mate, shrank back, | The Kanaka seized a palm and a needle, and, assisted by the m ully j perform this last sad for his friend. = ‘The sound of the as the two sailors be- gan to sew him npin his canvas shroud, grated horribly upon the heart-striogs of the young man. His soul seemed on the point of shrieking out, although his lips remained mnte, The horror of his situation rushed with terrible force upon his mind, and it was a. mystery—a terrivle mystery— to him that his body did not give any exteraal sign of the anguish he end ecolaias Presently a rattling noi ‘upon his ears. It was caused by the bricks whith were being piaced at bis feet, and in this po were to be sewed up ia the shroud, so that his body might sink alter it should have reached the water. At the same moment the mate ceived that the canvas was too short to cover the young sail- or’s face, and he drew the captain’s attention to this fact, “Never mind,” said the akipper, ‘‘we will have to let it go so.” : The stitching continned for a minute longer, and then there were a fow momeuts of breathiess silence, after which Harold felt himself placed and held upon the fatal plank, down the slanting surface of which hoe was to be allowed to slide into the cold waters of the sea, at the moment when the captain should give the word, That word was only kept back leng. enough to enable the skipper to read the funeral service. When this task was accomplished he raised his hand, andina solemn voice gave the required | order, Then over the inclined surface of the board, near which the seamen stood with uncovered heads, the shrouded body of the young sailor, re- leased from the hands of those who had held it, glided with great velocity; but just be it touched the water there rose from the lipa of the supposed dead man one long, wild, terrible cry, which ssemed to pierces the very heavens, and which thrilled like a barbed arrow to the hearts of those who heardit. The expression of the fearful horror, the long pent-up agony which the sufferer had endured—and which at the very last moment had burst the desth-like fetters that chained “kis tongue—was concentrated in that cry! The seamen looked at cach other aghast. The mate clenched his teeth together and leaned against the mainmast for support. Bot Malaka- hoo—the. brave Malakahoo—attered a yell of joy, and bounding to the waist, dove into the green depths of the sea, { ‘ne crew rushed to the lee rail and breathlessly watched for his reappearance. Nor bad they to wait long, for the Kanaka rose to the enrface in a fow moments, with the breathing, living body of the young man encircled in one of his powerfol arms! : A boat was lowered, and they were taken to the ship, whore they were received with hearty con- gratulations and cheers. But when Harold made his sbhipmates acquainted with the villainous scheme of their Spanish mate, their indignation could hardly be kept within bounds, and it was well for the first officer that the eaptain ironed him at once fad thrust him into the hold. He The latter explained his errand. “Oh, certainly, certainty,’ responded the mate; | “rut your cup upon the stove, The cook can} have no objection.” Surprised by the friendly manner of the Span- | iard, so soon after their late quarrei, the other : piaced his cupin a good position and then re- ' traced his way to the forward part of the vessel. | A quarter of an hour afterwards he had the sat- : isfaction of presenting the preparation, smoking ; hot, to hig chum, : Harold crawied into his bunk, and soon fall” asleep. He was awakened, after, the lapse of a. had not attempted to deny his guilt, on the cun- trary he had declared that his only regret was that he had made the mistake of not pouring enongh of the vile pape into Haroid’s cup. He did not live long, however, to regret the mistake; for as the men were hoisting a iull cask from the hold a week afterward, the rope to which /it was attached, parted, and it fell upon the head of the doomed man, crushing his skull to atonus. > 4 > > —_ ——- ----——- BELIEVE your friend honest to make him #0, if bh he be not 0; since, if you distrust him, youmake hig falsehood # piece of justice. Seniesa soon carricd to | ort ee: ecapnenee iw... TRAD ~ ~~ tt h ‘ +> ; a ABR he? BY CORA MAY. Adown to the brockside we wandered, Willie and I, ‘Ym the glow of the gorgeous sunset, Flooding the sky With royal purple and crimeon, Sapphire and gold, Each cloud was a banner opening Fold after fold, Of dazz ing splendor glowing Athwart the sky, While beside the brook we lingered, Willie and I. And Willie, my own love, my darling, Ab! mine no more, Leading me ander the willows There by the shore, @lasping my two hands se warmly, Told me his love, With none but the birds to listen, - And God above; Told me that if I would trust him, f And be his bride, : xi with completencss, And my life should be joyous and happy, And tree from care, Thai the tenderest Jove should make it Cioudless and fair; That the tenderest love should shield me From grief and woe, . All that earth could give me of giadness i t My heart should know. And I said, “My own love, my dariing, My life will be, . _ Whether sunny or dark, in. hy keeping, ae Happy to me; . - . I will be your own love forever Until I die;”’ And thus were our heart-vows spoken, Written on high. Alss that the vows were uttered! our lives run wide : epart, And all my love is buried ia s deep grave in my heart; A grave that is ever open, a spirit that will not reat, A weary low upon my life, a cruel wound in my _.,Aornel wrong t him and me, & sorrow and a bight, ~ ‘Phat turned the supny morning to deepest, darkest - 9 » Right; And yet some good will come of it, though how we can- ; not tell, _ For God is ever just and good, and doeth all things 70O 4 ADA ‘MAR; e “The Archduke 8 -Himpire, _ A Tale of Modern Mexico. i z ’ \ BY ILLION CONSTELLANO, | '.. Anthor of "The Sun Socorpion;” “Ths Pearl Diver;” *"The Reef Spider;” THe Silver Digger;” ,, "The Le Hunteo Tnionist;” “The Man Eaters. , aan {Back numbers of “Ada Mar; or, The Arcbaénke'’s Em- pire,” can 0 cbtained from every News #geant throughout the Thited States. } oa “CHAPTER XXL Pw HEEMSN CVERHEARS TUE PLOTTERS. Ca nel . in the hills a few miles southwest of Zaca- tecas, there steod a grim and fortress-like| strneture, built in a rambling fashion, but in a most substantial manner. The main part maa but they had final- ieult of access atry. A wealthy some exténsive addi- tions to it and ied it, but it had been abandoned by his descendants for a newer res- idence elsewhere, and after a long period of disuse had fallen into the hands of the band of ontlaws with which Sauer ‘Viletto was con- meme’. anes _ Abont the middle of the, forenoon succeeding “the events above recorded, a number of brig- ' (ands were seated on rude wooden benches in hae ‘court of this retreat, engaged in playing --eatds and drinking. A few groups of villain- - ous-looking ” fellows were laughing and chat- - ting as they watched the gracefal motions of a ‘couple of dancing girls at a little distance from them. ‘These girls were clad in the scanty vostame of their profession, with the addition old armiets and anklets, and to the latter were attached*two or three tiny silver bella, | _ which jingied merrily to the music of their eastanets and to their undulating motions. In the midst of the gay dance, while the dark but coarse beauties were throwing new zeal into their performance, the sound of horses’ hoofs were heard, as they dashed up to the dwelling, and the next moment Count Viletto, Captain Larro, and a party of followers were admitted into the court. “‘No success, boys,’’ ejaculated Viletto, leap- ing from his horse. ‘‘We have obtained no clue to the whereabouts of Captain de Valde, save that he and his companion went-to the northward on leaving the city. No one has seen him since he passed the guard at the city gate,” A vindictive expression rested on his visage as he concluded, and he flung himself at fall length upon one of the benches from which the ladrones had arisen, while Larro gave or- ders for a speedy dinner. A quarter of freshly killed beef was brought out, a fire made and the process of cooking entered upon, while some of the ladrones took care of the horses, and the new comers laved their faces and hands. The dancing girls laid aside their castanets and seated themselves, watching a gray-headed brigand as he roasted fad broiled the tender and savory steaks with the air of a French cook. All was gayety and confusion. Here some sentimental bandit hummed a love ditty, there the new comers were engaged in relating the particulars of their Stareh for Hernan, and everywhere was noise and excitement. In obedience to a command from Captain Haske, the distise girls eapelied thet men von the long table.in the centre of the court, which they had used as a card table, and placed upon it an array of dingy and broken dishes, upon which the cook proceeded to deposit liberal slices of his smoking beef. The count then took the head of the table, Larro the foot, and there was a general serabbling for the seats on each side, after which the unsuccessful ones retired to the benches and ate their dinner with rival merriment. The meal over, bottles of costly wines and baskets of fruits took the place of the meat, and when these had been drank and eaten, the count arese and, calling universal attention to himself, said, *‘As you know, boys, a new government is about to be established in Mexico. People end interests gravitate to the capital. It is dul here, and business is rapidly failing us. We must move with the crowd, take head- quarters on the national road, and enlarge our band.. We all want means to enjoy ourselves, and a little wholesome excitement. Hold your- selves, therefore, in readiness for a move. Leave your name of Death Band behind you. Henceforth, you are to be known under a nev title, which you shall knowin good time. I shall draw up papers for your guidance. Every man shall have a certain share of all the booty taken. A common zeal shall animate us. There is no reason why, in your new sphere of operations, each one of you should not acquire & magnificent fortune, and be able in course of had been erected by a brotherhood of Francis-{ cans, nearly three hundred years ago, and ims been for a long period used by them asa sion-house for th You shall not! time to retire to private life, there to indulge yourselves like royal princes. Captain Larro shall be your immediate commander, as here- tofors, and ll continue to report to him any opportunity that offers.” He sat down, while the bandits arore with one accord, cheering him loudly again and again, and otherwise expressing their satisfac- tion and confidence in him. After a few fur- ther remarks, Viletto withdrew to a room open- ing off the court and conversed awhile with Larro, and then took his departure, mounting and proceeding towards the city. The thoughts of the count were troubled. “Something must be done,’’ he muttered. ‘I must have twenty thousand dollars by the firstof June, The first of Juky—that hungry wolf in the gulf will not wait—all depends on my getting money—the secret-——” His tones died away in an incoherent mur- | mur, His way lay through almost impassibie ra- vines and woods, which rendered his retreat as safe as if it were hidden t thousands of miles in the depths of a wilderness, and two or three times he was obliged to dismount and lead his horse by the bridle. At length, however, he reached the road leading northward, and quickened his horse’s — to. a gallop, hasten- ing to the Hacienda. ~ He found Senor Mar on the lawn, engaged in directing fhe operations of 2 couple of laborers, and. Rey entered the dwelling to- gether, , *T've jooked for that guerrilla,” he said, as they proceeded to the parlor, “but in vain. I am inclined to the opinion that he has retreated Monterey, or wherever his troops are, and e are for the present quite rid of him. You have seen nothing of him?” Mar replied in the negative, and the count -1 resumed, “I think, my dear senor, that we had better move to Mexico immediately. You wish to give Ada a splendid outfit, worthy of her posi- tion as your heiress, and these milliners want time to do it justice. The tide is now setting towards the capital, and we ought to start at one3, so as to secure an eligible house and fur- niture. .Let’s hurry up and be off. You'll be away from that accursed guerrilla, whom we are not at all likely to find. As he will not dare to enter the French lines, he will not there be troubling us and Ada!” ‘Your ideas are good,” responded Mar, thoughtfully. ‘I'll see Ada, and have her pre- pare for the journey: The sooner we are off for the ospital, the better I shall be p' eased.” He arose. and left the oom, proceeding to Ada’s chamber, He found the maiden seated in a little rock- ing-chair, with a book open on her knees, her face radiant with happiness and her glorious eyes full’of a sweet and tremulous light. She was thinking of Hernan, and in her day-dream forgot the misery of her lot, forgot that she was a prisoner and in the power of her father, forgot everything that could mar the bright- ness of her young hopes. Senor Mar's face was flushed with pleasure, and his «yes gleamed with a scheming expres- ‘sion, as he said, ‘I have splendid news, Ada. The Archduke Maximilian is finally on his way to Mexico. We must set out for the capital immediately, purchase and furnish a house there, and then proceed to Vera Cruz to welcome the imperial party!’ A shadow passed over the maiden’s face dimming its brightness, and she answered, ‘You know my sentiments, father, in regard to this business, I had rather remain at home!” ‘Remain at home?” echoed Mar, harshly. What impression would I make without you? No, no, Ada—you wust and shall go! You are necessary to my ad- vancement. If you want anything in the way of dress and jewelry,” he added, more mildly, ‘you can have it. I wish you to order a splendid wardrobe the instant you reach the cap-tal, and carry a part of it with you to Vera Cruz. There are French milliners in Mexico who will fit you out with hoop-skirts, trailing dresses, Parisian bonnets——” “Things I never willjwear,” interrupted Ada, with spirit. ‘I will never, Jay aside our na- tional costume for that of a nation seeking to enslave us! If I go with yon, father, I sball goas a Mckiéan ‘aa, oe as a ‘heal imi- tator!” ; Despite his anger, Senor Mar could not re- sist a feeling of admiration, as he regarded her rosy and brilliant beauty, so edmiganly) set off by her piquant Mexican dregs. ‘Well, wear what you please,” be said, after & pause, ‘only go with me, as a dutifal daugh- ter should. When you have seen the Empress and the ladies of her court, you'll change your mind about their dresses. Order Dolores to pack your clothes and jewels, and be ready for a start.” He withdrew as abruptly as he had entered, and Ada, after vainly endeavoring to collect her thoughts, went out into the garden, stroll- ing under the shade of the trees to a vine-clad arbor at the rear of the dwelling. Here she seated herself, musing sadly upon the purpose Mar had announced, and fearing that he might take her away before she could have another interview with her lover. She had not been there long. however, when Hernan emerged from a flowering thicket near the arbor, caught her to. his: heart, and. saluted her with words and ca s of the utmost love and tender- ness. ‘Oh, am 86 glad te see peuit? she whis- pered, nestling in his bosom. “I foared that father and his watchfuls seryanis s might prevent you from again coming.” “That fear is needless,” Hernan responded, with his quiet seriousness, ‘‘Xour watchers do not realize what a little bush will screen a practised guerrilla, or what a sniall opening will give him admittance, To come to busi- ness, we have been to the mine of which I spoke to you, but find that we can do nothing. We found no silver, and expensive machinery is necessary to carry out Senor Navarro’s the- ory of its whereabouts, so we have decided to return to our duties and waste no further time in digging. He has gone fo Durango, end I am going to call my men to the field, make an extensive search for my fathor, and cause the invaders some trouble. And you, darling, how are you getting along? How does your father treat you? I feated that you might be locked up, so that I shen find it difficult to see you.” Ada narrated her iéonbt a telling him that Mar was about to take her to the capital, etc. The loyer listened intently to the end, and then asked, “Oan you endure these troubles, dearest, till my proposed sePAITE is ovex—till my father is found?” ; “J can—I will!l’’ responded Ada, firmly. “Not for worlds would I oil you from these duties. I would rather eroonrage you to do them !” ) “Then I will not propos flight and an out- law’s life with me, aa 1 haye been tempted to do,” he declared. ‘You @liall. make. the bost of your lot until my work is done, till better days come, fill theres a change for the better in my posjtion, _tjefon ne a me at any time, I shall know it and esme %o you, even to the capital.” j Ada was thonghtini a thoment, and then said: “You gotno money at the mine, dear Her- nan, and can do little without some. Let me do something to assist you.” As she speke she unclasped a diamond necklace from her snowy throat, drew the glit- tering bracelets from her arms, and placed them in his hands. ‘“No—I cannot take them,” said Hernan. “I can borrow the money, darling; but I will not take yonr jewelry and trinkets.” . Ada clasped his ontstretched hand, and her eyes shone with patriotic fire as she said, ‘Dear, Hernan, you give yoursime and your blood to your imperilled country, and shall I not give a few glittering baubles like these? You must not deny me. You are all I haveor want on earth, and having given you to our cause, what do I care for anything else? Do not deny me, darling, These diamonds are very valuable, and they are my own—given me long ago by father.” Her voice took a pleading tone, and her eyes had a pretty look of supplication, and when she kissed her lover in her coaxing way he could no longer refese her request to con- tribute the jewels to the cause of her country. “But what will your father say ?’’ he asked. ‘‘He will not know it—I have others Hernan put the ornaments in his pocket, and caressed his betrothed with a deeper feel- ing of admiration and respect, as well as with increased love. While they were still conversing, they heard voices, and Ada said: ‘Oh, Hernan! there is father and the count coming this way. What will you do?” “avoid their notice, of course,” he respond- ed, with a smile. ‘Bo calm, darling! be brave |” He embraced her passionately, and then concealed himself in the thicket mentioned, while Ada sauntered towards the house by a roundabout path, avoiding the two men. Her- nan saw that he could not leave the thicket without being observed, 80 he crept into its densest part, where the heavy foliage formed an effectual screen around him, and waited for the two men to pass the spot. Instead of do- ing so, however, they entered the arbor, seat- ing themselves, and thus made him an invol- untary listener to what followed. ‘Well, count,” exclaimed Mar, joyfully, ‘the arebduke will soon be here! I begin to feel that Tam near my title, and have been thinking ali the morning of an additional re- commendation to the omperor's favor. He's poor enough, as everybody knows, and deeply in debt. Suppose, on his landing at Vera Cruz, I offer him the losn of balf a million of dollars ?”’ ‘Capital! splendid!’ ejaculated ‘*That sum will look to bim Leiletaatelat! wuQ, doubt that in his gratitude ay your niisienbotiat liberality, taken in connection with the hon- orable mention of your name by General Do- nai, he will ennoble you on the spot! If he did not, my influence would speedily induce him to do so!” Mar’s face flushed with delight. ‘You think so?” he said. ‘‘How happy you make me, my dear count! It is a pleasant thought to me that you will find in my pros- pective title some compensation for allying your old Castilian blood to my humbler fami- ly! Ah! what would I not give to possess your lineage and rank?” He sighed profoundly. A strange gleam shot uv into Viletto’s eyes at this allusion to his noble blood and name, and he twirled his imperial complacently, as he asked: “How did Dona Ada receive your communi- cation? Will she go with us to the capital, or will her liberal principles render her obstinate and uncontrollable ?’’ “No, she will not dare to set up her will against mine,” declared Mar. ‘She made more opposition to wearing the French cos- tume than she did to going! I think she only needs to mingle with the fashionable world a little, and see what estimate society puts upon wealth and power, to obey me and marry you. Your rank and personal attractions cannot fail to make their impression upon her when she once sees you in your place among the titled people at the new court!” “True!” assented Viletto, in a tone full of self-satisfaction. ‘I shall make a splendid appearance at court, I doubt not, and Ada has sense enough to appreciate it, once get her away from all possibility of meeting De Valde!’” His tone and manner betrayed the ruling weakness in his hard nature—his intense vanity. ‘‘As you have given me your confidence, Senor Mar,” he soon continued, in a different tone, ‘‘in regard to your proposed loan to our prospective emperor, I will give you mine in regard to a business affair that has lately en- gaged my attention. Knowing the pressing need of money the archduke will have on his arrival, I have earnestly wished to place a large sum of money at his disposal, as a re- commendation to his favor—your idea pre- cisely. Not being able to do so as largely from my own purse as I would like, I cast about to see where I could obtain it, and the idea oceurred to me to take it from some of our enemies, the wealthy friends of Juarez!” “The very thing!’’ said Mar, approvingly. “The wealthitst man of that stamp known to me,” resumed Viletto, ‘~was the Marquis de Valde. Knowing that the Marquis was selling off his property, that he had contributed lib- erally to the cause of the liberals—in a word, that he was a desirable victim—I naturaily de- cided to bring about the confiscation of his wealth for the use of our prospective empe- ror!"? - \ Hernan pricked up his ears. ‘‘And so,” proceeded Viletto, ‘I went with a friend to the residence of the marquis, took him prisoner by night, getting into his house by means of a ladder, by which we ascended to the house-top, and then searched his dwe'- ling. We found nothing—though we did dis- cover a curious under-cellar, which was pain- fally empty. The marquis seemed struck with astonishment on seeing that there was no treasure in it. In order to make him produces the treasure for the benefit of the archduke, I and my friend carried him off to the hill where we have kept him ever since!” Suet Hernan’s eyes flashed, his bosom heaved convulsively, and it was only by the truest and grandest heroism that he restrained himself from springing out upon the wretch and throttling him to the earth. But he did not omit to think that such a course might be his father’s death-warrant, and so he nerved him- self to wait and listen. Senor Mar did not entertain a doubt of the truth of the count’s alleged motive in kid- napping the Marquis de Valde, and he slapped his companion on the knee, exclaiming, ‘And so that’s where the marquis ran to with his fortnne, eh? But goon! Has-hegiv- en in yot?” “Not he. I have threatened him, have re- duced his rations of bread and water, have tried various means— but he only says he don’t know where his meney is, and if he did he wouldn’t give me a real of it! Under my regi- men he has grown thin and ghastly, and when I told him that his son was about being oxe- cuted by the French I thought he’d give me the slip compietely; but he still clings to life, especially since he’s learned that his son has escaped!” i Hernan’s face had become pallid with his emotions,and once more it required all his self-control to keep his hands off the man who had so cruelly wronged his fatherand himself, “But I havemade up my mind,” continned Viletto, ‘that he really does not know where his money is, and I shall accordingly hand him over to the French general. By so doing I re- lieve myself of all care of him, and turn a good card with the new government, since the pos- session of the marquis will almost counter- balance the escape of his son. Let's set ont to-night, you and Ada, with your proposed loan, and I with the marquis. We can go to the capital via Aguas Calientes, to which place Donai has retreated, and deliver the mar- quis to him, thereby securing still farther his favor and confidence.” ‘A fine measure,” responded Mar. steps, with what we have done, will great credit with the Archduke.” ‘These give us ‘Exactly. We'll meet at the Valo posada, at twelve o’clock to-ni ight, * continued the count. ‘This will be convenient for both of i dob’ ti us, and our ride thence to the general's head | nan, tenderly. 33a quarters will be pleasant. I shall edad a few friends» with me to assist in guarding the specie.” The matter thus settled, the two men arose and sauntered towards the house, while Her- nan, with a ghastly countenance and set teeth, emerged from his concealment, muttering, “The Valo posada, at midnight! I will be there! My father shall be rescued, and Viletto shall answer for his crimes! If I could only see Ada a moment, I would tell her-——” The thought was interrupted by Ada’s ap- proach, She had watched the preceding events with great anxiety, and was with him ere Mar and Viletto had really left the garden. She was startled by ihe ghastly paleness of his face. He told her his story, portraying the horrible cruelty of Viletto to his father, and then said, “Endeavor to have your father postpone his journey till to-morrow. The delay will keep the coant waiting at his rendezvous, and give me time to collect a force for father’s rescue. You see what the count and your father are do- ing ?—how they are plotting?’ Ada felt sick at heart, again remembering the dying declaration of the strange woman, and she assented to her estimate of the villain- ous couple, ‘*You see, therefore, that we must be brave, steadfast in our love, and patient.” added Her- ‘Be hopeful, be strong, and rely upon me!” Ada promised to do all she could to restrain Senor Mar from setting out that night on his journey, and Hernan then left her with a ten- der embrace. She saw Count Viletto riding away, as she turned to the house, and, to her horror, she also saw Mar on the housetop look- ing at her. CHAPTER XXIL ADA STARTS FOR THE CAPITAL Mar came down from the housstop and met Ada at the door. His face was flushed and almost savage in its expression. He had seen and recognized our hero, and realized that Ada had just had an interview with him. Worse yet, he had seen his enemy vanish, and - reflected that it would be useless to raise an alarm and pursues him. ‘See here, young lady,” he. cried, seizing her fiercely by the arm; ‘I see you have been talking with De Valde. How loving you were to each other! You appear to be oldin your billing and cooing. Full of tender confidences, of course! Did you tell him of your proposed journey to the capital?” Ada remained silent. “Your silence is a sufficient answer,” sued Mar. ‘‘You cannot deny that you told him. He is duly enlightened in regard to our journcy and everything else. Be arnt boy- ever, that his anew iecne will do him no good, nor you either,”’ 4 Ada saw that her reputed father was ‘anwen- ally angry and suspicions, and perceived that anything she could say would only add to his ditterness. She therefore continued silent. ‘Let him come near me again, ar re- sumed, shaking his head, neatly in the man- ner of an enraged bull; “I will be ready for him. He may not want yen to go to Vera Cruz, and may visit you again on the route. Let him come! I will notify the French troops of his presence and probable inten- tions !” He fixed his eyes searchingly upon Ada’s face, to see what effect his words had upon her. Despite all her self-control, he saw that his declarations had troubled her, “It is as I thought,” he continued, in o coarser voice than he had ever before assumed, “You told the wretched outlaw all yon know. He proposes to rescue you from my cruel hands, I suppose,” and he sneered malignantly. ‘Let him come! Hellhave a warm reception !” He hurriedly called one of his most trnst- worthy servants—one of those he had lately employed in watching the maiden—and said to him aloud, in Ada’s hearing, ; “Take a fleet horse, ride to the city, and tell the Provost Marshal that Captain de Valde has been prowling about my house, probably to rob me. Tell him to scour the neighborhood for him. I willsoon come in person with par- tieulars.” The man hastened to obey, ‘You see,” added Mar, turning to Ada, as the malignancy of his glances deepened; ‘it’s lucky I saw the villain, We'll soon have him !” ; Ada had paled at his orders and measures, but she did not implore his forbearance. Her soul had developed a strength for the occasion. A spirited scorn of Mar and his efforts appeared on her features. “All this settled,” added Mar, ‘et me give you your instructions. Be ready to start for the capital in an hour!’’ “To-night? I do not wish to go so soon!” declared the maiden, mindfal of the wishes of her lover. ‘‘Why journey by night? Why not wait till to-morrow ?” ‘‘And so favor your arrangements with that infernal outlaw,” retorted Mar, with another sneer. ‘‘No, no;J am not doing that kind of business. You start with me within the honr, and let me have no words abont it, My wishes are still your law, young lady—not those of Captain de Valde, You'll find that I am your master, as well as your father, if you continue in your present obstinate conduct,”’ Ada again thought of the dying commanioa- tion of Mar’s strange visitress, and a sudden impuise prompted her to say, with the quiet calmess she had learned from her griefs, **Perhaps you are no more my master than you are my father!” x The effect of this speech was asif a thunder- © pur- ; HS " > bolt had fallen at the listener’s feet. Ts “Girl! what do you mean?” he cried, as a Dr Tet waa naked Sg << oO a —,” A, am taba ae sy i Bee aa ee NOB 2. 2 ey Soe) XY BEES x= x a livid color came and went on his features. ‘How dare you insult me? Who prompted you to utter this shameful insinuation ?” His consternation and rage as he listened breathlessly for her reply, partook of the aw- fal. She merely smiled, with a bitterness he had never before seen on her countenance. “Speak!” he fairly shouted. ‘Let me know the meaning of this eonduct.” The realization came over Mar, as he con- tinued to look at Ada, that achange had lately taken place in her. She seemed to have changed from a girl toa woman. Her late ex- perience, in truth, had made her capable and self-reliant. ‘‘Perhaps you are too busy just now to hear a lengthy explanation,” she observed. ‘If not, Iam too busy to give it. If I start for Mexico in an hour, I must hurry to get ready |” “Stop !’? he commanded, resuming his grasp upon her arm as she turned away. “I demand a complete explanation.” “You may some day have one,” she replied, turning her glances full upon him. ‘This is all I have to say at present.”’ “Hold!” he fairly shouted, still detaining hex. ‘You shall tell me!” She turned shortly upon him, responding, “T will nor tell you!’’ He glared at her, meeting her calm gaze— glared at her as long as he could endure the clear light of her eyes—and then, as he invol- untarily released her arm, she resumed her way to her chamber. The startled plotter gazed after her with wandering glances and a puzzled manner. ‘‘What can she have learned!” he finally muttered to himself. ‘What hint can have suggested—who can have disecovered——” He fell into such a deep reverie that his voice became incoherent and finally died out en- tirely. Several minutes thus passed, and then he started from his waking dream, and muttered, as his usual scheming look came back to his eyes and features, ‘I must awake to this new order of things— I must be wary and watchful! It’s that ac- cursed outlaw that’s at the bottom of this busi- ness, and I must look out for him! He shall soon be recaptured, if he really intends to come near us. I'll fix a nice trap for him!" He proéured a light and went into one of the closed and locked rooms the reader has hereto- fore heard Ada and the duenna mention. It was very strongly built, with a massive door. In one corner of it stood a large oaken desk, with heavy drawers, and from one of these drawers Mar commenced taking doubloons and putting them into a bag. *T’ll load about five mules from this fund,” he muttered, “and take the rest from my bankers at Zacatecas. This done, let me see that these rooms are all secure. There are ‘relics of other days here that I do not care to \~.Jeave open to the gaze of any one, particularly jn my absence!” He filled the desired number of bags with the specie, and then summoned his servants. Those going with him received their instruc- tions, and were soon busy with their prepara- tions. The rest received orders for their guid- ance during the absence of their master, and all was forthwith settled. The mules were loaded with the baggage of Ada and her duen- na and the bags of gold, and the little party thus set out for the rendezvous appointed, Dolores sighing for the absent Pacheco. ‘I shall have to ask a little aid from the French,” muttered Mar, when he was fairly en route for the city. ‘Once let the general know that I am bearing gold to Maximilian, he will be only too anxious to lend me a dozen guardsmen at least till all peril’s past and I know where I stand!” On reaching the city the uneasy plotter put himself in communication with the chief authorities, informing them of his proposed loan to the Archduke. The information in- stantly made him an object of rare interest to the invaders. He was informed that his mes- sage respecting the guerrilla’s presence had been duly received, and that several detach- ments of troops had been dispatched in differ- ent directions in quest of the fugitive. He also learned that some monies and valuable papers were about to start for Vera Cruz, under a strong guard, and was advised to place his fands in charge of this party, to which he con- sented. In halfan hour he saw his banker, gave all necessary directions, and his servants, with the exception of two, returned to the Hacienda. “There's one thing more to be said,” ob- served the Provost Marshal of the city, as Mar was about to resume progress. ‘‘As there is sonie danger of your encountering De Valde, we had better send a small body of mounted rifemen or cavalry with you.” Mar expressed his approbation of the sug- gestion. “I would send a larger force,” the marshal added, ‘‘only General Donai and most of his men are on the road between here and Aguas Calientes, and it is quite unlikely that the guerrilla, however daring or desperate he may be, can trouble you with impunity.”’ The proffered guard was soon ready, and Mar resumed his way, passing through the city and hestening towards the rendezvous he had appointed with Viletto. ‘You don’t seem to like the presence of these Frenchmen,” he said to Ada, with a grim simile, after a long silence. ‘‘Perhaps they're likely to interfere with your arrangements with ee THE EAGLES FEATHER 3 THE REDEEMED PLEDGE BY GEORGE W. WEST. CHAPTER I. THE SOLITARY INDIAN. What avails thine iron brow, Strong one of the battle field? Thou hast met a stronger now. Render up thy lance and shield, Yield at last who yielded never— Beauty reigns on earth forever. At the close of a November day in the year 1770, a solitary Indian was seen standing upon one of the high hills that overlook the now populous vil- lage of L——, in the western part of Connecticut. He was a tall youth, and from his war-paint and dregs, the most careless observer of the various tribes that then inhabited that track of country between the ocean and the lakes, would have pre- nounced him to bea Huron, At his feet lay a dead wolf and deer, and against a stunted oak within his reach rested a long French rifle. Upon his brow was a coronet of eagle’s feathers, while.a hunting-shirt of skins, with leggins of the same material, ornamented with the quills and dyed hair of the porcupine, completed his dress. He was gazing thoughtfully upon the lake that slumbered in the icy chains of winter, at the foot of the hill which he occupied. The truant schoo!l-boy and the returning hunter had seen him ag he stood there with his head bent upon his hand, apparently absorbed in the deepest reflections, and’had quickened their steps to the village, to make due report of such an alarming appearance. He, however, let them pass un- noticed, yet his dark eye flashed with eagle bright- ness as it wandered over the straggling houses of the village, until it rested upon a littl mound about a stone’s throw from the church, upon which a dark piue was discernable from its .ever- green foilage. Then he spoke. “Jt is enough. The Great Spirit is kind—Wa- ninco will visit the graves of his fathers.” And amid.the bitter blasts of the wild Novem- ber wind—over the frozen snow, unbroken by any human foot-path—the Huron, Waninco, departed upon his mission, CHAPTER IL YHE MINISTER'S WELCOME—JULIA. Evening settled upon the town, and the fury of an early snow-storm was spending itself against the snug cottages of the settlers, while the wail of the distant forest as the wind rushes through the branches, cast a gloom over the faces of the boldest inhabitants. r The worthy minister, Mr. Davenport, had as- serabled his little famiiy,consisting of his wife, and a daughter of sixteen, in his dining-room, and be- fore a cheerful fire was endeavoring to while away the evening hours by repeating many a tale of in- terest and virtue. Julia Davenport, for such was the name of the laughing girl who sat upon the stool at her father's ‘knee, while she gazed with intense interest upon his benign countenance, was beautiful. With a form that was symmetry itself, with a deep blue eye, and a snowy brow on which her auburn curls rested, she seemed too fair for this lower world. “She walked in beauty, like the night Of sunny climes and starry skies.’’ The worthy minister had just finished a tale of deeper interest than usual of the Indian depre- dations on the frontier, when a loud knock at the door startled them. The old man rose to his feet; for # moment not a word was spoken, gazing at each other's faces in consternation; but the good preacher recovering his composure soon- er than the rest, said, in his mild tones: ‘‘Whoever you are that wander in such a night as this, I bid you welcome !” hie No sooner had the words fallen from his lips than the door opened, and a tall Indian, with hag- ard face and blood-shot eye, entered. It waz faninco, who had remained at the graves until this honr, and slmost frozen by the excessive cold. With a bare “good evening,” he seated him- self in tho vacant corner, andin a yoice peculiar to these children @& Nature, called grumly for food and. drink, Tho minister told him to be gone, that there was an inn at the next door, where he would be well taken care of; and, finally, when the savage refused to depart, hastened to the door for the purpose of putting him into the streets Julia inierceded, and recalling to her father the incidents of one of the tales he had told that eve, which went to show that the Indian never forgave an injury nor forgot a favor, urged him with simple el:quence to remain till morn- ing. The savage, in the meantime, having, by the genial influence of*the fire, recovered from his almost benumbed limbs, pat on the proud mien of his race, and raising himself from the floor in native majesty, walked deliberately to- wards the door. But Mr. Davenport bade the In- dian return to his seat, and placed before him the remains of his homely dinner. The Indian ate voraciously, and taking a large draught of hard cider, laid down upon the mat spread for his ac- commodation, and was soon lost in sleep, dream- ing of his distant hills, where rested the remnant of his once powerful tribe. In the morning, after having eaten his break- fast, he advanced to the minister, grasped him warmly by the hand, and then his wife. When he approached Julia, he drew from his breast an eagie’s feather, dipped in blood, and putting it in her hand, said: ‘Daughter of the pale-face, keep the gift of Waninco, and when the red hand of the Huron is lifted againet you or yours, show him this war- plume, and you shall not be harmed. I go.” He departed, and was soon lost in the paths of the wilderness. CHAPTER IIL THE MIDNIGHT ATTAOK, It was midnight. A December snow fell heavily upon the sleeping town, and the wild wind wailed as it played with the snow-drift and sweptthrough the lonely street, seemed like the shriek of the spirit of the storm. A pause ensued—then rose a thousand hellish yeils! The town was attacked by Indians; and soon it was one sheet of livid flame. The mother’s shriek and the infant’s wail had no power over the beast-like savages; the pleading cry and the look of anguish were an- swered by the swift descent of the tomahawk, or the deep cut of the giittering scalping knife. At that moment a body of savages entered the house of Mr. Davenport, and soon massacred them with the general mass. A tall savage, the chief, was dragging the beautiful Julia by the hair, to suffer the same fate. Her dress became disor- dered, and an eagle’s feather dropped upon the floor. Tne chief released his hold, and giving a particular whoop, all the Indians released tueir victims. The leader raised the precious relic; he turned to Julia, who, with disneveled hair, sat trembling upon the floor, and said, “Danghter of the pale-face, how came the war pinme of the Hurons upon the bosom of the White Dove?” : A hope now sprang up in her breast, and with an angelic countenance, where joy and fear like two twin clouds upon the blushing sky of morn- ing were mingled together, said, “Chief of the Hurons, the war plume was the gift of Waninco, who, when the cold of winter pal- sied his limbs and the snow of the storm silvered his dark locks with the mantle of death, sought the dwelling of yonder pale-faca, and was cheered, fed, and saved. Waninco was dying, and the pale-face gave bim lite, Save then, O chief! the man who succored him, and save also his wife and child, dearer to him than life!” The chief, turning to his band, said: . “is this tule trae? It must be so, for here is the war plume of the Hurous. The words of Wa- ninco were not the idle notes of a singing bird. The Huron’s pledge shali be redeemed; but it must be done ia council.” The chief then turned to Julia, who had not gathered her fate from the words just spoken, and continued: ‘-Dauguter of the pale-face, by the conncil tree ' of the Hurons the pledge of Waninco must be presented and redeemed.” Thus speaking he left the room, followed by his band. Julia then turned her eyes upon her pa- rents, lying apparently senseless. She sprang to their side and raised their faces from the ‘cold floor. Then uttering a piercing shriek, she cast herself upon their silent forms and fainted, God of Heaven, they were dead ! How long she remained in a state of insensibil- ty she knew not; but when she awoke she found herselfig a comfortable wigwam, attended by an Indian maiden, and as the evening shadows gath- ered darker around the village of the forest—the home of the children of Nature—she fell asleep CHAPTER IV. THE HURONS’ COUNCIL. Morning dawned in glory upon the village of the Hurons. Bofore it the broad and beautiful lake of Horicon spread out its silver bosom, cov- ered here and there with light curls of vapor, so thin as not to obscure its surtace, but sufficiently obtuse to magnify the dead trees and the bluff on the otber side of it into giant forms and castle- crowned mountains, The shades of night were rapidly retreating from ‘the valleys, from which the scream of the eagle and the song of the red-breast came up in melodious harmony, like the hoarse voice of the troubador mingling with the soft notes of his gui- tar, ag he sang and played beneath the lattice of his lady-love, upon his return from his wild cru- sade in the Holy Land, A wild, prolonged whoop suddenly arose from the lodge of the chief. It wag answered by a thousand echoes, and ina few moments painted forms were seen stealing from the glens and lodges in the vicinity, Beautifal, indeed, was the sight—beantiful as Eden; and man seemed to roam admidest its bowers in his primeval state. In a few moments the gentle Julia was aroused from HeFcouch of leaves by the same beautiful Indian girl, Owega, who had so kindly attended her the evening previous; and dressing herself hastily, obeyed the signal, At the door she was received by a young chief and conducted to the council tree of the tribe. Senéath a tall and wide-spreading oak sat the mighty menofthe Hurons. Fora half hour not a word was spoken. Then the old chief arose, and stretching out his hand toward the east, said, “Children of the Red Huron! Onr brother’s bow is unstrung, and his empty quiver rests idly et the foot of the council tree. Where is our brother? Let the pale-face answer. ; “My children! The summer sun saw our broth- er go forth on the war trail with a strong hand and an eagie heart—the autumn moon saw our brother cold in death, and his scalp dripping in the cabin of the pale-face. “My children! Our brother’s blood cries for vengeance. Let the pale maiden die/ I have done |” Waninco, who had preserved a melancholy si- lence, now rose, and striding loftily inte the space between the Ghieftain and tribe, said, “Ohief of the Red Hurons and warriors of the tribe! The pale maiden shall not die! Is the Huren a dog? Shall he be false to his word? Let the White Dove bring forth the war plume.” Julia arose, and drawing the eagle’s feather from her bosom, placed the symbol of triumph in the hand of the eld chief. He eyed it closely, and then passed it to his neighbor; and thus it was passed and scanned until the feather had been returned to the chief, who then said, “Pale-face, it is the Huron’s war-plume!” Then turning to Waninco he continued: “Son of the eagle! how came this feather in the hand of the white maiden ?” Wanineo fren related the events recorded in our second ¢hapier, and when he had concluded, he said: = ‘‘Hurons!’ the pale-face sheltered him and the White Dove tall not die! Have I spoken well? I have donei* A wild assent rnng from the assembled war- riors, and. Waninco, with an air of pride and ma- josty, led heraway, and placed her in charge of Owega. i ta a CHAPTER Y,. grurtas HOMES Ton yeate have passed away, and the tide of white population rolled like the foam-capped bil- low over the west, causing the wilderness to ‘blossom like the rose.” As the sun is setting in all his gorgeous splen- dor behind the western forests, a beautiful cot- tage, surrounded by shrubbery and fields, may be seen under a high state of cultivation. A.group ot well dressed children are playing in the fawn, and a man and woman in, the usual costume of settlers, are sitting upon the rude portico before tre door, witnessing with satisfaction the sports of their children. The man was evidently of Indian extraction, but the wife and children had the blue eye and light hair of the Saxon race. In these early settlers the reader can easily re- cognize the Jalia and Waninco ef our story, who have located here weary of the world. Wasinco is Waninco no longer, put John Huron, the first settler of Ohio! From this small beginning cemmenced the loveliest town in the Buckeye State; and in the graveyard, shaded by the lofty pine and waving willow, lie the graves, side by side, of Jotn Hu- ron and Jalia, his wife; and on the stone of the former are these words, beneath the rude imita- tion of an eagle's feather: “The Huron's pledge is redeemed,” BERTHA OWENS ; R, TRUE LOVE'S REWARD. BY A. ALPHONSO DAYTON, CHAPTER I. It stood upon the hill,the home of Bertha Owens, and reared its stately head from among the: tall old mapies, interlacing their branches across the walks, und velvety clusters of sweet-williams lean- ing over the borders, The sunset clouds were tmged with gold and carmine, and trembled like angels’ fleecy wings + EWELRY GIVEN AWAY. Citizens and soldicrs can obtain, araris, a great miscel- laneous newspaper, and full instructions by which you can procure every variety of Jewelry free. All should send. Addvess OHARLES E. MACKEY, 81 Nassau Street, New York. A Fine Watch Free AND $15 PER DAY. ov tence ses Making iets bi betice caine ae : asil: er day se our GRE T Rew and WORDERSUL UNION PETE ARD STATIONERY PACKAGES, NOVEZ and UNEQUALED, and aces ae ek ket? ooo ing all New Articles, quality. Writing Material Parlor Games, Use- fui and Fanc are jes, Likenesses of He: Gump Ooun: panions for tne Army, New Fashion Pilates for Ladies, rich ry igeentete &c, de., altogether worth over for. us aay anould be without one. ne Eememet sales in can ac as Agents, and 4 money fas. ft SPLENDID WATCH, warranted a3 s perfect timekeeper, presented-/ree to ali Agents. Packages in endless y and atall pues. Agents wanted through the country. Goods sent by Express to ali parts of the Army. Send for NEW Oireularsfor i containing EXTBA inducements. RIOKARDS & GO., 103 Nassau eine teens York, dest Prise Package Heuse in the World, NOW READY, And.Por Sale by News-dealers everywhere, & THRILIANG STORY OF SHIP AND SHORE, | The Vestmaker’s Apprentice ; THE VAMPYRES OF SOCIETY, BY FRANCIS & SMITH, sev “Geo paee€ THE CHILD oF CHARITY,” he Far.” ‘GirtaN, THE WANDERER,” GalBerUs, THE GLADIATOR,” “EVE- YIgEN WILSON,” “SEXTON @F SAXONY,” © { etc., ete. @e0% VESTMARER’S APPRENTICE te the inttial pomber of the “Army and Navy Literature,” and frem the great pepularity of the author must have an extensive sabe. Price Twenty-Five Cents Pen Cory, A Viberal disconnt allowed to the trade. - 45-tf SPRBET & SMITH, ll Frankfort-st, N. Y. BEAUIY.—HUNT’S BLOOM OF ROSES, acharming, delicate, and perfect ‘natural color for the eheeks or Tes, does not wash off or injure the skin, re- maing permanent for years, 298 cannot be detected. Price $1 1Sby meil, securely packed from observation. HUNT & CO,, Perfumers, 133 South 7th st., Philadelphia. soon -te “Tf you want to know, &c., read MEDICAL COMMON SENSE, A ctrious beck fer arious people, and a good book for evety one. Price 50.° To be had at all news depots. Contents tables mailcé free. Address é3mcew DR. E. . FOOTE, No. 1,130 Broadway, N. Y. SHUTTLE SEWING MACHINES Never feil te satisfy taose who give them a thorough trial ty wherever introduced are rapidly superceding all ers. They ese io threads with a straight needte and shuttle, flaking the Lock Sriten, which is alike on both sides, anc Or economy, durabitity, dasciticity and beauty, is the only stitch torihy af use, Thexgare propelled by Cams, which produce letter timed motions for sewing than car possibly be ob- ined hy cranks or links. They work like a “thing of life,” e needle threwing out its loop, and then sanding still until the shuttle passes throngh, when both draw upon the threads tegether, making the stitch tight and strong. They are capabie of running at very high speed, being smoothly finished, and making five stitches to every revolution of the balance wheel, a speed unequalled by any other shuttle *— Taachinc in use. For these reasons the “Wren” s acanowledged, where- ever known, tobethe best sewing machine made, and is unequallod ia its simplicity of conbtruction, power, dura- bility, ease of management, and the great beary and cer- tainty of its eperation. Every machine is warranted. All orders or cemmunieations from Families, Tailors, Seamstresses, Clotivicrs, Harness Makers, &c., in the coun- try, will receive prompt, attention. Send for descriptive circular and samples of work. AGENTS WANTED in every locality. Address 606 BROADWAY, NEW YORE. é2-12t-eow al HOW THE INDIANS WERE FOILED. INCIDENT OF THE MINNESOTA MASSACRE, BY HANK THE HUNTER, Late in the spring of 1862, Mr. Tremorne, a wealthy merchant of New York, having been tempted to venture largely in some specula- tion, lost everything by its failure, and in his emergency, suddenly decided upon emigrating to Minnesota, where his sole remaining pos- sessions were. These were some hundreds of acres of land, which had some how fallen into his hands. A brother had a portion of this Jand under cultivation, and had put some buildings on it. He calculated upon finding accommodation with this brother, until such time as he could build for himself, and upon being instructed by him into the mysteries of farming, Like most people who have always lived in a city, he and his family had very utopian ideas of the country and of the far west espe- AN CAT ORS a 1 35x (ans 103 They gradually gained more rational views of mothers, however—all save one daughter, a very beanatiful girl of eighteen, who had been left at school when the family removed, and in the succeeding fall joined them. Augusta, fresh from school, expressed her- self as delighted with everything she saw, and spending a week at her uncle’s, soon after her arrival, amused them much with her school- girlish and romantic fancies. The height of her ambition just now, was to figure as a heroine in some struggle with the Indians. She had been reading Cooper's novels, it is needless to say, and some others perhaps, in which the heroine of course always came out safely, no matter what dangers she eneoun- tered. Augusta was never weary of dilating upon this theme, and she repeated the tales she had read to her less fortunate cousin Annie, till both were very much exeited on the subject, though Annie assured Augusta that she had never known any of the captives taken by the Indians there to come out of their dangers so unharmed as those of which Augusta told. “Oh, a man of course they would be cruel to,’” Augusta said one night as she let down her long black hair, and was brushing it pre- paratory to retiring; “but a woman—a beauti- fal white woman, I dare say, would be enter- tained by them like a queen. Indeed, there have been instances of their bestowing won- derfal honors upon white women that they have persuaded to stay with them.”’ “IT should not be’ easy to persuade,” said Annie laughing, and then screaming almost in the same breath, ‘‘Why, what is the mat- ter?” exclaimed Augusta, turning toward her. ‘Tt is only an Indian,” said Annie, smiling faintly, and indicating the windew with her glance. Augusta looked and recoiled involuntarily. Close to the window, with his nose flattened against the pane, stood a tall Indian calmly surveying the two girls. Augusta’s face was perfectly white, and she seemed to have lost the power of utterance. But when Annie said ina low voice, “Don’t seem frightened, cousin, I will go and call father to speak to him,” Augusta rose also, and insisted upon going with her. ‘There is nothing to fear,” said Annie, ‘‘the Indians are friendly, but you may come if you like;”. and the two girls left the room. The family gathered in the next apartment, only smiled at Augusta's evident fright, after all; but Mr. Tremorne seemed more affected as Annie spoke to him in alowtone. She had noticed what Augusta was too unaccustomed to do—that the*face of the savage wore war paint, and she had just communicated this fact to her father in cautious tones. “You do not think there is any danger, surely 7” she questioned, seeing the change in his look. ‘Speak low,” he answered. ‘ZI hope not— I believe not; but the Indians are restless of late, and trouble is feared. Iwish Henry were here. Say nothing to the rest of what you have told me, and don’t be frightened. I wish | those shutters were closed,” he added, half to himself, glancing at the windows, the blinds of which had not been fastened at dark, In- deed, living s0 isolated, it was rarely that the blinds were closed. He turned toward the door, perhaps mean- ing to go out and attend to them now; but jast as he changed his position, the movement proving his safety, a bullet crashed through the pane and buried itself in the wall, imme- diately behind where he had been standing. With singular presence of mind, Mr. Tre- morne threw the bar which fastened the door into its place, and strack from the stand the light, whispering, in a voice that silenced evon the scream trembling upon Augusta’s lips: “Be still as death, and go into the seilar— every one.” He was obeyed at once, and only in time— several shots following almost immediately the extinguishing of the light. Despairingly aware of the almost hopeless nature of the case, Mr. Tremorne still cast eagerly about in his mind for some suggestion that might possibly postpone destruction. Fortunately he had not fired a single shot, though he held his gun loaded in his hand. To have fired his one shot would have left him defenseless until he could load again, and would have wasted his fire, too, for he could not see a yard from the house; besides, while he held his shot the cowards outside, mary or few, would stand in some fear ofsit—trifling though that fear might be. Knowing, also, something of the Indian nature, he was not without @ faint hope that his wily foe would suspect, from the lack of any answering de- monstration, that he was not so defenseless as they at first supposed. Itis the nature of a savage to suspect danger in mystery, and he hoped that the utter silence and darkness which had fallen upon the house would oper- ate in a salutary manner upon this peculiarity of his foes, and perhaps intimidate them somewhat. This seemed the case, for all was, for a time, as still without as within. He was too cautious to expose himself by a window, dark as it was, for he knew the far- sightedness of the Indians; but he presently suspected, from some sounds that faintly came to his ear, that they were preparing to set the house on fire. If so, his situation seemed more hopeless than ever. He was distracted, too, with fears concerning his son, who had gone to the town some twenty miles away, and might return at any moment. A few moments longer convinced him that his surmise regarding the intention to fire the house was correct, and as a last resource he songht the cellar to consult with his family. The first suggestion was to surrender them- selves, trusting to the hitherto friendliness of the Indians and the hope of being rescued ul- timately from their power. But all were loth to do that, and it was decided before the flames should burst forth to betray them by their light, to make an effort to steal noiseless- ly from the cellar by an outside door, and un- der cover of the darkness escape to the woods, which were not far away. This scheme, so apparently desperate, was immediately carried into effect, Mrs. Tremorne boldly leading the way, the girls following, scarcely breathing, and Mr. Tremorne, wit his gun, coming out last. As it-happened, the flames were just kind- ling 9s they passed out, not enough to betray them, however, to the eyes of their foes, and the Indians giving a succession of demoniac yells at the same moment that they séparated to surround the house and watch for their vic- tims, these very yells drowned any noise the party might have made in their flight, and en- abled them to reach the woods unsuspected. Once there they passed on, scarcely able to believe that they had safely accomplished go much, Not far away they met Henry, who, having approached near enough to soo what Was go- ing on, had turned into the woods to wait a little while and ascertain if possible their fate. Great was the joy of this meeting, but they said little. Henry had the wagon at a little distance hidden, and entering it the party pushed on toward the distant town, where they safely ar- rived a little before morning. Great must have been the surprise of the Indians at finding that their intended victims had escaped, and Augusta, it was noticed, had very much less to say after thatof becoming a heroine. OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX. A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH BEMEMBERING. Questions ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WAnNT- ED.— Carrie M. wishes a receipt fer thaking CaLr’s Fert Jetuy.—Take four calf’s fest, and after boing well cleaned and cut up, put them in oné gallon of water; boil until the liquid is reduced to two quarts; when perfectly firm and cold, clear off the fat, and add one bottle ofsherry, three quarters of apound of powdered sugar, the juice of six moderate-sized lemons, and the whites (with the shells finely crushed) of eight eggs. If you should wish to mould it, abont three-quarters of an ounce of isinglass ought to be dropped lightly in where the liquid becomes visible through the head of scum, when the mixture begins to boil. It may be roughed, or served in glasses, without this addition. The calf’s feet should not be bought readily boiled, but only sealded. Oow’s feet or heels make nearly as good jelly as that from calves’ feet, and are much more economical......zngraver.—We have not at hand the description of the mode adopted for transferring pic- tures and engravings to glass. Perhaps some of our readers can oblige you......J. 7. ©. —WaTCHMAKER'S Orn ig made by placing a clean pitce of lead‘in s small white glass bottle filled with olive oil, and exposing it to the sun’s rays for some time, Unila curdy matter has ceased to deposit, anfi the ol has become quite limped and coloriess,.....@. ™ desires to know the way To Diussozve Inpu Russze-—I ether, deprived of aloohoi by washing with wate» India rubber readily dissolves, and affords a color®SS solution. When treated with hotoupths,.distiied Tom uatirs petraicum or from coal tar, it swells to thrty times its former bulk; and if then triturated wit) ® pesfe, and pressed through a sieve, it affords s #°™MOgensous varnish, which being applied by s dat edi Of motalf‘or wood to cloth, prepares it fer forming #9 Patent water-proof cloth of Mackentosh. India- raked sso. res in the fixed oils, such as linseed oil, bi; ihe varmish has not the property of becoming cont £ 3 ' | caneener omarn snare eengnir wentavantnamonensnte iil, ov rency, #0 supersede tnat now iu circulation, bave been & a3