Will News Agents please hang this
aa
—

 

 

 

 

 

Vol. XXV.

 

FRANCIS 8S.
FRANCIS 8.

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1870 BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE CLERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK.

 

 

 

STREET,

SMITH, } Proprietors.

 

 

 

 

 

so everybody can see LITTLE BUCKSHOT.

 
 

 

> scare

 

 

Three Dollars Per Year.
TERMS, {two Copies Five Dollars.

 

 

 

 

 

a“.

 

 

THE ESCAPE OF LITTLE RATTLESNAKE F RUSTRATED.

A WILD STORY OF THE FAR NORTH-WEST.

oe

 

 

The White Whirlwind of the Prairie.

 

By NED BUNTLINE, (Cou. E. Z ©. JUDSON,)
Author of “BUFFALO BILL,” “OUT OF THE DARK,” etc.

 

CHAPTER I.

“There's meat worth keepin’, white folks, if you value
life—for hair won't bring much if you lose him !/””

Sweeping down on the camp of an emigrant party at
the Great Falls of the Missouri—like a cloud before a gale
—rode a lithe, sinewy man, clad from head to feot in
buckskin, with a young Indian warrior, bound hand and
foot, before him on his large, powerful horse, the animal
being white as snow.

Slung over his shoulder was a huge double-barrelled
gun of immense caliber, and around his waist was a belt
literally bristling with knives and revolvers.

“Take care o’ him, I say, and look out for lightnin’ !
I’ve got another job to do and I'll be among you again !”

The strange wild rider, as he said this, cast the captive
Indian (for that was the meatto which he had alluded)
heavily on the ground at the feet of an old man, the evi-
dent leader of the emigrant party, then unslinging his
gan, he wheeled his magnificent horse, and dashed away
toward a low range of hills from which he had ridden
when he came to the camp.

The old man looked with surprise, not unmixed with
pity, at the Indian, who had been so tightly bound that
the thongs of raw hide fairly cut into his flesh, and loosen-
ng ae at his ancles, he raised the young warrior to his

He was #noble looking specimen of the Red Man. He
stood full six feet in height, straight as the shaft of a
lance, with a form perfect in manly proportions.

The fringes of his hunting shirt, leggins and moccasins,
were singularly ornamented. The rattles from hundreds
of rattlesnakes were fixed to them, and ashe straightened
his sinewy form and looked around him with a fierce in-
quiring gaze, the rattles sounded as if a den of serpents
aroused to deadly action had sprung their alarm.

Tne young Indian, whose face, touched with vermillion
and blue, looked savage enough to make any but old
hands shudder, took in the camp at a glance.

There, in a little nook, protected on the west by huge,
precipiteous rocks, on the north by the rushing torrent,
and only open on the south and east, he saw a dozen or
more Wagons, with the stock picketed close to the river,
some twenty armed men, and at least thirty or forty
women and children.

His eye lingered longest on the white-haired old man

* Conrad Wentworth, now Scout and Guide for the Second
U. S. Cavalry on the plains, is the original of thisstory, and like
our far-famed “Buffalo Bill” isa live reality, and nota tancy-
born hero. The title is selected from one of several names by
which he is known among the Indians of the West; who have
learned his prowess in many a deadly fray.

 

who had lifted him to his feet, and on two lovely girls,
armed with rifles and pistols, and dressed in what might
be termed Bloomer costume, who stoed near him, both
of them gazing with looks of curiosity on the visitor so
suddenly and singularly thrown upon them.

“Who are you—can you speak English?’ asked the old
man, with a look and tone of authority.

“Yes—me go with Choteau to St. Louis—learn English
heap !*? replied the Indian quickly. ‘‘Me Little Rattle-
snake, son of Red Cloua—he come pretty soon! What
squaw them ?—one like lily on bright water— other like red
rose on prairie !? And he pointed to the two girls, one
of whom was @ blonde, the other a brunette.

“My daughters ; and lam Captain Guy Warren, in com-
mand of this party,’ said the old. man. ‘Why are you
bound, and who was he that brought you here ?”

The Indian did not reply, but a haughty glance of his eye
seemed to sweep over the whole party ; and then off to the
hills, and Captain Guy Warren shouted to his men to
spring to their arms and form, for the whole range of hills
a half mile eastward was darkened with a horde of
mounted and yelling savages.

In advance of them, coming again like a cloud before a
tempest, swept the great white horse and its rider, and it
was evident that it was he who was thus pursued by the
yelling fiends.

Suddenly he was seen to swerve from his course, then
a ring of white smoke circled from the muzzle of his gun
—then a second, and a moment or two later two reports
like those ofa small fleld-piece, came to their ears.

Again the white horse headed forthe camp, and as it
came nearer and nearer the rider was seen to’be re-load-
ing his gun, while before him appeared to be another per-
son—perhaps a second captive.

By this time, a part mounted and the rest on foot, the
emigrant party were drawn up before theircamp with
weapons in hand, prepared for defence.

On came the white horse, and again at the very feet of
the old man, the animal was haltéd,;and thé strange ri-
der lifted from before him with. tender care, a young and
very beautiful girl, dressed in Mexican style and looking
like a daughter of that land of sun and flowers.

“Take care 0’ her and keep fast hold on the Rattlesnake
if life is worth savin’ |’? he shouted, and again the white
horse was wheeled toward the rushing horde, now with-
in afew hundred yards of the line of wirite men.

Quick as thought, even as he dashed’ madly on, the
horse was swerved to front the Indian line;and the’ great
double-barrelled gun ‘repeatedly belched out its deadly
contents, and a half-dozen Indian horses ran rideriess
over the plain.

 

Loading as he rode, and guiding his horse clear of the
front range, the rider circled whil? the long-range rifles
of the emigrants brought the Indians to a halt, and then
Sept them back nearly tothe hills out of range with
a few deadly shots,

Now the rider of the white horse came back to where
he had deposited his first captive, and, on his return, left
the young girl, and, as he reached the spot, he leaped
from his horse.

“Rest, Jagged Lightning, rest—for you’ve done your
best work to-day,” he seid, as he patted the neck of the
noble animal, which stood panting and dropping foam-
flakes from its red mouth.

Then he approached the party, and spoke to the young
girl, who stood by the side of the old man’s two daugh-
ters, who were questioning her with evident Kindness.

“Bud o’ beauty, I reckon Johnny Reshau, the half-breed
nigger, is madder than a grizzly in a trap; but you’re out
of his hands and safe, if these white folks are as game as
they 1look.”’

‘Senor, I owe morethan lifeto you. I washis prisoner
—the captive of him who murdered my father; but I wiil
be your slave. Oh! I cannot find words to thank you.”

“Don't talk that way, Bud o’ Beauty—I don’t know
your name, sol must call you something—lI’ve only done
& man's duty, and haven’t finished tnat.”

“Call me Frankita. My father always called me so,”
she said.

“And now a word here,” said the man, speaking to the
Indian. ‘Redskin, I caught you creeping on the trail of
these pale-faces, after I’d been in your camp on a free
pass from Red Cloud, whom I befriended in the Big Talk
at Fort Benton. I’d heard enough to know what you
were after, and that night would never pass away without
an attempt to surprise and murder them. Sol thought
you was good property to hold, and you’re here. I’m go-
ing to keep you, and if Red Cloud moves a foot toward
us now, you swing like a dog!’

And tie stranger hunter, trapper, or scout, whatever

he was, took a hide lasso from his saddle-bow, and threw
its running noose over the neck of the young Indian.
_ “Little Rattlesnake laughs in the face of his enemy. He
is @ warrior, and does not fearto die. But shoot him like
aman. He would not be hung like a dog?’ said the In-
dian, savagely.

“That is just the wayhe will die, if Red Cloud, his
father, offers to fire another shot at me or those who are
here,’’ said the other.

“In Heaven’s name, who are you?” asked the old cap-
tain. “You seem to have a charmed life, for you rode
through the vollied fire of yon red horde without a
scratch.”

“lm lucky, stranger, that’s all,’ said the other, coolly.
“J’m one of Uncle Sam’s scouts, out on a private trip for
pleasure and general information. The Reds have gota
variety of names forme. One of ’em is ‘Little Buckshot,’
because I always send 4 double handfal of that sort of
pepper out of Spitfire, my pet double-barrel, when game
is in'my way. Another is ‘The White’ Whirlwind,’ be-
cause I come and go like a young hurricane on Jagged
Lightning, that bit of creepin’ hoss flesh over there. My
mother, Heaven rest her soul, called me Conrad Went-
worth; and—but hold on, we’ve got to talk somewhere
else. ‘Look there, Just cover me with your rifles, and,
if more than one offers to come back with me, or any
raise a hand while I’m out, shoot, and shoot close.’’

The ‘scout pointed to a group of Indians, some half
dozen in number, whe had ridden out in front of the oth-
ers holding up a white flag.

“Lend me your bi! 0’ muslin, please!’ said the scout, as
he turned toward one of the young women and toucheda
white handkerchief in her belt, and as she bowed assent,
he affixed it to tis ramrod, swung his‘gun at his back,and

 

springing lightly on his horse, rede out toward the In-
dians.

 

As they saw him come out, all six advanced, but he
halted and lowered his flag. Then one advanced with
the flag, and he, raising the same symbo! of peace, again
rode forward until both met just inside a rifle range of
the emigrant camp.

The Indian was made conspicuous by wearing a scarlet
blanket, and from the glitter of his trappings in the light
of the rapidly descending sun, seemed to be a man of note.
He appeared to confer with the scout for a few moments,
then planting his spear in the ground and leaving his
other arms with it, rode with the scout toward the camp.

The young captive had watched all-this with eager
eyes. A look of annoyance flitted over his dark, hand-
some face as he saw the Indian ride back with the scout.

“The great war chief, Red Cloud, my father, is blind
with fear for my life. Iam but one, why should he care
for me, when he could take fifty scalps for mine? Heis
strong like the tempest, and shoulda sweep these pale-
faces away as the wind breaks dry branehes !”’

No one noticed his words—all were watching with inter-
est the approach of the scout and the warrior, who, on a
magnificent black horse, rode by his side, the very em-
bodiment of a Red King of the prairies and hills.

CHAPTER II.

The young warrior, whose eyes were fixed, like those of
nearly all the rest, on the approaching men, was startled
by a touch, and his eyes flashed fiercely, but their stern
light softened when he saw that, pitying his evident
suffering, the younger of the old man’s daughters, the
blue-eyed blonde, was engaged in loosening the thongs
which cut into his flesh till the blood actually oozed from
beneath them.

He did not speak, but his lips quivered, and his great
chest heaved with emotion, and his eyes dwelt on her for
a moment with a look more kindly than he had yet given
in that camp.

The next instant, the two riders arriving, dismounted,
and leaving their well-trained horses standing motionless,
approached the captain, who stood in front of his line of
well-armed, determined-looking men.

“Cap’n Guy, if that’s your name—this ved, here, is the
great war-chief of the Northwest,” said the scout. ‘He
leads 0 great many warriors, and has a gang of half-
breed allies, headed by one Johnny Reshau, whose hair
ll lift the first fair chance I get. That rattlesnake-orna-
mented chap is his son, and he wants to talk us out of
him. If he’ll talk peace, and let us go free across yon
mountains, why I'll give up my share of the ‘Little Rat-

tlesnake.’ If he will not—why we'll swing the young sar-
pint and fight the old one! That’s my say—now let him
talk!”

‘We will smoke first—then talk,” said Red Cloud, with
perfect composure, though the fierce eyes of those armed
men were glaring upon him.

He took from his girdle a hatchet, which, with a bright
steel face, had a pipe bow] in its head, with the tube run-
ning through the handle. It was a strange peace-pipe,
for a half-dozen scalps dangled at different parts of the
handle.

Gravely the great chief filled the bowl of this pipe with
tobacco, lighted it from a coal at the fire, close by,
smoked a whiff, and blew the smoke toward the sky for
the Great Spirit—then one for each point north, south,
east, and west, and handed the pipe to Captain Guy.

“Smoke a whiff, cap’n, and pass on the pipe; he’ll never
talk till you do,” said Little Buckshot.

The captain took the pipe, drew a single whiff and
passed it to the scout. The latter did the same, and the
pipe passed on to every man of the party except the
bound captive,

“Now Ked Cloud will talk to the father of the pale-
faces,’? said the chief. “He looks like a brave man, and
Red Cloud gives a place in his heart to the brave. Why
is the son of Red Cloud @ prisoner in the camp of my

 

SS

father, with his feet and his hands bound? Why does
Red Cloud see a rope around his neck as if he was to he
hung like a dog?”?

“Ask me, great war-chief of the Northwest, ask Little
Buckshot, the White Whirlwind! I speak with no forked
tongue! The Little Rattlesnake is my prisoner, and his
life is in my hands!’’ said the scout.

“The White Whirlwind has eat meat in the lodge of
Red Cloud. He was welcome. Whyis he an enemy to
his son??? asked the chiel, turning a fierce, questioning
look on the undaunted scout.

“Because the White Whirlwind caught the Little Rat-
tlesnake creeping on the trail of the pale-faces. And he
had heard the half-breed, John Reshau, tell him that
white men were on their way to the mountain passes,
who had arms and rich goods, 2nd women, and that if
he would find their camp, the scalp of the men, the goods,
and the women, should be taken. So the White Whirl-
wind watched him when he went away, followed him,
took him captive, and brought him here as a shield for
these pale-faces. For he knew that Red Cloud loved his
only son, and would make peace rather than see him
swing onarope like adog. Then the White Whirlwind
rode back, for he had seen a helpless girl weeping in the
lodge of the accursed half-breed, and he spat in the dog’s
face, and took the maiden on his horse, and brought her
here, where she shail be protected from all harm. I have
spoken. Have the ears of Red Cloud drunk in my
words ?"?

“Red Cloud has heard. The White Whirlwind has
sharp ears. He heard more than Red Cloud did in his
own camp. Heis brave, and the Little Rattlesnake is
his prisoner.’

“No; he is free! yelled the young warrior, whose
loosened bands had enabled him toslip his wrists through
the thongs, and to snatch a knife from the belt of the lit-
tle blonde, and with it to cut the bonds from his feet.

“Free !? he yelled; and, with a single vound, he leaped
upon the white horse of the scout, and lashed it wildly
with the end of the lasso yet around his neck.

Stricken with sudden terror, the animal bounded away,
while twenty rifles were lifted to check the fugitive.

“Hold your fire !? cried the scout, and as he spoke, he
raised an ivory whistle to his lips, and blew a shrill call.

In asecond, the noble animal turned in its headlong
flight, and with a few mighty bounds, returned to its
master; while the Indian, tugging at the reins, and using
the lasso mercilessly, tried to lash it back rv its course,
seeming to forget that he might escape by supping from
its back, and flying, before pursuit was made.

With folded arms, Red Cloud had witnessed the at-
tempt and the failure. He did not move when the scout,
seizing the lasso, roughly dragged the young warrior
from the horse, while a dozen men sprung forward to
seize and bind him.

“The Little Rattlesnake is smart; but Jagged Light-
ning knows the call of his master,’’ said the scout, as he
saw the young warrior tied more securely than before.
“Now let the talk go on. What has Red Cloud to say?
Our ears are open; but the sun is going down, and we
have no time to waste.”

“Red Cloud will buy the life of his son. He will give a
hundred horses to the White Whirlwind if he will let him
go back.to his people.’ .

“The White Whirlwind bas a horse that has no match .
beneath the sky. He wants no more. if Red Cloud will
swear by the Great Spirit to move on with his people,
and to keep peace between them and these pale-faces,
the Little Rattlesnake shall be free to go back with him.
If Red Cloud will not swear this, the White Whirlwind
will hold his son with a rope about his neck, and at the
first shot of bullet or of arrow, the young chief shall die
like a dog, and we, pale-faces, will fight like men.’

“Jf he does not swear by the Great Spirit? What, then,
will become of the pale faces? ‘The Little Rattlesnake .

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

  
  

 

 

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gio He

<< THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3

will die—but they too will all perish. Like the fire on the
prairie, ny warriors will come, and their scalps will
hang on my lodge-pofles,”’

“The Little Rattlesnake will die as a dog dies, and
never see the bappy hun'ing grounds ef the brave who
dies 1a battle. The red men muy come to us like fire on
the prairie, but we will put them out with oor bullets, as
the drenching raip quencies the fire. Let Red Clouu go
back to bis people under the shelter of his white fag. I
he will not Speak the werd of peace, let it be war—we
are ready, ,Are we not, Captain Guy ?”?

“Yes; to fight to the last gusp, with rifles which speak
seventeen fimes without loading. Leb Red Cloud hear
one of thent talk.’ ,

And quick a8 thought, shot after shot, he discharged
his Neary repeatipg rifle, while the eyes of the great chief
flashed with will surprise.

“My father is a gfeay medicine, and his rifies talk sharp
and fast. Red Cioud will speak the werd of peace, anu
suave the life of his Son,’ said He,

“Then swear by the Great Spirit that the tribe of Red
Cloud, bound by his word, shall offer harm to none who
are in this Camp,?? ‘

“Red Cloud swears, and his oath will not be broken.”

And, as he spoke, the chief ited is hands aud eyes
toward the sky.

“The Little Rattlesnake is free;’? said the scout, and,
with his own hands, he lifted the uoose from his neck
aod eut the thopgs which bound him.

The young Indian shook his freed form haughtily, and
every ratcde on his fringed dress rung out like a deadly
Symbol of bis bate. Forno Jook of thankfulness could
be read in his eyes, as they flashed from man to man
alung tie line, but they softened when their glance
reached the fairest of Captain Guy’s daughters, and in a
low tone, he said:

“The Little Rattlesnake will not forget the Lily. She
pitied him and spoke a kind word with her blue eyes. If
death stood before her lodge, he would stand between it
and the Lily.”

He said no more, but turned toward his father who had
leaped on his black war liorse, and now motioned him to
take a seat behind him.

When thetwo were mounted, and as they turned to ride
away in the gloom of the gathering twilight, the young
wattrior slouted In a shrill, exultane voice:

“Red Cloud swore fer himself and his trivbe—not for John
Resthuu ana lus half-breeds. Let the pale-faces think of
this—fur the half-breeds are like wolves—they hunger
after blood, and they will have it.”

“Fool that Iwas not to think of that!? mut'ered the
scout, as the Indians galloped away and were lust to sight
aud-nearing. *‘inat half-breed fiend has a hundred men
at his back—all as bad as himself. We mwst be on our
guard, lor he owed ine an Olu gradge, even before | res-
cued this puor girl from his ciutcnes, But we arein a
good spot—with good watching we Gan prevent surprise,
upd when day dawns we will move. Once in the hill
gorges which leaus to the pass over the mountuius, aud
we are safe!”

“Sulety on these plains is hard to find!’ said Captain
Guy. “But we will trust in Providence or our own
Watchfulness to get through. Forthe sake of the lives
under my care, and my two dear girls, Helen and Carnie
lieve, 1 wish I had waited for a party that is fellowing us,
also bound for the Valleys of Oregon. In that party are
two young men, Who are to be my sons if my girls and
they live to meet On the shores of the Pacific, and they
Would be worth twenty men ina time of need, lor they
are as brave asthe bravest, and skilled in arms. But
there is no use in looking back; set the guard, secure the
stock, get supper, and then all but the guard to rest |’

[All who are pleased with “LITTLE BUCKSHOT” will
please recommend it to their friends.] .

CHAPTER IIL
At the same hour when the incidents narrat
two foregoing chapters were going on, a party 1
bardy-looking men, on Weary and over-marched animals, |

 

with a small buggage train of packed mules, halted tw}

cainp for the night on the Yellowstone, almost, er quite

soutii-east from the Great Missouri Falls, and not far above |

its confluence with the Powder River. Two of these men,
calling each other by the Christian Bames of Harvey and
Omer, led the way next to the guide, wno was a inendly
Indian of that almest extinct wive, the Delawares, wio,
rejviced in the name of the “Big Beayer.”’

The twomen were young, armed, and dressed alike, and
had not one been dark in hair and complexion almost as
a Mexican, While the other was fair-haired and blue-eyed,
they inignt have been taken for brothers, 30

the guide having selected a good place with wood and
water close at:Iaud, Said im the usual curt way of the
partly-ecucated.indian: vi A,

“Good spot—we camp here! Trail of them wé follow.
good and strong. They camp here—stey two days.
River high to cross. See no tre néurer Loan that 7

And he pointed to a sanu-liue lull twenty feet inside of
the present water-line. ; ;

“Then make raft to go over! he added, as he pointed
to arait of daift-wood on Lhe other Lauk of the-now for-
Widable stream. _ i oP Bk Fs

“How Jar ahead of us. are op aren gs 2, Can the Big.

Ou, ©. Oung me

 

Beaver tell?” asked Harvey WiOou, ube of the y ang men

—the blue-eyed one, eer

   

   
 

-

   

an anid

as devils can be made.
out ior bim, for if be sets much by yeu, he'll do his vig
gest to get you back.
alter my hair, too, and he’ll lose no chance ot lifting it!”

tain Guy,
tne prairie from the east.

“A LWO-leggeu One,” said the scout, quietly.
signal-cry.” me

Was right, and (haftheir evemies were on tre alert.
“We'll have to pub Out the fires, till eas at a
et

 
    

vate,’ suid Lituie Bu@ksvot. ‘ib 1su’t col

em, and We Wall NO light to help tue hab h

sentinels to look out for the “hot” of an owl, as is re-
turning signal, ee to shoot carelessly, stole silently
offin'the givom-to reconpoiter, 9 thy

Captain Guy, anxioug aud nervous, remained on the
sentinel liue, hearing, at intervals, the yeiling signals
repeated, but seeing no sign of the enemies Wiu e
them,

The moon was just rising, when an unearthly screech
was heard, apparently very near the camp. In a momeut
every man was on the alert, for it seemed more like the
scream Of an outraged animal than a sound trom human
lips. A minote later the “loW hooting of an owl was
Neurd, and soon after, by the light of the rising moon, a
figure wus seen advancing rapidly.

T e¢ sentinels did not hail, but kept their rifles ready
for instant use, until they recognized the scout. When
he advanced to Captain Guy, he held ascalp of long black
hair, yet dripping with blood, in his hand,

“Itis sort und silky,” suid Captain Guy, as the scont
handed it to him, saying:

“There's a keepsake, cap.”

» “Surely you have net slain and rcalped a woman !”
added the old mun, as he raised the tiophy in his hand.

“Lyeckon not, cup... That’s a hali-breed’s hair, Didn't
you hear him yell, as I let him have a foot of cold steel
jor his supper? He was creepin’ up to see how we were
fixed. Ld waited a long time, and he come mighty near
gviu’ by me unheard, If he hadn't got @ prickly-pear-
husk under his paw, and cussed it a bit, he'd have been
bere iusiead of we, maybe. But we must look out now.
The moon 18 up, avd We'll see fun, if lm not wide in my
gucssin’, You'd best go back, aud make all the womeu
and children go down by the river bank, and roll up 1
their blankets there, where po stray bit o’ Tead, or a
chunce arrow can reach ’em, if we’re fred on."

Captain Guy did as directed, and also aroused every
man to lis arms, to be ready for work, if it should come,
He had but just rejuined the scout, when the latter said,
in a low, sharp tone:

Down—every man down, and don’t raise a head, or
offer to fire till I speak 1?

“Are they coming?’ whispered Captain Guy.

The sharp click of both locks ef the scout’s gun, as he
cocked it, wus all the answer Little Buckshot deigned to
give.

Tne old captain watched every bush and blade of grass
in the direction toward which the scout’s eyes were di-
rected, but could see nothing. to

Suddenly two sheets of fire rolled out from the great
double-barreiied gun, and its report roared oublike @ field

 

scout, rolling overen his back, aud pushing © > hu;
cartridges into lis gun, waile froma little rise in the
front a crowd of yelling fiends sprung, opening a lire
which sent a shower of bullets over.the lieads of tne winte
men, # iv ;
It seemed scarce a second before the gun of the scout.
Arowning the sharper cracks of the rifics on his side, s-ut
its fearful load among the Who were rushing fur-
Ward. See Re 4 ;
Like magic it appeared to Dany es them all away,

    

for not one of tue attacking’ party Was seen erect alter
its deadly contents swept th ‘their rauks.
Bat struggling bodics bere aud there toid of the death
agony, wad then scattering shots fired all along the front
riseived that tue enemy were lamerous and active yet,
but knew mow the vecessity of ke g under cover like
tne defenders of the Cump—pot one Of Wnom had yet re-|
ceived a’scraich, thanks Lo the timely advice of the scout,
“Save your powder and lead, boys——d Shoot till you
see the gume!l” Suid the scout, quietly, ag
Spitfire. «We've laid ont a pretty
“theyll be careful now, But ev
if they can get in afore duylig!
Fora long time there was ne
almost painful to the White
sure froin it tnat mischief

  

    
 
  
 

“scream from the rear.
, followed’ by the quick re+

  
 
    

 

 

if we can get away. That half-vreed, Resnau, is as smart
We've got to keep u Sharp look-

He bas got an awful bhankerin’

“Hark | was that the howl of a wolf?? asked Cup-
as a prolupged yell Came sweeping ver

Auswering yells from three different points, and one
very hear lhe Camp, a Moment aller, told vat the scout!
_}by towing

You can keep a ligbtimside your tent, if you li Out | tering yells of rage, pega
here ’twould only draw danger.’’ ih Ya | more to the attack,
Kivery fire was Instantly extinguished, and the guards | But now the :ange,
were doubled, Then, the scout, pussing the line at a | told ifs worth, anu a8 Ne
point which he com pot mistake in returning, told the | toward their camp, fhe

 
   
  
    
    

ried tie scout, |

    
   
  
   
     
   
  
  
 

Bushwhuackers,”

reached 4 peak that seemed almost 1naccessibie.

points, 4
rapidly |
Made)
‘lighted

    
  

1immense height in tie air.

wu tne dvad branches of the mountain cedar,

Oahot blaze, which cmits s .
‘een moss On U

  
 

  
 

smoke
would be instantly ree
The Indians vue their

  

   

be more Careful ia the

  

oO ;
of the breuk!
yared Wolle he was above,

thought were their chances.
“Good !"* said he.

Cap'n Bates has seen the smoke, hits halts will be few and
lar between till he gets here.

nee ate luey Walted, before we're half done witn
hem

“They're showing & white flag,’ said Captain Guy, ap-
proaching the scout. “Shall we receiveicr? :

*Yes,—with lead [replied the latter. ‘There’s no hon-
esty in a half-breed. . If John Resnau swore a thousand
vats, I wouldn’t believe him. They only throw out tie
flag tu cover some plan of mischief |”? ,

“Might we not save time anu prevent their attacking us
and forcing us to use powder, 1f We pretended to listen to
them ?? asked Cuptain Gu¥._. ,

“We might—but itis risky. I don't care. If you’rea
mind to let one ipan come ian with a flag, send one to meet
him, bat the chap that comes in, red, or half rei, must be
blindfolded and not allowed to see sny of our arrapge-
ments here. I reckon that is all they want to do under
cover of heir dug.”

oT vetll Send Out a cool and trusty man to see what they
want, -

‘Well, tell bim to go with tools on, and be ready to nse
‘ein. A Red is hard to trust, but a hall-breed 1s worse,
ten times over, . They're like my gun, doubie-barrelled
in treachery ; only my gun doesn’t he, When she talks.
Toem Reds dou’t mind thunder, nor care Over much for
lightpipg, But when Spt fire tauskks—the best of em
tremble, Well they may. Sve has laid out more of ’ein,
than I’ve seen months of life-time. Senu out and meet
their flag, if you like Cap, but keep a douvle look-vut,
while w talk is guin’ on, if we have cue !!

{All who are pleased with “LirrLE BUOKSHOT” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

: CHAPTER VI.
The man whom Captain Guy sent out to meet the flag

of truce, offered by the haif-breed leader, was an oid
frontiersman, half hunter and half guide, whom he had

battery in the stil vignt air, — Fempleoyed ww aecom him through, therefore well
“Keep down, but nre ut every bead you see!” cried the | fitted for the duty, and hardly neediug the caution, given

y Captain Guy, in these words :

“Don't jet the red vilain get a sly cig at yeur ribs un-
ares, mea both eyes Open, fer they’re up Lu

wil Sorts of tricks I? ; \

The man smiled grimly, bat

not one of the talking Kind. Le)

iwo revolvers in his belt, Hose

sheath, and gripping Uepry,

       
    
  

ade no reply.
ked at the caps on
his huuting-kulfe i
2 in bis hand, ste

     
     
    
    
     

out with that. and easy gatf, so nutural to a Dur
“Tat iy _ itshin s out of his eyes, and
eut all muttered Little Bucksh

Reds will m out of him, wont amount tom
nothin? adved up into itseli, Ah, bere comes”
Beauty. How d9 you feel, little one Mer"
“Glad, so glad that},
Franukit a low tone, wil
ander light. So

h te
fort rom 0 2

 

ho
you j
“ “By just not
, gal, Pad

and: rejolped ( ig
after biuw, in her

   

“Mus hermoso,

 

ea Ge
f-dozen rifle bullets 1
uy, Showing tue othe

 

“‘Yes—iney have been bere six days gene byJ?
“How fastdo we gain 00 them?’ asavd » er Ch
plain, the durk-eyedone. eee i,
“Wego more If one day than theyin threes” Th
mules slow. xo fast ail same Til

am-

  

       
   

       
     

sity ab nightfall unt
; Yin the most dan-
ke ey. a3 worse than madness |
for lim to press ou With so Many women and children,
aud suc) a small number of men to protect tem.” © .

“Look bere, Harve,” @ried his friend, Omer, who, after
having dismounted, had begur to trace the old footmarks
Mele tue deserted camp. ‘See here, by this: flower-

ank, fh ;

The blue eyes of the young man flashed as he approach-
ed the spot, and a look of joy brighntenéd is counte-
nance.

“Both the girls were here, picking flowers,” he said.

“There is Heien’s track, the lopgest and narrowest; aud
sae is Carrie—short and plamp. ‘This is lioly ground,

mer,’

“Yes, because our earthly angels haye trodden over it,”
Said the otuer, withasigh. ‘I wish they were in signt
now. It seems so long before we can overtake them.
Even now tney may be in trouble. I cannot sleep souud
till we reach their party.”

“Norl. But what is the matter with Big Beaver? He
sees Something which annoys bin.’

And Harvey polated to tie Indian, who, with his blan-
ket thrown back, was keenly louking at fresh trucks in
the sana, near the water’s eage,

“What do you see, Big Beaver?’ aske@ Omer,
Zly wacks ?”?

‘Heap more bad than grizzly.
on—zo fast, too,’ Said the tudian.

“What does the Big Beaver read in that 2”

“He reads this: Indian scouts follow the trait of your
fiends. Maybe they govd—imore likely they had out
here. If Sioux, they jook for scalp every time. Kill ull
Dien, all ola women, all Little cuildren—muke pretty wo-
men prisoner, If Bluckfeet, Kilt ’em ali—madke no pris-
oner. if Suakes, ail tie same. ?

The young men shuddered, and, had their horses been
fit to move, would have issisted on guing on even in the
night time.

But they Knew that without food and rest the animals
could not, even on the morrow, go térward; so, with sad
anu beavy hearts, they took their places in the camp, set
toe usual guards, ate their suppers aud laid dowu—if to
sleep, lo dream, not of their own peril, but of dangers
which might ligver around those Whom they loved better
than Iife.

To such dreamers the longest night is short, and at dayr-
dawn thts party waS crossing the river Ob its way to the
Missouri.

[All who are pieased with “LITTLE BUCKSHOT” will

please recommend it to their friends.]

   
 

  

 

“Griz-

Pony tracks, no shoes

 

CHAPTER IV.

During the startling incidents, which had occurred
Since “Little Bucksiiot” dashed like a real whirlwind
down on his jast-formed camp, Cap:ain Guy Warren had
hurdly taken a measuring glance ut the bold scout, but
now, When the sentinels bud been pusted, and he with
his two daughters and Frankita, the rescued Mexican
girl, had drawn up before he iittle fire 1a front of bis
own tent, to eat supper, in Which the scout was invited
te join, he took a thorough observation ot the man.

Little Buckshot was small, but iis form was clese-knuit
and seemed to be all bone’aid muscle. Every movement
was quick, and denoted immense strengtu as well as agil-
ity. His sharp clear eyes were piercing in their glances,
his face bronzed with exposure, covered in part wih a
short beard, crispy like bis dark hair; told bis age to be
under rather thao over thirty, and firmuess to oustinacy,
Was Us Characteristics. :

Kiven as be ate, the scout kept his arms on, ond his
great doubie-burrelled gun leaded and capped,—Spitfire,
he termed it—was Kept within eusy reach,

“Been lopg on the Plaius?’ asked Capsain Guy, after
he had told the scout to “fall to and help »imseif.”

“Fifteen years, Cap, ever siuce I was able to tote a
pet like Spittire yonuer. 1 like that gun; my father got
it of an old Frenchman in Jackson County, Missouri,
where he used to hve, and the way he could Knock over
game wiih it was a caution to all hooters. It takes a
hanuful 0° bucksbot to a luad, and Scatters like hail, but
it shovls Stropg, and every shot that hits says death when
it strikes. When Spitfire talks, the Reds turn pale, for
they know, soine of them are bound to go under.”

“Yowre a Missouri man, then?’ = *

“Not exactly, Cap. | was porn among the Magnolias,
away down in Fiorida, at Peusecola, if you know where
thatis. The first Red I ever saw was a Seminole, ana I
didn’t like the breed then, and haven't improved on my
hiking any since. Father came north to Missouri, and I
got away from home early, and took te the Plains lke a
duck takes to waters Me, and Wild Bill, and Joe Manne-
ville, suda dozen more, have been chuws ever since, and
I suppose 1’il wear moccasins ull 1 lose my hair. Sissy,
why don’t you eat?”

The lust words were addressed to Frankita, the Mex-
ran girl, Who sat gazing at him with her great, earnest
eyes, as if she could never see enougn of him.

“Frunkita is not nungry ! she replied. “She was listen-
ing to the voice of the brave mab who hus saved her
from worse than death!”

“Nevor mind my talk,—eat girl, eat, or you'll be too

Fasked:

the seemed to be

  

    

scout returned, and whebhe did

€

4

 
 

“« What was'the matter?) - 2
“The cussed hall-breed, Jolin Resh 1,7
the women. be Mexican gal saw ty
aud he bad his arm sroubd lar to lug b
gal—the youvgestat that—ilet hig ba
lifle. He issy 1, af not Killed,
lo jump into theriver, Tle weut dow
if he is dcad, we'll not have much mere
isn’t, we've vot a Neup of fight afore us.)
“Do you thunk Lue lodiaus ure 1a the fight?”
“No. Red Cloud willvever break his sworn word. Bat
there are other Uibes tyan his on the piains, aud tis ras-
cal, Resbau, is rich aud cau buy friends wmong *em ail.
I'm sorry, cup, ifany servin’? that gal bas brougut you
into trouble, but lL couldmtliélpit. I’ve got a calico-frume
one la Nebraska, anda little frame that runs jo me when
Lin home wend suys Charlie, aud I Gau’t see a white wo-
nau ia the hunds of wu red and leave ber there.”
“You are right, my brave Iriend, aud every man in my
party, wiih inyseif, approves of your coarse, and we'll
stuud by you to the lust, Werelt not for your courage
and forethought ia iuking the young chief a prisoner aud
eXtorting peace frum bis father, we would now have tlic
wiole border upoH us.”?
“That's true, cap, but look out,
before dayhght comes, I expect.”
The words hau scureclv teit tie lips of the scout, when
a@olril, eXultant yell rung out liercely ia fremt of the
lipe.
“Thatis Reshan's whoop. I'd know it f.om a thonu-
sand,” cricd the scout. ‘ile got away with life after ull,
tThovgt your gal Wus sure sue ub hini, Creep back*o the
Women, Cap, aud move ’em all away from where they are
quick us thougut, Briog ’em up cluse tu the rocks.on our
rignt. Then leavea gapin the hneof septinels to the
lelt. I think L kKuow what the balt-vigger means to be up
10, apd Pil uot bint worse thug ever he gout louled yet. |
LUurry, cap, hurry 1" = SOenre 87)
Justanily the eld captain hurried away to obey orders,
While the scout fiimseif proceeded to FedlTange the line
of defence tu salt his Lew plaus. =
{All who are pleased with * LitTLs BycksuorT” will
please recommend it to their friends:}

CHAPTER V. , j '
Again all was silentia front, and. Captain Guy, after
plucing allthe Women und ebilured im) anew and much
suler position, had been back alongside Gi Lite Buckshot
near balf en hour before a soulid Was heuruy >
Then, away up on their night, ava’ point from! which no
firing nad taken place belure, thé Cueniysenc in a few’
scatterivg suvis, #) :

  
     

  
 

We've got work yet

pered the scout. *Tacre’sentya few upon the rignt—

the main bouy, wWuich.R: Shou wilDicau, is on tne left,

getiing ready; Let ‘emg. iil take tenmemandgive’om

streaked Ughtulu’ ia; tue rear, wheu,they’re expechiny

the like from among our Women in front; Snere—didntt

tell you so??

Little Buckshot pointed to dark objects creeping in a

Mauss wloug Ww the Jelt of the ne. ,

“Let Jem g05 bo loise Jet, but youten creep in my
trail’? he coutinued, takibg the men nearest: to bink
“Usp, Stuy in frout, please—i’ ye got-a@ll L want!’

Ail wus siient tuw for turee or jour minutes more,
when a single yell of rage aud disappointment breaking
from the lips of the hali-breed chief rose ox the air.

‘dhe beXt second The terrible boom oi Sp-tfire was heard,
and the rides aud the shouts of the emigrants as they

courged toward tue river, rusg oust loud end wild.

The sarpnsed—doubly surprised ball-preeds, did not
pause fer an instant to resist, but sprang forward into
Lbe river, all but sume dezeu of them wne had no life to
spring with, and were in 2 inoment carried by we swilt
current beyon the r scl of the mfemen.

The knile of the scout was busy in a second atthe scalp
locks of his enemies, and he looked keenly in each face
as he turned it up.

“The devil protects his own,” said Little Buckshot.
“We haven’t got Jehu Reshau yet, but we've thinned out
his gang mightily. J reckou he'll let us rest till he can
see what he Js about new?’

And so it proved, Not another shot was fired until in
a cloudless sky the sun rose bexutilul and bight.

Tnen Captain Guy and tre scout, ascending an adjacent
cliff. saw w sight noteculculated to give them any Comfort
when they considered how few they were in number
with SO many perpless ones to take care of. f

For encamped regulariy, in a kiud of semicircle which
fronted their position completely, was not only tne whole
vody of hulf-vreeds, but a large body of Indians, whom
Little Buckshot at ence pronounced to be new comers, for
ue knew their tribe by the shape of their lodges,

“They think they’ve got us bemmed, and I reckon they
are about turee-thirds rightin tat! muttered the scout.
» They calculate to starve us out, 1f they can’t woip us in
fignt. It looks rather dark, Cap.—but I reckon we'll wade
through yet. Jf they'll be on the lookout at Fort Benton,
they’li know my signal, and kuow I wanthelp. You just
post your men alittle further out, and tell ’em to shoot
everything two-legged or four-legged tuat comes in range,

 

 

weak to travel, and we must be out of here by daylight,

“They're gelling ready fora rush en the women, whis- |,

  
 
 

‘ “YS WS 8!
the interchange of words.
The gestures Waxed more 4
talk went on, Until it was
becoming very earnest,  ~
buddenly the Wiute man
band in the fuce of the o
stunned by te biow, yl ae
In a second at lesst a hundred
been massed even nearer io the
white men, were Seen rushing | toe hunter with
wild yells, and evidently intent of teking his life,

Cooily, not in Cowardly baste, he turved toward bis
camp, and when a few bullets fromthe enemy flew past
vim, be halted spd sent shot after Suet iute Lheir ranks
from his Henry rifle, with such swift accuracy that they
fell back iv evident terror at tle great “Medicine gun,”
which could tulk deat ab every breatn, aud breathe
faster than any tea ot their best markswep,

Leisurely the hunter turned resumed his march to
the camp, while tue feliow who bad been stricken down
Witu the flag reguimed his feet, and with a ye of mingled
rage and anger, Jeeving the fagon the ground, regamed
his baffled Companions, Who huddled arowad hint. hear
his report. |

Wat did that chap with thewhite rag-want? asked-
Little Buckshot, when the heater reached the lines,
“Wuat he could never get, and he got what he didn't
want, u bloody nuse and a pairef bung d eyes!’ repiled
ihe bunter. “Why it was JohiaReshaa himscif, ond af it
badn’t been for the flug lL would have Srougut fis hair
in. He Knew 1] respecied thas and when he found he
couldu’t come in here without blinders ov, he got saucy.
i bure it tik be called my motper cut of ber Lame, anu
then I let im have Gne that will keep his eyes off a gun
sight for a week, sure!’ ;

“ifyou had kilied Lim, flag or no flag, Ewould not have
blamed youl” sald Cuptata Guy. “Wout did ie want 7”
"First, the Mexicali gal back for hup8clf. Next yoor
fair-aaired daughter, Miss Currie, for the sen of Red
Cloud. | Next alf ihe vonng women for wives to his braves.
Tnen half our powder wad lead, and lt Our Whisky!’

“Wit d modest. cuss be Was! solid Little Buckshot.
“Don't tremble, Bud o* Beaty’ you'lH vever be given up
‘whe there’s bioed in osr veins. Aud so you kuocked
ibe skupk @odwuys. Give us your fist, Burtie—you're
worth your Weight in sable Skius! Aud tne way you |
cheeked ’em Was a -cautwn to sinners. Old Spitfire
wouldn't have stopped ’em apy sooner. You’ve @ home
if iny héart after tuis, vld bey, and wherever I buitd
tbere's rom under roc or telt-cover fer youl’

“Tiank you, €up—thank you!’ said the hunter, to
‘Whoin praise Ireni such a malas the great Scout was m-
deed precious. “Bue I forgot to tell you ulk that wretcn
said, He swore that if ittook a month tO Slarve us ent,
lied Wave us all in ris power, | To use his own wor ‘s)he’
roast the men, end while they Durned, they Suould see
what women covld suffer!” : : :

~The cuss! Well, be shall pay for ital. Til have him
‘im my power, andif. ve dont bake alittle here, way he
vever singe below. Did.he say avytuing about our
smoke??? : Pha

«Yes, he said he Knew you had, signalled for help, bu
he would have every red wituiaa bubdred mies on the
route tu cut offany oelp comingto you. He had sworn
to Gat your heart apd buria your bones, and he'd do ih!”

“That will not be Ins first broken oath; but no. matier,
We must. look to cutuag deed jor ear steck, for it they
pass in On us, Lhe closef Quarters we buke the more @asily
will they be defended!?

“Helen bas made some pleasant discovery by the sound
ofher voice,” sait Captuin Guy, and he pointed to his
eldest dungoter, wpotad Claavered Up sbout tuidway of
ihe bill to ihe left ofthe Falls, and now stuod there wav-
ing ler pinme@ hat. Gosee whatitrs, Carrie, while we
take steps to earry out the ideas of our brave irieud here
in regard to ourstock.”

“lois. well for ux that the grass is yet green,” said Lit-
tle Buckshot, a8 Carrie, th, lovely bloude, hurried foward
her sister, “Wad 16 been dry, the devus would have fired
it long ago, and then the Nrowse on the river bank would
have been Our only chance for the stock. Let half your
men, cap, cub hay, While the, other half stretch out to
cover teeir work.’ i
' Cuptain Guy gave the necessary Orders, and soon the
men used 10 Such Work, Wilh scythes aud rakes in liand,
were ab work, fy

- [All who are pleased with “LirrLe BucxsHor’’ will
please recommend it to their friends.] ry
CHUAPLER VIL

“What does the Big Beaver see? His face speaks of
trouble in his breast,” suid Harvey Wood,on the second
day after the purty had left the Yellowstone. “Are we
not approaching yonder mountains fast, and have you
not said that before we reach the foot of that range we
shall overtake tuose we follow.??*

“Yes—Big Beaver has said that. But he sees a great
cloud on the prairie between us and the Mountains,” said
tue Delaware, pointing to the north west.

    
     
 

 

thy feil to te ground,

{ the enemy, who had
rtian Wes the tine of

 

 

 

und I'll send my signs yp. If they see ’em at the fort,
aud we cau hold our own voly four days, Cuptain Bates

 
   
   
  
  
  
      
 
     
         
 
 
         
  
      
        
 
   
 
 
 
  
 

Wheelan will have a Chance to show some of tne
talkers that he can fight Reds here, as well as he did the

The scout now clambered up the precipice until ne
Here, for a considerable time, he was observed to be

busily occupird, ana then all at once, at three separate
ree pillars of While smoke were seen ascending

  

  

   
  
  

mp, and with a
a uilch had been

iled cheerfully, when asKed by the girls what he

‘The smoke went up as straight as
my finger, apd they Must have seen it Gown at the forr.

the best in. the regiment, and they’re well moun ed. li

So be easy—we'll make the

  
 
 
    
  

le was k

  

     
   

  
    

 

    
   
   

      

     
        
   
  

          

 

  
     
    

   
  
   
          
     
      
      
  

4° "Pie scout was a swift swiminer, but owing to the light-

 

worizon,

hair we've got.’? .

pressed Wilh the earn: st Manver gf the guide,
“The clo hea

it. Theylar

Great Falls”

  

 
  

ds 1" said Harve

u,for they nay

day under his Ie
2 WHO Luise that-dus

  
     

Weod. ont
“Six hours’ ride, ,
ware, : a
And it is pow the middle of afrernoon. If we ride on
in the night we can pass theny, maybe.”

“Yes—tiere is grass here, aud we Make no dust. Ride
as we go lll nignt, il we see No scout; (then change
course and get tw river soon aS we cab, abd not meet
thpem. We find no water now til we get to the river.”

The young meu knew their guide too well to offer any
suggestidus—he was not only laitbful, but wise, in-his
Way, and their safety lay, astbey well Knew, in bis know-
ledge of prairie-cralt, aud of the Wild Ishmaelites of the
region where they were,

Their hearts were impatient to push forward, but their
eas tolu them to go Wilh bis judgment, and. with it
alone,

So, at a steady, sweeping walk_ they moved’ on, seeing
atevery mile of advance the dust-cload more apd more
pluinly ¥ining to view.

Night was fast coming on, and the sun was low in the
west, when Omer Champlin eried out to the guide:

“Does the Big Beaver see? Weare approacl&ng a second
range of mountalus—a great black range beyoud th:
peuks of snow !”

“Them mountains come to us long before we go to
to them 1? suid the Delaware. “Them mountains speak
a heap of thunder, aud spit fire, by and by P?

“Surely they are not clouds?” said Omer perplexedly.
“My eyes ougut to be good tor something !"?

“They ought to be ; but even 1 can see that what you
have noticed Is a rising cCloud-bauk,”’ said Harvey Woed,
“It comes up fast, too. Will we have a storm, Big
Beaver?’

“Tne sky says so; and the sky is better than moat pale
jaces. It don‘ttella lie. Before we see the big river we
will have more water, more wind, wore thunder, more
fire in the sky than we want, No use to camp either—no
wood to make fire—if we had, too near Red Men to mase
it, Must go, go Ullowe get to river, if 2t is all nig’ af
nothing sivnd in oar way!’ d

“Good. That i the
Beaver to-day !’ safd 1p
way I feel sare we Wi
river?” :

“ifhe and his part.
gloom in his fuce. —«
The sun was not
meet it, aud the g!
line of merch —

f@go—no more,” said the Dela-

  

There isn't but Oue Company Of horse there, but itis one of

  
   
   
    
    
    
            
       
  
      
       
    

talk that has left the lips of Big
e-eyed leader, ‘For :Ome-
se Captain Guy at the

yes,” Said Omer, with

 

d-bank rose“to.
ead over ile

 
  
   

 

    

   
      

r had tu le
zited p

ine clouds rose Ky jut

upd west was §| 1 ness. ;

tore the night n awn over *h :

te s jor his course. 5
ind then to-

    

The guide to
bile Vivid flasn ifs

   
      
  

Patu sultry, suddenly
aud the ruin

   
    
     
 

Close ut hand.
Wo youpg men, W
a the rearol their

      
   
  

were riding
ar y fol-
a sud-
liy kept

ash of
4 so that

tripped

      
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
  

 

   

 
 
 
 
 

canoe,
lioul-
urrent.
dislrer-
b, and

  

taming a si
vuown fae
occupant ¥
pair and
skin garm
nourcts tu
‘fame of
us hear
upon ti
‘eared waunong
HaWk; yet, ha
wWeintroduce bim-

     
  

   

  

lt 1 OG ; t ) himse , “thi

do,”? and S2iziug the oars, 2 the canoe forward at |
rapid Fate Upou the Lurbulenl Current, ay

io afew mowenuts a small island, in the middle of the
river, Gime in view belore hiw. Upon this be at once
made up his Mivd to eueamp for tue night, as the place

  
  

     

suljlise of ine prow ling redskins, os

A jew strokes ofthe Oars, aud the prow of the canee
toucved upon toe shore. Taktug up his Tille, the scout
sprang ashore, snd just as be turned te wake last his
canoe, a great Wind drove it outdato the stream beyond
fis each. :
This proved quite as rious accident to Crance. He coult
ili spare the cance, for he was Unen, at the end of one of
a thireedays'journey. He at once deteraiined to recover
tne truant craft; su divesting himself of bis belt aad
buckskin ever-siirt, Pe plunged into the river and struck
out alter tee GCahve, Wien, by tis time had been carried
sume distance below tcve island.

 

ness ol tbe CaLoe, and the power of the current, 1b had

ae a hundred yards beluw tue islaud before he over-

daule ok aE

With nny difficulty Chance threw himself into tne
cralt, aud seizing ine Ours, headed toward the island... At
that stant a Jarge, bowi-like cauos centaining two pow-
erful Sioux Indians, suet Out from beneath some droop-
ing Willows on tue spore at his right, und stood im direct-
ly between bim andane island, .

Toe scout’s tirst thought was of his rifle, but that, with-
the rest of his arms, wuS upou tie island. His ext

shougut was that of escape, but that was impossible, tev

ulready the rifle of one of tne Indians was leveled at bis

breast, wud be knew ds Siugle Movement Would prove fatal.

The sc a9 itgation was precarious, ‘Phere was but.
hidionre datahe, yet Colt Chauee wus hever Kowa to
wive up abytuing Wiluoeat an effort to save it, Were it ia
lavger.

' Quickly and carefally he measured with his practiced
eye Une distance tha. luferveaed Detween Ms wid Lhe sav-
ages’ canoe, Lien he sprang to lus feet, but as te’ Gid so"
nis Canoe Fecsed vpln ye thomas rifle erueked==he ,
reeled back, then touered forward, threw op his arms
sd Wita a ery of pun, feil forward frum the canoe aud
wus swalluwed up 1a the dep waters of the Fiver.
With a yell of triumph the savages drove their canoe
forwurd! eager to tevr the’scalp frourthe head: of» then
nemy, the dnstart bis hody rose to the surface. But they
were doomed ly Girappuvintmens, The bedy @idmos ap-
pear. They drove thei Cauve hither aad ebither, frying
iv penetrute the deptus of the water With their Dashing,
serpentlike eyes—uow watchwg ether siyre lest he
might escupe unbarmed by swimming under the water,
But their search was all lu vain, their victory, was turued
imo Geleat, fur Lie real victery of aarladian lies in wis se-
curing a'victian’s scalp.
At lust bey gave up the search and headed their course
toward tpe shore, | A. '
By (nis time it: was:sunset, and having anded and made
fast their canoe, tee savages) went back a few rods into
the umber aud ita fire. Thisidene, thoy filed therrpipes»
aud stretched tuemselves upon tie ground, aud began
siveking und talking.

Scaresly an hour had elapsed when a easual observer
might nuve seeu the Indians’ canos) move svently out
irom the shadow of the shure, provelled by Sorne NUuScEen
power, -Haviug redcned tie middle of the stream, ) 16
turned and moved up toward the island ab & sutprising
rapidity. ‘In @ few moments the island was reached, and
the next instant Cell Cnance, the scout, arose ap frou)
under Loe wide projecting rim) ol the canoe, free and uu-
hurmed, Save where the savage’s bullet had: raised a
large, red welt upon bis.cueek,

“Hal bul hal’? burst triumphantly from the scout’s tips,
the moment he stoud upon ive isiand, ‘my red beauties,
Con Cuance is nor, tbe bey to. be cangut nappin’, Hal hat’

The savages heard bis triumphant laugn, and started
up with a crf of surprise, and ran to where they hud fust-_
ened their canoe, to find it gone,

Tue scout saw thier dark forms moving along the shore
in tie Shadow of the trees, and atence bruught his rifle
to bear upon them, but with wiat effect he was unable to
tell.

But let us see bow the scout made bis escape.

As we said before, he measured with his eyes, the dis-
tauce that intervened between bis and the Savages’ Canoe,
and then in rising to bis feet, he rocked his canoe so as
10 divert the Savage's alm, and the moment he fired, Coll
plunged into the river, and swimming beneath the sur-
face, he arose directly under thestern of tue savages’
cahve, Wich being rounded at the extremities and quite
flaring at the top, completely screened the scout’s uusab-
merged head trom view of those within the canoe,

 

“Pooh! There is hardly a squai iu that, It is not

even dark enough for rain,’’ said Omer Champ‘ain, gianc-
Ing at the Cloud which seemed to lay low on ile disiant

“That kind of clond rains blood,” said the Indian.
“That kind ef squall can blow hard enough to L.ft al the

“Wbat ao you mean?” asked Harvey Wood, now im-

Hy {| re

      
    
      

j oo untihs

fang migus 1
greeted her eur, bile 3 5

i ship u-hoy | Slip a-hoy ! saved—rescued from a living
acath eee ae eae ie

 

 

 

enabled to keep his place under the wide rimmed canoe
without the least inconvenience, And thus, while the
redskins were watchiug fur hisdead body tu rise to the
Sarfuce of the stream, ne was Very snugly und quite safely
ensconced directly under them within arms’ reach,

Tbe scoul Was not troubled farther that night, and the
pext Morning resumed his journey unmolested,

In conclusion 1 Say, this is Bdbuneofr tne thousands
of adventures thr M 32

p ass whose spirit of
adventure bas led the ‘datigers anu hard-
Ships of th 2

 

 

    
   
 
  
    
      

  

r to eave you so
wife, on the eye
18 voyage.

sani Cap
of his departure on a 1¢

‘Ou, Edward, I cannot bear the tiOMght of tunis long
separation. I never had such misgiviags-when you bave
been going to sea before, and 1 pray you @ven now ua! this
late Mument to abandon the idea, You have means sufii-
elent to start & “solve business which will allow you to
remain ome with your family.”

“What, Maury dear, would you haye me abandon the
ship, which ior ten years I have guided successtully over
the perilous sea? No, my darling, not until after this
voyage; for I have an opportunity of making a fortune in
purchasing Eastern goods for the company, and sharing
the profits. Andif lam successful, Ishalleome home a
rich man.’
|... The good ship Dindoosten Jay.at anchor, which on the

morrow would bear Captain Edward Verben again far
} frem his native land; aud through the lopg hours of that
aight poor Mary Vernon tessed resilessly u por tee hea.
Ever and aon a balf-stifled ery wonlu escape. ber lips.
Atlast her busband slept. Sheraised berselt quietly aud
rested her head upon her hand, aud gazed upon the calin
and beloved face of him she so dearly loved; then upon
(ne Curly-headed little fellow who had fallen asleep upon
his father’s arm, then bevt her bead and touched her lips
to the dimpled cheek, A smile flitted over tue face of the
infant sleeper, and he lisped:

*Papa’s big sip, lots ub big ights——"

“Dear little one,’ sie murmured, “he is dreaming of
papa’s sShip.”’ /

Now her lips touched lightly her husband’s forehead,
when suddenly his brow darkened, his features became
disturbed; he moved uneasily, aud whispered:

“Mary, the ship; she is goin: —tire! fire !* he shrieked,
and sprang Jrom bis bed delirious with the maadening
icrtanes of & hight-mare. \

Mary sprang from her bed and grasped the arm of her
husbend, when to ber vision only, the room instant y be-
cume flooded with a brilllance which a thousand lighted
torches could not surpass. Ove end of the room, as
thovgn by wagic, seemed to have been removed, and the
gorgeous splendor extended over a vast eXpanse of sea,
where, upon tre boiling billows, tossed a burning ship.
She beard the creaking and fullivg ef the timbers us they
splashed into the sea, amd te shrieks cf tne dying, ag
they plunged beneath the seething waves, to save them-
Seives Irom a W death, She still gazed on with the
same wiki star though reading the luture. upheeding
A stious of husband, #8 to her singular appear-

’ Slip turced partially around, aud she
indoostan;” aud then all became dark,

      

 

 

  

 

‘returning consciousness. “What was
ime,” he suid, ruising her tenderly in his
m

8. .
, Edward, your ship will be lost,’? she murmured, *
hen she teld-him of her visien.
tuin Vernon suuddered visibly, but tried to reassure

ae ‘Edward, you had a dream, did you not, of the
ship 7°? 4
“Nothing but a night-mare, darling.’
But Captain Vernon never forgot his dream, in which
had appeaed to nim the same vision nis wile iad ue-

scribed. “3p ti ke : ;

Sleep cam@ not again that night to their eyes, and with
the early duWn tuey were up, p pg for the departure.
Toe hour had Come When ain Verpou cou'd linger no
longer with th@se ne loved, aud so be caressed his beau-
Ulu boy, adme@nisiing him, ‘not to forget papa.” Then
ne held lis wee ge wife to his strony, brave, lov-
Ing heart, spew yords of comfort, and ly tearing
himself from : ace, he rasheéd trom the house
whist t wD gars, wich he had supp!
wife's : 5

“Three
ov ck a Me

But of

  

            
   
     

      
  

 

    
  
   
 

  

  

     
    
 

  

  
   
    
        
   
   

good ship
thie tiles
the wife and ot
fo TOU TOF TCM .
Ol the Ship bud long
Oue bizht as Mar
scp, sgaln she W
pecuine suffused wi
held in the distane
wa je ocean

 
    
  
    
 
 
    
      
  
 
 

 
 
 
   

ae ,

wen

   

 
    
  

. x - ss ¥

_ The yision vanished, and again Mary Vernon sweoned.

Abd When she returned to consciousness.’ her litthe Ed-

bitterly, sobbed:

la bramia, I thought yeu were dead.”
“No; vert I was only a litue faint?

would bean admirable one to guard agaist a sudden vie stood vathing ner face “1m cucl Water, aad weeping

Mrs. Verbon clusped her boy to her bosons, and prayed
ferveutly fur the returnol ber iong lost husband. Fora
Udie Sue Tioped; then when turee months pas-ed, aod
winter bad come and spread her cold white pail upon the
earth, and her health had failed ber, so that sbe was no
tonger able tu keep tne “weit from the dovr,’’ hope de-
verted her.

And now a fearful storm had set in for the night. And
Mary knew traut she nad not feod to keep them from
siffering from the pangs of punger another day, she bad
striveu livrd to finish tue garment which luy in her lap,
that she might send it bome andi receive the pittance
which was fo be paid her. But finding it out of the ques-
hon ’she laidit aside, aud arouse to prepare their frugal
meal. , vy .
The good villagers were just lighting up, when an oid
mun, (apparentiy,) with boweu bead, sud white hair, and
beard, ‘bul nicely trimmed, poorly clad, and bearipg upon
bis shoulder, Witha stick thrust throogh it, a Small bun-
48, plodded alopg toward the Iitie Ope story collage of
the-sailur’s widow, ound earefally ublutehed the litle
wicket, and preceeded up the narrow path, The shades
were Stilt up, and-he stepped to ue Winuow, and peered
la.

_ Avcandle was burning upon the tables which had been
placed 1 a] of MiB SPENT OR, and coveréd witn

a cleaa, ite Glot®. Belore Ibe mwoelverip ré stood
Eddie Verpbon, a bright and Dandsome boy of nage years,
Mrs. Vernon had just issned from a pantry, and laid upun
tie balf-dyibg embers a herring, saying;

“Hane darnug, it iswdb we havet«-pight, bat perhaps
tive geod Lord wili send us Something more to-morrow,”
aud turmvg her, head; taat- ber. ight motsee the
uisery sue telf, and wiped away.a tear, BALL a
“Thank Heaven !? murmured the man at the window,
“they aré alive tuough suffering from the bitter paugs of
hunger.’ And stepping lo the Jocr he tapped hgltiv.
My good woman,’ ne said, as she opened tue doer, “my
good » Omuh Can you give me a morsel of food? 1 have
walked far and have nut money to gu to a hotel.’

The widow looked first vt the s rupger, thei at the sin-
gle herrivg vpon the Goals, which now emitted a pleas.
apt odor to the halffamisved motver ana child, tien at
Ler boy, and teurs filled ner eyes, us spe said? :

“My poor man, yoo shall share our frugdl meal. The
singie herriug upon the coals is my all, save a small-bit
of breud; but you shall Share Jt) for who knows but my
poor hasbund mdy be @ “wanderer upon the earth, and [
give auto yoo that I would tnat others Should @ato him.’*

Tney were seated at the table,

“My good sir,” she said, *it is my custom to ask God
to iced ee He bestows upon us.” And, so Saying, she
howed her head, closed her eyes. and as Gud to bless
the siugle berring, and make it sufficient for tneir wants,
as Christ blessed the five loaves and the twe small fishes,
whicn served a multitude? 7 \

“Ammen ! responded the stranger, and springing to his”
feet, while tears of joy rained down bis sunburnt luce, he
clasped tne amazed woman in his arins, crying: “Maty,
daring wife, do you not know me?” and vrawing bis
arms iuore tightly around her, ve called Eddie tu come
and Welcome liome his long-lost father,

Theu, with his wife's head still resung upon his breast,
he told how his snip bad been burned sf sea, and howhe,
with two others, had escaped iu one of the lifeboats, and
found their way to a beaa'iful istatid, entirety yuinbabit-
ed, and ‘how they nad subsisted upon ibe irdits, which
grew in abundance, and watehed daily, for years, fora
sau, but nene cume; aud how bis comrades had sickened’
and died, leaving hiin alone; apd How, fimall ally, wien lope
had deserted him, one of his company’s Stips had beeo
driven out or ber regular course, in a gale, and finding
their water-casks low, bad stupped there 1p hope of find-
ing. fresh water; and how, alter hearing his story, had
told him of tis wif and cnild, and of ihe little cottage tne
good villagers had built fer her; and then they had taken
him on board, clothed aud fed him, and brought him
home at last, vs ,

Captain Vernon had saved from the burning ship a few
thousand dollars, belonging to his company, which they
immediately voted as his, and adding afew more fhou-
sauds to it, which epabled bim, to establish a business
which would allow him tospend tne remainder of hus
days with his family. :

 

 

By keeping his body under water, and holding on to a
Small projection on the side of the cauioe, the scoat was

So, indeed, did God bless the single herring, and mi! @
it sufficient for the wants of those whe asked the bleming?
q ¢ i

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if

 

 

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oo Sra *

 

 

 

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Samanta tla?

seme tiie

[annette

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air of paving served Sir Jamieson there ail his life. Every-

.o shrinks from owing

  

willlet thisimportant business—this gravest business of

tion of his countenance.

“dipped. from ‘the first.

Ss

FAREWHLE.

 

BY JENNY STOVIN.

 

1 will forget thee!—ali thy Jove, thy youngand blooming face,

Thy voice of music, noble soul, and form replete with grace;

And thu3 wili fimg thee back thy heart—back thy devotion
cast, ; i

To seek in joys of coming years oblivion of the past!

I will forget the; I—take away that wreath of faded flowers,

Those letters, and that curlof bair, gifts m our: happier. hours.

And wher they are reclaimed by thee, and we haye looked our
last, : ‘ .

Then Ishall seek forgetfulness, oblivion of the past.

I must forget thee—turn aside thy cheek bedewed with tears,
Lest it should rise up in my dreams to haunt my seul for years.
‘Farewell! it is tor futur: good our lots have thus been cast,

Do thou leok for forgetfulness, oblivion of the past,,

 

WHO DID

Lady Violet Marry ?
Sa ue: Serer

“Mystery of the Black Diamond.
_ By HELEN CORWIN FISHER,

AUTHOR OF “THE UNLOVED WIFE,” THE CURSE OF iy-
is ERLEIGH,” ‘WOLF OF VIGNOBLE,’”? ETC. ;

 

(‘Lady Violet” was commenced in No. 27, ..Back numbere
ean be obtainediromany News Agent in the United Siates.] «|
CHAPTER XXII
wis ual 4 FOILED.

We left Lady Lowndes and Sir Jamieson waiting for
lunch, which came up promptly, an exquisite little repast
exquisitely servea in antique, uearly priceless old china.

The wine waslike wmelten gold, aa exceedingly rare
vintage the baronet.explained to Eleanor, which had been
presented, a quantity every year, to his motber by an un-
Cie in France; jis mother was a Frenchwoman.

“1 take it as an epcouraging token,” he aaded cheer-
Tully, “that this wineissent because we used always to
cali it my mother’s Wine, und the botier must have in-

       

“Thank you, Rufus,” said my Jady with another of those
bright kivdly looks, which, belug tue lavguege of her
own ae Went straight to tue hearts ef those on whom
it fell. : ,

“We are going tothe drawing room for awhile,” she
added; ‘if there shuuld be anything bnew, yOu muy come
.to us there.’ , : ‘

“iad we not better show ourselves to the servants,”
asked Sw Janueson, anxiously. **Mudame haus so much
influence?” ;

“By no means, Rhodes or Rufus will let us know if we
are needed. I saw a plano In ibe drawing-room; situill

we go there? Would you like to hear ine play?”
The baronet ass: nted, with some hestaling anxiety,
though he wis passionately 1ond of music. ;
- They found the prano in excellent tune, and Eleanor'’s
voice proved 10 be a maguificent oue. i

Never did a fuvorite prima-donna exert herself more to

sing well—te eXpress Whut she sang; and those were

{triumphant sheuts, pweaus of victory, Jubilant, exulting,

‘Wilich puured from her lips.
his anxiety in listening to her.

Madame, Waging a fruitless contest below, heard and
raged ipwardly, as Eieanor meant sue should

ln the midst Rutus came,

“Rhodes thought you ought to know,” he began; “there
ig a Stranger with Mr. Fred, and he’s about as good a
talker as Mr. Fred’s mocher 1s."? ,

“A strapger!’? excluimed Eleanor, ‘Why didn’t you
say so at first’? ay

“He’s only come, myady, and he says he’s a doctor,
and ve knows d}l about Sir—Sir Jamieson‘’s complaint.”

Eleanor glanced at her husband's face, but his hand
concealed it, : ;

“He says,” pursued Rufus, “that he’s willing to meet
Sir Jamieson before them all, and give his honest opinion
ou the case, and—and I know he’s a rascal, my lady, by
the scar on his fuce. No man ever got a cut like that
honestly.??

“What is that, Rnfus?? demanded Lady Lowndes, with
a Violent start, “What was that you said avout @ Scar?
Descrive this doctor; perhaps I Know pim.”

“it’s a purple streak, up so,*? said the man, drawing
his hand across his face, “lt pulls one of kis eyes Su he
can’t shut it.

For her life Eleanor could not: have suppressed the cry
that broke through her peliid lips.

“It is Copway ?? and she tarned and laid her trembling
hand upon her husband's shoulder. She had been brave
as a roused Jioness tur iiimi; she was a shivering coward
before her. old peril.

An indeseribuble change passed over Sir Jamieson’s
somber tuce, as the woman he had already learned to
worship, leaned heavily upon him and murmured faintly
“save me }”?

Lier liusband forget even

 

tended a compliment sending it to her son.”

Eleanor siniled indulgently. She was giad to hearbim
Speuk in thut tone avout ever £0 triflung 4 matter, Cour.
age was tne one thing needful, she argued jast now.

Though thelast-ef May, vhe days were cool encugh to
make tlie low blaze iu the grate pleasant, aud the lunch
Was 2sbccesSe . . a2 1

The barotet's handsome, pensive countenance had
Mghteped considerably by tne Lime it was over,

He started slightly when the aoor bell rang, but to his |
Wile’s satisfyction, displayed no trepidation, Even Elea-
nor looked exclied wuen aknock come almost immedi-
ately at the door of the boudoir,

it was, bowever, cne of the footmen with a letter ~a
somewhat formidable looking affair, in a large wrapper,
With tbe busivess card of Messrs. Layton & Dresser..Solici-
tors, stamped inoue corner, ‘

The sect within had the same stamp on the upper
margii., its parport wasin a most formal manner, to re-
guest the presence of their esteemed and honorable client.
Sur Jawicsor Lowndes, Baronet, at their, office on business
ofthe gravest and utmost impurtance to, himself. Noth-
ing but ai cyerpowering, and conscientious regard Jor
them esteemed and hovorable client’s oWn, interests de- |
tained Messrs. Layton and Dresser at tueir offices, pend-.
igg his arrival. ; {

Lady Lowndes had read so far with her husband. look-
ing cver with her, She lifted hereyes to his at tunis mo-
ment, ia wonder and perplexity.

“Whatcon they waut? Something very serious has ec-
curred, without doubt, We must go at once.”

Hieaner looked grave and doubtful, as she glanced back
ab the mysterious epistie.; Her eye caughs, the word
. “over? In parenthesis, in the lower rigut-hand corner
of the sheet. 4) i : ‘

‘Stop,’’ said she, “here is something more,” turning
the lealey. 4 4 7 ; {

There was a postscript, which said, that expedition
beitig of the ulmiest importunce, Mr Layton bau ta-
ken the liberty 10 send: nis own Carriage, Wuich happened
be Be aL ELE RI0Or.* | ‘ Bs

“Sat 3s very fortunate; very thoughtful, really,’’ said
Sir Jamiesern. ‘You will go with me, Eieanor?”

Gut to his astonistiment Lady Lowndes laughed scorn-
fuliy/as she twisied the letier brher fingers, |

* My deur Lbusband,” shesuid;' “Ll am very glad to get
this letter, because it shows tc what desperate expe-
ents our enemies are compelled to resorf. IT think we

 

 

Messrs. Layton and Dresser—take care of itself,”

“What dc you meat?’ i nN

“That your lawyers never saw that letter; that itis a
vile fabrication to get you into the power uf your ene-
mies If I went with you, 80 much the better. ‘They could |
put us beth in a madhouse, Lsuppose, if ties hat money .
enougti to pay the necessary bribing expenses.” - 4

Tie baronet was pale with wuuzement and horror,

Lavy Lowndes turned to the feotman who still stuod
there. | ‘ $Sf64 - BOD FHOTy 45.3
“The man waits 7”? she asked. *¥.s 3S

“Yes, my lady.” wile a 9a
Sve smiled at the “my lady.” A pbtnied cer att oS
cease Jean trust you,” she said, looking brightiy
athine yt ae 7 yo te (etdisore an |
“Indeed you can, my lady... The most, ofus have had
our doubts. We haven’t them auy more, thanks to your
neva ane begging your purdou for saying ity?”
‘Jamieson exteuded his band lippulsively, yet with
a

s

  
  
 
 

Si
Bey and was lof ustaiied to let the Mian see tie tears
tat giitered in his Sut eyes.
' ©Thank you, Wyuus,”’ he suid. “I ought to have known
my futner’s Gld servants had their hearts im the mgt
places, if 1 dign™% know how to find them.”’.

Rufus bowed Pespectfully.

“{ should like %@ See the man who brought this letter,”
Said my lady. «aoe, ;

Rufus quuted the room and returned with the messen-
ger, a low-prosyed, sullen-locking fellow, wuese small,
reu eyes uvoided Lady Lowndes’ peuetraung glunce per-
sistenuy.

 

Eieanor sipped from her finger a ring with a very fine
Solitaire diumonhu, a present, hor Jast birthduy, from Lady
Violet. Showy it to the nia, glittering on the palin of

her hand, se said:

“Messrs. Layton and Dresser never sent you here. Own
up as te who did send you, und you shall huve tuis ring.”’

The fellow’s greedy eyes fastened on tiie fasumg stone
a long moment, then he shoo her a furtive, cunnivy look.

“Jus! say who l shall own up Lo, and it’s all rignt,’? he
Said, cautiously. ‘ 2

«“Tjiat is answer enough,’’ said Eleanor, coolly return-
ing tne ring to her finger. “Su Jamieson and myself de-
sire you te convey lo your mistress our regrets that sue
Shoulu have been to such unnevessary trouble on our ac-
count.” : ;

The man relapsed into more than his former sullenness.

“Be you going ?” he sald to the baronet.

Lacy Lowndes touched the bell at her elbow.

Rhodes presented himself.

“Couduct this fellow down,” she said, sternly, her eyes
flashing sudden rage; ‘and when you get him to Lue dour
Kick lum out.” Feit) 7

Tne sulky valet squared himself for resistance. But
Rhodes on one hand unu Rufus on tne other, collared hun
aud marched him off accurding to orders, He began to
Deg before he had gone hall-way. But Rhodes shook his
head and fooked obstinate. ©

“IVI ve only & taste of what your. mistress has had
served out to her betters.” he said, and faithfully exe-
cuted Lady Lowndes’ bidding, when they reached tue
door, |. i

The afternoon passed, and as it lengthened, without
bringing Madame, or any news from her, Sir Jamieson
grew more and more self-confident, By dinner time he
Was like ali emancipated schoolboy, in tie joyous eXulta-

Eleaior Was, secretly, very anxious; but she did not
suifer 1t lo appeartin ver countenance,

Dinner Was seryedin the handsome dining-room,. where
Sir Jumieson’s father Imd dived before him, and Eleanor
Sat in the seat his own motnet had once occupied.

Thanks to the inflaeuce of Lady Lowndes, cautiously
brougut to bear in that direction, the servants had the

thing was in its place, and wore @ natural look. If any-
thing, the respectiulgess of those who wailed upon the

n was overdone. Bat neither the baronet nor: his lady
were inclined to be Critical in that respect.

Considering that ne had never occupied the head of his
OWn table Defore, Sir Jamieson behaved adinirably.

“Suall I leave you to take your wine alouc?” Lady
Lowndes asked, rising with smiling ceremony.

Then she diooped inte asektnear him, for she saw a
lurking shadow gathering om the face tuat hau alreagy
grown so dvarto ter. Only fourteen bours, and a liitie
more, and yet 16 segined,.to her she had lived a lifetime,

“I had almost forgotten how my,own wine tasied,”’ the
baronet sald wiih a pensive siniies “f must have been
borl With a very small soul to Nave let my fate conquer
mie 80. longs > - yr

“So that is the cloud,’ thoughtHleanor.. “In spite of
all that long and horrible attempt to break his spirit, he
bis release to &@ Woman.”

Sue laid her hand gently on bis arm.

“You were like-a bird whose Wiligs had béen kept
You had no opportunity to iy
your own strength. You are net the tivst man who las
found his maniivod through a woman's faith in’ him.”

Theilarge somber cxemapt the burenes turned full upon
fis wile, | 82 i #2 iG Dy. s -7

end you have ‘faith In me, Eleanof, in spite of my
ignorance, my inefliciency, my cowardice?”

’ oie are notreally any ofthese. You will justify yet
athe most royal ta th woman ever kept for manu—wife
eh k for u nusband.” ree

_ The baronet gave her an eloquent glance. As the
‘rose {rom the table, the pair seo y auticed the Bhaikcks
of adiniring awe which tne servants, who had just at-
tenned them, cast upon each. ;

They re ;
@ little pasbeight Rufus came tapping at the door. .
"She: that was. Lady Lowndes,” (that was his way
ef putting it,) “is in the servants’ hall talking them up,

4

 

| a low Voice.

retumed slowly, atm-ia-arm, to the boudoir, and |

That manhood, which long oppression had seemed to
Smother, wus only sinvuldering. iu leaped to flame as
lle ereatare he Joved clung to him, helpless with frigut,

‘My treasure,” he said, bending over her, ‘1 wild save
you.”?

He put her in a chair and moved toward the door, his

sured. [ bis: “~y

Eleanor clasped her hands.

“Where are yott going?” >

“To face them,” he suid. “I’m brave enough now I’m
fighting fur you.. Do you mind being left alone? That
Iman shall net pass the servants’ hull without he does 1t
over iny body.”

Eleanor rose from her chair and sat down again.

“f would go with you if I could, but I can’t.”

“It is not pecessary,”? said the beronet in a voice so
changed with firmuess and spirit that it turilled his wife
through and through.

Had a bombshell fallen suddenly through the ceiling,
Madame and ‘ber goadjutors would not have been more
startled than they were by the sudden appearance of this
princely gentleman, with Rufus respectfully conducting
im, . : ; ;

Rhodes and one or two others ranged along beside him
the instant be entered the hall, and he stood end looked
beyond his enemies to the rest with a proud and suleien
uuen, a calm, sad smile. Ile did net know it, but that
moment tris resemblance to his dead father, Whom many
of these had served, struck straigat to the hearts of sume
of those around. Hespoke te ce ef the footmen:

“Will you show these persons out, Wilbur?’ he said
quietly, yet with a stulely, impressive dignity more than
ever like his father.

Madame advanced toward him, leaning upon thearmo
the pretended doctor. $

“He is very daugerous when he is excited; don’t excite
him, Wilbur,?? she suid in a voice of pretended anxiety.

Wiibur stood stil. Rhodes and Rufus drew nearer to
Sir Jameson. ;

She large, melancholy eyes of the baronet turned upon
Mudame with «a sudden blaze of awfal rage.

“Woman,” Le sald, in the low tones of concentrated
passion, ‘if you do not go this instant, { shall forget that
you were ever my father’s. wile, aud remember only my
wrongs. I warn you.’ sa ;

Conway, for the pretended doctor was indeed he, began
to bluster, but Rhoues came to Madame’s side.

“he hus two loaded pistcls under his Coat,’ he said, in
“Now, lf youstay, youcan’tsay you haven't
been warned.”

Madamie’s flushed face grew white. She had that in-
shictive cowardice wuhich is always part of a mean na-
ture. She whispered something in Conway's ear, end
together tucy turned and left tue room Without a word.
{All those who are pleased with “Lady Violet,” will

please, recommend it to theit friends.] Se
stg on) DE | CU APTER RUE
PRE FALSE) VALER.

  

ei
Mak;

ic: @
‘| “Nothing conld have been softer, more supple, and in-

sinualing than Beairix Dudevant was now. Ail her plans’
had been changed by the discovery that the earl’s imuzr-
riage depended upom Lady Violet’s. If she had ever
cared for the handsome guardsman seriously, that was
all over now, and the sisterly, Unfllytable mamer in which
she bore herself to him, was. quile edifying to see.

“Poor Captain Evelyn,” she sighed in Lady Violet's
ear, and wound.an ararcaressingly avoat ler. “How can
you treat hiw so, darling Vio? If any one nad ever cared
half so much forme us he does for you, L should have
married long age. Men very seldom love as we do, do
they dear?”’

“You ought to know,’? answered Lady Violet, coolly;
“vou have tried so many of tem.”

“Spueful ung!’ thought Beatrix. Then, to Lady
Violet wit a soft laugh: **You dear funny tease you. Did
you say that lo Change the subject? You needn't wink L
shall give it up so, and Ican tell you, if you let Captain
Roy go up to London without matters being settled be-
tween you, you’il lose him. He’s a very popular fellow
umong ladies, and itis by no means certain ne won't be
Lord Evelyn yet.”

Tue whole ef this speech, which was like many others
that hada gone before in kind, was infinitely more offen-
sive in degree to Lady Violet.

Her checks burned as she turned toward Beatrix, dis-
engaging herself trom her encircling arms, and Saying:

“itis ume you and | understood each other, Miss Du-
devant. Pupa’s life hangs upon a thread that any serious
agitation 1s lable tosnap, or I should say this before him.
itis your right perhaps to know, thatif your becoming
Lady Evglesc ifle depends upon my marrying Captain
Evelyn, you may as well resign all hope.”

Lady Violet was moving bawghtily away with the last
word. Beatrix began: to cry.

“—T don’t Know what makes you talk so to me, Vio.
What fave I dene?”?

Lady Violet did not seem to hear her.

Beatrix locked alter her sulkily.

“If ever 1 do get tne chance,’’ she said, clenching her
small fingers, "ill pay you, hateful thing. VI Know
what’s at the bottom of your airs about Evelyn too, if [
live long enough.”

Sne met Lady Violet with unchanged sweetness at the
first opportuaity, and though sue never veutured to give
aoy more advice, her maneuvers to bring the two—Cap-
tain Evelyn and Lady Violet—together, would have tried
a less sensitive tesaper than my lady’s, and were the oc-
casion of the ever sanguine and easily uplifted youug
guardsman beivg snubbed more mercilessly than ever.

“Pray, sir, are you in league with Miss Dudevant?”’
Lady Violet demanded, when sheTound herself constantly
paired off with hiin inspite of herseif.

The tawny face of the tall captain (tawny still in spite
of his illness) flushed, The soldierly prown eyes dweit
on her with mingled sadness and hauteur.

‘Lady Violet knows as well as 1 do, thatI am incapabie
of leaguing with any one for the purpose she meuaus.
But I should be neither man nor soldier if I neglected any
honorable opportunity to try and win her. Plcase to hear
me out, my lady. Isihall never cease trying, till either I
have wou you or ain dead. If thatis delirium, make the
most of it. 1's a delirum I hope to die in at any rate.”
And with that he made a low bow and marciied trom the
room.

“Ie deserves that I should tell him the truth, and ac-

yet Whimsical comment, on what had passed,

Immediately after the receipt of his letter by her father,
Lady Violet bad written to Conway to warn him, tnat any
petruyul of the truo state of affairs to Lord Eagiesclitte,
should be followed by his arrest at Whatever cost. Of
eourse the ex-convict laugned ata threat like that. His
communication to the earl had been too vague to do
more than irighten Lady Violet, even if lier luther had
read It, but of course she did not Know that.

The returned convict balanced Fis time between Lon-
don, where he prosecuted an ever fruitiess search for
Eleanor, and the vicinity of Eaglescliffe, were he lay in
wait like sume ugly spider’ watching tue silly fly his web
had tangled.

' Ho eyed tlie broad Eaglescliffe domains cautiously, and
said to himself, “All these may be mie yet, 1t is only w
question of pluck.”

He knew that Captain Evelyn was still domesticated at
the Cliffe, and vented “curses not loud but deep” on the
unconscious guardsman, first for having ever been born,
second for persisting in living, and third for being ut
Bugilesclitfe,

1t happened that just at this time Malcolm, the earl’s
valet, fell heir to a small property in Scotland, and ab-
ruptly quitted service with his lordship. The udvertise-
ment for a new man Conway saw, and was at once seized
with a brilliant idea, He would apply for the place, and,
in the absence of references, Lady Violet should obtain
him the situation. There was only one serious obstacle
to this sclieme, and that was Eleanor.

‘He went boidly to the Cliffe, asked for Lady Violet and
Sent a sealed note to her, ; ;

He waited, standing like a menial in the lofty, nalatial
apartment styled the Great-hall, scowllng durkly with

 

 

apd Mr. Frec ts with her. But we’re all stout, and them
of Us tat 13 rhuky, Rhodes, keeps right to the mark.”

envy of the magnificence about him, and nerving him-
self, for he knew Lu@y Violet well enough by this time to

    

eyes Kt with dauntiess resolve, his bearing loity and as-.

guess thut she-would not readily submit to the imposi-
uon of bis presence there. 4

White he stood thus, Beatrix Dudevant came down the
gracd staircase and passed tim, eyeing him curiously.
Sne had happened to be with Lady Violet when his note
Was brougut her, apd had tripped out anead of the ser-
Vat bringing her answer, of purpose to see how he
looked.

Couway knew her at once.
him, With bis changed looks, apd disguised as be was.

The mun trom Lady Vivlet was close behind Miss Dude-
Vant. . :

‘My lady will see you,” he said to. Conway, and took
him to tue library, Where Lady Violet joined nim almost
lustantly, her dark eyes brignt with auger.

“Wel, what is it new?? sue askeu, contemptuousiy.
She was at no pains to conceal her scurnful passion,
“It must be @ weiguty matter, indeed, that could justify
you iu forcing yourself on me in this inanner,’”’

Copway compressed his lips,

*Patience,’? be said to himself.
game bveiore by my own rastiness. I must be cool and
crafty now, if I iever was before. Lora Eaglescliffe has
udvertised for a valet,” lie said to L: ay Violet,

“Well? Have you any objections ?”? queried my lady,
sarcastically.

“I want the situation myself.’

“You?” incredulously.

‘1 am too changed for his possible recognition. I can
do what will be required of me, and it is at this moment
Lhe only possible safety for me. Tne officers, who are on
my track, will huruvly search his lordskip’s private apart-
wents for an escaped felon.’

Lady Viclet’s countenance changed.

“It is a bitter cGholce between two evils you have ieft
me.” she Said, aiteru pause. “Iam tempted to confess
all to papa, und let you go to your deserts,”

‘“Meauing Australia,’ responded Conway, coolly. ‘I
happen to know that you dare not do tnat. Usfortunate-
ly is lordsuip’s prejudices are strong. He would never
survive the shock of tnowiag who was likely to reign
al Eaglescliffe after him.’ _

Lavy Violet’s biszing eyes stopped him.

“Never, 2ever, NEVER,’ she repeated, in tones of con-
centraieu passion, ‘fe Cliffe snall be leveled tuits low-
est stone first.”

“Oversiot myself again,’ mused Conway, angrily. ‘‘I
beg your pardon,” he sald, with affected humility;
“that Was au unworthy taunt. But really, my lady, you
give my ferbearance no credit.”

“Forbearance,’”? witu lingering sparks in her eyes.

“Js 1b not, inmy circumstances, jorbearance not to urge
my lawful Claims on either yourself or kis lurdship? Yet
when l ask a few hours hiding from a fate worse than
‘death, you turn upon me asthough [ had hydrophobia,”?

“A few hours?” questioned Ludy Vivelet, in a milder
tone.

“A few days, at most,”? was the answer.

When tbe ex-convidt quitted tne library at last, it was
with a lurking simile of triumph. He returned that even-
ing and was duly iustalied as valet in Malcolm's place,

Beatrix Dudevaut had wailfed only to see this stranger,
whose note had power to make Lady Violet turn pale,
enter the ‘library. Then with a book in her hand, she
proceeded to a certain vine-shaudowe.l window of the h-
brary and deliberately listened to the conversation we
have mentioaed. :

Lady Violet had cast a hurried glance from this very
window upon her entrance, bub witnout seeing Beatrix.

Miss Dudevuant’s. emotions us a listerer were varie,
ver curiosity excited alinost beyond endurance, for with
all her palus she did not succeed in once learning the
name of tis Siranger, aud she only caught fragments ol!
tile conversation.

“T have always Jost my

 

When, however, in the course of the following day, she
recognised in the earl’s new valet, the man sne had seen
waiting in the great hall, the same she had heard use
such lucomprehensible language to Lady Violet, she

felushe was upon the eve of some important, perhaps

terrible discovery. :

‘IT should net wonder if she were secretly married all
this time to some one she thinks her father would not ap-
prove, aud the fellow kuows the secret. Her acis show
that she is afraid ef him,” mused Beatrix, furtively
watching theearl’s new man, Whom Lord EugieseJjile had
paused to speak with as they were going out.

She was mistaken, however, in saying that Lady Violet
acted as though afraid of him, 1t was not in reason tial
she shoulu feel at case in bis presence, but her pale, set
face expressed anything but fear.

“What a fuony-looking fellow this new valet of yours
is, my lord,” remarked Beatrix, as toe parvy descendeu
the broad stairs; **don’f you think so, Vie., love ??

Lady Violet was talking to Captain Evelyn. She af-
fected not to hear, anu when the earl called her attention,
und Beatrix sweetly repeated her remark, she answered
quietly that spe presumed that bis looks wuuld not inter-
iere with the performance of his duties. i

Was he very, very: well recommended to you?” asked’
Beatrix, of the earl, in a lower tone and with great affect-
ation of concern. “i ant such a romunuc, Imaginative
creature, my lurd,’? with @ little hand on his armand soit
eyes upliited appealingly; “you wourt laugh at me, will
you?. Was he well recommended ?” 2 .

The earl siniled as he pressed the little hand, and look-
ed down into the pretty face fondly. q

“He twought a letter te my daughter, from Eleanor
Lyle,’ he said. “He is exceedingly ugly. Lam at a loss
to guess What food for romance even your fprtile imagi-

nation can find in so ugly au exterior, Sweet Bee.” -
Bee guve him one of her niest caressing glances. :
“Tnat is just it. He looks as if he might be somebody

in disguise, you Know, not at all like a valet.” ;

Lord Eugiesclitfe laughed, and that brought down upon
him a small shower of pretty pouting, sweet reproaches
for laughing at her, apd other like charming airs which
were tne peculiar préperty of his betrothed.

“He looks like a man that might be bought,’? mused
Beatrix again, as sie stood on the western terrace. .

The new valet—Turner he called himseli—had just
passed through the ground below...

She was in dimner toilet, some gossamer azure fabric
Which floated cloudily about her, as she descended the
steps and moved in the same direction the valet: had

one. ‘ ; 7 .
"i As she saw him presently returning, she glanced back
al the house nerveusly and waited directly in dis pati.

“If he turns olf,” sue thought, *it will prove that he is
a real servaat; if he keeps on, he is not what he pretends
to be.”?

He kept on, and Beatrix looked him keenly in the eye
as he came up. i

A sudden light broke in upon her; aconviction so over-
whelming as nearly to take her breath away. Git

“You are Yane Conway,’ she asserted daringly, put-
ting herself in frontof him. ‘Yes you are; 1 know you
in Spite of that horrid streak across your face.”

Conway had been on the watch for this possible recog-
nition, uiougn he had guarded against it amply le
thougat. ‘

lic was quite self-possessed, and assuming an air of
utter unconsciousness, Said respectfully: )

“My name is Turner, miss.’’

“Indeed it is not,’’ cried Beatrix, excitedly; ‘it is Con-
way, you know 10 is, and if you don’t tell me tnis moment,
What you are here in this disguise for, I will go straight
to his lordship and tell him who you are.”

Oouwny gave her a dark look. ‘

**] should like to strangle you as you stand there,’? he
thought.

“Are you going to tell me?’ demanded Beatrix, witha
small ussumptivun of imperiousness copied from Ludy
Violet. i

Conway deliberated a moment, scowling so that’a qualm
of momentary terror ussalled Miss Dudevant. Tuen ie
asked, quietly:

“{f [tell you the truth, will you promise not to betray
me?!

“Yes?

“] was transported you know,” and with asneer which
she was far from understanding. “I escaped, and lam
hiding here till tne Lue aud cry 1s Over.”

“On y?

Conway knew the temperament he had to deal with.
He took a small revolver out of his breast pocket.

 

cept lus contewpt, but I shant,” was Lady Violet’s gloomy

 

“It you betray me,” he said, ‘Wis /? just showing it,
and putting it away again.

Beutrix’s rosy color paled to an awful whiteness.

“You—you woulun’t sue staumered, beginning
to retreat.

“Try me and see,’? he answered darkly, and turning
into another path, leit her lo recover Ler scared Wits ab
her leisure.

“I ougut to have made him tell me abont Lady Violet.
I should if it hadn’t been tor tat horrid pistol,’? thought
Beatrix, as she slowly retraced her steps, pinching her
cheeks to bring back the color which she fet had fled
from them. “Can spe love him so much us uf that, and
she so proud a creature too. If that is so, and sh@ couid
be Induced to marry im, it would be the luckiest thiog
in the world fer me. The eurl would be sure to make
magnificent settlements In thus case, he would, be 80 an-
rr we Ss

Bae glanced at a tiny watch which was concealed in
the hanule of the elegant fan she carried—x present from
per Jordly lover, Itiacked an hour yet of dinover. She
went straignt to Lady Violet’s apartments, knocking
softly, but with assurance. She Knew very welishe shoulu
not be welcome, bue she did not care for that.

Lauy Viviet was already dressed. She could see the
glistening of her white silk dress through the glass doors
of the conservatory.

Miss Dudevant floated airily through, and joined her,
ignoring with fascinating sweetness tne little cloud that
ruse to my lady’s white brow at signtof her. li was no
purt of her policy to be conscious of the marked distrust
which had grown 10 her triend’s mind toward her,

Miss Dudevant’s bosom was swelling with the magni-
tude of the discovery she had made,

‘HTateful thing,’? she thought, as she glided between the
oriental foliage of the conservatory to where Lady Violet
stood, leaning dreamily beside a marble basin into which
the water froma fountain trinkled musically, ‘I hate
her more for that superior air she puts on sometimes,
than Ido for anything else, I believe, and—oh! what a
lovely dress |’? sue barst forth aloud. oan

Lady Violet glanced absently downat the costly, deli-
cate robe. “Do you like its’? she said.

“Such airs,” thought Beatrix. Aloud, she said loving
ly: ‘Darling Vio, 1 know now why youdo not like Cap-
tain Evelyn; why didn’t. you contide in your own Bee,
dear’? _ ’m sure—’’ x ; .e Dd

“What are you talking about, Beatrix?’ demanded La-
dy Violet, with some hautenr. “I dolike Captain Evelyn.”

“But not enough to marfy him, you dear, sly creature;
ah, I know, and I do say, Vio, you deserve to marry who
you like. $ucn devotion, such faithfulness, such endur-
ing love, I never heard of outside of a book.”

“Beatrix Dudevant !? exclaimed my lady, her dark
eyes flusuing angrily, “Whature you talking about?!

 

 

But she did not recognize |

‘iy, Were displayed in strong, locked ecabinets, with thick,

{| of the dress, a long, heavy tress of hair. I
“with here aud there @ silver thread among if.

‘Defore he reached Kaglescliife again, he had begun to

4~ “Only

Witch of the Ocean.

“About you,” Beatrix said, rather sulkily. “You know
well enough—about you and Conway.”’

“About me aud who 2
dy Violet, in slow horror,

“Oh, Well, you needn’t trust me unless you choose; but
[ know there 7s something between you and Oonway. |
know it—and Pd help you if you would let me.”

Lady Violet drew a breuth ofintense relief.

“Sue knows hothing. She would have gone to my fa-
ther the first thing if she had known the. trwth,’’ she
thought, and to Beatrix, with a slightly curling lip: “You
ave avery lively imagination, Beatrix, I cannot pre-
tend to foiiow Ms Vugartes; but thanks for the offer of as-
sistance, tue Same aS though I wus likely to need it.”

As Miss Dudevant, with a smile of questionable sweet-
ness moved Sowly awey among the tropical-hued blos-
soms, Lady Vivlet’s eye followeu her inquisitively.

“What does she suspect? Ishall have to caution Con-
way again, to avoid all possible recognition by her.
Could slie-have recognized the Superscription of his letter
to papa, or dues she mustrust who ‘Turneris? J never
should have known him, with my facilities for remem-
bering him,’ and her face darkened again.

She rem#ined some moments buried in profound
thought. Tnen with a gesture of impatience, she fol-
towed Beatrix.

' She can’t have guessed the truth, and anything short
of that it Would be lolly to worry about.”

As yet, Miss Dudevant did net indeed guess the truth,
and she went to dinner with her plotting brain fuil of
small complications which had for their object the en-
tangiing of Lady Violet and her lover, as she considered
Couway in @ secret marriage.

“Pit just speak to Conway, himself, about it, and tell
bim he may depend on my help if ne needs it,’ she said
to herself, as she sat at dinner and watcned Captain Eve-
lyn’s handsome, paie face.

“I’m glad she’s not going to marry Evelyn, after all,”
she pondered, coolly. ‘1 never likeu anybody else half so
well, and my fature lord is well along in years, fortuuate-
ly. It shall go hard bat 1 manuge to get magnificent set-
tlements out of him.”

“If sne had guessed what amine it was in her power
to explode i If uny of those sitting there had dreamed
what mischief was waiting at the very finger-ends of ts
selfish, frivolous Creuture, they would searcely have
luoked with complaisance even, on her pretty, false fuce.

Conway was uneasy about @ieauor, He got leave from
the earl, in his new capacity of valet, and went up to
London, where, he would have it, she still was.

He hac been far envugh from guessing, that night,
When he served Madame by pretending to be a physician,
that it was the very woman he wasin search of who had
jus! so daringly married the baronet.

lie Knew lier to be a fine musician, and inclined to the
belief that she would try to ovtain music pupils, in a
quiet way, or else get a Situation as daiiy governess. His
search for was prosecuted in a siow, systematic way, that
could scarcely have failed of success, if Eleanor hau been
occupied as ne supposed.

He never ciossed London Bridge without recalling, in
a Vague, chilly way, tne half-threat her letter liad held, of
linging herself from it.

itis customary to preserve, at the nearest pclice-sta-
tion, any mcmentoes Of such unknown persenus us are
fished out of the murky Thames waters from time to
time, fur the purpese of identification by friends,

Some unaccountable impulse led Conway to visit this
museum of suicidal souveuirs at tis time,

He was conuucted into a long, low room, the walls of
wich were hung conspicuously with various garments,
some of them with the thick ooze of the river yet cling-
ing to them. Articles of jewelry, some of them very cost-

 

 

 

ejaculated La-

aiass doors, ;

The ex-convict's glance wandered over the room. with
mingled curiosity uud aversion. Suddenly he stood still,
und his very breath seemed tustop. He had paused be-
fore a dress whicn hung in a remote corner or the room.
it Was what had been an exceedingly rich pink silk, bro-
caded in black, in a very siugular and beautiful pattern.
it was the dress Eleanor Lyle had worn the last time her
ialse and wicked lover saw her.

The woman who attended him took down the dress at
his desire; bat he shrank strangeiy from touchingit. Tue
smell of the slimy water, which stil clung apout it, seem-
ed 10 hun like the odor of death.

“Can you tell me how long ago this was ?? he demand-
ed abruptly. ‘

The woman understood him.
record Kept of such particwars.
tWO. days. .4 4 1. ; ;

“Was the—woman who wore this dress young? De-
serive her to me.” ‘

“We has so many, sir, Ican’t do that. But she had
black hair. itis here, sir. We always puts a lock with
tne dress.”? And she showed him, wrapped in one sleeve
It was black,

She showed him the
It was three weeks anu

The second time he shrank. Bad and reckless as he
was, he could net teach tuat hair shorn from a dead wo-
‘man’s head, and it showed that in his soul some sparks
ot humanity lingered; that, for the moment, he would
nave given all the world to know that Eieanor Lyle was
alive.

it was but a transient flash of regret, however. Long
look Bigeoly enough on ah event igh a pone from his
path so formidable an obstacle as Eleanor Lyle had b
PSOnIY tne ioRt tpro ante of cnaniees Cua Tiinder the |
saceess of my plans now !’ he thought, exultanuy; “and
any such chance shall perish as this one has.”? bet

[All who are pleased with “Wo Dip Lapy VIoLEr
MARRY ?"’ will please recommend it to their friends.]

: _ * (To be continued.)

 

THE

 

OHAPTER XXXIV.

In a huge hut, formed entirely of pieces of broken wrecks,
many of which bore the names of the helpless vessels which
had been lost, were a man or what might have once been a wo-
men) anda dog, a wild, shaggy, ugly-looking animal, just titted
in looks for the place and the scarcely human beings who were
his associates.

The woman’s face—I will call her woman for what she might
have been onee—looked like a shriveled bit of smuked parch.
ment drawn over the head of a skeleton—bul in it shone two
eyes of fire, set away back under a craggy beow. Her hair
was a bushy mat ef yellowish white tangles—her form a gaunt
mass of bones aud dried skin, with no flesh on it. Her dress
Wis half-mascuume, half-ieminine. She was seated on a low
keg glaring at Johan Ferris, wno sat nearly opposite to her, on
another keg.

“Granny, said John Ferris, “what am I to do now? My
boat gone, and the gal in it—gone to destruction, for nothing
could live outside inthis gale but a stout shiv—no chance ot
getting off this cursed island except on a ratt—what am I todo
now?

“Do, Johnvy, my dear—do d’ye say?’ she asked, in a shriJl,
wheezy voice. “Why stay here wi.) me—be company to me
and the dog. As to tue gai, slie’s shark meat now and you're
well rid of her.” ?

“How do you know she is?” he asked, svappishly.

“Why, cal’t you see? Look in them coulis there. Don't you
see the signs? Tnere’s‘coffins, and skeleton's; and death’s head
—lots and Jots of them. |‘ She’s gone—she’s gone, and Pm glad
of itt? ‘

Ferris was abeut to reply, when the dog, with an ominous
growl, looked toward the coor of the hut, and the hair about
‘nis herd and neck brisiled up.

“A wraeck—-a wrack !’? cried the woman, as she looked at .he
dog. “Out and see what itis, good dog, out and look ‘round, I
say t

She sprang up from her seat ard pushed open the great
ouken dvor oi the hut, and the aog, with a growl, leaped out.

But before a brea.h could haye been drawn, a crushing sound
aud «smothered yell of she dog reached the ear of the hag, and
at ie sane Mement a dozen or more meu rushed in, Overset-
ling her, and springing on Jack Ferris, bore hiin to the ground
perore he coulu draw one of the weapons which garnished his
belt. ;

“Demon! Are you here?” gasped Ferris, as he saw the hated
face ot Martin ihe dwarf among those whe eugerly looked
dewn upon hin.

“Yes, wretch, Lam herol
Katrina Vanderbilt?’

“Ar the pottom ot the Sound, ~ expect.
fer herl? cried the Tory, struegiing to rise.

“yie him hand and foot and ran a repe up over one ot the
rafters of this den. Bind the old witch, and get ready to hang
her, tool’ eried the dwarf.

“Sheswone!? ered one of the men, rushing toward the
door. .“No—here she is dragging her dog in.” :

The next second the oid bag came mm, drawing in the
body of her dog, its skall split open wita a dvath-blow. ,

Dragging it up close by the fire, looking at it with eyes brim-
miog with tears, she sobbcd:

“Dead! deal! my only triend !”

Th n turning fiercely at the geoup of men, she shrieked out:

“Who—who did it? Who Killed my dog:

No one answered.

Atlast she saw tnatthe Duteh fisherman he'd a hatchet tn
his hand. She saw, too, thut blood was dripping from it. :

‘An instant she glared at the weapon, then at him, aud with
a scream of tury Which no words couki Gescribe, she sprang on
him, and before he could raise a hand to repel her, or move an
inch from her way, she had elutehed her skinny hands in his
long, uncumbed hair, and dragging his head down set the few
shazgly teeth that she had lett deep into his throat

Yhe man gasped out a gurgling ery of terror and strove to
tear away from ber grasp, but strove all in vain, and wnen the
soldiers sprang to aid him, and finally with blows knocked her
senseless and tore her from lum, they actually tore open the
veins which her teeth had entered, und the hot blood pouring
in torrents from his neck, told that the hag had avenged her
josg—the man wasactually dying before his danger was com-
prehended.

“Kil her! killher! duyyvel dat she was!” gasped the poor
man, ss he struggled to his fect.

Then, with the strength of desperation, he snatched up ‘he
hatchet which had been used upon the dog and buried it in the
head of the woman, falling over her body as he struck, She
gasped but once, and he in another minute was dead. :

The dwarf now took in hishand the end of the noose which
had been prepared for the neck of Ferris, while one of the nen,
seeing a ring 1n a beam overhead, put the other end of the rope
through it.

“Jack Ferris?” said the dwarf, as he approached the Tory,
wh had been raised to a sitting posture, “your time has come.
If you choose to tell where the girl we seek is, it may be better
foryou, Butif you do not, we luok upon you as her murderer
and shall hang you accordingly.”

The Tory saw in the stern faces around him that there was no
mercy to be expected, and so he told all he knew of Katrina’s
disappearance. f

“To sea—where no such boat could live in this storm! Oh,
Katrina! Katrina is lost! groaned Zenos

“Men! cned thedwarf, “every one ot you take hold of the
rope. The hour of John Ferris has come!” 4

As he said this, with a stern, unrelenting voice, he threw the
noose over thé doomed Tory.

“Oh, mercy! merey | I will——”

“Up with him—up at once!” cried the dwarf.

With a switt rush the men who had held of the rope ran eut
of the hut tbrough the open door.

But Ferris was not destined to instant death. The shock of

wherg is your victim? Where is

Go there and Jook

 

 

one nose, his eyes starting from his head—a sickening sight to
,00K at.

“net him He there and suffer till daylight comes—he can't
get away,” said Zeus. “Maybe we’llsee or hear tron Katri-
ha yet.’

Tife dwarf hesitated; then as he looked at the miserable,
bruised, bleeding wretch, turned away, saying:

“se itso. I will respite himetill morning.”

[All who are pleased with “The Witeh of the Ocean”? will
please recommend it to their friends. }

CHAPTER XXXV. j

When Katrina Vanderbilt woke from the sleep into which she
had fallen aftersbe wrapped herself in the sail, she loowcd up
ona clear sky and felt the warm Yays of the’sun on her face.
But she saw something beside a clear sky: she saw a sight which
would have revived her iid she been perishing.

It was a large and beautiful ship, with snowy canvas on her
spars, her colets dancing on the wind, her hull cleaving the
waters yet heaving from the recent storm, in a direction which
would bring her close to the drifting boat.

“TI haveseen that ship before. 1 buveseen that flag. It must
ke his ship,”? said Katrina, in a low tone to herself, as she gazed
upon the vessel.

On—on came the ship. It was close—oh, fearful close, and
no one saw her yet.

“On, Heaven, must I die!” she moaned.

She lookca- up—the sharp prow was alinost over her head.
Wi dly she scream‘:

“Henry! Henry!”

“Por:—port hard!” shout a hoarse voice right over her héad.

But she did not hear it—a wild rush of water seemed -to.over-
whelm her, anu she t«inted.

It was scarce a minute, perhaps, before she recovered her
senses, and then she felt that she w asin the water, but clusred
In s'reng arins. She saw.a face, a rough but a kind tuce, and
she heard a strange voice saying:

“Hould up yer swate head, livin” angel that ye are—sure
you're as goou as aboard the proudest slip that swims on the
sult say, nigh as she was to swampin’ yer swate life intirely.”

“Ww ho are you, sir?’ she askea, in wonder.

“Ou'd Dinuis Fiannigan, piloc of the ship Say Witch, and

there comes me darlint of a captain in a beat himself to pick us
up!
_ it was indeed Henry St. John, or Sir HenrySt. John Marston,
if you like his full name ana title b: ter, Who Was hastening to
pick up the female whose boat had been swamped and uearly
run down by hisship. Little did he dream when he left his ship
to pick up her whom his noble eld pilot had jumped overboard
to save, that the love ot his life was su near.

To paint hissurprise or depict his joy, would be more than
my ren could do.

“Katrina—Henry |”

Those were the only werds which either could urter at first.

After all were on board and the ship was once more standing
in toward the Long Island s: ore, in his own private eabin,
Henry St. John for the first time heara of all the varicd and
thrilling sceues through which Katriua had passed since he had
seen her.

After hearing ber story. he determineé to stand in and if the
island coula be f-und and Ferris was still on if, to se paunisb hm
thar he would never again endanger the lue or liberty of one
so dear.

Sending for Flanzigan he asked if he Knew where the island

 

was.

‘Faith I do, captain, dear.”

van steer for it, goua Dennis. I must anchor there for a
wile.

The honest, brave old pilot touched his tarpaulin and walked
away to his post.

{All who are pleased with “The Witch of the Ocean” wiil
please recommend it to their friends. ]

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The party sent out by the dwarf in search of Katrina returned
in a sud, disappointed state to the hui where the dwarf was de-
lerimined to carry out his intenm:ion of executing the Yory.

“Low is the fellow? is he pemicnt?? asked the dwarf, ag
Ephrais , bearitg their approueb, came cut of the hut.

“As penitentas he ever will be in this world—he bes been
b.ceding inward y, and is now barety sensible. He will not
live 1o sce the sun rise or else 1 am no judge of a man ina dying

state.’’

‘Well, let him die. It willsave us trouble. But look—what
is that so white yonder, rigit in the face of the rising sun—is it
nota sail 2?” i

“Tt is a ship and a large one, and she comes this way. Oh, if
it is the Sea Witch, how glad I'll be!’ said Zenos Bangs. “gut
yet—if she 1s Jost, he’ll grow crazy, [know he will.”

The whole party now waiched the ship, and as she rose high-
er and plainer. to view the more incensely they became excited.

At last the colors could be recognised,and then Zenos, whe
had watched her alinost breathlessly for an Hour, shouted:

“Itistne Sea Witeh!. Itis the Sex Witch!”

The dwart went into the hut and precured a spy-glass which
he had seen there. With it he looked long and steadily at the
approaching vessel. Atlasi, beckoning Epiraim toward him,
he said, 1n a low tone;

“Heaven ismerciiui! The young woman, whom we sought
for and feared was lus!,1s safe. I see ber plainly on the fore-
eastie of the hip locking toward this island.”

“Who—who is there?” screamed a discordant voice behind
him,

Yhey turned and saw John Ferris, his c’othes all red with the
blood which had oozed fiom bis nostiis and moute—bis eyes
g aring, yet wild in lock, bis face the blueish ashy ht ¢ of death.

He had crawied to the door ait raised bimselft-y tlre post’ to
which it was hung, one of the party havong im his pity fer his
weakness and misery, untied his hands, be

“Phe gal! Katrina—your mtended victim! She js safe and
in her noble lover’s cure!” eried Zenos, with a look of wi-
umphant joy, aa

“It's a lie—a lie!” groaned Ferris. ‘She is waitmg for me
at the judgment—I see her now—all in. white—in white, an
angel, and i——. ake her away—take her away—she blasts
wy sight—she——” 4 ; ft ;

Groaning 'eebly, he fell forwar@ on his face, a fresh gust of
blood spouted out anu he was dead :

In alitule white the ship came to anchor; then a boat was
lowered and rowed to the shore.

In itsat Henry St. John and Katrina Vanderbilt. Soon they
»were on shore receiving the coneratulationsoi honest Zenos
Bangs and hearing from his lips the tragical events which had
occurred on the island, or? ty
, The dwart was intreduced and warmly thanked for his noble

and-generous services, as were also those wlro hed aided him.
. Yo each ot the soldiers a purse of gold was given, but to the
dwari a present which he valued more than all. Jt wasa min-
jature picture, on ivory, Uf General George Washington, prized
more as a likeness of the best and greatest of men, than tor its
golden case and diamonds which encircled it.

Ephraim, m the meaut'me, stood with his bands meekly
clapper. togetber in front of him, too modest to make any claim
on the attention of the happy captain.

But the latier did not fal tomouce him.

‘Are you a minister of the Gospel ?” he asked.

A. hn of the Lord’s sheep, but out of a flock just
How, tarrying by the sea-side and waiting fora call?” replied

phraim. : ‘ Ae

“We have lately lost our chaplain,” said
“Tr you wiil fill his place the office 1s yours.’

‘fp wil gladly do it,” said Ephraim.

“Then ecmmence your dues sorthwith.
trothed, must be leit uo longer without a protector.
immediately.”

Ephraim did not hesitate. The ceremony was soon perform-
ed, and Zenos, with mingled tears‘and smiles congratulated bis
captain on the final achievement of a conquest which neither
as schoolmaster or purser cculd be made by him.

And they, the newly wedded, were too happy for us to at-
tempt a description of their joy. }

For one week there was So but festive joy on board the
sea Witch, and hererew had ali the liberty they desired.

Reader, we are done. It is not in our power, limited for
space, to folluw the’ sea Wiich ail through the war. We can
only say that welt-commanded and well-defended, she was a
joy to America and a terror to Great Britain, until the Revolu-
tion was over and our coum ry free.

{All who are plessed with “The Witch of the Ocean” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

THE END.
—>9~<—_____——

Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

Captain St. John.

This lady, my be-
Marry us

 

 

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
H. Van Nes.—We would advise you to apply to some rubber
manufacturer. We doubt if you will be able to get the knowl-
euge you desire in any other way......Charles.—Write tothe
American News Company in this city...... Varnish.—T0 MAKE
Furniture Om—l. T. ke linseed oil, put it into a gl-zed pipkin
With as muca alkanet roct us it wil cover. Let it boii genuy,
and it Will become of a strong rec color; when cocl it will be
fit for use. 2. To answer your question properly it woud re-
quire mere space than we can afford to give lo this department
aeeee Glifford.—To Can Pescues, EtTc.—L. The can containing the
t should be heated sutticiently to drive out the ar, and then

ru
sealed tigntly.. In prepnring peaches, first cut them im hal’,
alter paring them, and .ake the siones out.

 

 

og

 

Put them in a can
which will generally bold a pint, an@ which shoaid be entirely
filled; and then solder the lid closcly, Ptace the can ina kettle
containing cold water enough to cover it, and bring the water
toa boil.’ If there be any part of the cun rot air-ight, it will be
shown by bubbies «scape from it; and thecan must ‘hen be
tuken cut and the lead coretully scldered over. 2. To Can
STRAWBERRIES.—Wi | some reader furnish us with arecipe? 3.
We know notiing of the parties to wrom yourefer..... Coustant
Reader.~We have never heard of its being done...... M. W.—To
Destrey Buecs.—Dissolve hali a drachm_ of corrosive sublimate
in a quarter of an ounce of spirits of salts, mixing: it with one
quart of spirits of turpentine. Shake these'well together, dip a
brush in it, and wash the places where the bugs resort..........
F. B.—sSpovs ON CARPETS.—A few Goops of carbonate of ammo-
nia inasmall quantity of warm rain-witer, will, if carefully
applied, remove spots on Carpets, Whether precuced by acids or
alkalies. Carpets injured by whitewasn have been perfectly
restored by: this simple recipe....dManufucturer.—i bis corres-
pondent wishes a varvish for “glossing on white.” Can any of
our readers furnish him with the information ?....7. D.—Yes...
Agent.—fo MAKE Biue 1nk.—Triturate best Prussian blue, six
parts, with a solution of cue part of oxabe acid in six of water,
and toward the end of a quarterof.ay hour or se add gradually
gunrarabic, 18 purts, and water, 280. Pour off clear..........

Pat.—Consult some Keeper of a livery stable. He will give you
practical Jessons.......+++ .. Semper Iiem.—) See No. 30. 2. We
vo not know the parties. 8. Ehha Burritt is considered the
greatest linguist in America. 4. If you think the young lady 1s
sincere do as she desires.... i See No. 30. 2. Wash

 

...Inquirer.—}, See
your head in vay rum occasionally. 3. It is not meurable it
attended tointime. Amputation has been resorted to, but only,
of course, in eXtreme Cases....... ,.-..Paunbroker,—1. Yes. We
giye you the following recipe, for which a prize of twenty
guineas was awarded by the Society of Arts. London. Dissolve
two-and-a-ludf ounces of shellac ina pint at alcohol; boil fora
few minutes with tive ounces of well burned and recently hent-
ed animal charcoal. A sinail portion of the solution most then
be filtered, and if not color.ess, more charcoal must be added.
When all color 1s removed, press toe liquid through a piece of
sik, and afterward filter through fine blotuing-paper. This var-
nish should Le used in a room of at least 60 degrees Fahr., and
tree from dust. It dries in a few moments, und is not liable af-
terward to chill er bloém 2. It will take you from eighteen
months to two years. 8. The American News Co. will supply
you with the requisite bocks........+++- Joe.—We cunnot........
‘A M. S.~To rane our Statxs oN CLoras cet ~1LK.—Pound French
chalk fine; then mx wiih lavender water to the thickness of
mustard. Put onthe stain; rub it soft with the finger or palm
ofthe hand. Pout asheet of blotting amd brown paper on the
top and smooth it with an iron, miik-warm...... Believer.—We
cannot give you the information you request ...._ .Paperhanger.
| We know of no chemical which will produce the result you
Gosire..... ios G. H. S.—For Buack INK, twenty-five grains of co-
pal, in powder, aré to be dissolved im twa hundred grains of oil
ot laveuder, by the assistance of a gentle heat, and are then,to
be mixed with two and 2 half grains of lampblack and one-half
gram of indigo.......... Confectioner.—This correspondent w ishes
4 recipe tor making “sponge candy.”. If any of our correspond-
ents can furnish it, we shall be obliged......J. @.—See No. 29...
“Nota Constant Readar.’—Try sarsaparifla........ Horace W. B.—
To MAKE TRANSPARENT POMADE.—This comrespondent has kindly
furnished us with the fodowing recipes ior making transparent
pomade: Take spermaceti, 2 0z.;_ castor gil, 50z.; aicohol, 5 02. ;
oit of Bergamot, 1-2 dr.; oil of Portugal, 1-2 dr. Melt togetoer
the spermaceti and castor oil, pour in the algohol by degrees,
stop the heat, and add the oils of bergamot and Portugal. Stir
well to incorporate, and pour into glass jars. 2. Take good,
clear, ae cee soap, 1 02.3 castor o1,2 lbs. Dissolve the
soap in a little alcohol by the aid of a water bath, shghuy warm
the oil, and mix the two together. Add any scent preferred,

 

 

bringing his head up against the beam caused the rope to
break, and he fell upon the ground, bleeding from the mouth

and pour into —" IATBish. Cle. Rorer and K, D.—See answer to
“Sadness,’? in No. 29.

 

 

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New York, June 30, 1870.

POPPA ese

The Terms to Subscribers:

OPPO OPI

One Year—single copy .;.........-.eees ee ee ene Three Dollars.
np ‘© Four copies ($2 50 each).............. Ten Dollars,
so +S MERE MODIOR ; ; »'s hey) -ba0 46 eee Twenty Dollars.

Those sending $20 for a club of Eight, all sent at one time,
will be entitled to acopy FREE. Getters-up of clubs can after-
ward add singie copies at $2 50 each.

All Letters must bé directed to
STREET & SMITH,

Box 4896, X.Y.

Printed at PRESTON’S

Office 55 Fulton Street.

 

The NEw YoRK WEEKLY is
Great Press Room, 27 Rose street.

 

 

RGF ELLA St. MAUR, OR, THE HATE OF A LIFE TIME.
A charming story of Engish society, with the above
title, will be commenced next week. A perusal of the
opening chapters will convince every one that it must
be a really great story.

—_—- > o~+

Decoration Day.

 

Six years have passed away since the clash of arms
was heard in our distracted and unhappy country, and
we are beginning now to feel that peace has indeed taken
the place of that bloody and devastating war~—a war as
unnatural as it was horrible, since in it brother contended
against brother, father against son, and all the holiest
instincts of humanity were swallowed up in the one ab-
sorbing desire to conquer in the bloody struggle.

Six years of peace, and although we have not yet en-
tirely recovered from the effects of that fratricidal strife—
and may not for long years to come—yet those who were
so lately thirsting for each other’s blood are now holding
friendly intercourse, and the asperities engendered during
the protracted struggle are fast giving place to sentiments
of friendship and esteem. Some there are, to be sure, on
both sides, who still entertain feelings of rancorous hate,
but these, nine timesin ten, are of those who took no
part in the battles fought and won. This is a singular
fact, but it is patent to all. The Northern radical, who is
anxious to hang every man, woman and child born south
of Mason and Dixon’s line, and the Southern fire-eater,
who is never happy except when cursing the thieving
Yankees, were not over fond of fighting when the war
raged, but kept as far from the smell of gunpowder
as possible. Those who really did the fighting hold but
little animosity now. There isa magneiism in bravery
which destroys hate, when the battle is over, and
awakens a spirit of magnanimity which leads to mutual
admiration of great deeds, and makes kindred the souls
of the truly fearless and patriotic.

On the 30th of May the friends of our dead heroes as-
sembled at the different cemeteries to decorate the graves
of those who cheerfully yielded up their lives at the call
of their country, and who now sleep the sleep that knows
no waking. This is right. The memory of our valiant
“boys in blue”? should never be allowed to perish—nay,
the memory of their heroic deeds never can perish while
freedom and patriotism survive. The brave dead have
@monumentin the hearts of the people more enduring
than marble or granite, for the story of their heroism will
be handed down from generation to generation so long as
our republic lasts. Still the ceremony of decorating their
graves should be continued, for itis a peculiarly appro-
priate one, and tends to keep alive the fire of patriotism
in the bosoms of the rising generation.

The survivors of the heroic dead have every reason_to
feel satisfied with the manner in which the day was ob-
served. Business generally was suspended, the people
turned out ev masse to do honor to the occasion, and the
gravesin the different cemeteries were literally buried in
flowers, while the scores of maimed and crippled survi-
vors of the late strife who took part in the ceremonies
were regarded by the mass of the people with an air of
reverence and kind regard, which was peculiarly touch-
ing.

We hope this practice will not only be continued but
that it will grow in popular favor as the years roll on. We
hope, also, that while honoring the dead our people will
not forget the quick who are hobbling through the world,
living examples of patriotism and a constant rebuke to
our government, which should certainly take some mea-
sures for their relief beyond the miserable pittance allow-
ed them as a pension from year to year, which is scarcely
enough to furnish them with tobacco.

And just here let us say at the risk of offending some of
our vindictive and splenetic friends, that we hope the
mourners for the rebel dead who lie in Southern graves,
will also decorate their graves with flowers. Not that we
believe that they fell in a holy and just cause, but because
we believe that they thought they were right, and be-
cause we cannot resist the conviction that had we been
born and reared in the South we too should have been
rebels. Wedo not endorse their actionin the war, but
we do admire their bravery, and we do feel like throwing
the broad mantel of charity over their faults. Bring fiow-
ers, then, sweet flowers, to deck the graves of both the
loyal and the rebel dead throughout our broad land.
There is no animosity in the pulseless forms that sleep be-
neath the sod—there should be none in the bosoms of
those who mourn their loss. Let all remember, both
North and South, that ‘‘to err is human—to forgive, di-

vine.”
—_—_———__>-9<

Rest and Recreation.

 

BY REY. A. M’ELROY WYLIE.

 

We, as a people, are accused of having more respect for
machinery, and our domestic animals, than we have for
ourselves.

We award rest for those—very little, or none for our
own bodies and minds.

Perhaps nothiag abroad more deeply impresses an
American when he is taking his first tour, than the way
in which people of other lands cast off care and throw
themselves into the abandon of, we would say, almost
childish recreations.

The happiness and comfort which they secure by these
well-established and innocent customs, furnish our more
serious and hard-working countrymen with an experience
worth examination. .

And now that the time of year is at hand when this sub-
ject is popularly considered, it might be well to note a
few thoughts on the subject.

Rest is rather negative. We associate with it, an un-
hitching and a hanging up of the harness—a letting down
of the grate, and an extinguishing of the fire.

But recreation carries more of an active sense with it.
In rest there may be still a humming of the wheels after
the force is withdrawn—a slashing of the waves after the
whirlwind has passed.

But recreation implies a more instantaneous diversion
—an abatement, or canceling of one set of effects by the
substitution of another set. To usea simple illustration
to set forth this difference—you put your hand in a basin
of water and move it rapidly around in a circle; the water
follows in a like swift circular motion. Take your hand
out, and the effects continue fora time. But instead of
withdrawing your hand, sweep itin the opposite direct-
ion, and you almost instantly neutralize the whirling

movement of the liquid, and bringit to a stand-still.
This is recreation. Or, again, rise from your chair, run
a few times around the table; now attempt to stand, and
your head swims from dizziness. You stagger under a
most oppressive feeling, which continues some time after
you are at rest.

But having run inone way, instead of sitting down,
just turn your feet about, and move rapidly, the same
number of times, in the opposite direction, and you may
come to astand-still, experiencing none of that brain

&
ws

    

confusion left by the circular movement in the first ex-
periment. This is recreation.

Rest is a mere cessation, and the overworked body oft-
en needs it—pure rest, when the entire machinery of the
workshop sleeps in utter silence and repose.

But the mind, the pure immaterial essence, properly
speaking, needs no rest, but it does need recreation.
Steam never wearies nor wears, but the machinery
does. Brain, bone, muscle, nervous energy, all the me-
dia through which mind works, being machinery, need
rest; but the soul in itself utterly refuses to rest. It
wants change of currents—not the entire shutting down
of the gateways.

When these vacation periods come on, we shall know
better how to treat ourselves, if we take the pains to
look a little at ourselves as compound beings.

The common impression prevails that many are the in-
stances where the body is worked out of life. We very
much doubt it. We believe that work is a master very
much abused.

Truth, could she speak, would very likelyrise up in
vindication of the field, the factory, the workshop, the
store, office, and domestic treadmill, and while shielding
these from the grave charge of body destroyers, would
point to the dyspepsia-laden tables; to under-sleeping; to
sundry unneeded narcotics and stimulants; to quack nos-
trums and poisons; and to much inexcusable ignorance
of the laws of health.

High medical authority assures us that we can, health-
fully work these bodies for ten, and even twelve hours or
more dally, and sustain our frames in health. But tne
trouble is, that when men load the cart with as great a
weight as the animal ought to pull, they put an unneces-
sary addition upon the horse’s back, heavy enough of
itself to bear him to the earth. ,

We ought not to put the debit-account where it does
not belong.

It fell to the writer’s experience to pass a number of
years in a New England city, not surpassed even in, that
industrious portion of the land, for the enterprise and
pertinacity of its inhabitants.

During those years of observation among that class of
the people given to the most laborious manual employ-
ment, he was impressed with this important truth, that
work alone neither weakened nor destroyed. Where
men fall into weakness and destruction, there were, in
almost every case, other avoidable causes which paled the
cheek, and planted disease in the vital parts of the body.
Indeed the clearest eyes, the strongest arms, and the
handsomest frames, were those which had been longest
accustomed to steady toil, but they gave entertainment to
no doubtful guests whatever.

Still, undeniably, rest has its place—absolute rest for
thebody. See how much time Nature demands that we
put our powers upon the shelf. <A laboring man ought to
spend one-third of his life in entire unconsciousness.
Think of it! A man of sixty should have spent twenty
years in bed!

Doubtless a man is better for variety in work as he is
better for variety indiet. He ought to have some change
in the currents of his existence. There ought to be dif-
fusiveness.

A live coal, laid on one spot of the skin, will excite un-
bearable torture, but the same amount of heat diffused
over the entire person is felt, only as a slight glow of
warmth. Undoubtedly, one concentrated, unshifting,
unending heat and round of toil turns into torture.

Just here, then, comes in the office of recreation.

Perhaps the highest and best rule to bear in mind, at
tliis point, is that 7ecreations are most profitable to us
when they vary, aS much as possible, from the line of our
regular pursuits.

If a man’s daily employment requires great or steady
muscular activity—if he wield the sledge all day—han-
dles heavy articles—drives the plow, plane, or trowel—if
he moves upon public vehicles—he is better not to seek
recreation in re muscular exertion—in violent or
active sports. He is not best off in those games which
contribute merely to more bodily development, and why?
Simply for the reason that in so doing he treats himself
as if he were all body. .He goes too much toward the an-

 

SAVIOUR OF MEN.

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

Oh! bring me near to Thee,

Thou who art dear to me,

Jesus appear to me,
Saviour of men!

Oh! hear my humble cry,

Thou who art passing by

Thou who didst bleed and dic,
Saviour of men!

Thou, who the raven hears,

List to my doupts and fears,

Dry up my falling tears,
Saviour of men!

On Thee my soul relies,

Thou who art good and wise,

Thou art my sacrifice, .
Saviour of men!

Take all my sins away,

Give me Thy lovel pray,

Lead me to open day,
Saviour of men!

Low at Thy feet I lie,

Fain would I rise and fly,

Thine through eternity,
Saviour of men!

———__ > e~-___—_—_—

ARABELLA’S TWO LOVERS.

BY 0. PHIDDLE STYX.

 

 

lar to do the proper thing on all occasions,

*peared to be good friends all the while, but they wan’t

one would die or git his neck broke or sumthin’ or anuther
happen to him so as he’d be sent eout o’ the way and
leave the coast clear.

Jonathan Flydercraft was a sort of an up-stuck feller,
because his dad was arich old coot and his marm hap-
pened to know a heap about yarbs and sich things, and
was good at doctorin’ and fussin’ round sick people. Of
course that wan’t nothin’ to be so mighty proud abeout,
butit sot Jonathan up tremenjusly. He considered him-
self enuff sight better than Jeremiah Scruggins, and it
was all because his dad had heaps 0’ money and his marm
knowed about yarbs.

One day he sez to Jeremiah, sez he:

“I s’pose yeou’re Still a goin’ arter Arabella Slumton?”

And Jeremiah sez:

“Oh, yes, a leetie.’’

“Wall,” continued Jonathan, “I guess yeou’d better
quit. Ithink as how l’ve got things all my own way
down to Slumton’s. Yeou know that Arabella’d rather
have a feller as has got plenty 0’ money than a feller as
is rather slim abeout the pocket.”

“Yes, that’s so,’’ sez Jeremiah, ‘“‘and I s’pose I mought
as well gin it up. Have yeou asked her to hitch to yeou?”’
“No, not yet,’? sez Jonathan, “but I think as how Ill
ax her to-night.’’ And tien he got sort o’ confidential,
and then sez he: ‘To tell yeou the truth abeout the mat-
ter, I’ve got the likins mighty bad, and I must know
purty soon heow it’s goin’ to cum eout.”

Then, arter they had talked awhile longer, Jonathan
walked off, feelin’ that he could git Arabella any day
jest by sayin’ the word.

Jeremiah he begin to feel awful bad abeout the re-
gions of the heart, and he didn’t know what on airth
to do. Fust he thought he’d have to sit down and boo-
or ee and then he gin that up, and sez he to

imself:

“Thar’s no use in a feller makin’ a goose of hisself
even if he is goin’ to lose his . If that big feelin’,
Jonathan Flydercraft, is a goin’ to ax her to-night, Vl
git ahead of him and ax her this arternoon. Jonathan
thinks as how he’s got her sure, and p’rhaps he has,
but she can’t do wuss than say no to me, and [’m sure
‘taint no disgrace to be flopped by Arabella.” .
Jeremiali was as good as his word. He went straight
hum and fixed. himself up in his best clothes and off
he puts to Slumton’s. It wan’t an awiul good day fur
to go to ax Arabella to marry him, ’cos it was washin’
day to Slumton’s, and, ginerally speakin’, gals aint in
a very jollificated state of mind on sich occasions.
Arabella had got the waslin’ purty well put through,
and was eout among the apple trees a hangin’ eout the
clothes, when long cum Jeremiah Scruggins. Neow if

   

 

imal, where the more of a horse he puts into himself,
the more of a man he thinks liimself to be.
heisatree not so much for wood as for
blossoms, perf and fruit. A man does not make the
most of himself by growing the timber, and destroying
the blossoms.

a forest tree;

profit in spending his leisure moments and hours in study

and putting that to work, which is least exercised.
wil: find the best recreation in putting pressure where it
is needed, for “it is pressure that develops.’? Let him
get into the empty parts of the house.

Or, if he must have a game occasionally, he is better
for those which demand, not muscle but thougnht-skill.
Checkers are good; chess is better. Look at the fine ar-
ray of faculties which are intensely brought into play
over a game of chess! not less than seven or eight—in-
vention, combination, reflection, caution, memory, con-
centration, foresight, patience. Or he will find great
profit in the cultivation of literature, music, or any one
of the fine arts, or in society that thinks. Men of the
muscular class will not forget that one of their number
furnishea one of the greatest linguist this country has
ever known.

A man is a cart, moving on two wheels. The cart goes
neither straight nor comiortable, unless the wheels are
proportioned in size.

A man, developing altogether in the direction of the
body, throws out a tremendous circumference in one
wheel of his cart; and puts on the other end of the axle
nothing at all, or only a trifling bit of circular pretence,
which hardly raises its end from the gronnd, so it beats
its way about in the same spot, forever moving but
making no progress. ‘
And the converse is true. A man who forgets his body
and drives the mind exciusively, pushes to the other ex-
treme of unbalancing. He is afflicted sooner or later by
a hobby—swells out the one side to a morbid and sickly
extreme; so he, too, whirls about in one spot, or wanders
aside into crooked, unuseful tracks.

In the one case he becomes a dolt, in the other a dream-
er. If aman works in-doors, close and heated, he is bet-
ter for recreation out of doors. “Oxy-gen (giv) as a
doctor said, ‘is the best kind of gin for him.”

Another condition for profitable recreation will be
found in seeking those pastimes which interest the mind.
The whirls in the mind need to be turned the other way.

The inventor of croquet deserves a monument as endur-
ing as brass; and itisa shame that so few know even
his name.

Independent of the fact that it is the only game which
affords a field for men and women, boys and girls, to ex-
ercise in company, it insures this best condition forthe
most profitable recreation—the entire absorption of the
mind.

All those resorts for exercise where we find ourselves

thinking “‘how nice this is for strengthening and develop-

ment ! how excellent for health !? accomplish little or no
od.

Just here we detect the reason for the unprofitableness
of most all our gymnasiums; and we accept the testi-
mony of Dr. Dio Lewis, of Boston, who declares, that as
ordinarily conducted throughout this country they are
shorn of nearly all their advantages, if they are not, in
many instances, authors of positive and permanent in-
jury. We go into them as a duty, and dive into straining
exercises as travelers eat their victuals at a railway sta-
tion.

To be made profitable they want the sociable and pleas-
urable elements combined, and all under the direction of
experienced and competent professors of the art.

The mind carries more of the profit in recreation than
the body does; and when our minds refuse to pay court
to our pastimes, but beat on in their old round of cares—
when they refuse to go out with the b ody—we had better
go back, and get our minds to come along with us, or we
failat the advantage.

It is to recreation, what that is to eloquence, when the
speaker finds himselfinwardly saying, ‘‘“Now lam growing
eloquent;’? or what thatis to beauty, when the belie is
ever moving with that air which says, ‘‘See, how beautiful
and how graceful I am!’ Self-consciousness kills as
well in recreation, as in oratory and beauty.

It is worth the while to give these principles a trial in
practice, and for one, we cannot lament the adoption,
by the denizens of our great cities, of various innocent
amusements in their own homes.

Certainly Rome is the best place for bowling and
billiards, and other pastimes needed by jaded and care-
carrying humanity.

And let our imprisoned citizens escape when they can
to the open fields; or as good Dr. Chalmers was wont to
expressit, ‘Let them go to grass.’”?> The mountains, the
seas, the rocks, are the best specifies, to lift the moun-
tains of cares, and seas of troubles from our own care-
burdened minds.

Let every man who can, escape from these “longitu-
dinal wells’? of heated brick and mortar, and refresh his
soul amid the healthful scenes of Nature’s wilds. Every
mess of trout we whip from the cool mountain pool will
prove a feast to the soul as well as tothe body. Every
plunge into the salt sea waves will prove an excellent
conservator as well to the spiritas to the body. Every
string of game brought from tne wilderness will give
muscle and manhood to the mind as well as to this ma-
terial frame.

——___ + @~<

aap All the fish in the streams at East Dorset, Vt., were
suddenly killed the other morning, probably frem the
bursting of some water-vein impregnated with poisonous
gases or fluids. The citizens call upon scientific men to
investigate the matter.

 

A man is not }

The man of active muscular pursuit will find more |

—brain work in taking up some such periodical as this, |

 

kas The wheat lands of California comprise nearly one
million acres.

it had been. sum gals they would have split and run
ey seed a feller a comin’, Ha didn’t

     

COT) 5 ale OT Cou, S ait. —

‘-La sakes,’? sez Arabella, ‘what can. yeou want of
me at this hour of the day?’ *

“T want to jine teams with yeou,” explained Jere-
miah; ‘that is to say, I want to marry yeou.”’

Arabella blushed a leetle, and sez she:

“If yeou wanted to ax me sich a question as that why
didn’t yeou wait till night, andax mein the best room,
where all sich things is did?”

“Wall,”? continued Jeremiah, “the reason I didn’t do
that was just because thar is another feller as is goin’ to
ax yeou to-night, and soI thought I’d get ahead of him.”

“La, Jeremiah, how yeou goon! I believe yeou air jest
a makin’ that ali up as yeou go along! Who is the feller
as is to ax me to-night???

“Wall,” sez Jeremiah, “it ain’t nobody but Jonathan
Flydercraft. 1 seed him a spell ago, and he sed’s how he
was agoin’ to cum over and ax yeou to-night; and he
telled me he didn’t think it would be any kind o’ use fur
me to try any more to git yeou, as he calkilated that
you’d rather have a feller? ashad gobs 0’ money than a
fellow whose pockets went flipperty flop on account of
not havin’ much into ’em. I jest abeout half believed all
Jonathan sed to me, and I cumpurty nigh a settin’ down
and boo-hooin’ right eout and takin’ on desprit about it,
and then I thought the matterover agin, and I cum to
the conclusion that thar warn’tno usein a feller makin’a
goose of hisself and gettin’ skeered before he was hurt. I
sed to myself thatit warn’t no disgrace to aspire to your
hand, and try to git hitched to yeou, fur yeou was an un-
common nice gal, andI sed also that I would cum right
over this arternoon and ax yeou about it.”’

“Wall,” sez Arabella, ‘I see yeou air tellin’ me all the
particklers. But cum into the house, and I'll put on an-
other gown, and we’ll talk abeout it.”

“No, siv,’? sez Jeremiah, “I want to know all abeout it
right onto this spot. I want to know jest now whether
I’m to go hum and have aspell of the melancholickers,
o whether I'm to go hum the tickledest feller on Punkin

dge.

“Wall, I guess I’ll have yeou,” sez Arabella. “I allers
did like yeou a heap better than Jonathan Flydercraft.”

“Jehosophat !?? shouted Jeremiah, a throwin’ his hat up
among the branches of an apple tree. ‘Jerusalem Jin-
go! Hurrah fur Jackson!’ and he grabbed Arabella in-
to his arms, and commenced a huggin’ her like all pos-
sest.

“Oh, don’t, dear Jeremiah, don’t! Dad and marm, and
Peleg, and Jake, and Sal, and Si will see you, and they'll
be scared to death. Dear Jeremiah, don’t!”

But Jeremiah didn’t seem to hear a word, she sed. He
kept a huggin’ away, and Peleg, and Jake, and Sal cum
a runnin eout of the house with the tongs, and the shovel,
and the smoothin’ iron, and Peleg he grabbed a hold of
Jeremiah’s coat tails and commanded him i a soldier
sort of a voice, to stop sich doin’s—he wouldn’t allow it
areound thar.

This sort o’ brought Jeremiah to his senses; he let go
his hold, and stood back and leaned ag’in an apple tree,
as if he was awful tired.

“What means this?” hollored Peleg, who allers spoke
in a highfalootin’ way.

“Oh, nothin’, only me and Arabella has gone and plight
ed our disposals to each other.”

“Wall,”? sez Peleg, “if that’s the case, hug away. About
face—forward march,” sez he to Jake and Sal, and they
turned abeout and split fur the house.

“Neow,”? sez Arabella, ‘‘won’l yeou cum inter the
house and set deown ?”’

“No,” answered Jeremiah. “I feel too joliificated to
set still half a minute. Goon with yeour washin’, Ara-
aia and I'll go hum, but I'll cum back ag’in to-morrow
night.

Jeremiah split fur hum in a sort of a triangular quick-
step, and it ain’t unreasonable to suppose that he felt a
thousand dollars better than when he arriv, abeout an
hour before, at Slumpton’s.

Abeout dark ’long comes Jonathan Fiydercraft, heldin’
his head awful high, and feelin’ as big as if he owned all
Healifax. Arabella tuck him inter the front room and
treated him as perlite as common. He hadn’t been thar
long when he ups and axes Arabella to be his guidin’
star. Arabella she sort o’ let on she didn’t know what he
meant, and sez she:

“T guess I’ve got abeout enuff to do to look arter the

boys’ shirts and trouserloons without settin’ up fur a
That Siof ours is awful hard on trouser-

guidin’ star.
loons.’?

Then Jonathan he explained that he wanted her to mar-
ry him, and cum and make his home a palace of happi-

ness. ‘

“Wall, I guess not,” sez Arabella.
to marry Jeremiah Scruggins, and I’m goin’ to do it.
never did like them Flydercrafts.”

«Jonathan went eout of the house, and went hum like

a whiz, and as he roiled inter bed sez he:

“] think it’s downright mean to treat a feller so when

his dad’s so rich, and his marm knows abeout yarbs.’’
—___—_ > @<+____—_

4ap-The Sixteenth Ohio will celebrate its first regimen-
tal reunion at Wooster, Ohio, on the 4th of July next, at
The citizens of Wooster and of Wayne
County pledge the Sixteenth boys, from whatever section,

Camp Tiffin.
a@ whole-souled welcome.

aa= Chicago is to have a block of houses with a kitchen

common to all.

   

Arabella Slumton was a purty slick sort of a gal. Thar
wan't many as could go ahead of her when she sot eout to
make a dashin’ show and cut a wide swath—not many;
and then she allers acted master perlite and was partick-

You see Jonathan Flydercraft and Jeremiah Scruggins
was both a goin’ arter Arabella awful strong, and they

nothin’ of the kind. They was each a wishin’ that t’other

“Dve jest promised

To Correspondents.

plays, means the slide in which the scenes run. 2
ne (pronounced “‘mar-re-le-bon”’) is the name of a

3d. “‘Stultify” is from the Latin “stultus,”?

a toolof.”” When we sa;
“y that he makes a fool of himself.
aule

ing some actor penalty. 4th. In
Greek Christia
an actual abdication of its sovereign rights, and which it there
fore refused to concede. This led in the same year
sio-Turkish
sides with Turkey, on the ground that the existence of the lat
ter empire and the
were endangered by

 

ussia. Behind this lay the true reason

gerous foe in battle.

The

and |
with your mother, and try to show her that your
advancing yourself in life are much better in the

ae It is another form of the olden ph

can rely u
benefited
do not advise you to disobe
Beside this, you will have soon reached an age when you s
have the legal and moral control of your own interests.....

did you avoid twisting, curling an
ters out of all likeness to the characters which they are intend-
ed to represenf. Remember that no style of
difficult to read as a highly ornamented one. We do not care

benefit, that the wisest and most deeply learned men of eight-

the Old and_ New Testaments...... John Josh.—Your handwrit-
ing is up tothe average bookkeeper’s slandard...... nt
Reader.—We have ne record of the names of the different gover-

Nors of Jamaica, consequently we cannot inform youifa man
named Michael Crotty was ever governor of the island......
Amanda J. Sears.—We could not use your writings, and it would
be of no use for you to forward any of them...... Wi
You are right. You would only be ee your money away.
Taking it for granted that the lottery is fair
we much doubt) you have but one chance in thirty thousand
of winning the prize. We haveinour time known many ga
blers, and we never knew of any who won, save those that had
an interest in the ge aie hake J. H. L.—Ask her mother......
Heavy Hatchet.—\st. We do not recommend them, as they are
quack medicines. 2d. Your handwriting is fair. 3d. About the
conclusion of the present volume. 4th. One of the safest
and best compositions for cleaning the teeth is a mixture
of two parts of prepared chalk, one of Peruvian bark, and one
of hard soap, all finely powdered. This composition is not only
calculated to clean the teeth without hurting them, but to pre-
serve the fimness of the gum. The teeth should be washed after
every meal. 5th. It will cost you about $5 to get to New Bed-
Ga, cx sede Mohawk.—lst. Youcan learn any trade toward
which your taste leans. You are about the right age to begin
your apprenticeship. 2d. Address Scovill D. Foot, Grand Scribe
of the Sons of Temperance, Nos. 35 and 37 Park Place. He will
furnish you with a list of the different divisions in New York
county....... Inquisitiveness.—The story will be commenced at as
on a day as our arrangements will permit.......... Aurora.—
ist. There would be noimproriety in your offering him a cigar
if the one which he was smoking was nearly smoked out. 2d.
You should not have talked so as to compel the strange lady to
take part in the conversation. As you had not been introduced
to her, it was an impertinence on your part to address your
conversation to her even indirectly. Ifthe lady you were ac-
quainted with meen to introduce you to her friend, it was
an omission which you had no ret to bridge with an imperti-
nence. 3d. Your handwriting is not up to the bookkeeper’s
standard........ Emerson Bennett.—We know of no work which
you can do evenings. except copying. Cannot the lawyer you
are with speak in your favor to some of his acquaintances?....
oO. M. S.—Before undertaking to write anything for publication,
you should learn something more of writing, spelling and gram-
mar. In your short note you spell some ten words incorrectly,
and your sentences are tearfully mixed up. The verses which
you forwarded for examination, are without merit either of
thought or expression........ Magnolia.—Ist. It would not be im-
olite for you to invite toa place of amusement one giri of a
amily without asking her sisters. It does not follow because
you are paying attentions to a lady that you should also pay
attentions to her sisters. 2d. Your handwriting is scarcely
up to the bookkeeper’s standard. 3d. Secret marriages are
apt to give rise to scandal. It seems to ns, however, that
you make the mistake of calling a quiet marrage a secret mar-
riage. A quiet marriage is one of which the immediate rela-
tives know—a secret marriage is one which is studiously con-
cealed from all but the witnesses and officiating clergyman... .
May Flowers.—As the father of the lady permitted your atten-
tions for two years, and then turned against you without good
cause, and the lady being of age, we think you would be justi-
fied in marrying her without his consent.......... Cc. D. Mack.—
We have already in hand enough of the stories of the character
named to last us for two 7 ee: we are compelled
. WwW. Ww -

to decline your offer.......... tams.—We cannot add to
our list of contributors............ . Butler.—The story was
returned seyeral weeks ago........ James Reed.—Ist. Our advice
is: Marry immediately. You have a salary on which you can
support a family in comfort, besides having a little sum laid by
for a “rainy day.” Ifyou geta soe you will be a hap-
pier man married than you could ever be single. 2d. You write
a hand which isin every way excelient........ Ada H.—Wben-
ever the author permits of the publication of the name, we shall
be happy to lay it before our readers........ D. F, T.—Yes......
Recor ng Secretary..—The only English society in New York is
the St. George. Its meeting room 1s at No. 138 Laurens street.
See £0 S —Ist. Among the many religious societies in
London, we do not find one named the:London Tract Society,
consequently we cannot give you its address. 2d. We decline
decisively giving the place of business of firms... ..... An Oc-
casional r.—l he sentence to which you refer is correct
in construction, although the relative parts of the are
too far apart forstrict e'egance. [f you will read the sentence
over again, you will find that the wife did not die, but that
“ten years of. perfect happiness passed mage ONY 2d. There are
several grammaticalerrors in your note. The most flagrant is
this one: “The third verse relates of the beseech to relinquish,”
ete. In sentence you make the verb “beseech” a noun.
“ Beseech” means “to pray.”” If you wish to see how nonsen
sical the sentence is, just put “to pray” in the place of
“peseech.”’...... Roy t -—You can have a photograph
painted so as to look like an oil painting by almost any photo-
graphist...... Romeo.—We never heard of the person named
before, and, of course, cannot give Soe any information con-
cerning him.....,....Zawrence.—Ist. The fare from Boston to
Philadelphia is about $9. 2d. See answer to ‘“Hindoo Kosh,” in
NO.j3A. ch 002 Coraline. —“Chignen” is pronounced, as nearly as
we can give the sound in English, ‘‘shee-nong.”’...... K. K, T.—
A quack...... . Richard Laurence.—Ist. The lite of a sailoris one
of the hardest that any man ever lived. Youshould read some
of the expositions before our courts, of the treatment sailors
receive. And under the best captain that ever sailed a ship—
and many of them sre conscientious, humane, and Christian
gentlemen—the sailor's life is one of severe toil, small pay,
and great danger. Our advice to you is,learn a trade and
stick at it till you masterit, and by so doing you can achieve
a home and an independence. Scouts are employed by the
United States, and when one dies another takes his place ; but
there is no scout who is regularly succeeded in office. A scout
is not one who holds a certain rank like major-general, but is
merely ones while his services are required. 3d. The
Congressman for the district in which you live is the proper
arty to apply to for an appointment to the Naval Academy.
Ue he will not give you an appointment you —- get one.
4th. You write a fair hand Eva.—It is impossible for us to
give the reason, as we have not the pleasure of a personal
acquaintance. But we cansay this, that it is only one woman
in a million who is surrounded with admirers. he common
lot is that every woman shall please one man. If it were
otherwise, where would women who are not followed by
crowds of admirers get husbands? When the right man comes
along he willsee beauties in you, both of mind and person, that
no one else has discovered, and he will make you happy by the
most devoted admiration...... Thomas C. J.—Ist. We advise you
to learn a trade. No class of men, if they are anything like
competent workmen, are so independent and can so readily
procure situations as mechanics. 2d. Read histories, works of
travel, and elementary books of science. 3d. The word
“sachem’” is pronounced “‘say-chem’’—the ‘“‘ch”’ asin “‘chime.”’
ey H. S. Smith.—A quack concern........ Vandalia.—Quacks
both......J M. W. Henry.—The fare to Boston by the cheapest
route is $6...... Witch of the Ocean.—Ist. The demands of the fair,
in social matters, always take the preference of those of the
“sterner sex. 2d. If the father, without cause, makes objection,
you should continue to woo the lady of your love—especialiy
when the lady’s mother is favorable to the suit.......... Willie
Thalmer.—ist. No. 2d. We shall publish another story from the
en of Francis S. Smith in the course of a few months. 3d.
Four penmanship is up to the book-keeper’s standard..........
Inquisiticeness.—We do not know the name of the author of the
novels mentioned........ ulapius.—Not the slightest chance
of getting an appointment at  present........... E. Potts.—
You cannot get to Brazil by railroad; but can by ship..........
Tike.—We decline pointing out places of business in this column.
hes Humpy.—lf you were born with rounded shoulders, it is
an utter impossibility for you to become square shouldered by
any practice. To keep yourself from becoming round shoul-
dered, if you are not naturally so, you ees practice with

light dumb bells and Indian clubs....... - Q. Z.—A quack con-
COLD: «s Snicb A. Fourloin.—After reading your note twice, we are

in a fog as Lo What you wish us to express an opinionon. When
you write again remember this: It is useless to give usa history
of your adventures, but it is necessary that you should put your
questions in a shape that we can arrive at some comprehen-
sion of what you wantto know......... Chicago.—As there are
other news agents in your city who sell the New York WEEKLy,
you are not compelled to buy it from the one that charges more
than you consider a fair price for it. After the ee leave
our possession we have no control over them. All agents pay
the same for them, and if une likes to give them away and
another insists on selling them for $1 each copy, we cannot pre-
vent their so doing...... Jay.—The property having been made
over to your mother by your father, itis hers and not his; con-
sequently, should he die before her, he could not will one cent
of it away from her..Stella Star.—You should treat him as you
would any-other male acquaintance—neither too distantly, nor
too kindly; if you did the first, he would think that,you regretted
his desertion; if the second, that you wished to win him back
again... Osmus.—Ist. Study Goold Brown’s Grammar. 2d. Your
penmanship is good, but too small in style for a business hand.
be hake Donkey.—You are too old to enter any public institution
for the maintenance and education of the young. You must
depend upon yourself for whatever education you wish to get...
Glencoe.—ist. Sherman’s title is simply ‘‘General,” and he is, un-
der the President, the commander-in-chief of thearmy. The
“Lieut.-General” is the next officer in rank to the ‘‘@eneral.”
2d. In riding with a x, A the gentleman should always be on
her right. . .Samuel Lee.—The firm still occupies the same building.
....Amy Kay.—Ist. “Ollendort’s System of French” is genenally
acknowledged to be the best self-instructor in that language.
2d. “Bennett’s System of Bookkeeping” has a high reputation
among those most competent to judge of its merits. . Your
penmanship is excelient.......... Peccavi.—There is no impro-
priety whatever in your marrying a lady a few years older than
yourself. The only question is, will the marriage result in hap-
piness to yourself andthe lady? If you can answer ia the affir-
mative, after having given the matter consideration, then you
should have no hesitation in marrying her. Some of your ac-

you and the lady are the parties to be affected for good or ill,
you should pay no attention to the banter of acquaintances on
a matter so important to your own happiness...... oversee. A.
Gibbons.—We cannot print the story in separate sheets...........
William Stone.—The lines may have been written for a purpose,
but after attentively reading them we have been unab

TEOMA i Faas oe wien a
of a good physician. 3d. Your penmanship is bad

thence to New Zealand by whatever means may be availabl
ut Mountain.—Ist. See ‘‘“Knowledge Box.” 2d.

 

which an enlisted man can attain in the army
want it >

aseeee Bearerece .

Gossip witH READERS AND CoNTRIBUTORS.—
Amateur.—Ist. The word “groove,” in the acting edition at
2d. aryie-

Middlesex Co., Eng., and forms the N. W. quarter of London.
foolish,” and ‘‘fa-

cere,” “to make;” hence, it means ‘to make foolish;” ‘to make
a@ man stultifies himself, we merely
In law “to stultify” is to
ge or prove to be insane or idiotic, ferthe purpose of aypid-
th 1853 Russia demanded from

the Turkish gecermmant certain guarantees of the rights of the
tians of Turkey, which the Porte believed to involve

to the Rus-
war, in which England, France and Sardinia took

uilibrium of polices power in Europe

For nearly two centuries Russia had been struggling for the
control of a Mediterranean port, and her eyes have been long-
ingly turned toward Constantinople as the best outlet for her
cereals. The western powers fear Russia, as with her great
natural resources, her half-barbaric population and extensive
territory, she would be a formidable rival in trade and a dan-
The reason why the war was not conduct-
ed against other parts of the Russian territory than the Crimea,
was that in all other places she was found impregnable. 5th.
hrase “under the lilies’ is a poetical way of saying “dead

rase “under the
A W. D.—You should talk the matter over seriously
rospects for
usiness vou
wish to start thanthatin which you are now engaged. You
n it, that if you can convince her that you will be
y the change, she willnot oppose you longer. We
y your mother in aught that is reer

1a

Diurno.—\st. Your handwriting is yr bat mone be improved
ou ng some of the let-

nmanship is so
to discuss in any way religious questions; but can state for your
een centuries, have acknowledged the truth and inspiration of

illiam Kene.—

y conducted (which

quaintances may express astonishment at your choice; but as

to dis-
cover what that purpose was. They are not worthy of publica-

Charles.—1st. The person named is a notorious
2d. Instead of taking quack medicines seek the advice
ew
Zealand.—it would cost you close on $300 to go from New York
to New Zealand. The quickest and most direct route is from
New York to San Francisco, thence by steam to Australia, and
1.»
eopead We
would advise you to enter neither; butif you are determined
on going into either the army or navy, we think the navy the
better of the two, as there are positions in the navy that a smart,
intelligent man may attain which pay better than a ositions
. 3d. We do not
S.—Yes,.we do intend publishing

 

other stories by Prof. Wm.H. Peck. On the conclusion of
“Conrad, the Convict; or, The Brand of Crime,’’ we shall com.
mence the most exciting story Prof. Peck has ever written. It
is entitled ‘£15,000 Reward, Dead or Alive.”..........Dr. J. R.
Ireland.—We are unable to give you the proportions of the metals
in the five cent pieces now in Circulation. They are partly sil-
ver, and are really worth about three cents. Our books of ref-
erence do not give the proportions of silver and nickel. If any
of our readers are in possession of this knowledge, will they
favor us by forwarding it?..... cea ve.—All the stories
‘Sato the exception of one) which we have published in years

ave been eee before we have published a line of them.
Seka Cais R. E, Fenton.—ist. The paper is no more injurious than
the tobacco, if as much so. 2d. By stepping into any store
where musical instruments are sold, you can learn the different
prices of guitars. 3d. Your handwriting is fair, and your gram-
Mar correct. ..+,:ssec Ph 7 Drumsticks.—\st. The concern
is a quack affair, and its medicines trash. 2d. You will have to
~ | go some distance from New York city to get good trout fishing.

. You write a good hand.......... Will.—We willinquire......

Lansing Williams.—The postage on the New York WrEKLy for
- | six months, where the postage is paid in advance at the office
= | where the paper is received, 1s but ten cents...... Maud Fisher.—
: | We cannot remember any passage in the scriptures in which ob-
jection is made to ma es between the widow and the de-
ceased husband’s brother. Indeed, such marriages, where there
are children, are oftentimes the best that could possibly be
made, as it is likely that the brother would have a greater love
for his brother’s offspring than a stranger could have...... John
Burr.—\st. No. 2d. Aquack, 3d. Business is usually brisk in
New York in the latter partof September. 4th. Touch the warts
atew times with caustic. 5th. You must go toa doctor......
Pericles,—lst. You should consult a skilled oculist, who mez be
able to do something to benefit your eyes. Be careful to whom
you apply, as the eye is too delicate an organ to trust its treat-
ment in the hands of any but the most capable physicians. 2d.
The association is a quack concern. 3d. The medicine is worth
but little. 4th. Your penmanship is passably good...... Week:
Reader.—It would outrage all-forms of etiquette for a gentleman
to invite a lady with whom he is not acquainted to a ball, party,
or place of amusement...... J. H.—In iotteries which are fairly
conducted one pecem, in thirty thousand draws a prize.
Whether or not the lottery to which you refer is fairly con.
ducted we cannot say...... Ogil—Wash your feet in water in
which rock salt and alum have been dissolved...... P.ach.—We
decidedly decline answering such questions.....4. C. narest.—
Ist. When you go to buy a fishing line ask fora blue fish
line and hooks. 2d. Any one who undertakes to pronounce
English words on principles of analogy wil! find himself more
derided than admired, and he will a discover that many
words so pronounced would not be understood by those with
whom he was conversing. Immemorial usage has given the
mass of words their present sounds, and no philologist pretends
to upset the common, or received pronunciation...... Little Buck-
shot.—Instead of taking every medicine that you see advertised,
when anything is the matter with you, go to a physician who
understands the effects of medicine...... c. W.—There is no
petenptible difference between New York and Brooklyn time.
ae Aate he following MSS. have beenaccepted and will be pub-
lished in the New York WEEKLY: ‘Think of Me,’’ ‘“Robed for
the Burial,” “Beautiful Sleeper,” “A Bright Passage in a Dark
Life,” “Ellice,” ‘Fair and False,” and “Alone on the Shore.”
kee The following are respectfully declined: ‘‘The Monarch
and His Subject,” ‘‘How I Lost My Patriotism,” “Lines Written
in an Album,” “The Seduction,” ‘fhe Lands of Beulah,” “I
am Weary,” “Let Me Sleep,” “On to Canada,” “Cloud Pic-
tures,’ and *‘Memory’s Music.”

fa

Items of Interest.

4a The success of the great Weston in walking one
hundred miles in less than twenty-two hours, naturally

calls attention to previous achievments of the same char-

acter. Of these we find a very interesting account in a
work on Pedestrianism, published in Aberdeen in 1813. It
seems that Robert Bartley of Norfolk, who was bern in
1719, used frequently to walk from Thetford to London in
one day, returning the next; the distance, 81 miles. Reed

of Hampshire, in 1791, made 50 miles in a little more than
9 hours. In 1762 John Hogue made 100 miles in 23 hours
and 15 minutes. In 1787 Foster Powell walked from
Canterbury to London Bridge and back in 23 hours and

50 minutes, the distance being 109 miles. In 1806 Joseph

Edge of Macclesfield walked 172 miles in 49 hours and 20
minutes. In 1788 John Boty walked 700 miles in 14 days,

and Dowler of Towcester walked 500 miles in seven suc-
cessive days. In 1811 Oliver walked 100 miles in 23 hours
and 50 minutes, and Edward Miller did the same distance
in 23 hours 25 minutes. In 1812 J. Waring of Lancashire
walked 136 miles in 34 hours, and Glanville of Shrop-
shire walked 142 miles on the Bath road in 29 hours and
45 minutes. In 1812 Lieut. Groates walked 72 miles in 11

hours 56 minutes. The greatest pedestrian of all, how-

ever, was Capt., Robert Barclay, a descendant of the cel-
ebrated Quaker Barclay of Ury. In 1801, while he was in
training to walk upon a wager, he made, in the park of
Lord Faulkenberg, 110 miles in 19 hours 27 minutes. In
1806 he walked 100 in19 hours, over the worse road in the
kingdom, and just at the breaking out of a severe storm.
Exclusive of the stoppages, the distance was performed
in 17 hours 80 minutes. In this walk he was attended

by William Cross his servant, who made the distance in
the same time asthe master; and subsequently Cross
walked 100 miles in 19 hours 17 minutes, on the Aberdeen
road. In 1807 Barclay walked 78 miles in 14 hours, over
the hilly roads of Aberdeenshire. In the course of this
year he ran 19 miles in2 hours and 8 minutes, making
the first 9 miles in 50 minutes, though the road was
hilly and bad. In 1809, when he was 28 years old, Bar-
clay accomplished the exploitof walking 1,000 neiles in
1,000 hours. In the course of this feat his weight, which
was 186 pounds at starting, fell off 32 pounds. Five days
afterward he joined the expedition to Walcheren, where
he served as an aid-de-camp to the Marquis of Huntly.
The expedition was unfortunate, but Barclay returned in
safety. After this he lived the life of a country gentleman
at Ury; and the only public exploit in which he was en-
gaged was the of Tom Crib in his great match
against Molineaux. From these facts it will be seen that,
brilliant as was Weston’s success on that of May last, he
has still a deal to accomplish before his name can

be found at the very head of the catalogue of walkists.

ka= Fell, a French savan, recently exhibited to the
Paris Scientific Academy nearly perfect glass imitations
of emeralds, sapphires, and white and colored rubies.
One specimen of deep violet blue, and rich in tone and
brilliancy, was thought to surpass the finest amethyst.
#a@= A man who had served eleven years in the Auburn
State Prison was recently discharged with several hun-
dared dollars in his Ket, made by overwork,. and in
possession of a good which he had learned during
his imprisonment. :

sas- A horse was so suddenly agitated by the raising of
an umbrella, the other day, in Cincinnati, that he broke
up a funeral procession, and overthrew a buggy contain-
ing a man and his wife, fatally injuring bot.

4a A man in Pennsylvania has discovered a process
by which all grades of steel and iron can be so welded to-
gether at one heat, that the weld cannot be upset, even
under the severest tests.

4@=> A clerk in the Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Navy
Yard, who lost both hands several years ago, is a very
good penman. He holds the pen between his wrists, se-
curing the paper by a weight.

4@=> A peor man at Louisvilie recently sougnt admission
to a hospital. He was so sick that he could hardly drag
himself to the door, yet he clung to a babe six weeks old
which his dying wife had left him.

a> Cambridge, Mass., boasts that in ten years its Mu-
seum of Comparative Zoology has attained a position
which brings it to the most intimate relations with the
first museums of Europe. _
4@ A thief in Indiana, who stole the regulator froma
watchmaker’s establishment, was kind enough to set an-
other clock with the correct time, leaving a note to that
eifect.
aa West Point, Ga., a place of 2,500 inhabitants, can
boast of two cotton mills, one foundry, fifteen dry-goods
stores, and a good fire department.

a> Somebody has invented a remedy against sea-sick-
ness. It is a chamber so suspended as not to be aifected
by the rolling and pitching of the vessel.
aa The photograph business annually consumes one
million eggs in this country, and four million in Europe,
the whites being used for albumenizing the paper.
ga=> Mr. W. J. Sloan, a valued contributor of the New
York Weekly, has, weare pleased to see, become one of
the publishers of the Maryville, Mo., Democrat.
Sa Some of the Boston dress-makers have living, in-
stead of wooden or wire models, on which to exhibit the
new Spring fashions.
8a People are flocking to the new gold fields of New
Mexico from all directions. There are additional discoy-
eries of great riches.
aa The Avondale mine, at which on September 6th,
1869, the breakers were burned and 110 men and boys
smothered, has just gone into operation again.
aa For the first time within living memory there is
not a gambling house publicly open in Philadelphia.
aa One hundred convicts have been discharged from
the Auburn prison since New Year’s day. The present
number is nine hundred.
8a Two English blacksmiths lately made twenty-four
horse-shoes in forty-nine minutes,
4a It takes 1,200 head of cattle to supply Philadelphia
with beef for a single day.

8@> A lady correspondent asserts, authoritatively, that
Queen Victoria is utterly opposed to female suifrage.
4a A dangerous rock was blasted out of Newport har-
bor by a torpedo and an electric battery.
gap The estimated cost of the new passenger depot to
be built at Atlanta, Georgia, this summer, is $175,000.

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROFESSOR PECK’S NEW STORY.

The many admirers of PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PBCK
will nail with delight the announcement of a new story
from his gifted pen. It is founded on the career of an
outlaw, and is entitled

£15,000 Reward,
DEAD OR ALIVE!

After a careful perusal of it, we unhesitatingly pro-
nounce it tobe PROFeSSOR PECK’S best story. Mysterious
in plot, startling in incident, and marked by that rapidity
of action which is one of the peculiarities of the author’s
style. ‘£15,000 POUNDS REWARD—DEAD OR ALIVE p?
must prove a great success.

This story, which was written expressly for the NEW
YorK WEEKLY, will soon be placed before our readers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_

 
rae ee ee

EX'S

 

 

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pnb
Cony

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKL’

 

 

ae

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SONG—TENDEE VOWS.

 

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

Yes, let them whisper tender vows
That wreathe the starry hours,

While sweeter with the plighting grows
The tragrance of the flowers.

The breeze that brought a sweet, soft song
From yonder murmuring rill

That dances down the mossy rock
Sings softer, sweeter still.

And we can with it, too, rejoice,
Though words may not take part—
A music for their wedded bliss
Now dauces in each heart.

Love on, ye innocent young ones
Blest by Heaven’s Seraph-Seven,
Your earnest wedded love will rear

More seraphs for that Heaven.

 

BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR.

Scheming Madelon;

R, .
THE SECRET DOOR.

By the Author of “‘Peerless Cathleen,’’ ‘Lady
of Grand Court,’’ and **Rose of Kendale.’?

 

 

“Scheming Madelon” was commenced in No. 31. Back num-
bers can be had from News Agents throughout the country.]

CHAPTER V.
Stay, soft wind, and stand, fair river,
And leave me never, thou perfect day;
And still as I ask, the hours for ever
Slip from my life, and glide away.

“T ought to be very contented, I suppose,” said Made-
lon, with a slight inflection of scorn Inher tone. “Buta
piano, magazines, and flowers, good dinners, and even
an increase of pocket-money, are not the sole requisites
of human ltappiness. Unfortunately, uncle, something
else is needed, and that something else you are resolved
to deny me.”’

She spoke defiantly now, holding back her superb head
and looking her uncle boldly in the face. She was in a
daring and mutinous mood. She felt desperate, and
turned like a hunted animal at bay. There was some-
thing in the glittering of her eyes, and in the cold scorn
of her smile, which startled, and then irritated, Matthew
Gould.

“What you want,” he saidroughly, “is to go about the

country to balis and /etes, escorted by some such gentle-
manly ruffian as was here just now, and to that state of
t things I am decidedly opposed. It seems that you went
to the sete on the day that you were mean and false
enough tofeign illness. There, I suppose, you made the
acquaintance of the man who was here justnow. He has
been proposing for your hand, and quietly asking me to
give him twenty-five thousand pounds, because, forsooth,
his father is a baronet, and he is heir to the title and
fifteen thousand a-year. Iturned him out of the house,
in return for which he informed me that he should like
very mucil to put poison in my coffee. An admirable
speciwen he is of the young Englishman of the present
day. If the something else that is required for your hap-
piness be the society of such wretches as yonder man,
miscalied a gentleman,I am afraid you will not be very
happy as long as you remain under my care.

“Now, while we are upon the subject, 1 may as well in-
form you that I have arranged your future for you to the
best of my ability. A worthy gentleman has proposed
for your hand, a man who will guide you, a man who will
have patience with you, a man old enough and wise
enougi to protect you. Ihave arranged all things with
him. You will never have my consent to marrying any-
body else. But I shail be very glad to see you iis wife.”’

“Pray what is the gentleman’s name?” inquired Made-
lon, lottily.

A moment her uncle paused, and then he said, slowly:

“My worthy friend and lawyer—Mr. Jonathan Grimm.”

Madelon broke into a loud, scornful laugh.

“That horrible, hideous old personage ! she exclaimed.
“My good uncle, you must be out of your senses. It
would be the story of Beauty aud the Beast over again;
only that nothing could ever transform that ugly lawyer
into a graceful prince.”

“Am I to understand,’ demanded Matthew Gould,
sternly and coldly, ‘‘that you decidedly refuse the hand
of Mr. Jonathan Grimm?”

A moment Madelon paused in silence.

Let not the reader suppose for an instant that she had
the least- intention of becoming the wife of the lawyer.
She would rather have begged her bread in the streets.
But she had not arranged her plans; she wished to gain
time. ‘To cast herself upon the worid a penniless gover-
ness would be to frustrate every hope she had of one day
inheriting her uncle’s wealth. She had listened through
the secret door, and she knew that she was to have three
years’ respite. :

“Ihave no objection,’’ she said, slowly, “to consider
your proposal, Uncle Matthew, but I do not wish to marry
for two years.” ;

“That is all very well,’’? he replied, testily, ‘‘only I must
give you to understand that you will not associate with
any other gentleman during that time, and you will visit
at no other house but the house of Mr. Jonathan Grimm.”

“But in that very house,” thought Madelon, ‘I shall
meet the two clerks who would do anything forme. Af-
ter all, this love of Mr. Jonathan Grimm may be turned
to good account.”

“J shall be glad to visit at any house, uncle,” said Ma-
delon, speaking much more gently than she had hitherto
spoken. ‘Perhaps when I haveseen more of Mr. Grimm
I may not think him quite so ugly.”

She meant this for a compromise, but Matthew Gould
was by this time considerably irritated against the head-
strong girl.

“You are an impertinent creature,” he said, crossly;
“and Mr. Grimm is a hundred times too good for you. Do
not make too sure of him, or of anything else. Ihave a
great mind to have your boxes packed up, and to send
you off to a school that I heard of the ether day, to which
T should bind you two years as assistant-teacher.”’

“Asif Lwould not jump out of the window and run
away,” said Madelon to herself, with a smile.

“{ hope you will not do that, uncle,’”’ she said, speaking
more gently than she haa hitherto spoken. ‘Now, that I
come to think of it, Mr. Jonathan Grimm is always very
kind and good-natured.”

“Miss Grimm has asked you there to tea to-night,” said
Matthew Gould. ‘You are to go in there at eight o’clock.
Mr. Grimm will come for you.”

“J shall be most happy to go,” cried Madelon, speaking
in quite a gay voice. ‘Good morning, uncle, lam going
up stairs to practice,’”? and witha slight nod she left the

room.

“That girl is a complete problem to solve,” said Mat-
thew Gould to himself; ‘‘so impertinent, so headstrong,
then suadenly so meek and yielding. But I think I see
the way smoother before me now. She will marry Grimm
in hopes of getting her own way; he is respectable and
elderly, and not one of the jackanapes of the period, and
I have no doubt Madelon will improve under his care.”

Then the uncle went into his library, and buried him-
self among his dusty folios.

That evening, at eight o’clock, Madelon, dressed in a
graceful white alpacca, trimmed with rose-color, her
rich, dark hair bound with a rose-colored ribbon, a short
dark cloak on her shoulders, stood at the garden gate of
her uncle’s house, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Jonathan
Grimm. It was past the time appointed, and yet the ar-
dent lover did not appear. Her uncle was sitting over his
wine, and reading the day’s Times. The dining-room
windows were open, and he could see Madelon’s white
dress, as she stood at tne gate waiting for Mr. Grimm.
He had no objection to this, he quietly supposed it would
be all right presently. Madelon heard a step upon the
gravel road of the Cathedral Close, a slight shiver passed
over her as she supposed it to be the step of Mr. Grimm.

Then the lamplight showed hera figure, strong and
graceful; it was the figure of a young man, who took off
his cap to her reverently. Am enormous arbutus bush
hid him from the eyes of the uncle in the dining-room.
In a moment Madelon comprehended the situation. The
lawyer hag been called off on sudden and pressing busi-
ness, and Miss Martha Grimm had dispatched Melrose to
bring her to the house. But should her uncle see how
Matters stood, he would not allow her to visit the Grimms
that evening.

“Good night, good night, uncle,’? she said, aloud.
“Here’s Mr. Grimm come for me.’?

She rushed up to Melrose.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t speak !’’ she cried. “Give
meyour arm. Lead me off down toward the river. First,
though, tell me is old ugliness coming back soon ?”’

“Tf you mean Mr. Grimm, Miss Gould,’ said Melrose,
laughing.

“Yes, [mean Mr. Grimm. Who else should I mean ?”’

“Mr, Grimm,’’ returned Melrose, *‘ has been sent for in
a hurry atElmswood. He is tlie lawyer to Lady Stanley.
Castle is gone with him. They are not expected back till
late to-night.”

“Oh, lucky ?’ cried Madelon. ‘How beautifully things
a turned out! Were you coming then to put me
olf

“No; Miss Grimm thought you would like to takea
quiet cup of tea with her, and so sent me on to escort you
to the house.’

While Melrose spoke, the warm white arm of Madelon

was thrust within lis own, her perfumed hair brushed his
shoulder.
\ The young man loved her with that deep romantic de-
yotion which is so beautiful, so poetic, so noble in its ut-
ter abnegation of seli—that love which refines, and en-
nobles, and elevates a manly nature, even though the
path through which it leads be thorny, and oft times
watered by the bitter tears of disappointed hopes,

Madeion understood and felt her power over the hand-
some articled clerk. Her taste was fine, her judgment,
young as she was, was good. She admired the dark, in-
tellectual face, and stalwart form of Arthur Melrose, as
she would have admired an exquisite painting, or a glow-
ing landscape; and besides all this, she divined by instinct
how true, and generous, and pure-soul he was: how like
a god among men, so to speak, judging him by the selfish
specimens of her own circle.

 

 

There was Castle, with his ruddy cheeks and red hairs,
and gaudy rings upon his fingers, loving her in a blind,
unreasoning, ignoble fashion. Ready to do anything
mean, or mercenary, or base, to please her—a love spring-
ing out of selfishness, a love that would not last to the
time of hoar hairs, and dimmed eyes, and faded beauty.

There was the son of the baronet loving her also, some-
thing in the same fashion, only not so warmly. Jervis
Wilmot had plenty of choice. He had only to walk out
into the garden of English beauty, and he might cut the
fairest rose that grew there as his bride. In a few weeks
he would forget Madelon, unless she thrust herself upon
his notice.

Then there was Jonathan Grimm; but what need to
think of him, or to compare the avaricious old lawyer,
whose life was not pure, and whose face was so ugly,
with the hero of romance at her side.

Madeilon had pretended to quarrel with Melrose on the
day of the fete, but in her heart she liked him better than
anybody she had ever seen in her life; her grasp tight-
ened upon his arm, she began to speak to him quickly and
confidentially:

“I have never seen you but once before,’’ she said,
“and then you refused to help me to a knowledge of my
uncle’s will; in spite of all that, and thougn I was angry
at the time, I have avery great contidence in you; I would
tell you anything, and trust you with anything, and ask
your advice about anything. I can’t tell why; it is not
Only because you are good-looking, but somehow because
I feel that you are good, and I, why I am bad—very bad,”
and she laughed bitterly.

“Don’t say so, Miss Gould,” cried Melrose in a tone of
distress.

“Ah, but it is true,’ she said impetuously, ‘quite true.
I don’t mean to say that I have done anything bad,’’ she
added. “WhenI was achildI used to steal fruit, and
told lies, and now that lam a woman I deceive my uncle
and tell lies in another fashion, but itis not my fault; I
never have had anybody to teach me anything better,
and I can’t learn for myself; and now, I tell you the trath,
1 don’t wish to learn. To be tame and good and patient
would not serve me now; I must be cunning and selfish
and outwit them all. Do you know that my uncle wishes
to marry me to Mr. Jonathan Grimm?’

Arthur’s expression of horrified surprise quite startled
Madelon. Then she proceeded to tell Melrose of her un-
cle’s will, to which she had been a concealed witness.
When she Game to the end of her gloomy little history
she frankly asked him for his advice, and his help.

“Miss Gould, your uncle should be remonstrated with,”
said Melrose passionately. ‘His brother canons should
wait upon him, and reason him out of this cruel resolve.”

“If the whole bench of bishops, and the queen at their
head, were to come down to Marsden to-morrow for the

 

purpose of making him alter his resolution, he would
wish them all a respectful good morning, and still go on
his way,’? said Madelon bitterly. itd

“Jt is monstrous,’ cried Melrose; “it is not to be
borne.”

“You think not,’ responded Madelon quickly; ‘you
agree with me that any means, iair or foul, should be
used to avoid this cruel arrangement of my uncle?”

“Pardon, no,” cried Melrose; “I would have naught to
do with means that are not fair; they would only lead in
the end to misery.’’ 3

“Can you show me aby way out of my difficulty by fair
means?’ asked Madelon.

For a few moments Melrose was silent.

By this time they had wandered down to the river, @
broad path run by the side of, shaded on the right hand
by tall elm trees, whose spreading brauches formed a
roof over the heads of the young pair. The river itself
stretched ,out ‘calm and wide in the silver luster of the
summer moon, which was rising over wooded hills on the
opposite shore. 5

The youthful couple had the broad pathway, the stretch
of waters, the beauty of the whole scene entirely to
themselves. The broad pathway suddenly narrowed, and

 

led them through a thicket of oaks and chestnuts and
straggling bushes of wild dog-rose, blackberry, and hazel
nut. A few steps more and they had emerged into large
green Meadows wliere the sward was as soft as velvet,

 

 

 

but now the night dew struck coldly to the feet of Made-
lon through her thin house slippers; she paused and shiv-
ered, and a slight cough alarmed the anxiety of Melrose.

“You will take cold,” he exclaimed. “I have wandered
too far; let us return.”?

“If I took cold and died, it would solve the melancholy
question of what is to become of this atom of humanity
who leaus upon yourarm. Sometimes, do you know, Mr.
Melrose, I have nad serious thoughts of taking poison?”

“Goa forbid,” cried. Melrose, baring his handsome head
and looking reverently toward the summer might sky, as
though imploring the protection of Heaven upon beauti-
ful Madelon. “How can you talk so? Is your uncle’s
ee worth your lfe—your precious, young, beautiful
life ?°?

He spoke in impassioned tones, and Madelon felt her
heart go out to meet him,

“Speak—advise me,’’ she said.

“If Imight venture,” he returned, “to speak of myself
and my feelings at a moment like this, without incur-
ring the charge of egotism or meanness, I weuld tell you
that you have in me one who would be devoted to you as
long as he lives. For your sake I would work night and
aay, and all my life. But why do I talk so wildly? What
right have I to expect or hope that you would cast a
thought to me; or to the love I bear you?’

“Why not?’ she asked suddenly, and, nerved by a sud-
den impulse, she clung convulsively to his arm, clasping
it with both her hands, “Do you think that love and ten-
derness and unselfish devotion have come so frequently
to me in my short life that Ican afford to throw them
away? No, Arthur Melrose, if you love me as you say you
do, and as I believe you do, l regard your affection as a

the semblance of an angel of light, he spoke out bravely
to Madelon.

“Madelon, my love for you is almost an idolatry; for
you { would suifer all things that a man can suffer. [
would bear stripes, imprisonment, hunger, fear, death
itself, but I cannot do an evil deed and call it by a noble
name. Believe me, trust me, in the end good will tri-
umph, and evil must bite the dust.”

“T do not believe it,” cried Madelon, bitterly. “No; I
see you Will not help me. Your love is all in words, Mel-
rose. Let us bid each other adieu to-night, and after-
ward we will only meet as cooi, polite acquaintances. I
tell you I cannot, calmly and quietly, give up the idea of
inheriting some of my uncle’s wealth. I have thought of
nothing else ever since I could think at all. It would be
different, you know, if you were rich, but to go to be de-
pendent on your mother, or to become a governess, I
could not do either of those things. Had you not better
wish me good-night, and thank Heaven you have escaped
such a sinner as 1 am.”

“TI cannot let you go,” cried the young man, passionate-
ly; ““{ cannot see you engaged, even in seeming, to Jona-
than Grimm. No, Madelon, no; think better of it. You
will find, Iam sure you wu, that it is impossible to re-
ceive the attentions of Mr. Grimm. Tell your uncle this,
surely he will listen to you. Call upon the Dean of Mars-
den—lhe is a good old man. Let him represent to your
uncie what character Mr.. Grimm bears.’

“He might do so,” said Madelon, smiling, “but he
would take my name entirely out of his will.”

“Still that will,” cried Melrose, impatiently.
detested will to stand between us forever?”

“It is the great guif which separates the good spirit
from the bad,” cried Madelon. “Now give me your arm
again, and let us walk on as true friends—fast friends.
And what of Miss Grimm’s cup of tea; how cold it must
pe, and how bitter by this time; and what excuse can we
make, think of that?” \

“T have thought of it all,” responded Melrose. “It
would be very unpleasant for Miss Grimm to know we
have had this delicious walk by the river. Will you go
home and say that Mr. Grimm is gone to Elmswood on
business? Nothiti® more will be said. Itis true that he
is gone to ElmswWSod, and as long as you say nothing
more it will be vel} strange if there should be anything
more said about tlie matter.”

By this time the l@vers had reached the Cathedral Close.
A tall, dark figure Was walking up and down under the
shade of the trees Which grew in the Cathedral Square.

Madelon eagerly clutched the arm of Melrose.

“See that red spot of fire,’ shesaid. ‘It is my uncle’s
cigar, and that figure is my uncle. Let us keep in the
snuade ourselves. [ think we had better go on to Mr.
Grimm’s. Leave all to me; see what tact 1 have, how
easily I will manage Miss Martha.”’

Melrose suffered himself to be led on. A turn in the
path wound them round in front of the gaunt house of
Mr. Grimm. }

Madelon pulled the bell and rattled lightly on the door
with the knocker.

The door was opened by an elderly woman-servant in
mean attire, and with a somewhat hungry look upon her
thin face. This woman wore a cotton apron, and a small
woolen shawl was pinned across lier chest.

“Js Miss Grimm tired of waiting? Iam so sorry,” cried
Madelon, “but 1 don’t like tea, you know, and I am so
| glad I have found my garnet seal-ring that Lhad lost. It
shpped off my finger, and we have been searching on the
gravel for it for the last hour. 1 would not have lost it
for the world, and just now Mr. Melrose saw it gleaming
like a little red light in the moonbeam,”

She held up the ring as she spoke to the thin old wo-
man-servant.

Melrose experienced a sudden revulsion of feeling, a
sort of moral electric shock, when he heard the beautiful
girl who had captivated his heart and his fancy so prompt
and cheerful with her ready lie,

No scruples of conscience knit the fair brow intoa
frown, or cast the gioom of remorse in dark shacows over
the glittering grey eyes. She ran on into the low-vell-
inged room, pannelled with dark wood and furnished
with spindle-shanked tables, ligh-backed chairs, whose
seats were covered with worsted-work, small, round mir-
rors, and high-shouldered cheffoniers, which was the
drawing-room of Mr. Grimim’s melancholy old house.
There was 2 large china bowl filled with flowers placed
in the centre of the table.

Madelon went up to this bow], and hid her face among
the roses.

Arthur Melrose supposed she might bea little ashamed
of her duplicity, but when sheraised her head the lamp-
light fell upon her laughing face.

“Did I not manage that well |’? she said. “What, you
look shocked! My dear Mr. Melrose, you have not half
fathomed the depths of my wickedness yet. Listen, here
comes Miss Grimm—

“Ts that

Here’s Miss Grimm,

Pray be prim;

She’ll think it a sin,

If she sees us grin.

A nice little impromptu verse a9

The door opened as Madelon spoke, and Miss Grimm
appeared.

Miss Martha was a tall, angular lady, with hook nose
and black eye-brows which met close above it. There
was something like.a beard upon her long-pointed chin—
the expression of the ywhole countenance was intensely
severe. Street mentiicdiits riéver ventured te appeai to
the charity of Miss Grimm; and begging-letter petitioners,
whenever such people found their way into the good
town of Marsden. abstained from making their cases
known to the sister of the lawyer, even if they gained
an entrance to the drawin-room, with the high-backed
worsted chairs. At the/sight of Miss Grimm’s bearded
chin and black eyebrows such people invariably found

 

 

boon from Heaven—as a precious boon.” « .

Her voice trembled—Madelon was surprised at her own
emotion.

In her French school she had learnt to reckon mere hu-
man love, unless framed ina golden setting, as a prize
scarce worth the winning, and now how was it that she
felt strongly compelled to cast in her lot with that of this
handsome stranger.

All that she had hitherto striven for, all the gay prizes
of earth—wealth, show, diamonds, carriages, and titles—
all these worldly glories dimmed and grew pale in the
sight before one burning picture, painted by the glowing
fingers of passion—passion at its purest and best. She
saw a country cottage, poor but picturesque. A garden
where bloomed the homeliest though brightest of flowers.
An open window, a tiny parlor, furniture of the plainest
and neatest, a breakfast table, herseif presiding, dressed
in simpie white, her youth and glowing beauty her sole
adornment; and by herside sat Melrose, handsome Mel-
rose, withearnest, thoughtful face, but eyes luminous
with the light. of love. He was the bread-winner, strug-
gling ina new profession. She was the adoring wife,
rejoicing in his triumphs and mourning over his defeats.
What had become of the creed which she had learned in
France—that creed which began “I believe in gold and
all it can bring me ?”?

“lf 1 become a governess,”’ she said, speaking rapidly,
“what will become of us? How are weto meet? What
will you be dolug? Is there any hope thatif I threw up
all expectations of inheriting my uncle’s wealth—is there
any ope that you and I would ever be happy—would
eve: be married? How many years before you became a
prosperous lawyer—long years, long, long weary years?
I should have gray threads in my hair before that day
came. I must tell you, Melrose, that I have no patience
in my nature. Ido not know how to wait—why should
I disguise it?”

Melrose was violently agitated by the plain, out-spoken
frankness of Madelon Gould. He was flattered besides,
intensly flattered, to find that this beautiful creature had
a preference for him which might almost be termed love.

“Madelon,’? he whispered, ‘‘Madelon, I am young and
poor, but L come of a good family, i have high connections,
1 have interest, I have many friends, I have brains and
Willand faith in myself, and when a man iias faith in
himself, the battle is always half won. But more than all
this, Madelon, I have love for you. Such aloveas would
make me face death for your sake. Will you nottrust in
me, that I will climb soon to the head of my profession ?
You shali not have to wait long, Madelon.”’

With an impulse sudden and irresistible, he encircled
Madelon in his arms; he pressed her with impassioned fer-
vor against his heart.

All that there was of tenderness in the gir!’s nature was
awakened within her for the time, and she sobbed upon
his shoulder and clung fondly abouthis neck. But after-
ward came a pause, and she asked Melrose what she was
to do during the three or four years that must elapse be-
fore he could enter upon his proiession.

“Shall I stay here,’’?she said, “and pretend to been-
gaged to Jonathan Grimm?”

‘Heaven forbid !”? cried the lover, passionately. ‘No,
no, the sight of that would drive me mad. Reason with
your uncle, say you will have none of Mr. Grimm, and if
he remains obstinate, then come home to my mother—she
will receive you as her chiid.”?

“You are very good,’ said Madelon, speaking a little
coldly, and moving away from the encircling arm of her
lover; ‘“‘but most likely your mother would not like me;
and if she be one of your excellent people I am afraid I
should not likeher. I have not been well brought up,”
addec this odd, restless Madelon, turning about hastily
and looking toward the river as she spoke; “and excel-

 

 

 

 

lent and well-disposed persons are nearly sure to find
great fault with me. I think, Arthur Melrose, after all,
that you had better let me gang my ain gate, as the
Scotch say. Let me marry Jonathan Grimm, or perhaps
my uncle may alter his will after all.”

She glanced furtively into his face as she spoke, his
face with its faultless features showing pale and pure in
the moonbeams.

It was impossible in that light to say whether or no any
change had passed overit.

“I say,” whispered Madelon, ‘‘shall we make him alter
his will? Shall we save him the trouble and alter it for
him ?

She laid her small, snowy hand on the shoulder of Mel-
rose as she spoke.

It was a terrible temptation to the young man, but he
stood it bravely. Her bewitching beauty,her tender grace,
her orphaned, friendless condition, the injustice under
which she suffered, her trustin him, her love for him, (for
she did love him), and then his desperate over-mastering
herself, all these conspired to tempt him into passion for
lending himselftoevil. ‘Such an unjust will, such a cruel
will,” said a voice within him. ‘‘You could make a good
will, a fair will; you could provide handsomely for this
beautiful orphan; but also you would deal out much in
noble charities—it would only be doing evil, that good
might come, and you’ ould bind this sweet creature to
you forever by an eternal bond.”’

Just for amoment Melrose closed his eyes,<and listened

 

to the inward tempter; but then, shakingit from him
suddenly, knowing it to be but a devil clothed upon by

that they had mistaken the house or the name, and with
many apologies they would withdraw.

Miss Grimm kept the key of the pantry very tight, in-
deed; whatever else it might.be, number nineteen Cathe-
dral Close was not a house of plenty.

“Dear, me, how late you are,’ said Miss Grimm. “I
could not imagine what had become of you. Peggy tells
me you lost a ring,’”’ and the tone of Miss Martha plainly
said, ‘I don’t believe it in the least.’ Will you walk into
the dining-room and have tea?’

“TJ don’t wan’t any,’ began Madelon.

“Oh, but I do,” cried Miss Martha. “I have kept the
teapot on the hob waiting for you, and the muflils are
baked over again by this time!” {

“And a fire in June,’ cried Madelon, pertly. “I wonder
you are not stifled to death.”

“The evening is chilly,’? responded Miss Grimm. ‘My
brother generally wants a tumbler of hot grog when he
he returns, and as it is necessary only to keep one fire.
I prefer to keep it in the dining-room, they waste the
coal so in the Kitchen.”

They crossed the stone-hall and entered the dining:
room, which was still on the same floor. It was a large
room, carpeted with a faded red felt, and the chairs
were covered with shabby red damask, which had, per-
haps, been new thirty years before. A large gaunt table,
from which the polish had passed away long ago, was set
out at one end with a tea tray. Against the wall hung
a faded oil painting, representing a hard-featured oid
man in a red skull cap.

“Madelon, who had a fancy for looking at portraits and
apostrophising them, walked up to this portrait, and

 

studied it curiously.

“That was my great grandpapa,’’? said Miss Martha
Grimm, speaking grufiily from the head of the table,
where she was pouring out the tea.

Madelon wheeled suddenly about, and came up to the
table with a saucy smile upon her beautiful lips.

‘He looks like an old man that would have sold his
soul for sixpence,” she said, impertinently, “and any-
body else’s soul for two-pence half-penny.”’

Melrose, who was stirring round his tea thoughtfully
with his spoon, looked up quickly at Madelon as she
spoke, an intelligent glance which she understood and
appreciated—a look which said ‘‘and you Madelon, and
you; are you not willing to sell honor, and truth, and
conscience, not for sixpence, but for filthy lucre of a
grander figure?’

A flush overspread the cheek of Madelon. She stirred
her tea in her turn, putting something of defiance and
spirit and daring into the action; and meanwhile Miss
Martha Grimm had been preparing herself for a retort in
defence of her great grandpapa.

“My great grandfather,” she said, ‘was an industri-
ous, saving, determined. economical man, who built up
his own fortune, and kept it after he had gained it. He
was not like the extravagant and senseless young men of
the present day. Iam glad to say that we, his descend-
dants, have trodden worthily in his footsteps.”

“And what good does it all do you?’ asked Madelon,
who was now in a thoroughly saucy humor. ‘Your great
grandpapa made a fortune, and your grandpapa made
another,and your papa made another, and you have made
another. I suppose you have had some little odds and
ends of all the other fortunes to begin witb,and Mr.Grimm
has got a large fortune stowed somewhere, But you
don’t enjoy it, do you? You are afraid of touching it, just
the same as if it belonged to somebody else, and you
thought you should be put in prison if you spent five
pounds of it. My idea of money, Miss Grimm, is to
spend, spend, spend—make it fly right and left, fore and
aft. If I were mistress of this house, I would pull down
these papers, and ‘put up others of gold and white! I
would have rich drawing-room and dining-room suites
from London. I would have the ceilings painted by first-
rate artists, 1 would hang curtains of damask before the
windows. Oh, what grand carpets I would put on the
floor)’ '

And she looked down at the poor old felt with mocking
disdain.

Miss Grimm became quite purple with indignation
while Madelon was giving vent to these unladylike and
impertinent remarks,

Melrose wondered too, how. she could mock at and in-
sult the prejudices of the stern-faced spinster, whose tea
she was drinking, and whose muffin she was eating.

“If ever you become the mistress, Miss Gould, of any
house,’’ said the hostess, haughtly, “1 hope and trust
there will be some restraining hand above you, which
will keep you from the wild extravagances you speak of.’’

Alter this rude commencement of an evening, it is not
to be supposed that the little party waxed very sociable.
Madelon proposed a game of cards. Miss Grimm de-
clined that. Sne considered that amusement as an idle,
unprofitable, and wicked waste of time. She drew out
a pair of knitting-needles and a half-knitted stocking,
and then sat opposite to Madelon, bolt upright, the click-
ing noise of the needles, and the monotonous tones of
her voice while she enunciated some of her favorite dog-
mas, being the only soundsin the dreary old parior for
a considerable space of time.

Madelon had seated hersetf upon a low stool, and she
leaned back against a chair in an easy, luxurious atti-
‘tude, in her white dress and rose-colored ribbons, and

 

 

ese

<8)

 

 

radiant beauty. She looked as much out of place in that
ugly sitting-room, as a brilli@mt princess in a fairy tale
might do in an ogre’s cave.
_ Melrose took up a magaz‘tie and pretended to read, but
in truth he was watching Madélon behind the leaves.

“Enchanting, bewildering creature !’’ he said to himself,
“would that my blood, ormy life could purchase for her
immunity from the perils, perplexities, temptations which
beset her. If she married old Grimm and came here to
live, I should run away, I should go mad,I should go
abroad, I should fling up all chance of my profession—
abandon all the hopes I entertained of one day rising to
a high place among the lawyers of my native land. She
loves me—yes, 428 much as she.is capable of doing. But
she will not marry me in poverty, and she will not
wait forme. I see nothing t misery for myself, and
yet it isa misery which has@fascination so strong, that
all my former hopes and fears and occupations, seem
tame and commonplace by comparison.’,

At about half-past ten a meagre supper, bread and
cheese and cold mutton-bone, was brought into the di-
uing-room. Madelon contrasted the scanty fare with the
luxurious table at her uncle’s. “I should be worse otf
here, she thought to herself, than lam at home. Uncle
Matthew and Dean and our handsome rooms, and good
dinners are paradise compared to Jonathan Grimm, Miss
Martha, these moth-eaten chairs and this unsavory mut-
ton-bone—and to this life they would condemn me; we
Shall see.”?

At thismoment the rumbling wheels of a trap were
heard outside crunching on the gravel.

“Here’s my brother, here’s my brother,’ cried Miss
Martha, starting to her feet in excitement. She went
aenoe the room, and left the two young people alone to-
gether. /

“For Heaven’s sake pbb on your mantle and let us go!”’
cried Melrose. You will not stay to speak to that man;
you will not allow him to take you home?’

“Please to remember,” retorted Madelon, coquettishly,
anda gleam of mischief danced in her gray eyes, ‘that
you refused to help me in the matier thai lies nearest my
heart. No, I shall stay and speak to Mr. Grimm. Don’t
you know,” she added,‘that Iam engaged to him?”

Melrose’s dark face became pale with anger; he sat down
and shaded his eyes gloomily with his hand. Another
moment and Mr. Jonathan Grimm and his second ar-
ticled clerk had entered the dining-room.

[All who are pleased with “SCHEMING MADELON” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

CHAPTER VI.
Take ee heed unto thy footstep;
Round thy walk lurks many a snare,
If hke him thou shouldst be tempted,
Oh, my brother, watch, beware !

A week had passed away,. and the townof Marsden
was in great commotion. Mrs Gandy Dashington had is-
sued cards of invitation to all her friends for a fancy
ball to take place at her house and in her grounds and
gardens, a fortnight from that time. Everybody nearly
Was invited, for Mrs. Gandy was by no means a proud
or clannish or straight-laced woman, she inyited people
of all ranks to her great fancy ball.

‘Bless you, my dear, it was just for the young people to
enjoy themselves,’? she said to her friends. ‘You tell me
that the Pinkertons are in debt, and thatthe girls wear
curl papers in the morning, and that they keep no ser-
vant, and that you have seen them cleaning the windows
—very honorable of them, my dear—I don’t mean to get
in debt, but to do without a servant if they can’t afford
one. You say that Sir Jervis and the Misses Wilmot
won’t like to meet them; how are they to know anything
about the debts, or the dusters, or the curl papers? It
will be a pleasant party, my dear—my parties always are
pleasant. Ishall have supper from Gunter’s, and the
officers of the Ninth, quartered at Ripponton, are all in-
vited, and they have promised that the band of their regi-
ment shall come and play the quadrilles and waltzes.
lam going to have an awning placed onthe lawn under
which they will stand. Iam going to have another tent
for refreshments, and in that bosky dell at the bottom of
the park I have engaged a gipsy—a real gipsy—to take
up her position in another little tent, and there tell for-
tunes to all the world. - We shall have a ball on the grass,
colored lamps in all the trees. This is quite a southern
summer—quite an Italian climate for once in a way, so
we will not go into the house at all, but dance by the
light of the moon.”

This was the plan of Mrs. Gandy Dashington’s jete—a
very splendid fete.

The Dashingtons were about the richest people in the
county, the husband had made a large fortune as a mer-
chant, they had bought a charming old place, the property
of a family of aristocrats, whose fortunes were decayed.
Castle Yanworth was a noble place, with a grand park,
delicious woods, preserves, fish-ponds, hot-houses, plea-
sure grounds, flowered terraces, all that is beautiful in
nature and art combined. The gaily-dressed good-
natured woman had not aspice of genuine vulgarity in
her organization, let her detractors say what they would.
She was too generous, too gentle, too charitable in the
widest sense of the word, to be termed vulgar, despite
her gorgeous apparel and somewhat loud voice. She
maintained soup kitchens, and clothing clubs at her own
expense; ane hospitality to the rich did not prevent her
from visiting the poor, and administering largely to their
wants. Her parties were a sort of monster meetings, to
which she invited all the country, from Lady Stanley,
of Elmswood, and the fashionable officers of the Ninth
from Ripponton, down to the poor Miss Pinkertons who
wore curl papers, and who cleaned their own windows,
and the young articled clerks of Mr. Grimm, solicitor.
People had no objection to mix at these large delight-
ful open-air jetes... ;

One morning Mrs. Gandy set forth seated in her little
blue chariot, and driving her little pair.of charming
white ponies. Under the grim. archway; built by the

 

hand with him, and date our will at least a year hence,
or even further off in the future. The witnessing will be
difficult, but leave that to me.’

“And you will be faithful?” cried Castle. ‘Madelon,
Madelon, I might do terrible things if I were roused |”?

There was a gleam in the clerk’s light gray eye, a flush:
on his cheek, a certain expression in his forced smile,
half ferocious, half tender, which sent a thrill through
the soul of Madelon.

She was fooling him, she was using him for her tool,
she had no intention of marrying him, and she felt that
he might prove a dangerous foe. She would have mar-
ried Melrose had Melrose sacrificed his conscience, as
Castle was doing, to the furtherance of her wishes. Bus.
she did not admire Castle’s reddish hair, red cheeks, an@
coarse, Clumsy hands. She shrunk fromk his embrace al-
most as much as she shrunk from that @f Mr. Grimm.

“Of course I will be faithful,” said Madelon, pettish}y ;
“only please don’t squeeze my hand quite so hard. Here
come Mr. Grimm and Melrose.”

The misesable and infatuated Castle betook himself
again to his desk.

Then Mr. Grimm and Melrose entered the office.

“Charming, charming, always ‘charming )’ cried Mr.
Grimm athe sight of Madelon. “And what does my
beautiful princess want to-day ?””

Madelon went up to the ugly betrothed, and frankly
extended her hand.

“I want you to come and coax Uncle Matthew to let me
go to Mrs. Dashington’s jete.”” ;

_Mr. Grimm’s countenance fell. He did not like to see
his beautiful betrothed floating round im the mazy waltz
with other mén.

“I hardly think > he began.

“Oh, if you hardly think,” cried Madelon, ‘‘it is all over,
1 suppose, and I hardly think I shall stay any longer in
this most stupid town of Marsden. I shall advertise for
a situation as companion in a family about to travel. £
want to see the world.”

_ “Dear me, dear me, what a pet the pretty creature gets
in all for nothing !”? cried Mr. Grimm. “Come along, my
dear, of course 1 will ask your uncle’s consent.”

The uncle was bearded in his den. Mrs. Gandy, Mr.
Grimm, and Madelon, praying, entreating, beseeching.
Reluctant leave was wrung forth at length, and Madelon
was happy.

Toward the small hours, that is to say, two hours after
midnight, Madelon sat in the drawing-room on a sofa,
wrapped in a large black silk cloak. She was chilly;
she had no candle. One hour she had been
awaiting the return of Castle, who was at present
engaged in her uncle’s library in copying and forging his
handwriting, and in making. outa will upon vellum—a
will which bequeathed every farthing of the Reverend
Matthew’s property to his niece, Madelon Gould.

‘Three times had Castle entered by the secret door. To-
night the will was to be completed.

Sitting without lamp and shivering, dark thoughts
Surged through the mind of Madelon.

“AmIto be tyrannised over by this vulgar upstart?’
she said to herself passionately. ‘He said he could do
dreadful thingsif I disappointed him. Everybody threat-
ens me with dreadful things. We will see, Mr. Castle,
we Will see! . Let me once have this will in my posses-
sion—let me show it to Jervis Wilmot—I can say I have
stolen it out of my uncle’s box just to show him—he wil?
marry me then, and afterward let Castle criminate me,
and himself too, if it will do him any good. Let my un-
cle leave all his property to build a hospital for ill-used@
cab-horses. Ishall be after all Lady Wilmot, and have
fifteen thousand a year.

‘Good heavens ! there is the step of my uncle coming
up the stairs! Heis going to enter his library by the
secret door behind the paneled picture of Miss Susanna
Gould. He will discover Castle, and Castle is desperate
—his character is all at stake. Heaven send there may
be no blood shed !??

She sank upon the ground as she spoke, and covered
herself all over with her black cloak, so that Matthew
Gould, entering with his night-lamp, supposed he only
saw a heap of shadow in the corner,

(To be continued.)

[All who are pleased with “SCHEMING MADELON” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

Conrad, the Convict;
THE BRAND OF CRIME.

By FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE,
AUTHOR OF “RAMON THE OUTLAW,” &¢. &C.

(“Conrad the Convict’? was commenced in No. 31. Back Nos,
can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.)

CHAPTER VIII.
THE MYSTERIOUS WARNING—THE STATUE BRIDE.

Vivian’s exploit made him the hero of the Grand Hotel,
and at the evening gathering of the guests in the great
drawing-room, he received so many compliments that he
fairly blushed under the burthen of his honors.

Among those who paid him marked attentions were the
Hon. Augustus Craven, (Conrad) who solicited the honor
of an introduction, and Mr. George Derville, the detect-
ive, who introduced himself.

The remarks of the latter were particularly flattering.
“After what 1 haveseen of you, sir,” he said, with
marked emphasis, “I should be surprised at no feat of
daring on your part.”

“You forget that lam a trained horseman,” answered

 

 

 

 

monks, this pretty carriage rolled; and Mrs. Gandy was
set down before the house oi Mr. Matthew Goula.

Madelon was in the front-garden. She wore a dress of
white, spotted over with litle pink roses, .It was only a
print, but it fitted her exquisite form to perfection. A
large white hat shaded her eyes. She was engaged in
snipping off the dead leaves from some of the geraniums.
At sight of Mrs. Gandy she rose to her feet and went out
to meet her.

“Ah, my dear, how pretty you look !’? cried Mrs. Gandy.
“What a charming hat! I suppose you know what I am
come for, my dear. It: is to beg you to grace Castle Yan-
worth with your présence. You have heard of the fete,
I suppose, my love?”

Madelon had heard of it, and she desired earnestly to
go, but she pointed tremulously toward the bay window
of her uncle’s library.

“) fear he won’t let me go,’? she faltered. ‘Only if you
would not mind waiting a moment, while I run round the
Cathedral Close to the house of Mr. Grimm, I will bring
nim back with me. He isthe only person who has any
influence over my uncle.” ;

“Why, my dear child.” cried Mrs. Gandy, clasping her
delicate blue kid palms together, ‘“‘you don’t mean to say
that that report which I have heard is true, that you are
going to be married to that rather plain gentleman who
is not quite young enough for you ?””

it was Mrs. Gandy’s custom to speak as mildly and as
gently as she could of everybody.

Madelon made a funy little grimace.

“That very ugly man,” she said, ‘‘is supposed to be en-
gaged tome. He supposes it himself. I won’t conceal
from‘you tiiat I have a very great abhorrence of him; but,
you see, it is convenient to me not to be turned out of my
uncle’s house. I have three years’ respite; twenty things
may happen in three years, and I live in the hopes of
release.”

“Still, my dear,’? said Mrs. Gaudy, “it strikes me that
this mode of conduct is hardly honorable toward poor
Mr, Grimm.”

+¢ ‘Poor Mr. Grimm !??? mimicked Madelon, ‘And what
right has Mr. Grimm to think of marrying a wife as young
aslam? He must expect to get dodged. Meanwhile, if
you will wait here, I will go and bring him round.”

“J must ask him and Miss Martha, as well as Mr. Castle
and Mr. Melrose.”’

So saying Mrs. Gandy Dashington seated herself on a
garden-chair, while Madelon ran round to the house of
her neighbor, Mr. Grimm.

The hall-door stood ajar; the summer sunshine played
upon the uneven flags of the entrance hall. There was a
door, varnished brown, bearing the word “office,” in
black letters.

Madelon went boldly up to this door, and tapped loudly
upon it.

‘Come in |? cried a voice.

She turned the handle, and walked in.

It was @ room with a dingy, uncarpeted floor, and a
long, high desk, at which the two young clerks were
busily employed in writing.

Both laid down their pens. Castle flushed to the roots
of his hair, and Melrose became white as marble.

Madelon walked straight up to Castle, nodding defiant-
ly and carelessly at Melrose, with whom she was bitterly
angry.

“Where is the old serpent?’ she said.

This was the name the bold, unfeminine Madelon gave
to her betrothed.

“Mrs. Gandy has. come to invite me to her fete. Iam
sure Uncle Matthew will hear of it from no one but him.
He must come and make him consent to my accepting the
invitation. One of you please to go and fetch him here.”’

Melrose descended at once from his high stool, and left
the office. "

“Are you getting on?—are you getting on?’ whispered
Madelon, when she was alone with Castle.

“I am getting on beantiful, Madelon,’” he answered;
“but Imust again gain entrance to your uncle’s library by
the secret door, that Imay more carefully copy his haud-
writing, and mode of phraseology. But have you thought
how we are to get it witnessed? Unless a will be witness-
ed itis useless. I had petter keep out of the affair my-
self; but when it is finished could you not get Dolley to
witness it, and Mrs. Gandy Dashington ?’’

‘We will see,’ replied Madelon, hastily. “But to-night
I wiii let you in through the conservatory, and take you
to the drawing-room. Isit not singular that Ishould have
discovered that secret entrance behind the picture my-
self? Here comes Melrose and my charming jiance”’

Castle caught her hand and pressed it passionately to
his lips.

“Oh, Madelon, I risk much for your sake,” he Said.
“Will you be faithful, will you be my wife when the will
is made, and safely stowed away? You have promised to
share my poverty; you have promised that it shall not be
a long engagement which would wear out my heart and
turn my brain.”

“We shall have to date the will along way on,” said
Madelon; hastily drawing her hand from Castle’s clasp-
ing, “because if I were to run away with anybody—with

 

you,” she said, correcting lierself, “he would make an-
other will, leaving me entirely out. We must be before-

Vivian, carelessly. ‘‘WhatI did was really not worth
speaking of.’? ae Gea ef
“Uponmy word,” thought the detective to himseif;
“the brass of this fellow is inimitable. I thought 1 was a
cool hand, but 1’m a novice to him. What surprises:me
is his publicly showing himself when he knew that he
would be detected and arrested. The fellow must be
mad; his conduct is inexplicable on any other theory.
However, my business is to watch him, and to follow him
like his shadow. ‘The Prefect doubtless wishes to see haw
far his audacity will carry him, and so gives him a little:
play, as a cat does a mouse —sure of gripping hin when-
ever she chooses.”’

At this moment Clara Vane entered the room, leaning
on her father’s arm. ;

If she appeared “a phantom of delight”? when her run-
away horse seemed hurrying her to destruction, and her
cheeks were pale and her hair flying loose on the wind,
how much more charming did she look now in a becom-
ing evening dress, her raven tresses carefully smoothed
and braided, the rich color glowing in her cheeks and
lips, and happiness dancing in her brilliant eyes.

She came up to Vivian and gave him her hand witiz
frank cordiality, expressing her thanks for his timely aid
in few, but eloquent words.

Vivian blushed with pleasure, and thought that he
would peril his life again and again for sugh words from
such lips. : (

In the prosaic world there are some passages of exquis-
ite romance—some dreams worth all the reveries of all
the poets—and this meeting of the two young people was
one ofthem. It seemed likely to prove a case of love at
first sight, and there appeared no reason why its course
should not rum smoothly, thus disproving the old Shakes-
perian adage.

Mr. Vane, with characteristic American shrewdness,
had already made inquiries about the social position of
the preserver of his child, and the information he re-
ceived was entirely satisfactory. He therefore had ne
purpose of checking the intumacy he saw would necessa-
rily follow the romantic acquaintanceship of his daughter
and young Warder. ;

‘Have you entirely recovered from your shock, Miss
Vane?” asked Vivian.

“I was never better in my life, sir,’ replied the young:
lady, With asmile. ‘It may bean unladylike confession
to make, but really, I have iron neryes—I never fainted
in my life.”

“Fainting is a humbug,” said Mr. Vane,

‘dt is sometimes an art,’? said Clara. ‘I hope no lady
overhears me.”’

“Clara is so entirely herself,’ remarked Mr Vane,
“that she was proposing a walk to the Cathedral of Notre
Dame. In spite of her self-possession, she is as roman-
tic as any boarding-school girl, and she has set her heart
on the expedition. Ever since she read Vieier Hugo’s
romance, her head has been full of the old church; and
the beil-ringer, and the archbishop, and Esmeralda and
her goat, and the deuce knows what all. Pm a praeti~
cal man, Mr. Warder, and to me ifs all humbug )’

“Just think, Mr. Warder,” said Clara, ‘‘of the effect of
moonlight on the old towers, the glimmer of the great
rose window, the black shadows, the lights at the altar,
and the musical intonation of the vespers,’?

“Just think, Mr. Warder,’ said Vane, “of the damp
from the ruin, and the danger of rheumatism.”

‘Father hasn’t a particle of romance in his composi-
tion,” said Clara, laughing.

“Not a bit,” said the old gentleman; ‘it’s all hum-
bug.’

“But you have promised to take me.” said the young
girl, shaking her finger at him playfully.

“Needs must when woman wills,’? grumbled Mr. Vane,

“We shall be very grateful for your company, Mr. Ward-
er,’’ he added.

‘Nothing could give me greater pieasure,’”? answered
Vivian.

The Hon. Augustus Craven, who sat near by, listening
to the conversation, which, indeed, had nothing private
in its character, longed to be of the party; but he had not
then been introduced to the Vanes, and could not, with
propriety, at that moment, ask Vivian, to whom he had
introduced Himself, to present him. He was, therefore,
forced to postpone making the acquaintance of the Amer-
icans till another opportunity.

No scruples of etiquette, however, held back the de-
tective, who was determined to go wherever Vivian went..

“Sir,” said he to Mr. Warder, ‘will it be presumptuous:
in me to offer my services asa guide? I can tell you, per-
haps, some interesting things about the old pile you pro-
pose visiting, for I am perfectly familiar with its history.”

“Sir, you are very kind,” replied Vane; ‘‘and I accept
your offer, with thanks. Professional guides are arrant
humbugs—I hate them.”

So the party, consisting of Mr. and Miss Vane, Vivian
Warder, and George Derville, set forth on their expedi-
tion.

A full moon bathed the city in its mellow rays, impart-
ing a poetical charm to its interesting features; and when
they at length stood in front of the grand old church,
with its huge, square towers, and rich portals, even Mr.
Vane was surprised into an exclamation of delight.

 

 

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Sow

 

 

 

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Bint +
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sand niarried her.

 

 

 

They entered the sacred pile, which was dimly lighted

for evening Service.

Vivian and Clara held theinbreath as they, stood, side
by side, listening 10 the s¥emn ynosic. Vivian was jean-
ing agwinst onew! the groups of clustered pillars that
support the airy-roof, when a-voice, whispered in his ear:

Beware 1?

He turned suddenly; but no one, outside of their own
party,’ was near him. ;

A few minutes afterward, aclight touc was laid upon
bis shoulder. -Heturnemsor quickly, tis tune, that: he
surprised the aurhorol tee warning, or, rather, that-per-
sun did notvseem eMNious to conceal himsel! from the ub:
servation of tee: young Englishman. He, however, svood
so thatione of the pillars shielded him from the notice of
the detective, Who Was at thab moment. engaged in cou:
versation with Mr. Vane,

The stranger inmace aw peculisr sign, and laid his fivger
on his lips, us if enjoining cvotiou. Then he said, now
very low tone:

“Conrad, you kno6weme, andican trust me.’? :

Vivian looked abhim nutter astomsnment, and shook
his heud. He nad never seen the man before.

‘How absara!?? whispered the stranger in his ear.
“You have no time for trifling. Are you: mad to show
yourself im Paris?) Fly to-nigit, if escape is not imnossi-
ble. Do you not knew. the’person who Is with you?’?

“A Purisiun gentleman, who is dcting as.guide,’? whis-
pered Vivian, instincuively adopting the stranger's cau-
tibus Manner of communication.

“Fool! Heisa detective 1 Follow me, and Twill guide
you toa place’ Of safety--remain, and youarelost. Per-
haps this 1s your last chance—come !”

At this moment the detective tarned his head, and the
stranger slunk away, and wus lost in the dark shadows
ol the vuilving. -

*Tunust be bewitched,’? thonght Vivian; “or else Paris
is tie City of Mysteries, This is the::second warning I
have received, Follow him, indeed To be decoyed in-
10 Some dark alley and lightened of> my purse—not quite
such a ninny!!? And dismissing the subject, he resumed
his attentions to Miss Vane, and with her, listened to the
voluble and really interesting legends of their volunteer
guide, ;

“Pe man way be a secret police-spy,”’ thought Vivian;

but-he is ¢ertainly:a well-ioformed person, and so hiweh

the better if be is a government Officiul—the pickpockets
will keep clearsof ts.”

After aw hourpassed in the church, they left it with re-
luctanee.’ The detectrve had laid himself out to) please
the party, and he had been perfectly successful.

“J am sorry, said ‘heas they stoodsoutside the venera-
ble pils, !thut I cannot show you ameld sfurme thas stood
here, iu a niche, five mundred years:ago, It has crumbled
to- pieces wees since.’?

. SWhohw did it represent?” asked’ Miss Vane. a
The Virgin with the Rng,” answered Derville.

- “Was there apy legend connected with it?” asked Miss.
ane, ;
&-Yogs and a very ranantic one,” replied the detective,
“Oh, low eligatiGl?? suid Miss Vane. “Do, please,

tellit 10°us, Mr. Derville.”’

“All legends are rubbish and staffhumbugs !” said
Mr. Vane. é

“The story {the story /" cried Clara, impatientty.

“Well, then,” said the detective. “You are doubtless
familiar, Miss Vane, with the operaof Zampa, or the Mar-
ble Briae.’”

“F know it by heart and adore it—it is so nico |’

“NY here ‘stiggested the opera,” said the detective,
“ag you will see. -llere, then, just on the leit of the place
where we are stanuing, stoott this image of the Blessed
Wirgin. Among the pupils of the Episcopal schoel (tive
hundred years ago} Hind,) was a banvsome young fellow,
who set great Store by a ‘fine gold ring whicl hs tad re-
ceived as a love-token from a fair young Parisienne. One
day, fearing to injure it in the game of ball te was about
to engage in, he took the ring irom bis finger and cast
about for’a place of safety to hide it in, when, lifting his
eyes, he beheld the image of the Virgin, so lovely with
her radiant smile and blue eyes, so bevecked with vouye.
offerings, that he’ fel into ‘wan exstacy, and, bending bis
knee, exclaimed: Lovelydady, so gentie and delicate,
fair and. pure as te lily, lL will love none other than thee;
never more shall dime or Maiden touch my heart, and, in
pledge of my plighted faith, 1 beseech thee to-accept this
pretty ring.’ :

‘Tne student was an insane donkey,” interrupted Mr.
Vane, bringing down his%@aue empuatically.

’SGo\on, sir,’’ said Clura. ;

~\#Phe student hed no sooner finished this address,” con-

tinued tne detective, “thangneé statue moved, and, as the
ring slipped upon her finger, it bent in such a way that
the affrigimed’student -coatu net detach it without: muti-
lating tie Mmarb.e hand. . Uttering load cries, he fled to a
priest to recount the prodigy, and was assured by the
churchman-Ahat bis affections must be consecrated to the
divine lady, and thatrt woulda be impiety and felony to
break‘his vow. \Yet the sigut of hs earthy love was too
much fur him; he renewed his vows to the mortal maiden
But that very evening the statue-bride
appeared to him, and, pomting to the riny upon her fin-
ger, menaced hun with vengeance for his ipfiuelity to her.
‘Ihen tbe perjuted Jover lett bis h use, fled from Paris,
and walked and ran till he found himself miles.away In a
lonely uesert. ‘vere he encountered a pious hermit, who
kept house’in a stone cave and fared sumptuously on
herbs ang dry bread, washed down witn exceilent spring-
water, “To him te related “bts pitiful story, and the good
hermit, having listened otrentively i
the only. way [0 escape from his troubles and fulflll his

vow. Was 10 becowe a monk, which our young frieud

agreed 10 ‘do, and 80 propitiated the indignant statue.

What became of the otter young lady, the jilted briae—

whether she thréw herself mto the’ Seine, asphyxiated |
herself with charcoal, or weut into a cheap restaurant in

the Latin quarter, and ordered ‘audanum and arsenic

for one,’ the Jegend does not say.”

“More likely,” said Mr. Vane, “she took up with some
other fellow, und danced her shoes off at the Closert® des
Lilas.”)_. ;

“Jr's a shame to spoila story so,’ said Clara.

“Between us two,” said Mr. Vane, winking to Derville,
‘we've knocked the romance out of the whoie aifair—and
that's what Llike. Romance is a’humbug. | Uma iprac-
tical man, and 1 don’s care who knows it... But-here’s a
coaciiman without afare. Hullo! you sir !—take us to
the Grand Hotel.” POR: |

The Hon. Augustus Craven was lounging on the hofel
steps when they returned. ‘The detective took him aside,

“Sir,’said he, “1 ant abeut to tell you a secret and to

ask you a fayer.”? ,

“] will keep the one and grant the other”?

“Your pretended countryman, sit,’‘said the detective,
“ig an impostor, He is u thief and aconvict.”

“He! cried Craven—“‘impossible. TI should as soon
think of you suspecting 7ve.”

“IT know what ’m tulking about, said the detective.
“An arrest is hanging over his ‘head, and I have been
watching him. I um now going to headquarters to make
areport, and, in thé meanwhile, you wil be serving the
cause of justice by keeping an eye on‘him, as well as
looking out for your own pockets.. I shall return to my
post directly.’’

The detective bowed and hastened away.

«And this 18 your argus-eyed police!” thought Conrad,
as he indulged in a quiet sardonic laugh, “Ll wm not Con-
rad, the convict, but this other fellow is—so says this
profound Dogberry. And the felon is to watch the inno-
cent man whose wonderful, and, as yet, unexplamed re-
semblance to a convicted criminal has brought him face
to face with justice. ‘The affair Is getting complicate@—
how it is to end- nobody can teli—but that Lami safein my
disguise is morally certain. Now I must play the part of
watch-dog for my friend, the detective”? :

All. who are, pleased with “CONRAD, THE CONVICT,”
will please recommend it to their trienus,]

CHAPTER IX.
THE FELON’S, LEAGUE,

When very shortly ofterward, Mr. George Derville, the
aetective, returned to the Grand Hoiel to resume his vigi-
lant watch over Vivian, tne Hon. Augustus Craven left
the building on an errand of his own.

That same bight a party of about a dozen men had met
in a back room of an upper story of the street of the
Faubourg St. Martin.

it was @ small low room dimly lighted. Af the back
was a platform slightly raised above the level of the flour,
and on this platform in an oaken arm-clair, before e ta-
ble covered With papers, Sat a mun of middle-age, gray-
haired, spectacied, and dressed In black.

One degree lower, at another table, sut another man,

On the floor, ina ine with these two Inen, wus 4 third
table covered with @ black cloth.

Several persons, some young and some advanced in
life, but all respectably attired, occupied chairs in the
victnity of the platform.

It seemed to be a business meeting, and it was so, The
two men we have singled out, were tne president and
secretary Of asecret society. The last-named officer had
just finished readipg’ his notes of the proceedings ofa
former meeting.

Tne president rose and said:

“Genrlemen—as there is no other business before the
meeting, 1 have the hunor to propose to yowthe admission
of a new member, for whom | stand sponsor mysell.”

“Name |’? cried one or two voices. :

“‘Augustus Craven,” answered the president. ‘He is
an Englishman, and as we have none of his countrymen.
on the rolls, I think it advantageous, through this means,
to extend the sphere of our influeuce and operations into
acountry prosperous and wealthy,and oifering a wide
fleld for our commercial enterprize. The candidate is
adroit aud daring. Those who are in favor of admitting
Mr. Craven will please to manilest.’’

Every hand was held up. :

“The contrary-minded will please, to, manifest. None?
Then, gentiemen, it is a vote, provided the candidate
stands the test. Your masks |’

At these words the president and all those present
covered their faces with masks.

“Mr. Secretary,’ said the president, ‘‘perform your
office.’? wis

The secretary rose, went to the door, and. immediately
returned, bringing 1n the lion, Augustus, Craven.

. He was led, in the midst of a profound silence, up to
the table covered withblack cloth, and halted, facing the
president.

“Stranger,” said the president, ‘for as yet-we cannot
give you the name of brother are you willing to take the
Oath of fidelity to the brotherhood you seek to join?”

The candidate bowed low.

“Will you, disregarding the laws of the land, obey only
the laws of the League?”

“J will,” responded the candidate.

“Will you faithfully pay into the common treasury, to
be divided equally among the brothers, all your earnings
over and above your expenses}?

:

 

Dew

@

to his tale, told him |} am

“T will.”

“Will you be true to your brothers, even to the peril of
your life?”

*. J will.”

‘Sentence of death being pronounced against any
sworn Jeaguer who)vetrays the secrets of the society or
denounces uw obrotner, will you execute the punishment
with your OWn hand if commanded by the presiuent?”?

Twili,” replied Craven, firmly.

“Then swear It.l?? suid the president.

The secretary removed the black cloth that lay upon
the table, und disclosed a human skull and an Italian sti-
lette. \

‘Those emblems mean,” said the president, “true as
steel—to the death. Take the peignera in yoor right
nend, and, placing your left. Ou the skull, swear to per-

‘}form al tual you have promised.”

Prompted by the secretary, and obeying. the. instruc-
tions of the president, the new-comer said:

“T swear. lo be: faithful to all that | have promised—to
withhold none of my gaivs ‘from the common purse—to
live;and labor for the terests of the League, to succor a
fetow-leaguer, in distress; never to betray the secrcis of
tree order even on the seatfold, and if 1 prove false in any
orall of these requirements, may the dagger Lnow hold
immy mght hana:be sheatiied in my hearvl*,

“You! promise well,’ said the president; ‘let us see.
how you «perform. Do not Jay uside your weapcn ‘yet,
You:wilh have immediate occasion for it, Know then,
‘hat one of the League has proved a traiter at heart. He
was préparing 10 betrayrus to the police. He hus been
seized, has confessed ‘lis guilt, and pleaded for. mercy.
Our answer to Ins plea is the unanimous decreé’of death.
Our laws are inexorable—our safety lics in their rigid en-
forcement. You have been selected as the exeemioner.
If your heart and hand fail you, we permit you todepart
in peace. AS you were brought-to our door biindfolued,
so blindfolded will you be conducted hence, and you wiil
never see our faces, » lf, on the other hand, you abide the
test; then will we nnvail Our Countenanuces. and receive
you as a2 comrade anda brother.” ; ; Das

‘Dry. mel?” answered Craven, firmly. The president
stamped lis foot, and @ trap-door mM! the floermy sank
throngh the action of invisible machinery, disclosing 2
viack and yawning abyss... It soon rose again to the level
uf the floor, but on it uy aman beund. hand: and foot to
asortof bier, His face was already blanched to the hue
of death, and the only tokens ef lite he gave were the roll-
ing of his eyes and the heaving of his chest.. The bosom
ol bis shirt had been Opened and lis white breast lay bare.

Tuen every.voice in the room cried,’ “Death to the
traitor!” and the president, pointing his finger at Oraven,
eh | bade bim “strike!

Without a mument’s hesitation the candidate struck

the dagger into the héait' ofthe victim, and tue blood |,

eusbed rerth ppon the weapdn. Instantly the secreiary

| dragged the candidate Back, while Uie trap-door sank

witn a crash through the floor, When itrose again, there
Was nothing on its smooth surface—the abyss nad swal-
lowed up ail traces of the @eed and the victim.

Tire president descending from the platform, grasped
Craven by the nand aud suid:

“in the name of the League, we welcome and accept
you a8 @ worthy brother,.’’

The others gathered round him, and every one shook
bands with’ him, while some patted him on the back and
tulad him he was the coolest and that had joined them
yet.

They then resumed their seats, and the president in-
structed the hew recruit ia tue sigus and’ setrets of the
gang.
~ When he had finished, a member arose and said:

“Mr. President—I have iniportunt information to give
you. Conrad Rivers is out of Touton.”’

“Indeed! that is good news,’’ said the president.

“But it is not yood news,” added the niember, “that he
is here in Paris without disguise.”

“Ts it possible?” exclaimed several of the members.

“Without disguisey” cried the president. —

“JT saw him myself, this evening, at Notre Dame;
in company with a party of foreigners and With a de-
vective,

“A detective!’ cried several members.
son}?

“Order! order!’ cried: the president, rapping on his ta-
ble. “Do you want to alarm the neighbors, aud briug the
police duwn on us?”

“i can account for Conrad’s conduct only in two ways,”’
continued t-e member who tiwd‘spoken, ‘Hither he is
mad—and I assure you his eye was clear, and he spoke as
rationally as you or 1—er else-he has solu us to the gov-
ernment, ana is here to betray oar secrets and put the
beaks on our track. This lest is my conviction, after
what i saw with my owneyes tnis evening, and I, Anio-
iné Delmar, Genounce Conrad Rivers as a@ traitor to the
League, deserving death.’

“The accusation is false!’ cried Oraven, ‘springing to
his feet. “Conrad ts as true tothe League as you are.”

“False! J saw him with my Own eyes? said Delmar,

“Your eyes deceived you.”

“My eyes und ears never deceive me,’? replied Delmar.

“Leok at meé,’* said Craven. “Did you ever sce me, or
hear me speak, before tuis evening ?”?

“Never.’?

» “Then your senses are not traustworthy—for J an Con-
rad the Convict)? :

“Your cried half-a-dozen voices.
sible!

. Ser to the highest authority, Mr. President, who

“Treason! trea-

“Absurd! Impos-

“Our dear friend and brother, Conrad Rivers,’ replied
the president, laughing.

“Forgive me, buys, for this lark,” said Conrad. “It
was no mere idle jest. Before carrying out certain plans
of mine, Which I lope will resultin a large addition to
our treasury, it Was important that I should make sure
that ] was completely disguised. If I passed tne ordeal
of your scrutiny, 1 knew that I should ve safe. Our
worthy president favored my plapv, and has been kind
enough to go through the tedious ceremony. ef mitiation.
By the way, you Want # new dummy—you must remem-

mechunical figure than the one Istuck my kuife into to-.

   

 

    

ee and fourteen days ouk of the three hundrewand
sixty-five.’ Gil

“I met your daughter and Mr. Warder bard by,’said
the detective.

“Aye, aye,’ answered Vane.
and light bearts,
shade of the trees.”’

“Any Frenchian who saw them alone together would
say they Were engaged,” .emarked Derville. “Iu France

“They have light feet
i preferred res ing here uiuder.the

they are affianced.
special sigmificance im 1f.?’ ‘

“That's so,’ sald Mr. Vane. “With us young pecple do
pretty much as they please.. Bat in this cuse, My. Der-
ville, it.may well be lhat there isa. warmer fee ing than
mutual coartesy springing up. vemveen’ Mr. Warder, ond
my duuguter—and Vm not the man to discourage it.
Young hearts wil have their own way;and b hold that
par.nts have no nigh. to utéempt to coutro) the affections
of their children, unless théreds a wery serious obj:etion
to the suitor. 1
Heaven, and my daugiiter is ad heivess; yet if her suitor
were a poor mun, provided he was honest: and indusiri-
ous, and nota mere fortune-hnunter, I would bestow per
hand upon fim... limake oo secret of that—mere’s no
humbug avout me, I ubhorit.. And if Mr. Warder is to
We the:vappy mun, so much the ibetrer. The-alliance tis
suitable in every respect., | He is none of your pretenders
to uobility—no pauper count, or aron, bat an educated
English gentleman, the sonof aman of respectability aud
fortune?’ ; t DAME}

“Mr. Vane,” said Derville earnestly, “it is:your @nty as:
afatuer to*break oiY this intimacy peremptory and at

engaged? ;
‘What do you mean, sir?’exclaimed Vane. i. |

“T mean,” answered Derville, ‘that this man is a vile
impostor.’? Bit |

‘Vivian Warderian impostor !'’ cried Vane. |”

“Hielhas no more right, sit, to the hame Le bears than
you or I have,’? pursued the detective. ;

“This is amiasiounding. asseriion, Mr. Derville,’’ said
the oll gentleman; ‘and before ] pay need to it, you will
Purdon me for saying that ].nrust know sometning more
of) the man.avho Thakes it.) You arélcomparauvely a
stranger to me, Who are you?” fs bi

“A meinber of the secret. police,” answered’ Derville.
“If you w.l) please to cast your eyes upen thal decument,
you Can satisfy yourself upon thar point.) )

HehandediMr. Vane v2 parchment conmiission bearing
the sign and sealof the prefect of police.

Mr. Vane scrutinized tue document carefally, and then
gave it back to tne detective, | ;

“Are you prepared tu hear me now, sir?” asked Der-
Ville. BS i?

“Certainly; but make your story brief. ‘Who is this
Vivian Wareer® titois ui pa if a

“}E-s real name is Conrad Rivers, and he is am escaped,
“convict.” ih ee OC OE A

“Impossible! cried Vane. “That fair-faced, frank,
gentlhemanly young want And if hes an escaped con-
viet, Why does he show himself openly? Sir, your story
is meredible. lt must be a case of mistuken iventity.” ;

“The conduct of the villain is utterly ivexpiivabie, 1
adnut,” answered the detective. “It has puzzled ali of us,
Bat there can be no mistake, as you suggest. Look here,
six’ Do you recognize this photograph ?? $

Vane raised hiseve-giass and scanued the carlé de visite
whicli the offieial placed in his hands, Ris

“Of course, Ido, be wnswered, without: hesitation.
“It isa pericet likeness of tue young man.”

“Wel, si’; the picture Westaken a year ago, just before
he was sent to Toulon. I Gbtained 1t from the archives of
the police. And I have an order from-our chiel—you.can
see it if you ike—fer arresting wis man. From the mwo-
ment of his arrivelin Paris 1 pave been detsileu to watch
nim, and | have done so lartofully. if I had been author-
ized to make’ myself! Known to you and put you ppov
your guard, I would have done so sooner. The authority
Was ouly given meé this’ morning.» In conclusion, 1 beg
you to regard this Cominunication as strictly confidential,
You muy, however, uuder the same restrictions, Impari
it'to your daughter,” : :

“} thunk you beartily, Mr. Derville,’’ said Vane. “Your
revelation is ‘astounding, but your proofs are over-
whelming.*?

“Here be comes,” said the detective, looking up. ‘Keep
your own counsel, Kind some pretext for getting md oi
him for a few moments, and leave the rest to ine.’”?

The young people now rejotaed Mr. Vane.

“Don't think me impelite, Mr. Warder,’* said Vane.
“Bat [ have received some private: letters from New
York by this morning's nrail, and wish to communicate
fther contents to my! duughicr. Suppose you and Myr.
Derville take half an hour's siroll together? |

Viviun readily assented to the proposal, and, putting
his arm within Dervilie’s, walked away leisurely unde:
the overhanging trees. :

5

together, “we have escaped a terrible danger.”

“What do you mean, futher?’ cried the young Jady.
“Have you heard news Jicm home ?}—has mother been iit
again?”

“No, no, my dear—all well at home, thank Heaven.
The danger was neéurer—i6 rose from cur intimacy with
a Villain. You will pever see that man again.’*

“Thatman, dear father? I den't understand you.”

“fois Warder—taig—impostor ! ?

“¥ivian Werder ah imposter {? cried Clara, laughing.
“Well, siry I thought you were opposed to practical jok-
ing. Butyou doit very well. You really alarmed me
for &@ moment.’

“I tell you; girl, that I was never more serious in my
life..-The fellow is a vilais—an escaped convict.”

“Who in the world couilli nave told you so prepostcrous
a story.?’ cried the young lady.

«Mr. Derville.”’ Bait

“And who is this Mr. Derville, who impugnrs the honor
ofa gallant gentleman 2?”

_ Mr. Derville,’? replied Vane, gravely, “is a detective.

 

rest this pretended Warder, for rupture of the ban, as

ver) that/every Muséum now-a-tuys can: siow a better} I have seen his commission, und he has ap order Lo ar-

nigntj> te! must be a very greentiorn who takes himfor
awliving mani -Gebanew dumuiy, by all means. We're
rich enough to-adfoerd it.”? KOU Std To yal ;

“Gentlemen,” said the president, rapping the table, ‘‘is
there any further business before the ineeting 2”?

No business beipg presen ed; a motion to adjourn was
im mediately curried, : I

Then,oas if by enchantment, the folding-doors at the
back of the room flew open, disclosing aimagnilicent hall,
bright with mirrors and gilding, and Nlammated by a
superb cut glass chandelier set with a hundred wax
tapers, that turew a floodof light on a long supper table,
at which sat a dozen pretty women, the wives and sweet-
nearts of the members. of the Leugue.

AS the latter/took thetr pluce, tuvir female companions
were surprised. to see the president escort a stranger, as
mor supposed, to. the seat of honor, at his rignt hand,

“Ladies and gentlemen,’? said the president, rising,
“fill your glasses, 2nd join.'me in drinking the health of
the Hon. Augustus Craven, otherwise Conrad Rivers, the
exile of Toulon hou 5: :

The convicts health was drank with all the honors,

“My dear friends,” meplied the convict, for the honor
you have done me'you will please accept my most sincere
thanks. What friendship is like the friendship of these
the world ca/ls rogues? | You have an illustrious example |
in Louis Napoleon and his friends: Greater rogues than
ourselves Can only be found at the imperial.court. May
we be equally prosperoust) We miust alljhang together,
my friends,as the American Franklin ‘suid, or else we
shall alt hang separately. Need 1 say now happy I am to
find myself back amongiyoud: What @ contrast this
splendid hail, with brilliant assemblage of fair women
und brave men, presents tothe government hotel at Tou-
lon?.: Believe ma, it is myyhighest ambition to be worthy
of yourcompanionship. Like my friéhd; Lonis Napoleon,
[am meditating a coup @’état, and when 1 make my
strike, L am confident you will aM say ‘he is worthy to be
one of us’???

There was laughter at. these words, but it rang hodow;
the gayety of these outlaws and their companions was
fulse. Yet they kept up a show of merriment, and tried
to persuade theniselves that they were bappy.

After a plentiful feast, the table wasset back, and three
blind musicians having. been introduced, dancing com-
menceds Wild and tintiling waltzes, polkas and imazur-
kas, were followed by quudrilles, danced 1n tne style of
the Mabille:Garden, and then, before midnignt, the party
broke up, reuring by two’s, and dispersing so quietly
oe nothing occurred to attract the atteniion of the city
police.

aan was in his bed at the Grand Hotel before mid-
night. ‘

{All who are pleased with ‘‘Coxrrap THE Convio,”
will please recominend it to their friends.)

ee

CHAPTER X.
A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS,

The following day was bright and sunny, and, after
some hours passed in wandering throngh the Great Exhi-
bition, that world of fairy murvels, Mr. and Miss Vane
and Vivian Warder went on board of one of the Httle
steamers plying on the Seine, and paid a visit to tne pal-
ace and park of St. Cioud.

The young people were not embarrassed by the presence
of Mr. Vane, frequently straying out of earshot from the
side of that wortay gentleman. In the park he refused
to accompany them in their rambles, and sitting down on
a bench to e€Xamine the centents of a buuget of New
York letters and papers he had brought witn him, told
them to pursue their exploratious aud return to him when
they were tired of their stroll.

Of course they eagerly embraced the liberty allowed,
for they were drawn toward each cther,and the dawn of
love, perhaps unconsciously, gladdened their youthful
hearts. Oertainly as yet Olara knew not why the sky
seemed brighter, the sunshine more golden, the song of
the birds sweeter, and the ripple of the river more masi-
cal than ever before.

No word of love passed) between: them, but there was
the happy exchange of confidences which preludes the
confession of a sweet.and mutual secret.

As they were strolling along in a secluded aliey, Der-
ville the detective came from the opposite direction... He
saluted them courteously, and then asked if Mr. Vane had
come to. St. Clond with them. teseg

Clara. answered affirmatively, and indicated the spot
where she had left her father, Derville bowed and said
he would go and haveachat with the old. gentleman.
Both, Clara, and Vivian were glad to be relieved of his
presence—they wanted no witness to their Jamiliar con-
yerse.

Derville joined Mr.,Vane and sat down on the bench
beside him. 0

 

“A fine day, Mr. vane,” he said,

 

they callit, |Jn half au .hour tve fellow will be in doable
irons, avd,-probably, before the Gay closes, on his way
back to Toulom.?? i A

Miss Vane had boasted of her nerve and self-possession.
She bad need ofr all her courage how—ucr dream of hap-
piness had been so rudely broken. Tlie very earth seem-
ed to quake under ber, and she was forced to lean upon
her father for support.

‘My poor chila |’ said Vane; ‘‘we have both of us heen
deceived. Merciful Heaven! Itremble to think whut
would have been the result if our eyes had not been sv
timely opened. But come—let us instantly return to
Paris. Are you strong enough to walk lo the sieamboat

ier 2” (

Clara Vane raised her head proudly.

“Never fear me, sir,’ she Said. ‘it is a terrible shock,
to be so suddenly awakened from adream—to be told
that one to whom I owe my life—who seemed so frank
and noble—is:‘a common felon. I can scarcely realize is
even now; I'thimk there must be some error. But il all
this is true, 1 shall forget tne past two days—a pleasant
dream wile it lasted;)but—conie; father, let us hasten’
away; this spot, has grown )ateful to me.” i dv

The fatner and daughter hurried down to the pier, and
reached it just inf time to take the returning boat to Parts.

Meanwhile, ‘Derville and Vivian, who )ittle dreamed
that he was, or was soon to be, a prisoner to his compan-
ion, had Teactied a secluded spot lu the park ef St. Cloud,
and sat down on a bench under the, trees.. The birds
were singing gally overhead, and tnueir sweet notes min-
sled with the mousicil plash of the fountains near at
hond. ‘ G2 g

Derville looked in his companion’s face, and then
burst out laughing. |

Vivian was surprised.at this sudden ontbreak of mer-
riment, and looked puzzied. He said, at last:

“Well, Mr. Derville, whem you have indulged your hi-
larity sufticientiy, perhaps you will be so geod as to ad-
mit me toa silare of it by explaining the cause.’

“Well, well. my flash covey,’ said the detective, com-
posing his features with diffieulty, discarding the polish-
ed manners he wore a8 & mask Im the great world, and
reassuming the off-hand style/and slang phraseology nat-
ural to him; ‘don't yeu think you have played this little
game long enough? If you don’t, the chief does, To cut
the matter short, you're wanted.”?

“The chief !—wanted !” eried) Warder, bewildered.
‘Who wants me?—tor What?-and who are you? he
added, haughtily. f

The detective went off in anotber fit of merriment, and
it was a long while before he could restore his features to
their wonted composure.

“One would say that you were the picture of offended
innocence,” he said. ‘‘Whatever you are driving at,
passes my comprehension. Butif youinsist on playing
out the play, I'l! fight you with your own weapons, Weil
suppose, then, we have never had any dealings tegether—
that we saw each otver for the first time the day you
saved the pretty American girl’s life.*? 3

“Certainly. i met youtien for the firsttime, at the
Grand Hotel,’? answered Warder, angrily.

“Well, well, be tt:'so,—and Mat you mistook me for a
gentleman.” ‘

“J perceive my error now,’? replied Vivian.

“A very fair hit,¥ said the-detective, good humoredly.
“Well, then, to carry out the farcc—let us Suppose that
you learn for the. first time that 1 am @ detective.”’

“A detective |?

“Yes, Mr. Vivian Warder, if you persist in that name—
a detective, anu here is my commission.” :

“] see very well, sir’? said Vivian, ‘that you are what
you represent yourself to be—a government detective—
nud it explains the vulgarity of your present manner.
Bot how does that concern me? What hus the Paris po-
lice to do with me?’

“Still playing the innocent. Oh, very well, you won’t
have a great while to amuse yourself in. 1 arrest you—
you are my prisoner. That’s plain enough.”

“I defy you to arrest me}? ;

Derville rose. He instantly laid aside his Jesting air,
and there was a cold, hard glitter in his resolute eye, as
he drew a revolver from his pocket and cocked it.

“Don’t carry the joke too far,” he said, menacingly.
“Tt 1s nojesting with an official who has such a toolas
thisin his hand, and just another barker in reserve.
Now—will yon come quietly?’

“Of course,” said Vivian; Naughtily. “I submit to
forcebut the British ambassador shall hear of this out-
ele *, | a bsp

“Albright, my boy,” answered the detective. ‘I’lltake
care of you, and the emperor willtake care of the British
ambassador. Buti’m glad you listen to reason, Pow-
der and Jead are very persuasive arguments. lf you go
with me quietly, there shall be no exposure and no scene;
we will return to Paris amicably together, but Il warn you
that at any attempt at resistance or escape, I will send a
brace of bullets through your head.”*

 

4

ss ie BR aes eae maa a le
“Yes—wonderful weather for Paris, where it rains one

bo young people ure left Lothemselves In that way unless)
in. America, | believe, there Is: bo"

Tam: atfich map, MryDerville, thank:

once, before your’ daughters affections are irretrievably

“Clara,” sani Mr. Vane, the moment they were alone’

“T shall make no resistance,” replied Vivian sullevly.
“*Butil warn you that yeu shall bitterly re, ent this out-
rage.”
<I have the honor to offer youmy arm,’ said the de-

“ObIVe. '

“i have the honor to derline it,’’ reter ed Vivian. .

“Oh, very wel; be:as grompish as you please—only
keep close to me, my tive fe low.”

lavignunt at this arrest, but feeling thot it mnst be in
consequence. of some outrageous blunder on tue part of
tne police, winch could be explained ant spologizeu for
a beud-quarters, Vivian vccolipunicd the. detective on
the steamer back to'Patis.

{All who are pleased with “Conrad the Convict,” will please
recommend it to their friends.q ;

; (To be Continaea).

awe l ti, i ed

UNPRIZED LAURELS.

BY ELLIS LEK,

k

 

‘Sometimes we strive carnesily to gain a thine, which, when
won, turns to ashés— worse thah nothingness—in our grasp.”
; OT ote :
Sittingin my chamb r lonely,
Looking on the suminer nizht;
Dreaming of the days departed,
‘When life scem’d all fair and bright:
When no e’ouds abseur’d my sunshine,
And Time trod, for me, on flowers;
Ah, my-life is chsnged and weary,
Since those by-gon*, joyous hours }

|.) Prond.of youth, and pr: ud of beauty—
is > Love's rose-wreath I would not claim;
(o [had asked a hisher guerdon
I would'win the Poet's fame
On my brow I'd place the laurei—
Mine shou d be unfading bays;
Mine should he undying glory,,
Won me by my noble lays.’

So, all heedless, of the blossoms,
Which I trampled as P passed;

T climbed up ihe stony mountain,
And lt won my crown at Jast!
Thad won my wished-for glory—

. Thad won a Poet's name;
And the mations, at my singing,
Greeted me with l-ud acehim.

the laurel wreath was thorny,

Ani my feet were tired and sore,
And I ftourd the nations’ praises

Were but words—an { nothing more.
And. y beart was sad and empty—

Thad nothing but my names
Others hada better porti n

In the love I'scorn’d for Fame t

Bi

So,I :o through iife all lonely—
None t) clasp ine by the hand;
Weary. of my laurel garlund,
Sad and desolate I stand.
I would give up all my glory,
All the honors I have wor,
For the love of old I slighted,
Tor the days that now are gone!

Iam tired of my-singing,
Of my ljonely, aimless days;

For Love's myrtle wreatli I'd barter,
Willingly, my crown of bays.

-Tis too late—!I chose the laurcl—
Tears may fal!, but all in vain,”

For those days of Youth and Spring-time
Never can returnagain!

Leighton Homestead;
EDN A’S DEBT,

AND, HOW SHE PAID ITy

BY MRS: MARY J. WOLAES,

Author of “Marian Grey,’ “Hugh Worthingten,’ “Rose Ma-
ther,’ “Darkness and Daylight,” “Lena Rivers,” **Honie-
stead’ on the Hillside,’ “Tempest and Sunshine,” ‘ Cousin
Maude.’ “Ethelym’s Mistake,’ “Cameron Pride,” “Meudow
Brook,” ‘“Wngiish Orphans,’ “Dora Deane,” etc., ete. —

 

 

“The Leighton Homestead” was commenced in No. 17, | Back:
numbers may be obtained trom any News Agent in the United

States. erie
CHAPTER XXVIIL.—(Contivep.)

For an instirt Jack’s heart throbbe. quickly as a
wave of the past came over him at right of the girl
.@ had loved end lost, but Maude’s preity, saucy
speeches were ringing in his ears, and Lis ha-d still
burned with the touch of the soft, warm fingers,
which had 80 deftly and so gently extracted an ugly
sliver from his thumb, just befsre leaving Oakwood,
and so the wave of memory passed harmlessly over
him; end when Roy, who with Georgie was locking
at and discussing the little figure in grey, whom
Maude was still caressing, said to him:

“Can that be Mi:s Overton?” he answered, “Yes,
that is Miss Overton.”

Roy hastened his movements then, and ere Edna
knew we:l what she was about he was thaking her’
hand, and looking down upon her in a curious, well-
bred way, which did not make her one-half as une.usy
as did the bold, prolonged stare fixed upon hcr by
Georgie Burton’s eyes.

It was Maude who introduced her as “Miss Over-
ton, my friend from Rocky Point,” and : ll bowed po-
litely to her, white G. orgie, following Roy's example,
took her hand and stood a moment lock.ng at her, as
if trying to solve some doubt or mystery. M:ude,
who was watchivg her, and saw the look of perplex-

ity on her face, whispered, nader her breath, “Old

marplot, what if sbe should recognize her |”

But of to Georgie there had come any faint remem-
brance of that awfal night on the prairie, and the lit-
tle stunzed, bewildered creature, whose eyes had in
them such a look of hopelessness and terror, she put
it away for the time being, and gave no sign of what
was passing in her mind. It was Roy who took Edna
in to, dinner, and gayo hera seat beside }im, and
treated her with as much deference and attenticn as
if she had been an invited guest instead of the hired
companion of his mother,who sat at the opposite end
of the table,with Georgie at her side, acting a daugh-
ter’s part to the poor, half-blind lady,

They were yery gay during dinner; and Edna,
whose spirits brightened and expanded in the atmos-
phere of hindness and good-breeding, joined in the
gayety; and her sweet-toned voice and rilvery laugh
at some of Maude’s queer sayingr, reached Mrs.
Churchill’s ear more than once, and made her at last
speak of the stranger to Georgie.

“That Miss Overton has a very musical voice,” she
said; and Georgic, whose ear had been constantly
turned’ in the direction of Edna, and who, without
seeming to notice, knew exactly when Roy spoke to
her, and how much attention he was psying to her,
answered ind:fferently:

“Yes, very much like a child’s voice.
child, too, at least in size.”

“Tsn’t she very pretty? I fancied so as nearly as I
could judge,” was Mrs. Churchili’s next remark; and
Georgie replied:

‘Yes,very pretty, some would think, though rather
too small and petite to impress one very strongly.
Thereis something familiar in her face; and Ishould
say sbe locked a little, yes, a good deal, l'ke Mrs.
Chavlie Churchill.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” and Mrs. Churchill’s hands made a
little rattling among the china and silver, while Mrs.
Churchill's heart went out still more kindly toward
the young girl who resembled Charlie’s wife.

Georgie had not intended such a result, and after
her shot was fired and she saw the effect, she bit her
lip in vexation, but said no more of Miss Overton or
her resemblance to Edna Churchill. As if inspired
with some new idea she was yery gracious to Edna.
After dinner was over and they had returned to the
drawing-room, Inviting her to a seat beside herself
on @ little divan apart from the rest she) was very 80-
ciabie and familiar, and questioned Edna with regard

She seems a

 

to her journey and her home at Rocky Point. Had

ing place, with such delightful scenery ?

‘No, 1 have not always lived there. J was born in
Ohio, and lived there till my father died,” Edna re-
plied, fully alive to the danger of letting her interro-
gator toe much into the history of her past life, and
With a dread suspicion that Georgie was really mak-
ing her out,

But the home in Ohio threw Georgie off the track,
and ere she could resun e it again Maude came tothe
rescue, bringing Roy with her, ard urging Edna to
favor them with some music. 1A

“I haye told Mr. Leighton how diyinely you sing,”
Maude said, ‘and he is anxious to judge for himself;/
so, please, Dotty, don’t refuse.”

If Roy Leighton, whose hired servant she was, re-
quested her to sing, it was not for her to refuse, Ed-
na thought, and so when he too seconded Mauce’s
request, and offercd to lead her tothe piano, she
arose, and taking his arm Walked the whole length of
the long dr.wing-room to the little aleove or bay-
window, where the piano was standing. There was
a mist bi fore her eyes and a visille trembling of her
hands as she took her seat upon the stool, and then,
by way of gaining time, pretended to turn over the
sheets of music, as if in quest of something familiar.
But when Roy, who saw tier sgitation, bent over her,
and said so kindly andr assuringly:

“Don’t be afrai', Miss Overton. You have not a
critical audience— hal! of us don’t know one tune from
another,” ghe felt her courage coming back, and her
voice which, as she bagan to sing, trembled a very
little, soon gained strength and confidence, until it
filed the room with such rich melody as held every
listener silent, and made Mrs. Churebill brush away
atearor two, for the sweet, touching music made |
her think of Charlie and his grave beneath. the ever-_
greens. Jidna was not permitted to stop with one ~
song, but sang piece after piece, until thoughtful Roy |
interfered in her behalf, and eaid it was wrong to—
zrge her further when he knew how tired she must
be, ‘ :

“Not that I could not listen to yowall night, but it
would be the fable’ of the boys and the frogs over
-again,” he said,as be led her {rim the piano, and
deposited her at his mother’s side.

“You have given me a great deal of pleasure, Miss
Overton,” Mrs, Churckill said; ‘and I thank you for
it. Iam very fond of music, that is, of singing; and
you haveso sweet avoice. I stall often make de-
raands upon it, I'am glad you are bere,”

Mrs. Courchill;who seldom did anything by halves,
had conceived a strong hiking for ber httle compan-
ion, and her ‘‘I am glad you are heré,” was so hearty
and sincere that Edna felt her eyes filling with tears,
and wondered how she could ever have thought

 

otherwise than kindly of this woman at her eide.

Meantime, at the fart! er end f the room, Roy and
Georgie were discussing the stranger and her style
of singing.

/ .“Pheswectest voice I ever heard,” Roy said; “and |
Tam glad, for it will afford mother so much pleasure.
ITrememb’r how delightedly she used to listen to
poor Chartie’s performance on Lis guitar when it al-
most drove me crazy.” '

*‘An 1 that reminds me,” said Georgie, “that Miss
Overton looks a little like Charlie’s wife. Indeed, the
resemblance struck me at first as very strong.
Wouldn’t it be a funny joke if it were Charlie's wife in
disguise ?”

_ “A juke I should hardly relish,” Roy replied; “for
why should Edna come here in disgnise when she
knows t_e door stands open to her at any time ?”

There was a lurki g demon of evil in Georgie’s
black eyes as they rested upon Edna, sitting so
quietly. as Mrs. Cburepili’s side, and looking so young
and fret and innocent, and as'shé saw tbat her re-
matk had awakened no suspicion in Roy’s mind, sho
beckoned Jack to her side, and asked bim in Roy’s
hearing if Miss Overton did not resemble Mrs, Char-
lie Churchill cnough to be her sister. i

“Why, no,” Jack replied, running his fingers
through his hair, and locking aeross at Edna. “I
should now say she was her sister at all; and still,
now you speak of it, there, is something in the ex-
pression of Mies Overton’s mouth and eyes like Mrs.
Churchill's, only not quite sosad and pitiful.”

Jack spoke naturally cnough, and met his sister’s
eyes Without flinching, but inwardly he chafed hke a
young tiger, and when next he found himself alone
with Maude, he s .id to her: cow

“Maude, Geor-ie has got something in her mind
wlich may mean misciief to Edna; and if she ques-
tions you, a8 she probably will, and presses you too
close, tell her -——” Jack hesitated a moment, and
then continved: ‘Teli her that if she does not want
her secret divulged to Roy Leighton, ste must re-—
spect ihe secret of others; in sLort, keep her tongue -
between her teeth.” “ey *

Maude nodded understandingly, while her mental
comment war, “I knew there was something sbout
Georgie. Iwas sure of it; and sometime 1'll find it
out.” “eg! ;

While this little by-play was going on, Roy had
walked to a poiut in the room from which he could
study Edna’s face without being Himself observed by
her. Georgie’s remark had awakened no suspicion;
be only felt more interested in one said to resemble
his unknown sister-in-law, and he stood for several
minutes looking at the young girl, dnd mentally com-
p- ring her face with the one casyally seen in the cars
two and one-half years ago. Whether there were a
resemblance or not he could not, tell, for, the ‘face of
the girl who i ad so sadly caticatured him and styied
him a Betty, was not very distinct in hismind. Edna
was very emall and £0 was Miss Overton, but he dia
not think bis sister could be as beautiful as ti.is girl,
who had about her a nameless’ fascination, and
whose movements he watched so closely, He had
not expected enything quite sof ir and lovely in Miss
Overton, and when at last, at a whispered word from
his mot: er, she rose and lead that lady from the
room, he felt as if tie brightness of the evening was
suddenly clouded, and something lost from his enjoy-
ment.

Mrs. Churchill's exit from the room was soon follow-
ed by the departure of the young people from Oak-
wood, and Roy was leit alone, his thoughts more upon
his mother’s hired companion than vpon poor Geor-
ge, whose star scemed to be waning, and whose heart,
in spite of the lightness of her words and manner, 2s
she walked back to Oakwood was throbbing with a
feeling nearly akin to hatred for the so-called Miss
Overton, whom she knewto be Charlie Churehili’s
widow.

[All who are pleased with “The Leighton Homestead”
will please recommend it to their friends.]

(To be ccntinued.)

 

 

TO NEWS AGENTS.

News Agents who have but recently com-
menced business and who have not yet re-
ceived circulars from us, will favor us by at
ence forwarding their FULL addresses to
this office.

We are about effecting arrangements that
must prove mutually advantageous, and we
desire to have on our books the name of
every News Agent throughout the Union.

PLEASE SEND PRINTED BUSINESS

 

 

CARD IF POSSIBLE.

 

 

 

 

  

 

tinea
 

 

 

 

ae

a,

 

.) case,

 

apitetaignt 4S

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

 

Mary was in adileinma;
Byen the songs of her bird,
Fluttering in through the e.sement,
Were, by the muiden, unheard.

Mary wasin a dilemma:
Suitors her hand had besought,
Two had desired an answer—
Weighty credentials they brought.

How shall I make a decision?
Which is the wiscst snd best?

Speuk to me out of this silence,
Settle this doubtin my breastt

Reason then came to the rescue:
“Herbert has wealth to surprise
K'ng of the social arena,
No one his prowess denies.”

Then if his conquests ate easy,
Herbert wi.l never despair;

Riches can ne’er make a hero,
None of my colors he'll weart

Then, in a desperate flatter,
Heart, as a witness, arose*

“Ronald is poor, but his spirit
Ever with goodness o'crflows.

“He is no courtier, I warrant,
Fuil of bis songs and his sighs,

But like a hero he woos you,
T&King your heart by surprise.*

Up in the balance went lucre;
Love put a weight in the scale—
Were you in Mary’s cilemma,
Which, of the two, would prevail?

 

>-e<4-

Toa

SKY TRAVELER;

OR, THE

MAGICIAN OF THE LAKES.

By P. WAMILLON MYERS.

 

 

“The Sky Traveler was commenced in No. 30, Back num-
bers can be had from News Agents throughout the country. }

 

CHAPTER XIX. ;

Lewanee had several engagements on hand, one of;
which was with Abel Day, We dealer ia optical instra-

ments, to whom, as we have seen, he had promised a bag
of gold in reward of his houesty and civility. .

He hiad not said bow Jatge thus bag wus to be, but re-
memberiug the wise Ogil’s counsels, to dispurse. the yel-
low treaguré sparingly, even to the worthy, lest it should
harden their vearts and render them vile, he decided net
to bestow more than balf the amount be had given to
Melburn—at léust, not in the first instance.

If it were well used he might give more; but this sum
he knew would be esteemed a great fortuac. by the poor
man—for Lewance well knew the great value of gold.

Abel had a wife and four ebilurep; and although he
lived iv rooms und ia an obscure street on rhe east side of
the city, ne fuuud it difficult to pay his reat and obtain the
meaps of subsistence.

He manofactured-some of his instraments and some he
bought, and le was always looking forward to and Talk-
ing avout the time when be should have sumething saved
and be able to extend his busivess.

But he had neve¢ been adie to save More than a tride,
for whenever he succeeded in getting a spall amount laid
up, some unforseen expeoses became Lecessary, and his
litte hourd would nearly disappear.

Sometimes it was sickness; svlut times it was increased
rent; Svmetiines it was a ltile eXtravagavce io dress for
his good wife or bis pretty daughter, Aunette, Which di
mtinisbed his pile, but he was always hopeful and cheer-
ful, and lie wus Sure that be would do better next time.
That particular outiay would not cccuragai, and despite
dus experience be was sanguiue envugh to hope that ue
other extra demand would be made upon his savivgs.

He had one son at school and two little Guagiiters, but
Annette wus nearly eighteen years old, and was the pride
and Garling of her parents, though it mizhBnot be quite
correct to call her their favorite, for in seme respect each
child was a favorite ubove the rest; and then tue young-
est, we know, always bas Its especial Claims to love. But
Annette was so dutiful unc aifectiovate and uvseltish,and
was always so ready to lighten and alleviate the cares O1
her parents that they grew daily more fond of her; and
others found out her charms and st ractions to0,aithough
she ltved where she could scarvely ¢Xpect to Sve an eligi-
ble beau from one years end Lo aucther.

Beauty, however, Capnot be hid. Aonette went some-
tines to her father’s 'shep, and Lapeer. oue
day a résy-Cheekeu youth, Who profested, afterward, that
he could not get bis eyes off ier after once looking at her.
They would not vdey his will. They continued to look, he
suid, on (heir own account,

His leet und tongue were equally refractory, and seem-
ed to have a wil of theirown, iusommnca tiat Tom Vane
aceoxted the astonished Annette, aud asked her if she
would please to tell him which way the street numbers.
ran. '

Now as Tom had been aclerk in that very street full
three yeurs, aud knewitbe numbers as well us he knew
his multiplication table, he never could quite tell why he
asked this question.

Perhaps it Was to hear ber voice or geta@ closer view:
but, if the former, be was disappointed, for Aunette hur-
ried on Withuut reply, and darted into her father’s shop,
which was close at hand,

Ste had beard much of the mysterious perils to which
pretty girls were exposed in the city, wud sie suspected
—though with doubts—that she had harruwly escaped
one of them.

The worst view of the case, however, was confirmed
when she saw the rosy-cheeked youth en che opposite sive
of the street, Walking to and fro, aud now and then loock-
ing across.

Like a spark—she thought—swimming before some lit
le inlet, into which he has driven his expected prey, of

ke a hawk sailing above a jarm-yard scaring little Click-
ens into their Coops.

She seemed to be one of those litiie chickens; and her
father’s shep Was the coop into which she had Hed, ail
flustered vhd terrified.

Yet somehow Tom Vane did not look so very terrible
when sne glapeed at him through th: window furtively;
and she remembered, when her iright was somewhat al-
layed, Lhat his voice had been very gentle and his Manger
very respectful. .

Seste suid nothing to her father about the peril she had
escaped, bot she remained under bis protecting wing un-
til tue eneary, tired with long watching, had disappeared
down the street, and then, with palpttaring hearf, sue
yeptured ou‘, and went huime very last, and by @ circull-
ous route. :

Turee vays Annette remained immured at home,and no
further sigus of danger appearing she began to think that
her fears hud been unduly excited,

When a week nad passed sve ventured out again, and
with singular boldness (a sort of re-uction, perhaps, from
her former umidity) she went to ber father’s store by the
same route in Wlicu she had encountered her former

eril! P
r Was she-looking for the enemy? Some uncharitable
people might say so, buc we do not tink Auneite quite
knew why sbe went.

Certoin ib was that she kept a sharp lookont for danger
this time; (without, by any means, seeming to do so,) ud,
sure eovuugh, there was Jom Vane standing in the door-
way ofa large Wholesale tea-store, Mily a few blocks dis-
taut from the Instument maker's Shoup, and on the same
side of the street.

Fourtupateiy, Annette had seen hima good way off, and.
she’ made: baste to cross the sireet, but wren she came
opposite to the tea store, by some uvaccountayle nmpulse
she glanced oVver—provably to See Mo there wus any
danger.

‘fom bowed and raised his hat! She thought him very
impudent; he thougne ber angelic.

But be did not lolow her this time, andon the whole
Annetté was by 10 means displeased. As he had once
spoken to her perhaps politeness required hinto bow.
S.e did not know; aba she would not judge hun harsily.

Tuese were the initiatory steps of their acquainteuce,

Tbe next day Tom went lute, Abct Day’s shop and
boughta puir of spectacles for his yrapdfuther, Who had
been dead five years—Wwilh We privilege of excnangig
tiem if tuey did pot suit. + \

They failed vo suit, aund/on the second cay he went
agein, (atabout the Hour when Annette had been accus-
tomed iv Cali,) and he spent a good while tying to flada
pair that he thought would be ef the right power, He
neeced very Strong oncs De said. The good-natured Abel,
after taruing Over all lis spectacles, suggested that the
ola gentleman had petter come himself,

To said no; wwasu't convenient fer him to come. He
did not go out

So, ufter long wailing and hesitating, he selected an-
Other pairyand Wentoif reluctantly without seeing Lis
chariver.

He did not like to retarn the second pair of glasses, and
so, aday or two afterward, he stopped in sbout the mid-
dle of the afternoon, to say that Lucy were satisfac ory.

Abél wag pleased, and uskedil lie Was quite sare that
his grandfather coulu see plainly wilh then

“ldo pot suppuse there isa pair in the whole city that
he could see aly better with,” was the evasive reply.

The young man was aisposed to be seciable, and old
Abel was chutty too, aud not being hurried with work he
was glad to show his pew Customer everything, whether
he wanted to buy or not,

Among his steck of miscellaneous articles were some
chess-hen, und Tom, growing shurp and s*rewd, said lie
would buy a set, 1f he had any ove to teach him to play.

Did Mr, Day know the game, le asked; aud would he
give him some lessons ?

Yes—Abel coulu play—was very fond of the game, in
fact, und Would be happy to teach him, only he did not
like to play in the shop, Jt Was not business-like.

“Very true,” fepliGu Yom, “1 could pot play in the

 

 

 

 

day-time myself. I haven’t ume, you..see—but evenings
2

“Yes, evenings—only I live so far away.”

“On, that’s nothing! Idonot mind along walk |” ex-
plained the deliguted youth.

“But a wile aud a half »way down in the lower part of
Hardy street, near the river. That would be too far for

you 7? Y
t “Not astep! Piease tell me the number and I'll come
any evening that you name.”

Abelyvxve nim’ the nuipb-r, and told him to come any
evening that he chose, anu as often as he chose, as he was
always at home.

In fact he wus almost as much pleased as Tom, for he
had few amuSeluents, avd ne companions except his
family. . '

Weitte in rooms,” hesaid, hesitatingly, ‘on the third
floor. We are poor people.” ,

“Poor, ei? Well, you can’t beat me at that /” replied
Tom, gayly. “IL auu’t mind that. Ill come to-night, to
begin.”

“Allright. May [ask your name?”

“Tom Vane.’

“And you are re
Ee clerk Heng & -Longley’s tea store, second bleck

low,.’?

“A very respectable house. Excuse me for asking, but
ina greatcity like this, we ought to Know something
about our acquaimtances, you see.’ i

“All right, vo offence my dear sit. > Ill tell you my bis-
tory [rom the cradie—whenever you have putience to hear
it—and the history of ulbmy relations. We have nothing
to disguise bat poverty, I-believe, and that can’t be hid.
Hal Hal Good day.”

[All veho are pleased with “THe Sky TRAVELER” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

 

 

CHAPTER XX.

But Tom, frank as be seemed, felt very wicked when
heturued away. He was shocked at the deceit he was
practising on the simple old man. But it should not be
for longs If Annette was what she seemed, he would
confess all within a few days, and atthe very worst, he
was perfectly sure that he meant no harra.

“Harm to Annette!) Why, be would as soon of thought
of harming a seraph just descended srom the skies.

Abel Day bad by no meaps made tus arrangement
without thinking ubout Annette,

Pervaps he wastbinking avout her just then, quite as
much as Tom Vune was, and \ oudering whether that nice
young man might net even fallin love wWitu her @ad inar-
ry ber, notwitostanding her poverty.

Tom need not bave felt so zuiltv. Indeed old Abel be-
gan to feel like an artful plotter himself, Seekiug to
entrap a guileless youtn. 7

Then, he pad told his family that evening, that Tom
Vane, 2 handsome young clerk 1n Hong & Longley’s tea
store, had bought a set of chess mep of him that day, on
condition that he would teach him how to play, and that
he was coming that very evening to take his first lessen,
perhaps the styruea Anuetie felt the most conscious-
stricken of the three. 7

All this had resnited from her not having divulged that
daring young man's presumptagus conduct, bu she re-

solved to make av full avowal of her fault now, and so she
took her father aside, avd with muny tears and much
trembling, confessed her extreme wickedness,

Here was a guilty trio for you!

Well, Abel Duy wasa sensible man and an affectionate
father, und he did not scold his daughter,

“It would have been better for berto have told of this
sooner,” lie said, but no harm hid been dene yet, aud
he did not think there was any danger Imminent.

Neither did Abel reprove Mr, Vane when he came, or
disclose to him the discovery he hud made.

lie let events rake their conrse, Watching them careful-
ly, and ready to interfere when necessary.

There was no necessity.. Tom wonall the hearts in the
house in less than a week, confessed his srtitice to old
Abel, confessed bis unconguerable love fur Annette, aud

 

 

and to Know her parents’ wishes, when she confessed,

year, ana it cost him ull of that to live and make.

 

 

begged permission to avow it to her and to engage her,
if he could, tor his wife. 4 :

“Fle was poor,” he said, “buthe would notalways re-’
mainso;in fact his were all the giowlbg, Sanguine hopes
of youth.” : ,

Mr. Day gladly agreed to allthe enamoured youth re-
qnired, On condition that the latter suould first obtain his’
ew parents’ consent to the engagement,

But Tom said he had no parenuts—borh were dead.

“Your grandfather, then,” said the conscientious Abel.

“} am perfectly sure he will not object.”

“Is there anybody else that you ought to consult?”

“Not asoul.”’

“Very well. Then ask Annette as soon as yeu choose.
[ have already made inquiries about you of Mr. Long-
iv, and he gives you a very good cllaracter.” -

“Hecoes,en? Well, he’s grutf enoughto me. But no
matter fur that. Itbank him, und I thank you, more
than I cau say. If Annette consents, I shail be the hap-
piest man mn the cily—aye, in the world.” ‘ 2

Annette was alr ady wen. Ste had but to be asked,

with muny a blust, ner love lor the rosy-cheeked youth

CHAPTER XXI. were

Lewanee had but one bag for transporting. gold from
the mountain cave to bis, lodge, on tue shore,.of Lake
Soperior. it held abour his owa weight. saya honcred
and twenty pounds, of the auriferious sand, but was, in
bulk, even when filled, less than athird of the dumensions
of his body.

Half was refuse, and «cf the remaining half, when
washed and separated in his rade way, he Set apart a
moiety for his tnbe, whose, treasury be designed to keep
only moderately Supplied, lest 1s people suouid become
idle and dissipated.

Iflie had been a student of history, and had had the
example of Spain before him in the palmiest days of, her
gold-bearing colonies, he could not have better under
stovd toe peril of Sudden wealth both to nativns and to
individuals.

Bat. he knew nothing of that melancholy spectacle of
decayed grandeur which the land of Ferdinand anu Isa-
bella now presents to the world. He acted on the coun-
cils of Ogil the Wise, and never doubted the correctness
of his teachings. a :

About thirty pounds of nearly pure dust he set aside
for Abel Duy, and for this he made a smaller bag, of
deer skip, long and narrow, in the shape of a. belt,
which would go easily around his body, :

Ten thousand dollars in pure gold is surprisingly small
in bulk, to one unaccastomed to weigh and measure the
precious metal, and this wus pet far from the sum
which Lewanee designed tor the honest instrument
iwaker.

jt was on tlre day before the sailing of Hong & Long-
ley’s tea Ship, that the Ottawa took his second sky-walk
tu the great city by the sea, and having been busy in his
preparations through most of the day, he did not get
started until a couple of bours before sunset.

Sill there wag ample time;for a very leisurely stroil
through the air, as he did not care to, return until nearly
dark, and he did not expect to tarry long for a talk.

Lewanee did not anticipate much) ble in finding the
instrumeut maker's shop, if he could once-find the city,
but he got astray, and was, puzzling himself for some
time over Philadelphia, and Baltimore, gughting upon
their roofs, and looking #uioly for the long wooden tele-
scope. pe hy Se

Yuen he remembered that certain, features of- the
iNand-city ry were Wanting, and remounting the
air, he nade a few hasty strides northward) and soou
fuund the lost town, whose million Inbabitants thiuk
themselves o0f.much Berenice t yet. Whe, are so
easily overiooked pan Sky-travelers.! x $

Lewanee. soon found Abel Day's shop, and.
down to the ground, (his belt, which parte
onoyancy, made wt wore difficult
noiselessly, iu, and looked uroum
before makipg himself visible, «—

Yhe ola map was ub work re
glass; he dGibed v
uo ene he tho:
resumed | : . a

Ile lookewiliind care-worn; U 9 be deeper
lines on nis face tua when Lewanee tad seen him atew
days beforé and now and then a sigh escaped from his
breast-" Douvuless ne was linking of poor Annette, and
of the hard fate which» tu separate ler on the next
day trom her lover. aya x9

Lewanee sat down: on the floor, and taking off his
slippers, (le wore a common pairbeneat! them now,) pul
them in his pocket, and then rising, he said:

“My fatner, | am here.”

“Goodness gracious, man! Where did you drop from?”
exclaimed the astonished Abel, rising and coming for-
ward. aeEE 4

'<Your door was open and I walked in.
come ??? ays

“Welcome as the rain in dry weather, or as sunshine to
the flowers,” replied Abel, shaking hands with his Visitor
aud glancing at the telescope wt his back, with the belief
that he hud brought it to be roe

For nothing seemed more probable than that the Indian
shouid have broken it, or in Some Way Got it out Of order;
aud as to the promised present of gold 16 didnot occur to
him, so sight had been his hopes of it huying been made
in earnest. : hot edt

fle did not indeed doubt now (sinee the red man had
returned so soon,) thatlie was oue of the few who still
linger about the homes of civilization either in our own
oY In One of the near New Engiand Stares. ;

“How is the long eye?” he asked quickly, adopting Dis
customer’s metaphorical name Tor the spy-giass, anc
reaching forth his baud to take it.

“Nay, it is all rignt,’? replied Lewanee. , “It is awwon-
derful glass! It makes small thiugs big, and far distuut
vues nigh. Nothing can escape it.’

  

 

 

   
 
 
 

 
  

  
    

re seemed

Atm I not wel-

 

Pcounter.

 

“lam glad you are pleased with if,”

“Lewanee is pleased, but my father has not keen paid.”
“Oh, yes, be las—overpald—overpaid.”? ;
“Then he will accept a present from his son.
is'reauy for him. It bave broughtit very far.’

Seet it

i Ottawa loosened his velt, which bad been con-
ed

aled by his deer-skin coublet, and laid it upon tie
Tuen he untied one end ef the marrow sack anu
poured ont a lituie ef tue yellow sand. ;

“See !? he said again, as if under the necessity of crying
up bis wares “it is medicive for the poor and the hara-

 

 

whom she lad so lately mentally compared to a ferocious
shark and a rapacious hawk.

‘A year bad passed away after this engagement, and
Tom Vane had not been promoted in the great tea house,
nor Were bis circumstances in any Way improved.

He was only an eitry-cicrk on five hundred dollars
few
handsome presents to Annette, x

He grew desperate, dnd when his employers (who were
importers, and nad two Ships of teir own which sailed to
Coiba aud Jupun.) Were ju want of asupercargo for one
of their vessels, le boidiy offered himself for the situa-
tion. : aint Ut 3

‘here were many perils attending sucha voyage—per-
ils of the clinsate—of shipwreck—of Chinese pirates—of
rapecious natives ew the coust, and the post was not
seught alter; nay, It Was decilued by several cierks to
whom it had been offered.

But thé pay was to be nearly double what Tom received
at home, aud he hoped to establish w cluim for promotion
when be returned,

His offer was accepted, and he hastened to inform An-
nette of what he considered liis goou fortune. But she
heard bun sorrowivgly and wit Lears, and, bis enthusi-
asm being checked, he began to regret bis precipitancy.
It would be terrible to leave Aunette, and not even be
uble to hear from her; and sue, too, would suifer.

Bot he did not like to recraet, and old Abel advised him

not to taink of such @ thing, butto go hke aman. AS to
Anpette she must s'op crying apd be a woman. What

was a year or two of separation to very young people
like them, he asked.

What was it? Why it was a great big segment of eter-
nity, Annette thought, but she did not say so.

Sune dried her tears aud tried to look cheerful over it;
but she still wept in secr. tf, us if her heart would break.

Sue grew pale and thin, too, during tue three weeks
that intervened before the sailing of that dreadful vessel
which was to carry off her beloved Tom.

 
 
    
   
     
 
      
   
    
  
  
 
   
   
 
   
 
   
 
 

   

  

   
 

working man, though it is often poison to the vile.”

The astonished Abel tock @ litue of the dust inthe palm
of his hand, Yubbeddt with bis finger, and tuen applic te
ta chemicz ; aeVi hi ‘

vertain thatit must have heeu in soive Way hopestly ov-
tained, for rogues do not give uwWay their il-gocten. gas,

Lewanee pushed the full, belt nearer to Abel, as the lat=
ter usked these questions, aud replied:

“Nay;allofia Takeit. Jtis for you; and Lewanee
has enongu at home.” r

Abel was astoulzhed and evercome, _ Ile remonstrated
against so lavish a gift, but te po purpose; and, in the ar-
dor of nis protestativus, hie brushed 2 Hiimblefal or so of
the precious metal off upou the Hour bevind his counter.

lle stooped eagerly to gather it up, still talking from
nis biding place, and’ when he rose, sull yoluble, lis visi-
tor was Dot to be seen, ‘

Abel rubbed his eyes and looked again, but there was
no one there. He came round in front and examined the
little shop all over narrowly, (it did not take long,) and
then he went to the doorway and looked up and down
the sidewalk, but the Ottawa was nowlicre in view.

He caugne hold of a. boy who was selling evening pa-
pers in front of his shop, and he asked hiin eagerly if he
bad seen an Indian pass out, and the lad pointed to a to-
bucconist’s sign, a few doors below, and saidi7iat was all
the “Jujin’? he had ever seen in his life, and he cidn’t re-
member ever to have seen him walk.

Then Avel suspected he'had veen dreaming, and he hur-

 

Yet she would vot own that she was ill, and she worked
assiduously 1 preparing little articles of comfort and
convenience for tue voyager on his world-wide jeurney.

Little cans of preserves, litile jarsof pickles, (aver tears
added to the brine,) slippers, mittens, tippets, everything
that affection could suggest as likely to be pleasant or
useful in winter or summer on his long, long journey.

On, how she wished that he had never agreed to go!

if. he had only spoken to her first, She Was sure she
could have dissuaded hia, but now they were-all against
her. Asif any money conld compensate for risking that
De life, or for the dreadful hardships which he must
undergo.

Fearful presentiments filled her mind, not ¢nly in re-
gard to him, but berself. He mightreturn; but she would
vever live to see lin, for she was’ sure that she never
could survive that long year of anxious suspense.

Yet Annette smiled, vnud tried to be ‘cheerfal, and. to
keep vp her lover's spirits since he must go, and Tom, on
his part, proved as good an actor, while his tieart was:
also filled with misgivings and regrets. ;

In faet, if tee dfewdtul ship, woich was about to sepa-
rate them, had taken fire and burned up at the wharf,
tuey Would have both been exceedingly happy. ast

No such event huppeied, auc although a few days be-
fore she Sailed, Abel Duy Wad’ a windfall in ‘the extraor-
damury customer who had paid him something. over a
hondred and sixty dollars for a telescope worth about a
third of that sum; his gain (considerate as it seemed to
them all), did not awaken auy strong hopes of improved
fortunes. aie !

The Indian's promise of & bag of fold the next week
wus a subject rather for ‘pleasuat mirth than lor sover
expectation.

No one expected tosee him again, yet all agreed that
it was wn extraordinary event, aude wonvercd how an in-
dian should be the possessorot Sv mech goid, and should
value if so ligbtly aud dispense It so freely,

“Besides, wiiy should be want a telescope?” Gneasked.

“A telescope! ‘To whom would it ve more useful than
to an Indian living onthe great prairies?” asked Abel,
“Think at what @ greatdistance he could see tis enemies,
or discover gume. 1 do not wouder tuat & Savage spould’
prize such an instrument above’'gold and silver, after he
bad ouce learhed its use.” ‘oY ihe

“But now could he have learned it?”

‘yy@, Ulat is another question,” : 4

“Perhaps he was a great chief, stopping inthe city, on
bis way to or from Washington,” suggested ‘Tom Vane,
“They are olten here, We read of tiicus in the papers.”

“Yes—that’s true.” Ie 4 4

“tle may vave been Black Kettle, or Tin Kettle, or Hole-
in-the-Wall, or Wiitté Tuunder, or Kick-up-o-row, or some-
thing of toat Kind,” continued Tom, laugning,

“But le seemed too young for a chiel,”’? replied Abel.

“Private secretary to a ¢hiel then,” 4

He might lave been one of a patty—an interpreter per-
haps, jor he talked’ Boglish very well. suit i¢vis useless
to dopjecture. His gold’ was good, T Know that?

“Strunge that he should have promise to bring you ®
bag of it,’ suid Annette, musing; ‘and Jast for your lion-
esty. ,

ane men must be'scarce where he came from,’’
said Tom. ,

“Ile must have meant a very litile bag,’’ continued the
young lady. ;

“He meant that, if he meant anything, of course,’’ re-»
plied the father, ‘A snot-bag probably; but 1 have read
somewhere that Indians, ike some white inen, are very
fond of a joke, He is welcome to his, since he has paid
us in vdvance for it.”

“] wisi be wouid come and joke with me,’’ said Tom
Vane. “It wouid be very couveuient just now."

Annette sighed,

{All who are pleased with “The Sky Travelers,’’ will
please recommend it to their friends.]

ried back into the shop to see if the gold) was there. Yes,
tuere it was, bright aud gleaming. There could be’ ne
mistake about that.

But next, toe incredulous man thought perhaps it was
only gold at the open end of the belt, andvaibthe rest was
beavy black sand. Perhaps this wus the joke that had
been played off upon him. So be lecked) nis shop door,
and; being alone, he emptied: the 1 elt into a couple ol
vlack, leauhern fire-buckets, and applied) his chemical
test to several separate handfuls, ali of which stood the
urtal weil, and wus proved to be geuuine,

He could no longer douvtit, Whatever the mystery
might-be, he was:a tich Man—rich, at least, according to
uis estimate of things—and his joy knew ne bounds,

Jt required along time and much, lubor to get the pre-:
cious dust back into its Darrow receptacle; and when
this was done, the happy old man tied the belt tightly,

}~ “An-aecomptlice, hibbe bound* said the policeman to

hinisels, as be Sprang his rattle for assistance, .
“You are in good time, Mr. Smitners,’? seid Abel, ‘to
tell this man who lam ”

_Whatl what! You dou’t take old Abel Day for.a shop-
lifter, do you—a mien who has been in, business in this
very street for sixteen years, anu as honest a man as.ever
breatned ?? said Smithers, laughing gaite naturally,
“You don’t tell me that you Was a goin’ to arrest him ??,

“Yes, yes, Tunderstana!Heis the honestest man in
the street, and you are the next honestest,” replied the’
patrolman, lookipg up. and dowm the walk-for the agsist-
ance he had summoned. _ ‘TI have only asked him to show
te what he has got under his cdat, and | mean to know,
too, before I leave him.” e

“Have you any objection to show him?’ asked
Smithers. a

“Y-yes Ihave. Besides I don’t like the principle... 1
stand up for my rights as a free citizen.”

“You don’t stand up very straight for them—leastways
you didn’t when | overtook you,” said the Officer.

‘Have you never a business card about you, or the key
to your siore?” asked the bookkeeper, . 4

“Yes, yes, both!” replied Abel, tremblingly taking out
his pocketbook and hunting up his business card, which
he handed'to the policeman; “and there’s my, Shop-key,”’
he said, “and if you choose to go buck with me four
blocks Pll let you in, and Pll show you my sign. If]
oc bon may take me to the station-house and wel-

“Why couldn’t you, have shown mnie these afore, or
shown your ae Lona bave been still easier?”’,
asked the official, who began to remember there wassnch
a thing as an action for false arrest, “I guess. you may
goon. ’

Abel was not long in availing himself of this permis-
sion, but instead of continuing his former route, he
turned and accompanied his friend as far as Broadway,
and after parting with him, he went to a hack-stand, anu
engaged a carriage’ to take him home. ~

The driver looked closely be his customer, but did not

 

say anything offensive, for he knew that many a rich old
liunks dressed more shabbily than he, and Abel had
ordered the hack rather with the air of a man who: was
accustomed to doing those things, — .

In this way the much worried man reached home safe-
ly, but as he was so unusually late, his family were on the
lookout for him, and when they saw him getting out of a
carriage, rather slowly and’ stiffly, they were much
alarmed, aud were sure he had met.with some accident,
or had had a paralytic stroke, or some other sudden ill
ness, : ; ‘

No, there was nothing the matter, ADel said, laughingly,
in reply to their eager inquiries, ‘nothing, unless It was
a touch of the yellow fever.”

He unbuckled and threw down his belt as he spoke,

_Land then assed his wife and daughter to untie it, and tell

‘him. if they could. what was inside. \

“Scouring sandal exclaimed the old lady as soon as,
she caught sight of it. What on earth did you get su_
mach for? There’s enovgh to last us six months.”

“ft isn’t scouring sand, mother, it is brass-filings from
some of his works. I’ve often seen little piles of itin the
shop. What is it good ‘for, father?”

“And what did that pave to do with your riding home
ia A carriage?” asked the wife. auts ;
“Sure enough,’”? added Annette, Jaughing, though her

eyés Were red with recent weeping, for this was'to be her
last evening With lier lover before his sailing, but she still
iried to be cheertul. “Sore enough.” And what did you
tieit/around you in that qoeer way for? And where did
yeu get that vice belt? “Come, father. speak |’

“But you ask so many questions,” replied Abel, laugh-
ing. ‘Where shall I begin?’ {

Tell me what this stuff is good for?” said the daugh-.
ter. ke

“A great many things.’ You have no idea how many
things 10 is gdod for, nry child.”

“Well, tell us'some of them.” ©

“Pl tell you onep Netty. Irif'tell you one, replied the
okt man, drawing his daughter upon his knee, and pot-
ting Ris drm “around her; ~*é' 7 good to keep Tom Vane
from going to China!” 3 ;

‘Rather 1 ‘Rather! exclaimed Annette, springing up.
“What do von tell! me?’ Surely you would not joke on
this terrible subject" © :

‘No—Ao= no P79 eae bere Bf

“yen this is gold—gold'!? continued Annette: ‘And
your strange visitor has been here again, and brought it
coyou, lseeitin your eyes, invyour face: Is itisor”’

“Veg? z :

“Wonderful—most wonderful. And how mucilris there?
A thousand dellsrs ?” ; ‘i

“Nearer tem thonsand;.something over ten, 4s nearly
as 1 can estimate it.” ; 7 {

‘Die joyous exvitement occasioned by this. announce-
ment cunnot be described, and many minutes were ‘spent
imthe wiluest conjectures in regard to the munificent
donor, aud bis object in dealing sobouhtifuly with them.

“Perhaps he is in Jove with Annette, and lis coming utter
neroene of these days,’ said theniother, who thought all
\hiegs possible to lier beautiful:ehild.

“Well, he cannot lave me iff he comes,’ replied the
young lady. “But wi you get Tum off from: going to
sea, father???

“Yes; Annette.’! nol of x ;

“Are you sure that you can,—honorably, J mean?’

:

 

“J have but little doubt ef it. .Weshall see.”
‘Tom Vane came in the evening, snd whenethe wonder-
news was related to hum, he was beside himself. with
and gave way to the’most grotesque demonstrations
his transperts. Aste being released Trom his «ngage-
DIS, Te suid he thoughtit wow veNy Casye ter yi
here had been two applications: fer the, post frem
“ks in other houses since he was» ppointed, he said,
ove ef them a (thoroughly capable young man, who
once been to China, was sorely disappointed at miss-
um the ehanee. ; i Gk ttedew

If Mr. Day thought best, he would go and: see himat
once, ane go and seethe owners too, forthe ship:was not
to stihumti}noonof to-morrow, and he thought dromthe
direction of the wind, that it would not get off until tre
next day. :

“If Z tink it best,’? qnoth, Abel, ‘of course Tthink it
best. You were ouly lo get a thousand dollars for going;
i will give you a thousand dollars to stay at home, you
see. Besides, 1 will see Hopg & Longley: about having
your suliny raised, or perhaps Lwilltake you into part-
nership myself, fur I stiiull take,a larger store and extend
my business at once, as | have loug—very long, intended
to do.”? i

Yom Vane-hunuted up the disappointed applicant for
the supercargo’s post\that evening, and found him more
delighted, ifpossibie, to take the place than he himself was
to-resign it; and the owners, were easily induced to ac-
ceed to the change. ; f

So Annette and her lover were quite hanpy, for a dread-
fal Joad of anxiety was liited froin their hearts.

Old Abel was happy too. None the less so because he
enjoyed his good. fortune ina quiet, contemplative way,
without much demonstration. 3 Py

He sold his goid, rented a new house and new store,
bought a larger stock of goods, took Tom Vane into part-
nership, and everything. succeeded uuder the Hanus of
their upited diligence and experience.

Annette took Tom as a purtner, too, at theendof a
year, and when we have sald that both these: firms pros-
pered—though in a different. way—perhaps we may be
permitted to take leave of this branch of the subject, and
go and see what else Lewanee was doing,

[All who are pleased with “The Sky Travelers,’? will
please recommend it to their friends.]

(To be. continued.)
—__——_ >o+—__

Pleasant Paragraphs.

PLUM’S EXPERIFNCE IN GETTIN INTU BISNESS.

 

and fastened itaround his waist, beneath his old, loose,
surfout coat. ;

Although nothing of the bag was to be seen, there was
a visible ridge around his body, where it caused his coat
19 protrude; but Abel cared nothing for this, and he hast-
ened to:close his shen and start for home,

TAN who are pleased with “Tam SEY TRAVELER,” will
please recommend it to their friends.]

CHAPTER XXII.

Thelinstrament-makor had spent so much time in hand-
ling and exwmining lus geld,ythat the sunwas now down,
and atwilygit gioon: was gathering in the streets.) His’
Lillrty pouues additional, weight vanrpered his)» move-
nents some, an, wlrat was worse, he very soon found
that he was emobject of suspicion to a policeman whom
be passed,faindayho turned and looked ;aiter him, aud
thea slowly followed him.

Whatif he should be stopped and made to show, what

he carried, as Many an honest man has been compelled
to do, at Dight, or in tne first dusk ef evening? What ac-
eount conld he give of 1s gold—he, a seedy, poorly-dress-
ed old qian,, limpieg beneath his load—a secreted load,
Guo ? * ;
» He would surely be arrested, and locked up to answer
tlle next-day; and Lis treasure would be taken away
from hin, perhaps never tobe found again, even if no
crime could be proved against hint,

His fleart pulpitated with fear, and, in hissimplicity,
he looked back tu see ifhe was followed,

That settled the question of guilt, in the astute potice-
man’s mind, and he quickened nis pace, and in the neat
ieinute touched the terrified Abel on the shoulder with
his short ba4oOn, and told Him tu'stop.

“What have you got under your coat?” asked the offi-
cer, grufily. / “

“My own property,” replied Abel, smiling faintly, and
trying; im vain; to cXuibit the boldness of innocence,

“Perhaps it 13” said theother,  “L won’t quite take it
upon me to say untill seeit, Buthonest men dou’t watch
the pivece qaibe as clusly as you seem to do, Let's have
a lovk, Come—our with It, or Mibhelp yout?

“If you must know, I'll cell you what i've got,” replied
che terrur-stricken old mau. *There’s no need of show-
ing it) I—”

“Yes, vucre is—yes, there is. I can allers tell stolen
goods by thelooks on’tem. ‘hey haye a kind ef expres-
sion to ‘em that tells the story. Leastways, I can see
whether it’s anything a man uke you would be apt to
have honestly. JC it?s a codfish, now, 1 shan’t take it
away from you. So, out with it, Tsay)!” ;

“Why how do you do, Mr, Day? What's. the matter
here?’’ said @ voice, and Abel, to nis great delight, saw
an acquaintance approaching onthe neatly deserted side-
walk, for it was long past business hours in this quarter
of the city, {

Tie vew comer was a bookkeeper fn a hardware store,
avho had been kept late by a mistake in his accounts, and

 

Was now hurrying home,

Dear Weexkiy:—l hev bin so bisy thepast tew weeks arrangin
my menagary affairs, thar 1 hev omitted sendin yu enny ov ny
moral and mstrucktive affuchuns, tor which no doubt yu téeel
grateful. But like a bad penny IT bev rerurned agin, this tine
rull-ov incidents relatin tu my undertakin. Ya wiil be aston-
ished, I kno, tu hear that I, who bev entered intu tie “seer and
yalier leat?’ ov life, shuid assum the hevey respousibilitics ov
a fust klass menagerum., There iz tew things that enny ov us
can’t getaround by einy Manner ov Means. Viz: fullerin our
fate’ and our nose. We may get mad, rip, sware, and tare our
best klose, but thar stands tute, obstinante azia newl, and thar
lies opr voseé, fixed ontu the most konspickusispet ovour klassi-
Kaldecehurs, with wun end pintin rite aued:intu the, atmo--
phere oy dieven. Kno then that tute iz steerin, my derk intu
the see ov human lie, and that my nasalappurienanc, L.Be the
jib-boom ov sum stately ship, 1z alredy plungin ‘iat the briny
Waves ov the show bisvess.

Leon recelléet yocrs ago when'l wuz fust placed ontu the bus-
sum ov my dotin muther, an ippe cent» uthy emiirely ignorant
ov the wais ovithe wurld—I canjrecollect, I, repete, hearin my
cond parient sav, nz she kissed my Juvly, brow, at d wiped, my
weepin nose, (hat “Elder wuz born tu astonish the wurld, and
he'll du it sum day, won’t yu, my sweet Jeetle Plum? I don't
remember whéther P gave here. Dy enkurrigin reply, bac T
Kno Pthough® 7% Ldrew my fust rashuns, that az sounaz T got
big enuff thar wuld be an al -tired. skrimage berween old wurld
aut me. Gravny—poor, deer, rinkle t,o d Granny Plum!—I
cansee, het now, sittin in the chimny, Korner, }asbient y chew-
in her gums, a perfect picter ov_helthy old age. How mwenny,
menny times hev I hid her enuff box, or else octered her snv-f
ull thé pevper-made the ord lady’s cies hevey withdued) How
often hev I, inthe innereent exbuberancve ov my. sv irits, filled
her pipeowith powder and, pasiie ty waited for the issaue! It,
wuz supptisin tu see her jump af the flash, and it wuld be sup-
prisin {@ menshoa the lickins Pd get luimejiately after. “But for
ail tbis loved her, Tkno I did, tor whe sue wuld, az she often
did pat her tremblin bans outu my hed and tell me that she
wuld soon be ¢all d away, never tu cum back, I iise tu hide my
hea in my mather's lap avd weep bitterty, onless Ieutd be kon-
soled, by the successful terminashun ov sum hu deviliry.. I've
sot aud watched ber stirrin che ricn ¢reem, addin tu its flavor
(te aroma oy the snuff which now and then droped (trom the
end ov ler nose. Suitines az she satin her cheer by the o d
fireplace, tous'in her toes on the end 6v a burnin log, enjoyin
the fragrant odor ov her pipe; while her mind secmed tu wander
back to the dais ov her yuth sleep wuld overtake her, and she
wuli nod til Loften ‘eared she’d break her neck., What sport
it waz tu me tu watch h r then, as ber pipe, loosin its equilibri-
um, wold slowly turnaround and dep sia live coal incu her
fap, where it wuld eat its way thru the flesh, causin poor gran-
ny tu return to reality with a yell ov pain. Yuwill pardon me
{kno for this digressbun from the “burden ov my soug,)? az
sum poick cuss haz sed, ond forgive me if I,-hev cried a single
silent tear over her memory. Poor old woman, she used tu say
that “Elder wuld be the masin ov the Plum family.”

Yeers hev flown since tho-e profetick wards were ottered, yet
T hev remained within the shadow ev my own) vine and fig
tree ucknown to fame, content wath the smiles ov. Hepsy) aud
the invercent luv ov eleven offspring. But now, at the .en-
trance ov my-second childhood, a new impulse haz seized me,
and I hev embarked sntu an enterprive which bids fair tu real-
ize the hopes ev wy departed ancestors. T shull bear at hon-
ors With my usual modesty, and while my pockets becum hevey

with Iukre Isba!l endeavor tu make the publick mind hevey
with wurldly knowledge.

Isuppose Noa hed the bestshow ov wild heests ov enny man
livin’. Mine willbe next ina moral and instrucktive sense, and
though I may commence with a less number ov wild animals,
yet my show will be none the less interestin’, The wust ditfi-

 

culty Ihed wuz in breakin’ the news to Hepner, my konnobial
konsort, and it required all the tact ov whic wuz master tu

tray

introduce the »subject so az tur avoid enny onpleasanrnessy”?
wuzn't exuct'y succes ful_az you wali see. but douw’t blame
Hepsy tu hard, for the old lady ts nachuriy bie-Spirite d, and she
hez held in wonderfully during the feng peri d ov our matrimo-
Nialrelashuns. If I'd knone, bowever, thatethar wuz so much
Vim mn the derold kritter, 1 wadu’t bev piled it ail onte ber tu
wunce, but only hev given her enuff tu. heyskept her digestive
apparatus in kontinued exercise. I kommenced by sbekin ov
the dooty we owe 'tt our fol er man, tu the wurid at large, and
especbially tu this our free and gellorious keuntry. “Now, sed I,
Hepsy, I feel thatI bevy neglected thisducty tulong and hev
kept the talent given mie burried up in the sile of indifference till
if haz becum trodden intu stun by the adamantine tut ov time.

ut now, darlin’, (here I proffered a Kiss, which wuz returned
with a ht potater that sumwhat disconcerted me,) Iam goin’
tu find that taiert and invest it where it will net only benefit
the publick bui aiso line my peckets with currency, i should
hev konsulted you sooner, dearest, Knowt’ full well the value

Vv yur judgment, but ‘he fact is, l wuaafrai@d yer mite object tu

y plan, so I re:mained fryumyspekin, LE haw, got nvatters wei

xed. All I want now jz a leetle—well—yes—I—Hep-y, l should
tev luved yu just as Welland married yu just as quick if yu
Hedn’t hed a single cent! Yu are the fust-and only wowau IL

ver Nankered after; the Alfa and Omega ov my existence.
ud you lend me a Jeetle p-cuniary assistance? I will soon
place us both onru the top ev therhill oy; fame, where we can
look down ontu them below us wih aneye ov kontemptuous
pity. Yes, wife ov yuth, koluorterov iny old age, w well man-
uged menagerum can't fail ov, bringing: suekcess'‘to its owner.

Mine shati du that, and more, tu. I bev lions from.the sands ov
Egypt, tigers from Afrika, the pashent elephant ov Hindustan,
the spoutin rhinoceros, and ‘the striped’ bipotamus trom the
sacred shores of the Gunges mewls trom.

“Yul be the biggest mew) in the Jot.” :

‘I tried to smile, but in vain. tox! Teould see Hepsey’s nose
begirin to clevate, and I knue by,the, spasmodikal twitches of
her lips, and the kontinued crackin’ ov erthin ware on my
bare hed, that a sterm:-had rose on the horizonoNemy married
lite. For ten long bours wuz I exposed tu a Lempesiuous gale
¢ wurcs and furnitoor ; then witha ihajetice aoe she opened
he door, and silentiyy mostttned me ‘out with billet ov
wude which she kont'nncd.tu wave az long az,it. hit my hed.

» , Don’t think that 1 shall let this little ebelushun ov temail
Inv hinder me iv my efforts ;u benefit'mankind. I shall kon-
,tinne tu search Nachur with a beemin.eie tor) the kurias and
rare till Hepsy or deth sends me intu etarnity.
; Exper Pium.
TIM'S BROKEN» RESOLVE.

At a big revival among the Methodist people, there was one
young farier, a ‘wellite-do young man, named Tim F>—,
who favoret no particular creed; but inasmuch, a8 he was rich
the divines Were fistong pretty arduously tor him, at least peo-
plesuidso. One night, v hile he was occupying. the “arxious
seat,” a thief stole his horse. Ofcourse this catised him to cease in
his endeavors to become religious: After riding two or three days
he jeuhd Ins Geass, but the meecti hiekosed, and! he was not
yet clasped in the embrace of the church. About this time, El-
der D— had a Bapiist.revival im progress; and Tim F, spon be-
came a re; ular atiendant of their meéctings, e revival had
continued about a week and Tim had become a regular “mourn-
er?) | Bo! vhe ‘night, !imn order test 1hé géenumeness of the
mourner’s religiot s resolves, Purson D., at the close of the ser-
Mon,.proposed vo all theyuncenverted portiemof the congrega-
tion or any of them. who, were willing to never return, tothe
“bonds.ot iniquity-’, fo come forward. Parson D. waited aux-
iously forseveral mimtes, and’ just as the last stanza of the
hymn was being sung, Tim-F. alone, arose and appreached the
anxions seat:) While Tim was kneeling at ‘his seat, arudé tel-
low left the house anc'carried Tim's horseeff sonie distance and
ind him. . Soon the Len. diction was pronepneed, and Tim. went
out fo mount h’s horse, wien this nud fea exclaimed: “Tn,
‘your horse isg-ne.” Parson D. at th oment was passing by
him. Tim, on realizing his horse’s abseuce, ejaculated, “If my
horsevisw cstolenayain, 1 hope'to-be d=——,”” It wasia trick, of
course, to'test Tia’s religion. Next day it came outathat Par-
son Do had heard Tim swear, so, that was Tum’s last, religious
resolye, so», Doustx, You Ext Dez.

an AN, 4BSENT-MINDED -PROBESSOR. | 5, ' '

Professor Williams, of biiere ras what you would ca’?
an sbsentaninded mun, and be somctimes said things he cold
not accaunt for. Onone occasion, ota party, He a-ked leave
tusmoke a pipe of tebacco. ‘Ihe request being granted; he
I ghted his pipe and then toc k -thepfinser jofja dady’ sitting bé-
ves io press the tobacco into the pipe, .therebyyburning her:

ngers badly. a aia ae ;

On unother oeeasion one of his s¢holars chalked the likencss
of Mr. Williams on the bigdlackbourd4n the’ schodl-room. Mr.
Willams, on entering, seeing bis correct picture on) the’slate,
thought be was\there already, andjleft agains «yf ay!

_. Another time, he was going; lo; hayea soiree, and made out
the invitations fer the next day, pnting theme into, his writing-
desk. On the following even ny the house Ss ue My iumin-
‘ated And decorated, but none’ of thé invited ‘guests made their
appearance: ‘he professor gotunensy, and'caling his’ groom
who useally delivercd the ixyitations, askedohim) whether
those invited had allpromised ty cone.) To. his greatisurprise

 

him todo: kif his writing de:k, to make sure that the invita-
tions Were sent © On doirg so tie professor found them all
Saicly locked up in Lis de k. JUPITER, |
at yd : HE STOLE FOR A LIVING: : a OS
Athird-rate hardware mercvant was asked by a friend, who
had recently nerurned (ronm the old country, what he was pow
driving at. “Fy,” answered the merchant, ‘th sells iron and
shteel tor my living.” ~ = : “Deap Brag.”?
ENGAGED AND, MARRIED py.
An old woman, peddimy prayer-books, p ns, thread, &c., call-
éd at our house the other day. “At the tinic,my mother was!y-
ing on the bed, up-stairs, suff ring froma severe head che, and’
the pedwlar was yeceived by my two sisters, aged, respectively, ©
twelve und seven, Observing no grown. person, the woman
asked;..‘is your mother, envaged?”’. “Engaged !? exclaimed
my elver sister—‘engaged! )
ried for the last twenty years?”’ HAS. J.. Myatt.
THE IRISHMAN) AND THE S¥LAD. pom
A Srishman chanced ty be eating dinver where there was eal-
ad, which he bad never seen-beiore,. He kept looking, at: oue,:
and‘their at another, eating it, when the man who was. next to
fiim said: “Pat. why dowt you eat your salad?” “Arrah,” he
answered, ‘ifmy mother'was m Ameriky, an’ saw me ating
grass lke a cow, she'd roar like a bull.” : 3. CFE
BIG FEX? DANGEROUS TO HEALTH. Oy
Tom, twitting Sam on the cxtraordinary: size of his under
standings, said to bam: “You. mutt take cold» easily, Samo E
Should think’you would be sick all the time.’ “How so?? asked:
Sam. “Why,” replied Tom, ‘Lecanse there’s so much of jou
on ie ground!” GIL fit
; AN IRISHMAN’S RETORT ‘i

At the depot of the Philadelphia, Wiimington and Baltimore
Rail Koud Co., at Philadelphia, a traveler who ‘demanded ‘his
Detore alLothers, and > as to! y the hush baggage mas-

ter hat he must have patience ancl his turn, angrily said to
the baggege-master: “You're ti) mmpudent dog.” Towmeh be
of the tunks replied: ‘‘An’ faith youre a monkey, an’ it'sa
gxeat pifyithut when we two'were niade bastes, ye wast made
jan illiphant. so that ye could @iways haye your blasted trunk
under your nese.”” ; W-Dit As
AN HONORABLE

    

INTRODUCTION.

A litt‘e piece of teminizie loyelinl’ ss only tree or four rears
old, became augry with ber olders ster, «ndvemarked: “You'll
never go.to Heaven.” .“Wnhy not??? inquired her. sister, | ‘*Be-
cause Satan wil take you.” “Butvwho is Satan? T don’t know
line’? “O, you'll be introduced to him’ soon enough,” she re-
plied. W. HA,

; WHAT'S THE DAMAGE.

There is a certain voucg feliow in tbis city who subscribed to
a circulating library at three centsa day. The first book he took
out be returned within three days, which would be nine cents
dues.’ Going up to the counter he said to the proprietor:
“Well, mister, what’s the damage?” at the same time slapping
the book down on the glass ca e on the counter, which had the
eff ct of demolishing a pane of glass in said cuse. “Well,’? said
tne proprietor, coolly, “the damage is «bout three dollars and
fitty cents.” Imaging the teelurys of the young fellow, who
had to fork over. VALTER NUTTALL,

WORKING FOR WHISKY.

During the last presidential campaign, the Democrats of Con-
nelisville determined to raise a liberty-pole; and tu encoursge
those present to assist in the work, George , a prominent
man in the town, announced his in eption to treat the crowd
when the pole was successfully raised. The pole was almost up
when George got excited, and shouted out: “Pull, men! you
are working for your liberty!) On bearing this, an Irishman
Wbo bad been pulling at the rope lett it, and staggering up to

 

George, suid: “It’s worknig tor our liberty, ure we?_ Begorrat
Ethought we weie working icr the whisky!” C. SHARP.

CURSING THE JUDGE.

A.whi-ky drinking Irishman, charged with being drunk and
disorcerly, Was brorght betore a magis:'rate named Porter.
The magistrate committed the d: linquent to prison for amonth,
telling him that would give him time to curse whisky. ‘Yes,
faiih,’? was the prisoner’s reply, “and Porter too,”

Jorge Kiarcr, Esq,
A STRANGER*TO PIETY.

Ina manufacturing esti blishment, not fifty miles from New
York city, one coid morning, & workman named John, a mid-
dle-aged, man, whose hair had, begun to turn gray, went into
the room, known as the cutting-room, and was standing by the
tire warming himself, when Joe, another workman, opened
conversation in the following style: “John,” said he, “what
makes your hairso gray?” “I don't know,” answered John,
“bat I suppose iv’s early. piety.) “Early piety !? exclaimed
Joe, not understanding the meaning ot the word piety; “early
piety! Whatin thunder is that’, J get here cvery morning be-
fore seven o’clock, and my hair‘ain’t gray.” W.

A) DISAPPOINTED PREACHER.

A preacher in Sparta, Ga., having loan: d all his money ata
usurious interest, became pressed.for iunds, and called. on @
neighbor—a. Mr. Shudman—whom he asked for a loan of two
buudred dullars) The preacher is not a favorite in his neighbor-
ho d, and Mr. Shadman thought he would snnoy him with
hopes that were nof.to be ,eatized. «I will do the best I can for
you, said Shadiman,, palling Gus his pocwet-took, and counting
out three or four hundred collars. “Yes, do the best you can
for me,” returned tbe preacher, his smile indicating toe most
delightful anticipations. ‘“‘Let«me se,” remarked shadman,
musing!y, as he stood before His mopey-drawer, and took there-
from the contents abour tifty dollars. ‘Let me see—I owe a
treight-bill ot ninety dollars, and I have tsvoor three small bills
to pay... Well, Lthink I can Jet.you have 47s as a loan,’ and. he
took a copper from the drawer end flinpcd it ci the counter.
“Tpavs the best I ean do for you.” The ustounded preacher
eyed the copper a moment, and then turning upon’ his heel,
quickly left tie store, mutiering something the Very opposite of
prayers. TINMAN,

A STARTLING EPITAPH.

A tombstone in a South Carchna. cemetery, was recently

made conspicuous by some wag, who paint d on it the following

fines:
“Here lieth the body of Jerémiah Gordon,
With mouwh almighty, and téeto accirdin’;
Trea lightly, stranger. o’er this wonder,
¥or if be opens liis wouth, your’e gone, by thunder.
C. WALLMENICH,

—_———_-—_- >-9< ;

Jenhial Slabs Remarks.

Questicn pol'tical fame very closely, my friend, before you
commit & good name. to its keeoing.

If some men had no clothes but their meanness, they would
still bave plenty to cover their nakedness w ith.

Until you strip tne feathers youcan never exactly fell how
much the bird 1s worth for goed, square eating.

If vou see any excellence in even a beggar imifate it.
yonquer little (roubles and then you can bear greater.

Tne more unshapely and crooked tue man, the better he al-
ways seems to fit when he gets put into one of Heaven's great
fireplaces.

No mat er how rough or hard the pebb!e, place it where even
tlie softest infinence can constantly turn it, and all its angles
will gradually wear away.

When you start to be a christian, no wonder the world
strives:to,pull you back. Itcan only see. what you lose. It is
totaliy blind to the infinitely greater bis ssings that you gain.

Your evenly belanced man is luke a dish,ol! hash, nicely and
very properly seasoned with, say salt and cayenne pepper. The
world simply partakes of him, asks no ques ions and speedily
forgets. Tis only when ihost of thé seasoning gets s:'0 a single
mouthful or two, that ) omr hash brings;th¢ tears that insure re-
membrance. '

If you are poor, @on't bé idle. If you can saw and plane
boards or hammer iron best, but can’t, get the chance where it
will pay, then hee corn or potatoes, saw wood, or take the next
best job tha: offers. No matter if you have never yet learned
evel the A of the business. When @ mair gets into deep water
common sense tells hum to paddle his best, even if he knows he
cunt swim.

Religion is the boat, faith and works the oars, and prayer the
rudder. Pull neither of the oars, and, in spite of the rudder, you
go backward. Pull with either alone, and you move in a circle.
Only when you pull both tegetner, with steady, even stroke,

 

keeping rudder well in hand, can you gg terward master of
your craft. :

 

 

the man told_bim that be, knew, notuing aboutit, and advised. ,

Why, my OEE has been, mar- ,

 

 

 

e

 
 

ble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

THE DEAD CHILD.

 

BY G. CALHOUN CLYDE.

Vail away the brightful gladness,
Shut the sunlight from the room,
Meet is now the voice of sadness,
Meet is now the silent gloom—
Hearts are breaking,
Bleeding, aching,
In the shadow of the tomb.

Many a flower of beauty scattered
Hath the household garland known,
Many a glad heart rudely shattered,
Jewels missing where they shone,
Stars benighted,
Yet relighted,
G!owing in the Saviour’s crown.

Glasp the snowy robes around me,
Cloth him for his narrow bed,
'Tis a wakeless sleep hath bound him,
Well we know the child is dead.
Weep, oh, mother!
For another
Birdling from thy bosom fled.
Softly smooth the golden tresses,
As in happy days before;
Useless are thy fond caresses,
He will heed them nevermore.
Yet we could not,
O, we would not
Lure him from that mystic shore.

LELLA, THE ORPHAN.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

 

 

 

“As if wehadn’t enough to support already,’ said Mrs.
Arlington, sourly.

Lella Vincent stood wistfully looking up into her aunt’s
face, a slender, pale-cheeked girl of fifteen, while the
stout dame, inthe purple silk dress, surveyed her with
no welcoming gaze.

“Your uncle is crazy,” said she, tartly. ‘‘Wasn’t there
the House of Refuge or the Poorhouse, and all those other
places for you, but he must bring you here ? I really don’t
know what the world is coming to.”

“Tam very sorry,” said Lella, with a quivering lip; ‘1
—I wish I had died when mamma did.”

“Nonsense,”’ said Mrs. Arlington; “I don’t believe in
silly sentiment. Go up stairs and ask nurse to make you
as useful as possible.” _

And this was Lella,Vincent’s welcome to her new home.

“Aunt, she said, timidly, after a month’s snubbing at
the hands of the whole Arlington family, “the woman
that ‘keeps the little corner store says she wants a shop-
git wong you have any objections to my inquiring for
the place

Mrs. Arlington rolled up her eyes in aristocratic dismay.

“You! a shop-girl!”!

“But, aunt, I want to earn my own living.”

“You want to disgrace us all, more likely. Lella Vincent:
I’m astonished at you. Go up stairs quick, and don’t let
me hear another word on the subject.’?

Lella cried to herself when she was all alone in the nur-
sery, Save the baby who slept in the cradle by her side.
How bitter to her lips was the bread of dependence, no
pen can picture. Nor did there seem any outlet of pos-
mole escape, Arran the nursery, dusting the parlor,
sewing buttons on Freddy’s jacket, telling stories to re-
bellious Susy, sent on perpetual errands, until her feet
ached so that she could hardly stand on them, ordered
around by everyone, and praised by none, it was scarcely

| strange that poor Lella Vincent found her young life a

weariness,

“Oh, Rosa,’ she said, sadly, one night as she stood by
holding the paper of hair-pins as her cousin was being
splendidly attired for a party, “how niceit must be to
‘wear such a dress as that,and go to parties every eve-
ning. Howl should like it,”

“You,” echoed Rosa, witn a contemptuous laugh, as she
shook out the foids of her pale blue silkdress. ‘Yow will
mever go to a party.’

“Why shoaidn’t 1?” said Lella, piteously; “Iam only a

year younger than you.’

“No,” said Rosa, “but you are a dependant on papa’s
charity, mamma Says, and really no better than the lady’s
maid, only you happen to be the child of papa’s sister.”

Leila colored deeply and saidno more. “No better
than the lady’s maid!’ Yes, that was the estimation in
which she was held by the whole family—she had known
it before, yet Rosa’s words cut deeply.

So the time went by, and Lella drooped like a flower
that has grown up in the shade.

“Seventeen to-morrow,” she thought, ‘and Rosa had
Such an elegant little party when she was seventeen—
‘gifts and bouquets, and friends coming to congratulate
her, while I ——”

Se checked herselfin this not particularly pleasant
trata of thought—some one had entered the parlor, and
she recognized Mr. Chalower, the gentleman who was re-
cognized in the Arlington mansion as “Rosa’s beau.”

Lelia blushed, and ee up her feather duster, for
she had been engaged in dusting the furniture, but Mr.
-Chaiower intercepted her retreat.

“You are Lella,’’ he said, pleasantly; ‘I have heard the
children talk about you, sometimes.”’

“Yes,” said Lella, shyly. ‘‘Rosa is not in this morning,
I believe.”

“Pu wait for her,’ said Mr. Chalower. ‘Meanwhile
you needn't run away.’’

And so bie did he make himself, that when Rosa
entered the parlor ina velvet sacque with ermine trim-
ming, and the sweetest of smiles upon her lips. she was as-
tonisied to find Lella sitting by the fire with the feather
duster in her lap, and her bright face lighted up with an-
imation and intelligence.

Until that moment it had never struck Rosa Arlington
how very pretty her cousin Lella was growing.

Yet, aS she Sat there, with rosy cheeks, silken brown
hair hanging over her face, and deep blue eyes shining
witha wistful, half-pensive light, Rosa began to realize
that Lella might be a dangerous rival.

Her cheeks crimsoned vindictively .

‘Lella,’”? she said, after she had exchanged greetings
with Mr. Chalower, “you may go up stairs. The nurse-
dmaid’s place is scarcely in the parlor.”

“| thought she was your cousin,” said Mr. Chalower.

“She is,’ said Rosa, biting her lips, “but mamma sup-
ports her out of charity.”

“She is very lovely,’’ said Mr. Chalower.

And the next time he called he inquired not for Rosa
ut for “Miss Vinceut."’

“She has left us,’? said Mrs. Arkington, smiling sweet-
ly. ‘ella is very capricious and has got tired of the asy-
dum we were able to afford her.”

“Left you? and of her own accord ?”

“Yes,’’ was the softly uttered falsehood.

“And where has she gone?” ;

«We do not know,” said Mrs. Arlington, taking out her
iacevedged pocket handkerchief. ‘It was a great trial to
us, but-—-—”
sae then Mrs. Arlington went up stairs to summon

osa.

_ As Frank Chalower walked slowly homeward, marvel-
ing within himself as to what had become of the lovely
young girl to whom he had taken such a sudden fancy,
he chanced to glanced into the lighted windows of a fancy
-store at the corner of the street.

Surely that was Leila’s pale, meek-featured face behind
she counter—and Chalower entered at once.

“Bella.

The face was rosy enough now.

“Yes, Mr. Chalower,”’ she said, quietly, “it is 1.

“Aud how came you here?”

“I had no where else to ga when Aunt Arlington turn-
ed me out of doors; and Madam Fanchardi was very kind
£0 me, and——”’

“So,” said Francis Chalower, slowly, “your aunt has
‘tuuned you out of doors. And what for???

Whe violet-blue eyes were,vailed for a moment beneath
their semi-transparent lids.

“don't know, unless—at least, she said it was very
bold and unfeminine of me to sit in the parlor and talk
to youasif I were as good as Rosa. And she said she
would teach me to know my place, and told me to go out
and never let her see my face again, and——”

*Lella, don’t ery,’ interrupted Chalower although he
himself was not unaffected by the sight of her tears. “She’s

a maneuvering old vixen—but [ at least, shall not fall in-
to her nets. But Lelia, you must not stay here.’

“Where else canI go? Madam Fanchardi give me four
Aloliars a week and my board, and I cannot starve.”’

“Will you let me take you to my sister’s house?”

“*Yés,”’ said Lella, innocently. ‘Why not?”

So Frank Chalower took the pretty young girl toa house
on St. Januarius Square, where Mrs. Rivers, his sister,
received her with some surprise, but a very cordial wel-
come.

“‘Frank,’’ she said to her brother when Lella had gone
up stairs with Fifine, the Parisian maid, to arrange her
dair for dinner, ‘‘who is the dove-eyed little fairy ?”

“My future wife,” said Mr. Chalower, composed ly.

"You are not in earnest.”

+*Yes, Lam.’?

And Mrs. Rivers knew her brother well enough to be
aware that this seeming caprice, had beneath its surface

‘the elements of an immovable resolution.

Just three months subsequent, Mrs. Arlington and her
pretty daughter Rosa called on Mrs. Rivers. The fair
hostess received them with her usual quiet, undemonstra-
tive manner.

“My d: xt. Mrs. Rivers,” said the matron, smiling suave-*
ay, “whe: has become of your brother?”

‘We hi ven’t seen Mr. Chalower in an age,’’ simpered
dimpled iiosa.

“He has been very much engaged,’’ said Mrs. Rivers.

‘Has he? and how ?” persisted Mrs. Arlington.

“‘One thing has been—matrimony,” roguishly answer-
ed Mrs. Rivers.

“Matrimony!"’ gasped mother and daughter simultani-
ously, While Rosa’s carmine cheek grew pale. ‘‘He has
not been getting married?”

“Yes, he has,’ said Mrs. Rivers. ‘Would you like to
foe introduced to his wife? she is at present my, guest—in
fact, the wedding only took place this morning.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Arlington, ‘‘we should like it of
all things.’ While Miss Rosa, less ready with a falsehood
than her illustrious mamma, kept silent.

Mrs, Rivers opened the door of, an adjoining apartment,
and there, in a pearl colored poplin dress, looking as lovely
as a rose-bud, stood Lella.

 

‘“Aunt,’) said our forgiving little heroine, as she came
forward with extended hand, “have you no congratula-
tions for me?’

Mrs. Arlington had, for she was a woman of the world
—but when she and Rosa were safely out in the street,
she set her teeth firmly together and muttered:

“One would almost think there is such a thing as fate.”

Not Fate, Madam Arlington, but Providence, and the
lovely young orphan had been under His care.

be

LOST.

BY ROGER STARBUCK.

The wind left the old ship’s sails. These, after fapping
afew moments, hung motionless from the yards, One
leng, lazy sea, almost hissing with the heat, washing the
name, “Dreadnought,” upon the vessel’s stern, struck her
under the counter. She rolled heavily to larboard, then
forging ahead a few fathoms, lay as still asif held by
twenty anchors,

Low in the west the lurid sun tinged the sky with a
pale yellow, and covered it with thin clonds of vapor
drawn from the sea. These vapors, as they rose, partial-
ly obscuring the rocky island, a hundred yards ahead of
the ship, softened its manifold tints, as a vail softens the
human complexion. ~

Curious weeds of a green, and silvery brown color,
drooped in wavy masses around columns of rock, that
held clumps of red earth, and singular shells. The beach,
covered with glassy pebbles, resembled a frozen crust of
yellowish snow sprinkled with hailstones; while the
shadows of the rocks upon it looked like tall phantoms,
prostrate upon their backs. Birds, with plumage as vari-
egated as the few sea-flowers among which they flutter-
ed, Sang, with voices as clear as bugles, and as soft as
the tinkling of fountain-drops falling into a marble basin.

Not a tree was to be seen on this island, which seemed
formed of volcanic rocks and mud, intermixed with
weeds, shells, and aquatic plants. It was about a mile
in circumference, and no part of it was higher than fil-
teen feet above the sea-level.

Through a natural opening in a rock, a few yards from
the beach, a bright stream, catching the crimson fiash of
the sinking sun, was seen winding along, graccfully, and
without noise. ©

Upon this, the weary crew, panting, and with parched
lips, turned their longing glances, as the ship’s rusty ca-
ble, like a great red serpent, darted, hissing and gurg-
ling, into the water after the ponderous anchor.

Shores more tempting than those of the little rocky
island, loomed up in the misty distance—the Azores, with
their fruits, flowers, and clear springs. But there was,
at present, no wind to waft the vessel furthe:.

Over the quarter-rail, her worn cheeks bale red,
an eager fire burning in her hazel eyes, leaned Martha
Bando, the captain’s wife, holding by one hand her little
son of six years, a weird-looking child, with clouds of
golden hair waving round a pale face, lighted by great
black eyes. Thin and faint, he leaned against his moth-
er, his quivering lips upturned, his white, slender throat
fluttering with the great want which, for many days, had
distressed all the occupants of the ship.

Sailing from Rio Janeiro, nine weeks previous, with a
quantity of water deemed sufficient to last them home to
savereoo), they were becalmed off thedine for four weeks,
after being driven far out of their course by head winds.
Atlength, a strong breeze sprung up—head winds again—
which lasted several wecks, by which time the stock of
water was exhausted.

The captain’s wife behaved nobly—as women generally
do behave under suffering; but when the fresh water
which she and her husband had carefully hoarded out of
their own share, for their little son, was used up, and he,
too, became a suiferer, then the mother’s fortitude seem-
ed, in a measure, to forsuke her. Through the cabin sky-
light the helmsman would often see her, kneeling in the
ptt praying for a few drops of moisture to relieve
the child.

When, therefore, the shores of the little island, with its
bright stream flashing among the rocks, were at last sight-
ed, the joy of ail on board may be imagined.

The moment the sails were furled, the crew, with one
accord, flew toward the quarter-boat. Throwing the falls
ropes) off the pin, they waited impatiently, but in vain,

or the command to lower away. gt

Standing upon the opposite rail, clutching the mizzen
shrouds, his hollow eyes flashing strangely, his lips
twitching, his thin hand raised to his brow, the captain’s
glance was turned toward a dark, sulphurous cloud, that
seemed to roll up from the very bosom of the ocean.

Meanwhile, a rumbling noise, like distant thunder, was
eer It continued a few minutes; then all was still as

ore.

‘Man the windlass !—up anchor !’’ shrieked the captain.
“No water for us here !”’

His eyes were blazing, his dry hair fairly crackled from
want of moisture, as he thrust his hand through it, his,
hot breath seemed to burn his lips, and yet he was eager
to leave that bright stream so temptingly shining among
the rocks !

“He 1s mad—mad from going so long without water !””
cried the mate.

“Mad !?? growled the men.
ine !'? echoed the old boatswain, the best sailor in

e ship.

“Mad | gasped even the poor wife, looking down upon
the pleading face of her suffering child. P

«Lower away |’ thundered the mate,

‘No !” shouted the captain, ‘tas you value your lives!
No! We will have a volcanic eruption here, directly—I
know the signs! Afterward a breeze will probably spring
up, which will enable us to reach St. Michael’s, where
we can get plenty of water; so you had better obey me
and stay aboard !”?

“You are certainly gone mad !’? answered the mate.
“There is no sign of a volcano here. Lower away, men!’

With a wild cheer the sailors obeyed. Down went the
boat, and heedless of the captain’s remonstrances, twenty
men dropped into it. Bando’s face flushed darkly red.
He sprang into the cabin and reappeared with his musket,
which he levelea at the mate’s head, ordering him to
return to the deck, if he valuea his life. The officer
obeyed; then moving forward, said something in a low
voice to such of the crew as were aboard. They followed
him to the quarter-deck, and the next moment the cap-
tain was thrown down, handcuffed, and locked in his own
cabin. His wife had interposed; but the mate assuring
her that he intended no harm to her husband, and that
the life of her child, herself, of all hands in fact,—de-
pended on the madman’s confinement, she had permitted
the sailors to perform their disagreeable duty.

The hollow, reproachful eyes of the captain had sought
her face, as the cabin door was shut upon him.

“For God’s sake, Martha, don’t you go ashore!” he
wildly cried, “if you value your life and our dear
child’s 1”? ,

i“ !? muttered the mate, shaking his head ; and as
Martha looked down upon her thin, feverish child, whose
eyes were 80 wistfully turned toward the winding stream
ashore, she felt that her duty to the little sufferer—com-
mon humanity even—required her to disobey the strange
injunctions of her husband, in his present unreasonable
state. Her child must have water as soon as possible,
and she would speedily return to the vessel, after he
should have quenched his thirst, and with a drink for her
suffering husband.

She entered the boat, her little boy pressed to her
bosom. The sun had gone down, and the twilight was
growing dim when she landed with the crew. Her hus-
band—his wild swarthy face pressed against one of the
deadlights,—_watched the party as they sprang ashore.
He heard the wild cheer of the men as they bounded
like tigers toward the stream; but the next moment a
terrible yell, followed by groans, pierced his ears! The
seamen tore their hair and beat their breasts. Some of
them threw themselves down and dashed their heads
against the rocks. Martha clasped her son in her arms
and with eyes riveted upon the stream, stood the very
picture of despair! The stream was of hot, molten lava,
instead of water!

This the disappointed men ashore proclaimed with
frenzied shouts; and while they still wailed and shouted,
those aboard ship released the captain from confinement,
now fully convinced of his wisdom. By this time the
night-shadows had gathered darkly; but just as the cap-
tain emerged from the companionway, the water was

 

‘seen to flasit with little sparks of phosphorus light. A

noise like thunder came rolling up from the unfathomable
depths of ocean, and great bubbles were seen rising all
around the ship. Bursting with the noise of red hot
shells, these bubbles filled the air with silver showers of
spray. The water now began to boil and hiss, as ifina
great heated cauldron, and tfie waves, rolling and rising
fountain-like, rushed in great sheets over both rails of the
vessel. Down she went upon her beam end—a snapping
sound was heard as several of the seamen, in obedience
to orders, slipped the cable—and then the stout ship,
whirled by madly circling currents, shot out to sea.

“T have saved the ship !’’ cried the captain, ‘‘and God
will take care of those ashore! They will not be mad
enough to attempt to reach the vessel through yonder
turbulent waters |’?

Crackling, crashing noises like thunder now Saluted all
ears. A great, red flash of fire, apparently shooting up
pie ae mad waters, was seen in the direction of the

and.

‘Do you see the shore?’ inquired the captain, passing
his night-glass to his second mate. i

“No,’? was the answer. “The spray and the water
seems to fly up mountain-high and hide the rocks !”’

‘Heaven help my wife and child !’ gasped Bando. “0,
I would that they—the whole crew—had only taken my
advice instead of thinking me mad !”

As he spoke, a strange noise—a sort of smothered
scream—was heard, lg, Baba the rumbling of the
submarine volcano, and the hissing and roaring of the
agitated water.

The captain clapped both hands to his heart. A terrible
conviction seemed to force itself upon his mind.

“My wife! my child!” he groaned again.

Soon after the din of the volcano passed away; the
water became as calm as if it had never been disturbed;
a full moon, bursting from behind a fog-bank in the east,
lighted the vast watery wilderness.

Where was theisland?

Bando and his companions glanced in all directions,
but could see no sign of the shores for which they looked.

Far and near, the broad expanse of the sea was un-
broken, save by the fragrant Azores, half shrouded in a
gathering mist. The little island was gone—perhaps for-
Pre ne oan up in the fiery jaws of the ocean vol-
cano

‘Lost | lost.!:my wife and child!’ shrieked Bando, and
now his wild grief really crazed his brain.

With a few blows of his’knife he severed the falls that

 

held his gig (a Small boat) to the davits. Then, springing
into the bout before any man could prevent him, he

 

Ree nectcoeeegeee a eon

sculled it rapidly away from the ship, declaring that he
was going in search of the island that contained his wife
and child. The seamen aboard could not pursue him, as
there was no other boat in the vessel, ‘or any breeze to
fill the topsails. He receded rapidly ana was at last hid-
den by the mist.

Several hours after, a strong breeze springing up, the
Seamen wore (veered) ship, to hunt for their captain.
They searched for him all night and a part of the next
day, when, unable longer to endure their sufferings from
want of water, they bore away for St. Michael’s, which
they reached before nightfall.

When they had quenched their thirst, they told their
story of the missing island to the Portugese, who had
~ spe the mysterious disappearance from their own
shores.

The captain of the Dears was never found; but
many of the half-wild, superstitious Portuguese fisher-
men say that on clear moonlight nights the spirit of
Bando is seen gliding in his lone boat over the sea in
Search of the lost island and his wife and child.*

 

* The principal incidents of the foregoing story were related
to me, as facts, by an old Portugnese seaman—a native of St.
Michael’s. In geography mention is made of the little volcanic
island. It arpoerye in 1811, and mysteriously vanished a tew
years later.—R. S,

  
     

SO)
DANDELION.

BY EMMA ALICE BROWNE.

In a green surcoat,
With tassels afloat,
All buttoned with daisies about her white throat,
The merry June comes,
The wild bee hums,
And the cicadas tinkle their tiny drums!

The cup of the hills
Brims over, and spills
The bright libation of many rilis;
And out of each nook,
' By dingle and brook,
The modest blue violets iean and look.

And, whereever the sheen
' Of the meadows’ soft green
Twinkles the breezy knoils between—
To gild as she goes,
The path of the rose—
The dandelion awakes and blows.

 

+ oj

Her round, sunny face,
In a halo of grace,
She brightens the dull, old, beaten ways—
She lights up the wood
With her little green hood,
And her gold hair under a diamond snood!

The sybilline spell

Of her leaves, right well
I know a hazel-eyed witch can tell—

A little brown maid,

With locks like the shade
And shine of a tangled summer glade! »

She busily pries .
With eager dark eyes,
And glows, like a rose, while the omen she fries,
And she whispers it low,
Least ‘the birds shall know,
And sing it to all the winds that blow:

“Ah, pray pretty: Dan.
Delion, carn :
You guess me the name of the ‘Coming Man?’
And the roses, aflame
With an envious shame,
Lean and listen to catch the name.

Oh,, Dandelion!
May the honey-bee die on
Your golden disc, like a cloyed Ixion!
May the mellowest wine
Of the morn be thine—
For the name you have guessed, to her heart, ismine!

———- > 9 <+—___—
Metropolitan Pen Pictures. -

 

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

SEMI-GENTEEL BEGGARS.

Some years ago, in my frequent passages to and fro
around the corners of Nassau and Spruce streets, I daily
noticed a tall, slender, elderly man, who invariably eyed
me earnestly, and with the most profound respect.

He was dressed in black, well-brushed, but shiny with
age, and his frock-coat was always buttoned up close to
his chin, unpleasantly suggestive of the conjecture that
he had no shirt beneath it,

One day the cause of his unusual regard was made evi-
dent. He came up into the editorial rooms where I was
employed, and took a seat at one of tne unoccupled desks.
1 heard him ask the office-boy to let him have writing ma-
terials, which request was complied with.

In about twenty minutes, I heard him again address
the office-boy, and, a moment after, the latter laid before
me the following epistle, which was written in a hand as
clear and distinct as copper-plate:

“Mr. . Honored Sir:—Faise pride—shame, pover-
ty, or what you will—forbids me addressing to you in
person that, which nowcommaunds the service of my pen.
“You may frequently have noticed ‘me observing you
on the street, intently, but not, I trust, disrespectfully,
and may have wondered atthe reason. It is because you
so an my eldest brother—long dead, alas!
—that [feel a mournful consolation in gazing upon your
noble face and form, with, at the same time, a wild,
poorly-controlled impulse to rush forward, and clasp—
but no, no; forgive me! my feelings will get the better of
me, even on paper. ;

“What loss 1 sustained in the death of that elder,
princely brother, God and my own heart alone can know.
“J will conquer pride, even to the extent of letting vou
know wholam. My father was the late Henry Rich-
mond Plantagenet Fitz Herbert, Earl of Gresham, and I
am his youngest son. The second son, Lumley, who now
inherits the vast estates and noble title of my father, re-
fused me position, fortune, assistance—everything; and
Iam now a wanderer in this strange country, see in
vain for something todo.

“My only object in writing this, is te request the honor
of your distinguished acquaintance. :

“J am here under an assumed name, but feel that you
will not abuse my confidence, when I sign myself,

“Honored sir,
“Resp’y and truly,
“George Adolphus St. John d’Alencon Fitz-Herbert.””

1 had not been a newspaper man for ten years with-
out acquiring experience in such cases of noble suffering,
and gave the Office-lad the following in reply:

“Mr, G. A. St. J. d’A, Fitz-Herbert.

“Dear sir:

“J shall be happy to form your acquaintance, but shall
never be ableto fillthe place of your lamented elder
brother, in a financial point of view.

“Yours,

 

 

1

A moment after the boy took this note, I heard a hol-
low, indignant groan, I caught one fleeting glance of
withering reproach, and the scion of Castle Gresham
crushed his napless tile upon his brows, and rushed from
the office.

Soon afterward I saw him take his daily stand on
the Times’ Park Row corner, and a friend of mine told
me that thisman of black made him the object of his
constant regard. :

“Don't you know the reason ?’’ I asked.

‘No?

“You resemble his eldest brother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wait and see.’

He did so, and his experience was similar to mine. As
the noble mendicant got nothing in either instance, and
the development of each cost him about three weeks of
his time, 1am at a loss to guess how he made a living,
unless he lived on air, even apon thin air.

_As another case in point, which showed extraordinary
impudence, an elderly lady of Cincinnati, of my acquain-

 

 

tance, was, many years ago, waited upon by a tall, seedy
gentleman, who said:

RNIN ETE RS

 

“Madame, J frankly admit thatI have been on a big
Spree, and have not sufficient funds even to pay my way
to my home in Louisville. But I don’t want money—I
only want a shirt, to make me look a little respectable
so that I can call upon my business acquaintances here.

‘You may have heard of my name before—I am George
D. Prentice, of the Louisville Journal.”

The credulous lady, of course, had heard of that distin-
guished pereceene before, but had never seen him. She
not only gave the man representing himself as such a
Shirt, but food and money also.

Of course the fellow was a rogue—Mr. Prentice, at the
time, being on a Visit to the far Southwest.

A number of years ago—at least, before the war—one of
these genteel beggars—a Pole, named Zollschinski~made
a stroke of fortune, which would seem almost incredible,

It was a seedy scion torn

From fair Sarmatia’s bleeding breast,
Woo here, though exiled tar away,

Still reared his proud and titied crest.
Acloak he wore of mighty fold,

A pork-pie cap ala Polonnaise,
And at the opera’s gaping doors

He mostly took his standing place.
He watched the handsome carriages

uF to the lighted portals roll,
And fashion’s favorites thence alight,

With pleasure great, this lofty Pole.
Ifa skirt would catch, he forward sprang

And released it with a formal bow,
Or, if a footman tardy seemed,

He oped the door, and bended low.
It was a widow, famed for wealth,

And great accomplishments, as well,
Who once beheld this noble Pole,

When her seft breast with sighs did sweil.
“Tell me, my footman,” when arrived

From opera safely home, said she,
“Who was that seedy toreign man,

With noble beak and long goatee ?”
“The Prince Zollschinski is he called,

From Poland, though an exiie thence,
But here of very small account—

A sorry ‘beat’ in every sense.”
Money that noble Pole received, |

With scented notes, from source unknown,
And soon, all altered, he appeared

On Broadway, like a prince full-blown.
‘Where there’s a will, there isa way;”

An interview was had at length,
The prince before that widow knelt,

And breathed his Jove, his passion’s strength,
Oh, but it pleased the lady’s pride,

To see that prince low at her feet!
Her chubby band he softly pressed;

She made reply in accents sweet.
A courtship, brief and tender; then

A marriage crowned the pair with bliss;
And the soft honeymoon sailed by

Through Love's own realm—more sweet than this.
What if that prince, subsequently,

Naught but a wandering barber proved ?
If some t he lost by that,

Not less sincerely was he loved.

The above circumstance is true, and there are many
New Yorkers who will recall it to mind. I have given an
assumed name; but under one equally Polish and sneezy,
the couple are still residing in a fashionable up-town
street. ;

There are adventuresses, as well as adventurers, in this
business of genteel beggary.

One of the chief roles assumed by such, is that of the
penniless authoress, fighting her way through penury and
distress to a publisher and fortune. She does not carry
any manuscripts—unless she may have surreptitiously
come in possession of some—for she has no ability asa
writer; but she must needs possess a good education to
pursue her charlatanry successfully.

She will never seek a dona fide editor, or publisher—
she is too artful for that; but she will usually visit gentle-
men or ladies of yealth, who affect to patronize litera-

 

ture. She will bewail her hard fate, and, finally, over-
come by her long battle with the world, perhaps give way
to a flood of tears. ,
Poor thing! If she is interviewi
pecially, if she chances to be comely
be at once aroused.
She will teli him herstory. She lived in a quiet, coun-
try home, and from her girlhood, studied the great au-
thors of verse and prose. She had prepared twoor three
novels, into which she had cast all the power of her youth-
ful genius and enthusiasm. She is here, at last, in the
‘eat city, an orphan, and penniless, endeavoring in vain
to dispose of her novels, which the cruel publishers will
not even take into consideration. :
The gentleman grows interested, and inquires into par-
ticulars—the names of her productions, what they are
about, etc., and he finds her ready for him.
She mentions a sensational name she has invented.
Then, as if in the fullness of her impuisive woman's

a gentleman—es-
sympathy will

     

 

Shesaw two figures enter the garden by alittle gate
on advance intO a paved space before the kitchen
oor.

At first she fancied them burglars, but sat quite spill,
watching and listening. Then she saw that luey were
Charlie and his friend, Aldis,

“Now we are alone, where no one can hear us,” said
Aldis; ‘“‘go ahead,”

“No, no, I can't do it,’ said Charlie,

“You promised,” said Aldis; “you must help us—come,
how, you must.”

“{ shan’t be able to get through With it,”’ said Charlie,

‘Nothing when you're used to it,” said Aldis. “Listen
now: I’ve hated the man ever since he roblved me of the
idolofmy soul. I will avenge myself. Now that he is
in my power, he shall never live to wed her.”’

“Lord ’a massy |’ said Hepsibal to herself, “poor Sid-
ney, | know’d it.”

ah it an’t in me,” said Charlie, ‘1 can’t do it Bob, I
can't,"

“So I used to say, but it’s nothing now,” said Bob.

; oe wretch,’’ said Hepsy. “I knowed it by his
ooks. '

“You go behind him, so,” said Bob, ‘throttle him and
stab him, you may practice as much as you like on me.
Try now.” ;

“Not now,” said Charlie. “I —I suppose I should fail.’

“You'll not be hung for it,”’ said Aldis, ‘‘Come, there’s

that old woman’s cap at the window, I bet a dollar. Let’s
sheer off. Why, youcan gag as much as you like and get
through with it that way, if you—” then the voices died
away, and Hepsy, cold and trembling, sank down upon her
Knees in terror.
' She was roused bya ring at the bell, and started to
answer it, but some one was before her. She heard Sidney
Gould and Charlie speaking at the door, then the door
closed, and she knew that both had gone up stairs by the
sound of their footsteps. :

“What should she do,” Hepsy asked herself. She felt
that Sidney was in danger, and that she ought to warn
him before it was too late. ’

She went up stairs and knocked at Charlie’sdoor. Al-
dis opened it and stepped outside to ask her what she

2 ted. ‘
“Vd like to see Mr. Gould, just for a moment,” said

 

she.
“I don't know how you can do that when he isn’t
nere.’:

‘*Will you tell Charlie I want to see him ?”?

“Come out here, Charlie,’’ cried Aldis, holding the door
on a crack.

“Charlie,” said Hepsibah, “will you tell Mr. Gould I
want to see him !”’

“I told her he wasn’t here,” growled Aldis.

“But I heard him come up stairs.’’ ’ is

“Hepsibah, I give you my word of honor heis not here.
He went away without coming in. I’d let you see for
yourself, only, if I muss tell the truth, there is somethin
here I don’t want you to see, just yet, at all events !” an
she looked into Charlie’s hanasome eyes, almost believing’
that her ears hac deceived her.

Then she went kitchenward, closed the shutters, turned
the gas up toits full extent, and settled herself for the
evening.
What were they about, up there? Charles Marlowe

 

and this wicked man. ‘ :
Charlie had always trusted her with his boyish frolics,

but this was something she was not to hear. Could it be

that the boy she loved so well would consent to crime
No, she would not believe it. 1t must be some scheme,

a little wilder than usual, but nothing really bad.

¥ What 2 ee — a ney fall. a a
ne very house. e tt ropped from her

up the long stairs she ran and beat with her hands on

Chariie’s door. ;

 

 

heart, she gushingly explains the plot of some old ro-
mance she has i, and falls to weeping again at the
ingratitude and pigheadedness of modern publishers.
The gentleman’s vanity will be flatte by her confi-
dence, and, in many cases, in addition to a flattering
recommendatory note to some prominet t publishing firm,
she will depart with a handsome check to relieve her
immediate necessities. _

When characters of this sort appeal to would-be litera-
ry patrons of their own sex, they always select ladies
who are wealthy in theirown right. But they are always
shyer in such cases, and less frequently successful, inas-
much as one woman can understand another much better
than a man can. ¢

They will usually make their game out of some parvenu
—the vulgar widow of some vulgar man, made suddeniy
rich—who is anxious to zppear cultivated, and fills up

 

her library with volumes, according to their sizes and the
color of the bindings.

With such a creature the adventurous, with her flatter-
ing tongue and artful speech, has generally pretiy sure
game.

Women of this character do great harm, inasmuch as
they create a prejudice against women of real talentand
genius, struggling to mount the ladder of fame and
fortune through their literary exertions.

An amusing case of an attempt at genteel-beggary
came to light in this city not long ago.

A good-looking young loafer, very deficient in educa-
tion, having heard of some successful operations in this
line, resolved to try his hana at the business himself.

A number of wealthy ludies were soon afterward the
recipients of the following epistle, whose penmanship
was as ludicrous as its autography and grammar:
“RESPECTED MADAM:—The nobel youth as dresses
this letter to you, is the seckond son of Nickolas the Gran
Arch Dook of Roosha and Mare ot Hungary—and i be
very Hung‘ry too, as fur as that goes. :
“tyrranny has robbed me of my good name, as Jon
Millton remarced to King David, and ail my vast estates,
And here i be in a howling strange kuntry, a mizrabel
Kuss, without a red. ;

“Ef you kin assist me, pray send what stamps you kin
to Box No. —, New York Poste Offiss—or may I call on
you, madam, “Stucerely yourne,

scchdianie tl
.

 

He did venture to call several times, and was so sum-
marily kicked into the gutter that he gave up the busi-
ness in disgust, and returned to his former exalted
vocation of corner-loafing.

 

a
A TRAGEDY.

BY HATTIE KYLE.

Old Hepsibah had lived with the Marlowe fam¥y long
enough to change from a buxom country girl to a with-
ered old woman, and if ever there was a faithful servant
on earth she was one.

Herold master, and mistress, and children, were all in
all to her.

The babies she had carried in her arms were all grown
men and women now; some were married and some were
dead; only two remained, handsome Charhe and Ella, the
youngest and the pet and beauty of the household.

These two Hepsibah loved witha devotion little short
of worship. In her eyes they were as near perfection as
mortals might be. Charlie was a little wild—there was
no denying that—but “so had his brothers been before
him, and they had turned out good and true men each
and all of them. ‘

So Hepsibah winked at incomings and outgoings that
were to be kept from mother; and Charlie and his friends
always relied on her when they needed her help.

If Charlie had not cultivated an intimacy with one par-
ticular individual, Hepsibah would have been happy; but
he had a friend of whom she disapproved extremely—
Bob Aldis by name, who was an actor by profession, and
who was altogether too wild and too jolly to suit her old-
fashioned notions,

Hepsibah was very strong in her likes and dislikes, and
this man was her particular aversion. He was a slouch-
ing, black-browed fellow, with a face that said very little
in his favor; but the root of her dislike lay deeper than

this.

When Charlie had first brought him home, he had en-

tered the family circle and seemed a general favorite.
He had an inexhaustible fund of wit, told comic stories,
sung comic songs, which convulsed his hearers with
laughter, played tunes on the violin, which made even old
Hepsiban feel like dancing, and sung duets with Ella
whole hours together, while Sidney Gould, whom she had
foreordained for Ella's husband, was thrown entirely
into the shade.
Fcr a long while Hepsibah worried over the fancy that
her young lady had taken a notion to this man and ing
Sidney the mitten. But things took a sudden turn. Hep-
sibah always thought that Ella had refused Aldis. He
came tothe house less frequently, and Sidney was rein-
stated in the young lady’s favor. Aldis was evidently
jealous. Hepsibah had seen him scowl at Sidney in a
wag that made her blood run cold. He had such an aw-
ful way of frowning with his whole face, bringing down
his great bushy eyebrows, setting his teeth and twisting
his great mouth, till he looked like a flend incarnate.

And when Ella confided to her old nurse that she was
engaged to Sidney, it was very plain what it all meant.

Hepsibah, in her youth, had read many of those old bal-
lads in which disappointed lovers always put an end to
the lives of their rivals, and, being of an imaginative turn
of mind, she felt rather anxious about Sidney.

“That there Aldis would never mind killing him no
more’n eatin’ his dinner,’’ she often said to herself, and
she never opened the door to the actor withuut showing
her disapprobation of him by a glance which certainly
ought to have pierced his soul, had he noticed it.

However, as he did not, no harm was done, and, for
the matter of that, no good either.

One evening, when Ella’s wedding was near at hand,

 

 

 

“Let mein! Let me in !’ she eried,

“It’s no use,” cried he from within, ‘‘no use. The mis-
chief is allover. Won't you go down stairs, like a good
woman, and wait till I call you?”

“Why don’t you wring the woman’s neck?’ she heard
Aldis say. ‘She will be in om us next.’

What did it all mean? She crept into an adjoining
room and knelt down, and put her ear to the door that
connected them—for his mother’s sake she must know
what he was doing.

“Go on, if you can, Aldis!’ said Charlie. ‘Tis done!
He'll never cross my path again. And 1!” cried Charlie's
voice, broken with sobs, “God pity me,—what havel
done ??

Their voices sunk so low that she could not hear their
words. They were busy moving to and fro. Once or twice
she heard her own name.

“What brought her up here, do you think?” said Aldis.

“That was a terrible fall. I suppose she heard it down
in the kitchen. Aldis, if you want to be forgiven for
what you have done, help me to get this horrid stuff off
my hands. It turns me sick. 1 must change my vest

”

Hepsibah listened till she heard them put out the lights
and turn the key inthe door, and when her mistress’s
son Called her, she crept out to meet him, cold and tremb-
ling. .

‘“Hepsibah,’’ said he, ‘“‘you’d do anything for my moth-
er’s son, wouldn’t you?” ar de

“What must I do?’

“Why, only keep the key of my room, an@ let no onein
until I come back, and tejl mother that 1 went off with
Aldis and Mr. Gould, and that we’ll be home in three
days—thatis, on Saturday.” .

_ Yhere was no use in anything she could say or do now,
she knew that—only to let him escape; only to Keep his
father’s name from shame, if that might be.

Then the two went off, and she creptinto that awful
room. She stood there in the darkness and listened. Was
there any 7“ of life remaiming—should she hear a dy-
ing gasp? No sound in all that awful stillness but a slow
dropping, that filled her with unutterable terror. She
groped for the table where she knew the matches lay,
trembling at every step. ;

There was sometiing wet and slimy there—something
that clung to her hands as she touchedit, __

She could do no more. She Kept her horror down just long
enough to turn the key and take it from the door, and
then fled shrieking, through the darkness of the stair-
Ways to the lighted kitchen. Her hands were red with
blood, and when the stains were off, she hid her poor,
white face, and moaned and moaned. f

The clock seemed to tick cut Murder ! murder ! mur-
der!shame!shame! The very air was full ofterror. |

What was there left for her todo? Should she conquer
all her fears and go into that room above? Was there
any way that she could find to hide that dreadful thing
from sight? Suppose that she should do this and that she
should be detected, and dragged to an awfui death upon
the gallows, —

Even this she would have borne, to bring back the peace
that could never be restored to that house again. Let
what might come to pass, no fears shoutd ever wring
from her lips, the story of that night.

The hours crept on. The family returned, and s9on all
were wrapt in slamber—all but. Hepsibah. It seemed to
her that she should never sleep again, until she slept in
death, sg

All night, one awful vision after another pa through
her mind. Hew wouid that room be entered? Would
Ella, dressed in her wedding robes, go smiling in and fai
dead in her dead lover’s presence? Would men comeand
force the door, and the mother stealing in behind them,
see what her son had done?

She gave the mother her son's message, trembling as she
uttered it. So two long days ~~ and Hepsibah went
through her work mechanically, and-no one could have
guessed that anything was wrong. This was part of her
plan and she nerved herself to carry it through.

On Saturday there were preparations for an evening
party, and Hepsibah, sick at heart, assisted.

Everything was ready. In the dining-room the table
was set for five. They waited for Charlie and Sidney;
Hepsibah looked on and did not dare to speak. es

“J wish they would hurry,” said Ella. ‘It won’t do to
be late to-night.” ie

As she spoke, there were footsteps on the stairs. Char-
lie burst in, handsome and bright as ever—and who be-
hind him! Oh! dreadful sight to Hepsibah, Knowing
wnat she did. There stood Bob Aldis in the room i
Elia—in the room with Charlie’s mother. eS

“I've brought my friend back with me, mother, and
when we have had tea, I’ll tell you all about our little es-
capade. ;

NBut where is Sidney ?” asked Ella.

“Oh, he’ll be here presently, we saw him an hour ago."

Oh! Charlie, Charlie, she must know the truth at last.”

It was too much for the poor old woman to see this man,
whom she had thought all truth and goodness, smiling in-
to his sister’s eyes, With that awfullie upon his lips. She
had thought of him, hiding in some secret place; flying
from home and friends, but this was a fiend—-not a mur-
derous man. +

“You know she’ll never see hisface again. Oh! wicked
wretch! Can you give back the life you have taken?
Can you unde the awful deed that was done in that room
above?!

There was a eral commotion. Charles Marlowe
turned white as snow, and leaned against the wail for
support. The rest all started up and looked at him with
startled eyes. .

‘Don’t be frightened,” said Aldis. “I know what the
old woman means; was it anything like this, old lady?
I’ve hated the man ever since he rubbed me of the idol of
mysoul. I willbeavenged. Nowthat he is in my pow-
er, he shall never live \o wed her.”

Hepsibah shrieked. The man was red with passion—
storming and raving just as he had done in the garden.

“Let me strike the villian, let me pierce his coward
heart !? and Aldis snatched a table-knife and brandished
it in the air. ,

“Lord ’a massa ! cried Hepsibah, in agony, ‘‘the man
ismad. He'll murder every soul of us.

<oTig done; he’ll never cross my path in.’’

There was a general roar of laughter. Hepsibah stared
in amazement. :

“At it again,” said Sydney’s voice at the door. ‘Mrs,
Marlowe, you must not stand in yourson’s light, He was
made for an actor, and Bob brought him out splendidly
in the theater at———. I have been up there to see the

lay.”

ola Hepsibah found her voice at last.

“But what’s in the room above?”

“Actor's traps, that I didn’twant anyone to see till I
came back.” :

“And whatdid Llay my hands in? Law, sakes, but I
did think it was Sidney’s life-blood.”

“Oh, Bob, that must be your liquid rouge, you knocked
over with my falling body, and my carpet’s ruined by this
time if nobody picked it up; but I'll forgive you, if you'll
forgive Hepsibah, and this evening we will give the coml-
pany a private opportunity of witnessing our ‘Tragedy.’

 

old. Hepsy, quite alone in the house, sat in the kitchen
window knitting and thinking of nothing in particular.

Let no one fail to read “LITTLE BUCKSHOT.”

 

 

 

 

 

ie ARNON