ce CO RARER CTO LEN a oe neo gana Vol XX No. 11 HOIST THE FLOWING SAIL. A B@AT SONG. BY M. J. MILLION. Up, up, my boys, away? The sunlight on the spray Is glancing like & smile in loving eyes; The breezes gently blow, The waters swiftly flow, And not a ciond is in the sammer skies. Then hoist the flowing sail! We fear no shrieking gals! STREBT & SMITH, Frankfort St. — CHORUS: As o’er the flashing wave we swiftly glide, The spray behind us glows, Like spotless, wintry snows, ! Which hide the fields as storms above them ride. | a At home on land remain, But we will dare the swiftly rolling sea; Our bark shall be our home; We'll skim the sparkling foam, And, birdlike, from the cares of life we’ll flee. Cxonus: Then hoist the flowing, &c. : Let those whom fear restrain i ' "Tig ever our delight To skim the wavelets bright, And watch the fading bound’ries of the land. Oh, ’tis a sweeter bliss Than beauty’s honeyed kies, And dearer than the clasp of beauty’s hand. Cuoxzvus: Then hoist the flowing, &, oe ‘AMILY PRIDE: me, OR,} ified by Suffering. 5. MARY J, HOUMES. bf “Family Pride” can be obtained | ws Agent throughout tho Unite : - ‘ _ ; . ; — (Cah : CED. ; : erton, first, because I | ore good here than eise- ly, because I really like the country people, for, ith as they may seem to you, ‘ among them, they have kind- beating beneath their rough are often found in the city.” Srris’s reply, and in the conver- snsued Wilford Cameron caught a nobler, higher phase of man- 16 had thought existed, feeling an Fd respect for one who, because he A it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to hmewasting his life among people who could not appreciate his character, though they night idolize the man. But this did not re- eoncile Wilford one whit the more to Silver- ton. Wnele Ephraim had completed the work commenced by the two feather beds, and at the breakfast, spread next morning in the co- ziest of breakfast rooms, he announced his in- tention of returning to New York that day. To this Marris offered no objection, but asked to be remembered to the mother, the sisters, and little Jamie, and then invited Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he came again to Silverton. “Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be here very soon,” Wilford replied, adding, as he met the peculiar glance of Mor- ris’s eye, ‘I found Miss Katy a delightful tray- eling acquaintance, and on my way from New- port thought I would renew it and see a litile ee of rustic life.’ Poor Katy! how herheart would have ached could she-have heard those words and under- stood their meaning, just as Morris did, feel- ing a rising indignation for the man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he was so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentle- manly, while better than all, was he not vir- tually giving Katy up? and if he did might she net turn at last to him? These were Morris's thoughts as he walked with Wilford across the fields to the farm- house, where Katy met them with her sunni- est smile, singing to them, at Wilford’s re- guest, her sweetest song, and making him half wish he could revoke his hasty decision and tarry a little longer. But it was now too late for that; ine carriage which would take him to the depot was already on its, way from Lin- wood; and when the song was ended he told her of his intentions to leave on themext train, feeling » pang when he saw how the blood left her cueek and lip, and then came surging « as she said timidly, ‘‘Why need you leave soon ?” “Oh, I have already outstayed my time. I thought of going yesterday, and my partner, Mr. Ray, will be expecting .me,” Wilford re- plied, involuntarily laying his hand upon Ka- i | } } | | TWN aan Nee } X \\ \ \ ——— AS AN ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, IN 1964, IN CLERK'S OMFION OF DISTRICT COURT Of UNJTED 8TatEs FOB SOUTHURN DISTBICT OF NEW YORK. » . ‘8 LETTER TO KaTy, . ty’s shining hair, while Morris and Helen st 3 pti OE 3 ° : “Thus left « himself] Wilford continued: ‘“Mayhe Til come again some time. Wogid you likS tgynave me?” { ‘““Yes,’? and Katy's blue eyes were lifted pleadingly to the young man, who had nates loved her so well as at that very moment when resolving to cast her off. And as for Katy, she mentally called herself a fool for suffering Wilford Cameron to see what was in her heart; but she could not help it, for she loved him with all the strength of her impulsive natare, and to have him leave her so suddenly hurt her cruelly. For a moment Wilford was strongly tempted to throw all family pride aside, and ask that young girl to be his; but thoughts of his mother, of Juno and Bell, and more than all, thoughts of Uncle Ephraim and his sister Bet- sy, arose in time to prevent it, and so he only kissed her forehead caressingly as he said good-bye, telling her that he should not soon foaget his visit to Silverton, and then as the catriage drove up, going out to where the re- mainder of the family were standing together and commenting upon his sudden departure. It was not sudden, he said, trying to ex- plain. He really had thought seriously of go- ing yesterday, and feeling that he had some- thing to atone for, he tried to be unusually gracious. a8 he shook their hands, thanking them for their kindness, but seeming wholly oblivious to Aunt Betsy’s remark that ‘‘she hoped to see him again, if not at Silverton, in New York, where she wanted dreadfully to visit, but never had on account of the ’bomina- ble prices charged to the taverns, and she hadn’t no acquaintances there.” This was Aunt Betsy’s parting remark, and after Katy, simple-hearted Aunt Betsy liked Wilford Cameron better than any one of the group which watched him as he drove rapidly ffrom their door. Aunt Hannah thought him too much stuck up for farmer’s folks, while Mrs. Lennox, whose ambition would have ac- counted him a most desirable match for her daughter, could.not deny that his manner to- wards them, though polite in the extreme, was that of a superior to people greatly beneath him; while Helen, who saw clearer than the rest, read him tolerably aright, and detected the struggle between his pride and his love for poor little Katy, whom she found sitting on the floor, just where Wilford left her standing, her head resting on the chair and her face hidden in her hands as she sobbed quietly, hardly knowing why she cried or what, to answer when Helen asked what was the matter. ‘It was so queer in him to go so soon,” she said; ‘‘just as if he were offended about some- thing.” ‘Never mind, Katy,” Helen said, soothingly. ‘Tf he cares for you he will come back again. He could not stay here always, of course; and I must say I respect him for attending to his business, if he has any. He has been gone SE aasernnh x > ng; looked white about the; hours, she heard’ in the e BAS y, whose fa: /@ |sad, as she moved listles ¥ almost crying again“! * | distance the whistle of #88 train whick was ‘o } ustie of C carry Wilford Cameron away, and end his first | visit to Silverton | OHAPUER VI. IN THE (}P RING. Katy Lennox had bee on very sick, and the bed where Wilford slept had stoed in the par- lor during the long weeks while the obstinate fever ran its course; but she was batter now, and sat nearly all day before the fire, some times trying to croch'st a little, and again turning over the bomwks which Morris had brought to interest !.er—Morris, the kind physician, who had at’ »nded her so faithfully, never leaving her whi'e the fever was at its height, unless it was aeeessary, but staying with her day and night, watching her symp- toms carefully, and pratying so earnestly that she might not die, not, at least, until some token had been given that again in the better world he should find her, where partings were unknown and where no Wilford Camerons could contest the prize withhim. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; that fear had mostly died away just as the hope had died from Katy’s heart that she would ever meet him again. Since the September morning when he left her, she had not heard from him except once, when in the winter Morris had been to New York, and having a few hours’ leisure on his hands had called at Wilford’s office, receiving a most cordial reception, and meéting with young Mark Ray, who impressed bim asa man quite as highly cultivated as Wilford, and pos- sessed of more character and principle. This call was not altogether of Morris's seeking, but.was made rather with a view to pleasing Katy, who, when she learned that he was go- ing to New York, had said inadvertently, ‘‘Oh, I do so hope you'll micet with Mr. Cameron, for then we shall know that he is neither sick nor dead, as I have some times feared.” And so, remembering this, Morris had seught out his rival, feeling more than repaid for the mental effort it had cost him, when he saw how really glad Wilford seemed to meet him. The first commonplaces over, Wilford inquired for Katy. Was she, well, and how was she occupying her time this winter ? ‘Both Helen and Katy are pupils of mine,” Morris replied, ‘‘reciting their lessons to me every day when the weather will admit of their crossing the fields to Linwood. We have often wondered what had become of you, that you did not even let ua knowof your safe arrival home,” he added, looking Wilford fully in the eye, and rather enjoying his confusion as he tried to apologize. He had intended writing, but an unusual i $3 00 PER YEAR, Single Copy, Six Cents. 4, No. the time when her liking had not been econ- cealed, and was only withdrawn at the last be- |eause she found how useless it was to waste her affections upon one who did not prize them. When Wilford first returned from Silverton he had, as a sure means of forgetting Katy, told his mother and sisters something of the farm-house and its inmates; and Juno, while ridiculing both Helen and Katy, had felt a fierce pang of jealousy in knowing they were cousins to Morris Grant, who lived so near that he could, if he liked, see them every day. ¥n Paris Juno had suspected that somebody was standing between her and Dr. Grant. and how with the quiek insight of a smart, bright woman, she guessed that it was one of these same cousins, Haly most likely, her brother having described Helen as very common-place, and for a time she had hated poor, innocent Katy most cordially for having come between her and the only man for whom she had ever really cared. Gradually, however, the feeling died away, but was revived again at sight of Morris Grant, and at the table shé could ngt- forbear saying to him, “By the way, Dr. Grant, why did you tell us of those charming cousins, w were in Paris? Why, brother Will « one of them as a little water-lily, she and pretty. Katy, I think is her n ford, isn’t it Katy Lennox whom beautiful, and with whom you are half in love ?” ‘Yes, it is Katy,” and Wilford ly, for he did not like Juno’s but he could not stop her, an, *‘Are they, your own cousins ‘*No, thew are removed frq umount tof bus Mark will tell yon how biisy I was” | turned appealingly to his partner,)in whose expressive eyes Morris rewd not unknown tojhim But if Wilford had told him anything de- it Silverton was did not appear in Mr. Ray’s manner, ag he re- plied that Mr. Cameron had been very busy ever since his return from Silverton, adding, ‘From what Cameron tells me of your neigh- borhood there be some splendid hunting and fishing there, and I had last fall half a moind to try it.” This time there was something comical in the eyes turned so mischievously upon Wil- ford, who colored scarlet ‘for an instant, but soon’ recovered his composure, and invited Morris home with him to dinner. ‘ST shall not take a refusal,’’ he said, as Mor- ris began to decline. ‘Mother and the young ladies will be delighted to see you again,. while Jamie—well, Jamie, I believe, worships the memory of the physician who was so kind to him in France. You did Jamie a world of good, Dr. Grant, and you must see him. Mark will go with us, of course.” There was something so hearty in Wilford’s invitation that Morris did not again object, and two hours later found him in the drawing room at No. Fifth avenue, receiving the friendly greetings of Mrs. Cameron and her daughter, exch of whom vied with the other in their polite attentions to him, while little Jamie, to whose nursery he was admitted, wound his arms around his neck and laying his curly head upon his shoulder, cried quiet- ly, whispering as he did so, “I am so glad, Dr. Grant, so gladtosee youagain. I thought I never should, but I’ve not forgotten the prayer you taught me, and I say itso often when my back aches so I cannot sleep and there’s no one round to hear but Jesus. I love him now, if he did make me lame, and I know that he loves me.,’’ Surely the bread cast upon the waters had returned again after many days, and Morris Grant. did not regret the time spent with the poor crippled boy, teaching him the way of lite and sowing the seed which now was bear- ing fruit. Nor did he regret having accepted Wilford’s invitation to dinner, as by this means he saw the home which had well nigh been little Katy Lennox’s. She would be sadly out of place here with these people, he thought, as he looked upon ali their formality and cere- mony and then contrasted it with what Katy had been accustomed to. Juno would kiil her outright, was his next mental comment, as he watched that haughty young lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion and dividing her ce- quetries between himself and Mr. Ray, who, being every way desirable both in point of family and wealth, was evidently her favorite. She had colored scarlet when first presented to Dr. Grant, and her voice had trembled as net muse the terrible reality death would bring if it found her unprepared. She had only strength and sense enough to wonder if Wilford would care when he heard that she was dead; and once, as she grew better, she almost worked herself into a second fever with assisting at her own obsequies, seeing only one mourner, and that one Wilford Cameron. Even he was nut there in time to see herin her coffin, but he wept over her little grave and called her ‘ darling Katy.” So vividly had Katy pictured all this scene, that Morris, when he called, found her flushed and hot, with traces of tears on her face, In reply to his inquiries as to what was the matter, she had answered laughingly, ‘‘Ob, nothipg much—only I have been burying my- self,” and so Morris never dreamed of the real nature of her reverie, or guessed that Wilford Cameron was mingled with every thought. She had forgotten him, he believed; and when, as she grew stronger, he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope whispéred that she would surely be his, and his ustially grave face wore a look of happiness which even his patients noticed, feeling them- selves better after one of his cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for the terrible blow in store for him, when one day early in April he started, as usual, to visit Katy, saying to himself, ‘If I find her alone, perhaps I'll tell her of my love, and ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;” and Mor- | ris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as he thought of geing home some day from his weary work and finding Katy there, his little wife—his own—whom he might caress and love all his affectionate na- ture would prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was weak, a silly little thing she called herself, when comparing her mind with Helen’s; but there was about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that fowmen, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris, though knowing her weakness, felt that in possessing her he should hayejall he needed to make this life desirable, She would improve as she grew ,,ond if would bea most delightful task lan her into what she was capable of be- Alas for Dr. Morris! He was very arm-house now, and there were only nutes between him and the cloud 1 darken his horizon se complete- alone, sitting up in her pretty m of blue, which was so becoming mplexion. Her hair, which had sway during her long sickness, sf again somewhat darker than rings upon her head, mak- childish than ever. But to object. He liked to have thought he had jnever seen he was his morn- jt dancing 1€6 he came if, she began, holding up al mer hand, “I am so plad | wanted to tell ycu so badly | forgotten me, as I used to} ss you thought, too, though | so. He has written, and he is | I will let him; and, oh, Mor- | Blad! Ain’t you? Seeing you} ” | recovery, and those notin the secret wondered | | to see how she improved, her cheeks growing | Wilford’s visit four weeks instead of three, but He could not do that now, and so he hur- ried away, finding the world into which he went far different from what it had seemed an hour ago. Then all was bright and hopeful; but now, alas! a darker night was gathering round him than any he had ever known, and the patients visited that day marveled at the whiteness of his face, asking if he were ill? Yes, he answered them truly, and for two days he was not seen again, but remained at home alone, where none but his God was wit- ness to what he suffered; but when the third day came he went again among his sick, grave, quiet and unchanged to outward appearance, unless it was that his voice, always so kind, had now a kinder tone and his manner was | tenderer, more sympathizing. Inwardly, | | take her, family and al). with him candidly, Lennox, whose cause he warmly espoused, telling Wil- ford that he was far too sensitive with regard to family and position, ‘You are a good fellow on the whole, but too outrageously proud,” he said. ‘Of course this Aunt Betsey in her pongee, whatever that may be, and the uncle in his shirt sleeves, and this mother whom you describe as weak and ambitious, are objections which you would rather should not exist ; butif you love the girl, Not that you are to transport the whole colony of Barlows to New York,” he added, as he saw Wilford’s look of horror, ‘‘but make up your mind to endure what cannot be helped, resting yourself upon the fact that your position iasueh as cannot well be affected by any marriage you might = - = ‘ : wae »" however, there was a change, for Morris Grant | make, provided the wife were right. had lain himself upon the sacrificial altar, This was Mark Ray's adyice, and it had great willing to be and to endure whatever God | weight with Wilford, “@ho™ Enew that Mark should appoint, knowing that all would event- | came, if posible, from a botter line of ancestry | ually be for his good. went every day, talking most with Helen now, | To the farm-house he | than himself, inasmuch as his maternal grand- mother was a near relative of the English Per- but never forgetting who it was sitting so|cy’s, and the daughter of a lord. And still demurely in the arm-chair, or flitting about | gerous illness, but it had much to do with her | round and full and her eyes shining with re- turning health and happiness. At Helen’s instigation Katy had deferred in that time there had come two letters from him, letters so fall of anxiety and sympathy for ‘this poor little Katy who had been so sick,” that even Helen began to think she had dene injustice to him, that he was not as proud and heartless as she supposed, and that he did love her sister after all. ‘If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish I was a man to cowhide him, “she said to herself, with flashing eye, as she heara Katy exulting that he was coming ‘‘toemor Tow.” This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had asked Morris if he might, while Morris had told her yes, feeling his heart- wound throb afresh, as he thought hew hard it would be to entertain his rival, Of himself Morris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that the best chamber should be prepared for his guest, bidding Mrs. Hull, his housekeeper, ses thaf no pains wére spared for his entertaiiment, and then with Katy he waited for the day, the last one in April, which should bring Wilford Cameron a second time to Silvexton. y eee Peereen VIL SECOND WILFOFD'S VISi7. } Wilford Oayneron had tried‘ forget Katy 4 nnox, ...4i6 his mother esd siete Da sins ‘ heir best to help to forget, or a} least sicken f her; andias the three, Juno, Bell and the mother, were very diflerently ofistituted, they had widely different ways of agsisting him in his dilemma, the mother contplimenting his good sense in drawing back frbm an alliance which could only bring him mortification; Bell, the blue sister, ignoring ‘the idea of Wil- he told his mother so his sisters, when one evening they were all kept at home by the rain. ing articles on the folli lowed her sister to elaborate an idea suggested to her mind by her brother's contemplated marriage. rs yOG : ened | to Katy so ‘nuch of joy, and to must, counted every moment | her side, Wilford hesitated, waiting until the winter was | the room, for Katy was gaining rapidly. Love | over before he came to the»decision which | perbaps had had nothing to do with her dan- | whem it was reached wate.» J granite rock. | He had made up his mind at last to marry Katy Lennox if she would accept him, and in the presence of There was a sud- den uplifting of Bell’s qyelashes, a contemptu- ous shrug of her shoulder-gnd then she went on with the book she was reading> wondering if Katy was at all inclined to literature, and thinking if she were that it thight be easier to tolerate Her. the sharpest things, turned upon him with the exclamation, ~ Juno, who was expected to say “Tf you can stand those two feather beds, you can do more than I supposed,” and as one means Cf showing her disapproval, she quitted the age, soon fol- the room, while Bell, ae taken to. writ- Thus left alone with her son, Mrs. Cameron tried all her powers of persuasion upon him in vain, the least, sesing which she suddenly con- fronted him with the her all ? that kind from his wife,” But nothing she said influenced him in negijon, ‘Shall you tell A husband should have no secrets of Wilford’s face was white as ashes, and his voice trembled as he replied, ‘‘Yes, mother, I shall tell her all; but, oh! you donot know how hard it has been for nie to bring my mind to that, or how sorry I am that we ever kept that secret —whén Genervra died-——”"’ « “Hush-h !” came warng rom the mother as Juno reappeared, t . indicating that Gonévra, whoeys” . Was a Tomes 6 Gunversation wae not and the next ennox the ie adorning Wilford wrote which carried fo her much of y said he 1) to Wilford, who vhich kept Him from It was all ow Ing to Dr. Grant and yrant To wait four y. as ‘Ke was a terribi zrief, ford’s marrying that country girl as something | that perpendicular Hele, he knew, for Katy mit it, and never told Helen, I’ll let letter.’ eld it toward the young man lean- the mantel and panting for the | too preposterous to be contemplated for a mo- }ment, much less to be talked about; while Juno spared neither ridicule nor sarcasm, us- ing the former weapon s0 effectually that her | 1ich came so heavily. brother at one time nearly went over to the | thing he said apologetically about be- ing snow blind, for there was that day quite a | fall of soft spring snow; and then with a mighty effort, which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, and took the letter in his hand. ‘‘Perhaps I had better not read it,’’ he said, but Katy insisted that he might, and thinking to himself, ‘It will cure me sooner perhaps,” he read the few lines Wilford Cameron hai written to his ‘‘dear litile Katy.” ‘Fhat was the way he addressed her, going on to say that circumstances which he could notexplain to her had kept him silent gver| replied with a significant since he left her the previous autumn; but} ‘Umph! Old enough, I should think, if through all he never fora moment had forgot- | you ever intend to marry. Wilford,” and the gotten her, thinking of her the more for the | old man faced square about, “I know nothing silence he had maintained. ‘‘And now that I of the girl, except what Igathered from your have risen above the circumstances,”’ he add-| mother and sisters. You have not asked my ed, in conclusion, ‘I write to ask if I may| advice. I don’t suppose you want it, but if come to Silverton again? IfI may, just drop you do, here itis, If you love the girl and me one word, ‘come,’ and in less than a week | she is respectable, marry her if she is poor as I shall be there. Yours very truly, W. Cam- | poverty arid the daughter of a tinker; but if eron.” you don’t love her, and she’s rich as a nabob, Morris 1ead the letter through, feeling that | for thunder’s sake keep away from her.” enemy; and Katy’s tears, shed so often when no one could see her, were not without a reason. Wilford was trying to forget her, both for his sake and her own, for he foresaw that sh> could not be happy with his family, and he came to think it might be a wrong to her, transplanting her into a soil so wholly unlike that in which her habits and affections had | taken root. His father once had abruptly asked him if there was any truth in the report that he was about to marry and make a fool of himself, and when Wilford had answered “‘No,” he had every word was separating him further and further from Katy, to whom he said, ‘You will answer this ?” This was the elder Cameron’s counsel, and Katy’s cause rose fifty per cent in consequence. Still Wilford was sadly disquieted, so much so in her letter had admittd d that the waiting was wholly their suggestion; ad Wilford’s thoughts concerning them were ¢ nything but compli- mentary, antil a new idea was suggested, which drove every oth@r consideration from | his mind, Wilford was naturally) jealous, but that fault had once lead him into aio deep a trouble that he had struggled hard| to overcome it, and now, at its first approaght, after he thought it dead, he tried to shake if off —tried not to be- lieve that Morris cared} especially for Katy. But the mere possibility gwax unendurable, and in a most feverish state of excitement he started again for Silverton. As before, Morris was waiting for him at the station, his cordial greeting and friendly man- ner disarming him from) all anxiety in that quarter, and making him resolve anew to trample the demon jealousy under his feet, where it could never rise again. Katy’s life should not be darkened by the green monster, he thought, and her future would have been bright indeed had it proved all that he pictured it as he drove along with Morris in the direc- tion of the farm-house, for he was to stop there first and then at night go over to sleep at Lin- wood. Katy was waiting for him, and ashe met her alone, he did not hesitate to kiss her more than once as he kept her for a moment in his arms, and then held her off to see if her ill- ness had left any traces upon her. It had not, FE Mie, 9 FP. ferro **Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day.” that his partner, Mark Ray, could not fail to *‘And you will tell him to come ?”’ | observe that something was troubling him, “Why, yes—what else should I tell him ?’”’ | and at last frankly asked whatit was. Wilford and Katy’s blue eyes looked wonderingly at | knew he could trust Mark, and he confessed | Morris, who hardly knew what he was doing, | the whole, telling him far more of Silverton or why he said to her next, ‘Listen to me, | than he had told his mother, and then asking Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron cumes | what his friend would do were the case his here a second time, and what he will probably | own. ask you ere he goes away; but, Katy, you are} Fond of fun and frolic, Mark laughed ‘im- not strong enough yet to see him under so ex-| moderately at Wilford’s description of Aunt citing circumstances, and, as your physician, | Betsey bringing her ‘‘herrin’-bone” patch work I desire that you tell him to wait at least three | into the parlor, and telling him it was a part weeks before he comes. Will you do so, | of Katy’s ‘‘settin’ out,’’ but when it came to Katy?” | her hint for an invitation to visit in New York, “That is just as Helen talked,” Katy an-| the amused young man roared with laughter, swered mournfully. ‘She said I was not| wishing so much that he might live to see the able,”’ day when poor Aunt Betsy Barlow stood ring- “And will you heed us?” Morris asked | ing for admittance at No.— Fifth Avenue. again, while Katy after a moment consented, “Wouldn’t it be rich, though, the meeting and glad of this respite from what he knew to | between your Aunt Betsy and Juno?” and the &® certainty would be, Morris dealt out her tears fairly poured down the young man’s medicine, and for an instant felt her rapid | face. pulse, but did not retain her hand within his| But Wilford was too serious for trifling, and except it were in the increased delicacy of her complexion and the short hair now growing out in silky rings. She was very pretty in her short hair, but. Wilford. felt a little impatient as he saw how childish it made her look, and thought how long it would take for it to attain its former length. He was already appropria- ting her to himself, and devising ways of im- proving her. In New York, with Morris Grant standing before his jealous gaze, he could see no fault in Katy, and even now, with her beside him, and the ogre jealousy gone, he | saw no fault in her; it was only her dress, and | that could be so easily remedied. Otherwise she was perfect, andin his delight at meeting her again he forgot to criticize the farm-house and its occupants, as he had done before. They were very civil to him—the mother overwhelmingly so—insomuch that Wilford could not help detecting her anxiety that all should be settled this time. Helen, on the contrary, was unusually ceol, confirming him in his opinion that she was strong-minded and own, nor lay his other upon her head, as he] ,fter his merriment had subsided, Mark talked self-willed, and making him resolve to remove Katy as soon as possible from her strait-laced influence. When talking with his mother he had said that if Katy had told him ‘‘yes,’’ he should probably place her at some faghion- able school for a year or two; but on the way to Silverton he had changed his mind. He could not wait a year, and if he married Katy at all, it should be immediately. He would then take her to Europe, where she could have the best of teachers, besides the advan- tage of traveling; and itiwas a very satisfactory picture he drew of the woman whom he should introduce into New York society as his wife, Mrs, Wilford Cameron, It is true that Katy had not yet said the all-important word, bat she was going to say it, and when late that of his own at once; he should take her first to live with his mother, where she could learn what was necessary much better than there in Silverton. (To be continued.) THE CASTLE IN THE ATR. BY AMELIA C. LANCASTER. Once thers was a castle Like that of monarch old, And furnished in the richest style, With furniture untold, It: height was full ten storioa, Ite walis of massy gold; *"T was erected in a climate Neither too warm or cold. afternoon they came up from the walk he had asked her to take, she was his promised wife. They had sat together on the very rock where Katy sat that day when Uncle Ephraim told her of the different paths there were through life, some pleasant and free from care, some thorny and full of grief, Katy had never forgotten that conversation, and, without knowing why, she had always avoided that rock beneath the butternut as a place where there had been revealed to her a glimpse of something sad; and so, when Wilford pro- posed resting there, she at first objected, but yielded at last, and, with his arm around her, listened to the story of his love. It was what sk@ had expected and thought herself prepared for, but when it came it wes8o réal, so earnest, that she could only clasp her hands over her face, which she hid on Wilford’s shoulder, weeping passionately as she thought how strange it was for a man like Wilford Cameron to seek her for his wife. Katy was no co- quette; whatever she felt she expressed, and when she could command herself she frankly confessed to Wilford her love for him, telling him how the fear that he had forgotten her had haunted her all the long, long winter; and then with her clear, truthful blue eyes looking into his, asking him why he had not sent her some message if, as he said, he loved her all the time, For a moment Wilford’s lip was compressed and a flush overspread his face, as, drawing her closer to him, he replied, ‘My little Katy will remember that in my first note I spoke of certain circumstances which had prevented my writing earlier. I donot know that I asked her not to seek to know those circumstances; but I ask itnow. Will Katy trust me so far as to believe that all is right between us, and never allude to these circumstances ?” He was kissing her fondly, and his voice was 80 winning that Katy promised all was required; and then came the hardest, the try- ing to tell her all, as he had said to his mother he would. Twice he essayed to speak, and as often something sealed his lips, until at last he began, ‘You must not think me perfect, Katy, for I have faults, and perhaps if you knew my past life you would wish to revoke your recent There were roses in the summer, And in the winter, too; The sun shone always genial, The sky was ether biae, Within that lofty castle There dwelt a happy pair; But quarrelling and bitter strife Never found entrance there. But you ask, ‘What was that castle Where dwelt that happy pair?” ‘Phe name of thatfamed castle Was, ‘‘The castle in the air.’’ THE VER VEBNONS ; TRIALS AND 'TRIUMPHS OF LIFE. OR, THE {Back numbers of ‘*The Yernons’’ can be obtained from every News Agentthronugkhout the United States. } CHAPTER LL The night indicated upon the billet which hed so adroitly found its way into Nim’s hand had now arrived; and the prisoner had not been idie ia the meantime. : His first attention had been directed to his fet- ters; and though the operation was both leng and tedious, he had contrived to file away a portion of one of the links. which enabled him to free him> self from them at pleasure. He had next ad- dressed himself to the bars of his cell. These were 80 high that it seemed impossible to reach them. By drawing, however, the bench which served him for a seat immediately belew them and then mounting upon it, he had been enable to discover a stone in the wall much smaller than the rest, and evidently introduced to fill up the space between its larger neighbors. Setting him- self to work at this with the pointed part of his file, he managed to loosen it enough to enable him to draw it so far out from its bed that he could place his foot upon it. By doing this with a spring, he found he was able to grasp the bar of the window above, and sustain himself in that 0s8ition. This was vantage ground and encouraged bim to proceed, The bars were not so massive as might hay been expected, the builders having trusted t their height for security. Still they offered formidable opposition to the small instrumer which all his hopes depended; and a man determination would have given up the in despair. But Nim was not easily daunted, a mined to persevere. “T can but fail,” he said; “‘and it matters much worse if I do. They me for it, and I'am sure of penal se is. Itis my only chance, and I cag lose it.” Suppose I unfo * inspection?” No, no, oh no,” and Katy piayfully stopped his (mouth with her hand. Se have some faults, but I would rather find them out+by myself. I could not hear anything against you now. Iam satisfied to take you | as you are.’’ Wilford felt his heart throb wildly with the feeling that he was in some way deceiving the young girl; but if she would not suffer him to tell her, he was not to be censured if she re- mained in ignorance. And so the golden mo- ment fled, and when he spoke again he said, “If Katy will not now read that leaf I offered to show her, she must not shrink back in hor- ror, if ever it does meet her eye.” “I won't, I promise,” Katy answered, a vague feeling of fear creeping over her as to what the reading of that mysterious page involved. But this was soon forgotten, as Wilford, re- membering his suspicions of Dr. Grant, thought to probe a little by asking if she had ever loved any one before himself? ‘‘No, never,” she answered. ‘I never dreamed of such a thing until I saw you, Mr. Cameron;” and Wilford believed the trusting girl, whose loving nature shone in every linea- ment of her face, upturned to receive the kisses he pressed upon it, resolving within himself to be to her what he ought to be. *“‘By the way,” he continued, ‘don’t call me Mr. Cameron again, as you did just now. I would rather be your Wilford. It ~sounds more familiar. ‘And still,’’ he added, “it may be better at present to reserve that name for the time when we are.alone. To your family I may as well remain Mr. Caimeron,” This was an afterthought, suggested by his knowing how he should shiver to hear Aunt Betsy call him ‘‘Wilford,” as she surely would if Katy did. Then he told her of his projected | tour to Europe, and Katy felt her pulses quicken as she thought of London, Paris and Rome, as places which her plain country eyes might yet look upon. But when it came to their marriage, which Wilford said must be soon—within a few weeks—she demurred, for this arrangement was not in accordance with | her desires. She should so much enjoy along courtship with Wilford coming often to Sil- verton, and such quantities of letters passing between them as should make her the envy of ali Silverton. This was Katy’s idea, and she opposed her lover with all her strength, telling him she was so young, not eighteen till July, and she Knew so little of housekeeping. He must let her stay at home until she learned at least the art of making bread ! Poor, ignorant Katy! Wilford could not forbear a smile as he thought how different were her views from his, and tried to explain that the art of bread-making, though very de- sirable in most wives, was nof an essential ac. | complishment for his. Servants would do that; besides he did not intend to have a house “Of comerse you | So he toiled on; availing himse nent he thought safe; ty >in‘ ti ‘dr the bench and fette a aie ‘ of the turnley; a» a | diately on his departure , San’ perseverance, he had, by seventh: day of his imprisonm | nearly severing two of the ba wrenck would be sufficient to r¢ their place; and having thus that he could attempt for tk down to wait for the night, “The day—as is ustal in such eg be prolonged to twice the ordina: last, however, it drew to a close. paid his final visit, saw that everyih was perfectly safe, and retired. Nim waited, certainly not patiently noiselessly, till he considered it muaé night, and that all the inmates of the asleep. Then he drew his bench to ¢ dragged the loose stone from its place, ing the bars with his usual spring, au after a few efforts, in displacing those we had filed. He then clambered up to the aps and looked out. The night was dark, of course; for the con- triver of the attempt was not likely‘to have se- lected one which would have the least trace of a moon. In addition to this, Nim was gratified to perceive the sky so clouded that only a few scattered stars were visible through the haze; and he hailed as a favorable omen the whistling of a strong current of wind round the prison wails, aa it leaped, and danced, and careered through “the yards and passages, revelling, it would seem, in wild enjoyment of the fresdom which wag denied to those inside, “Nobody can see or hear much on auch & night as this,” he soliloquized, ‘that’s one comfort. Now, I don’t care how soon he comes.” Time, however, still seemed to move with as leaden a footfall as he had done through the day. Nim waited and waited, and strained his sense of hearing almost to pain; but no sound was heard except the howling of the wind. In his eagor- | ness, he had, in fact, taken up his post more than an hour before the stipulated time; and though not more than an additional half-hour had elapsed, his impatience multiplied it at least threefold: and he began to be wearied out with his fruitless watching. “It’s of no uee to keep waiting like this,” he said, at last; “it must be fast drawing on to day- light, I am sure; and I shall- lose my chance, Something must have gone wrong. There ig no hope of the Barker’s coming; and. I must do what I can for myself. I cannot go back now. I could not put the bars in again, so I must try my luck, and make the best of it.” Tp By the assistance of the bars which were still firm, he drew himself up to the framework of the window; and, in another moment, stood'fxirly on the outside. “I wonder how deep it is?” he said: “and whether I could drop it ?” He took a small piece of the mortar which had fastened the broken bar, and threw it down. Ii in a long time before he heard the sound of }35S au, “Too deep!” he muttered; “pavement below, too. I should break my leg, if escaped with my life. Better stay here than that. Is there any place above that I can climb upto? No, I can’t feel anything; and the least slip would dash my brains out. 1 can hardly hold on as it is, in this breeze. It is very hard, just as I feel the pure, fresh air, and know that there are only a few yards between me and liberty; but there is no help forit. I must go back, and do the best I can to make the bars look decent against the morning. It will be poor work, I’m afraid: and won't pass, and then P shall be searched, and lose my file, and my last hope with it. Well, well, it’s no use to think.” He descended from his dangerous elevation placed his knee on the framework, and was jusi about, with a heavy heart, to swing himself down into his cell, when the cautious sound of a low bee was faintly heard above the scream of the | wind. ‘ The sudden revulsion of the blood caused his heart to leap so violently that he had to grasp the bars firmly with both hands to keep himself from 7? | falling mie ™“” | | | | | | | | | fc The darkness ef the night was so far “Ttis him! It is the Barker!" he cried so loudiy, in the sudden expression of his joy, that he stavted in fear lest he should have been over- heard. All, however, remained buried in deep silence; and hastily throwing down the line, as he had been direeted, he had the satisfaction, on be- se to haul it up, of finding its weight sensi- y inereased. In a few minutes he had drawn up the upper Oona of what was evidently a rope ladder, lost no time in seeuring it to the win- dow, and immediately set about commencing his deacent, This was an undertaking not without some endly that it served to screen him from obser- vation; but it compelled him to depend for his safety entirely on his sense of touch; and the knowledge that a single false step would precipi- tate him to the flag-stones of the yard below was not likely to act as a stimulus to his nervous sys- tem. Moreover, his frail support vibrated so strongly under the gusty influence of the wind that, for the first two or three steps, he felt in momentary danger of being shaken off. As he deseended lower, however, his weight began to steady the ladder; and the fact of his having pro- ceeded so far without mishap tended to inypire comtidence. Slowly and cautiously, therefore, he cortittued to work his way down; and his wari- ness was rewarded by doing so without a single slip. Still, he felt a sensible relief when he found his feet once more planted on terra firma, and heard the well-known voice ot the Barker whis- per— “Weil done! Jerk the ladder off, and follow me.” A-tew efforts accomplished this; and with cau- tious feoctsteps, and in utter silence, the Barker led the way across the yard. They hed traversed about half the distance, when Nim felt his companion press him suddenly on the arm, while at the same time he uttered the warning whisper— ‘Listen |” At the same moment the sound of a heavy, measured tread was distinctly audible at ® short distance from them. CHAPTER LI. Thexe was a dead pause. The fugitives held their breath; and the sound of the approaching footsteps came slowly and steadily on. “The patrol!” again whispered the Barker; “and he is coming right upon us.” “Me is but one man,” said Nim, in the same undertone; “and I will not be taken again while I can. fight.” “He would alarm the rest of them,” replied the Barker; “and they would have us here like rats inatrap. Gently. Come this way.” They glided off to one side, and the darkness favored their cane: for the step to which they were 80 anxiously listening did not alter its slow and regular tread. The watcher evidently did net suspect anything unusual; least of all that his life was possibly in imminent peril. They were silently congratulating themselves on the success of their maneuver, when Nim’s foot unluckily chanced to stumble over a laose stone, which the darkness had prevented him from seeing. The noise which he made was not great, but it was sufficient to attract the notice of the vigilant official, who immediately called eut — “What is that?” They stopped, crouched down, and held their breath; trneting to the darkness to secure them from observation. But the patrol was too near. A sweep of his lantern disclosed the outline of heir figures. He stopped, and cried out in a ouder voice—- ““Who is there? Who are you?” Phe certainty of their discovery, and the conse- nt futility of any farther subterfuge, or at- at concealment, flashed at once upon them and defined their line of action. Without tempt at reply to him, and without a word ltation with each other, they rushed upon ha ary and an eagerness which Tott of their intention. He had just time to ia rattle, when #..powerfrl plow from 2 ver, which tha “jarker carried in his = ¢he ground, whére he y attempt to stir. evidently no more danger from him. arm of his rattle was by this time ‘om other parts of the yard, and several Bean to be visible in the distance, Their manifestly imminent. is not a moment to lose,” cried the Bar- ere is the wall, luckily. All depends upon row.” And, as he spoke, he flung the lad- with the full force of his strength. tunately for them—for the lights began io ly in every direction—it caught the top of ture they had comsidered certain, dash hopelessly off at a wild gallop; while the ring of the mock- ing laugh, which rose above the sound of the re- ek hoofs, formed the sharpest portion of the sting. all; and pushing his companion towards it, Sried sagerly— ‘Up for your life.” jim needed no second bidding. The rapid und of their pursuers’ approach gave wings to is feet, and he gained the top of the wall almost in a moment. He was closely followed by his companion; and they had just loosened the lad- der from its fastenings, preparatory to using it for their descent on the other side, when several men, crossing the yard at full speed, reached the foot of the wall; the foremost of them crying out— “This way—this way! Here the noise was. And,” he added, as he swept the range with his lantern, ‘I see them. There they are, on the top of the wall. They have got a rope ladder, too. Cateh hold of it, Harry!” “We can’t spare it yet,” replied the Barker, coolly swinging it out of his reach, and hastily drawing it up. “You had better go round to the gate, my friends; you will be in good time to catch us, I dare say.” The click of a pistol lock was the reply to this taunt; and, a moment after, a whistling sound, in dangerous proximity to his ear, hinted that if the officer had had daylight to guide his aim the law- less career of the offender would have terminated for ever. But he was too much accustomed, or teo indif- ferent to danger, to be at all discomposed at the narrowness of his escape, He merely called out, “A good shot, that. Iam sorry I cannot return it;” and fastened the Jadder as composedly, and with ag firm and steady a hand, as if there were no danger whatever. ‘Now, Nim, down with you!” he cried, as he corepleted it, ‘‘The next ball may come an ineh nearer to the right, which would not be quite so leagant. Mind how you go, it is twenty feet own. Are you safe?” Yos,” cried Nim, as he felt his feet touch the bottom; “it’s all right.” **Not quite yet,” cried a strange voice; and the forger found himself in the grasp of a policenian, whom the noise had drawntothe spot. He was thrown,down in an instant; and the officer, know- ing from the voices that there"vas another an- tagonist, sprang his rattle for help. But, leaping from a height of ten or twelve feet, the Barker alighted full upon his shoulders, and bore him down in his turn. There was a short and vigor- ous scufiie as they lay; but the life-preserver of the forger was as effective as it had been on the other side of the wall, and the policeman was speedily placed horse de combat. It was just in time, for rapid footsteps were heard approaching; and the sight of several lan-, terns in the distance told that the officers of the prison had made their way through the gate, and were ready to join in the chase. Nim’s heart died within him at the sight, but the spirit and pres- ence of mind of his more daring companion did not fail him for an instant. “This way!” he cried, in a cheering tone; “and, if ever you ran in your life, do it now.” They were both fleet of foot, and would soon have distanced their pursuers, but the latter had the great advantage, by contmually springing their rattles, of summoning fresh aid in all direc- tions. . Hence, as the fugitives ran, they often heard an answering rattle in advance of them; and were in danger of finding themselves in the grasp of an unexpected antagonist whenever they turned a corner. Besides this, the newly-alarmed policomen were not jaded with a long and rapid run; and their freshness naturally told so much in their favor in the race, that they began per- ki ceptibly to gain upon the fugitives, until, at last, Ns \w,p Nim, pausing breathless, and hearing the dread- ed sound ef the footsteps behind come nearer and nearer, gasping out— “It is of no use, Barker; my strength is gone, They must have us!” _ “One minute more,” cried his comrade, in an inspiriting tone; “fone more, and we are safe.” And dashing round a corner as he spoke, they camesuddenly upon 8 man on horseback, with a led steed in either hand. ‘‘Mount!” exclaimed the Barker, vaulting into the saddle as he spoke; while the reinspirited Nim was seated almost as speedily, The officers had just turned thé corner in pursuit, when they were mortified to behold the fugitives, whose CHAPTER LIM, With the advantage which the foresight of the Barker had provided, the fugitives, of course, soon distanced their pursuers; but they pushed forward for some miles without slackening their ace. At length, the leader of the enterprise ew bridle at & spot where several roads met, “Here we had better separate,” he said. “Not before you have had my thanks,” cried Nim. ‘‘You have been a friend, indeed.” _ Pooh, pooh!” returned the Barker, with a light laugh; “tyou would have done as much for me. Besides, I owed you a tyrn. You might have been set free by just telling them where I was to be found, and you would not doit. How- ever, time presses. Day is beginning to break yonder, I see; and we must not be seen together. Bo, now to business. You will find a change of dress in the bundle that is strapped to your sad- dle, Nim, and a purse in the pocket. Take that road; and, if you make good speed, you will be in Stourbridge by daylight; of course, you will there do as you think best. I should cut across Shrop- shire into Wales, lie quiet there in some out-of- have got to pay forit. Not that I speak feelingly at all; for, as I am in serviee, my master pays for me, of course.” ‘Lucky fellow, you,” returned one of the men; “TI only wish I’d got a master to pay for me, that’s all, You'*ve got a pretty good one, now, i dare say. He doesn’t starve you, at all events, by the look of you.” ‘Oh, he’s pretty fairish, considering, ‘‘was the reply; ‘‘likes his own way a little too much, some- times. Bat then, that is but natural. I like my way, too, when I can get it; which is not very often, worse luck. But I must see about gettin off, or I shan’t be home in time for breakfast; an then his monkey will be pretty well up, I can tell you. Good morning.” “Good morning,” returned the other, standing to let the horse pags. ““Fhow soon a man gets into the way of the folks he lives with,” he observed to his next neighbor, as the rider disappeared at an easy trot, gazing indoiently at the prison walls as he rode by, “There’s that fellow, now. He’s a. coramon chap, enough; he looks it; and yet he said ‘Good morning’ just as#i™he was my lord. He has watched his master do it, you see, and he has caught the way. That's just where it is.” CHAPTER LIY. We said, in a previous chapter, that Charles Manly, knowing both his own character and that of Henry Weldon, might have good reason to sus- pect that, notwithstanding the higher social rank and meeepcos superior worldly prospects of the latter, Ellen had, by that time, discovered that she had acted :nvwisely in preferring him to her humbler’saitor. Could he have looked into El- len’s heart, he would have seen that a great part of this supposi‘ion was correct, Ellen had certainly not gone so far as to insti- tute invidious comparisons between him and Hen- ry—-she loved her husband too well for that; but the-way place till the storm has blown over, and then feel my way towards London. But, what- ever you do, avoid the railways. You won’t be able to cross a platform, or purchase a ticket, without every man that you speak to having an accurate description of you in his pocket, and) staring you in the face to see if you look any- oe like it. You had better strike into the north route, Tom, and get down that way.” ‘And yourself?” questioned Nim. I stay in Birmingham for the present,” replied the Barker. ‘It is a new town to me; my face is not known; and with a little care, I shall be safe enough. I must wait the result of my poor fel- lows’ trial, and see if Ican do anything to help them. I have an account to settle, also, with the young scoundrel who has brought all this upon us; to whose busy intermeddling I owe the cap- ture of some of the finest staff of workmen I ever had, and the seizure of the best die for notes which human ingenuity ever invented; a die which almost defied detection out of the bank, and which ought to have had arun of years and made all our fortunes. We owe it all to that young Weldon; andif Icannot get my men out of their trouble, I will ayenge them upon him, in one way or another, before T am a month older.” Tt was too dark to distinguish his features as he uttered this threat, but the deep sternness of his voice as he spoke told that it was not made light- ly; and those who knew the man knew also that the party against whom it was directed would in- cur no trifling peril. “Sir Thomas is clean off, I hope?” observed im “I think he is,” replied the Barker. ‘‘He was sO Well known that there was not a moment to lose, He will work his way, as hé can and how he can, down to the old place-in the Borough. His chance is gone in this country. His name and description are all over the kingdom; and the bank has offered five hundred pounds to anybody that will bring himin. They will be sharp fel- lows that catch him; but playing hide and seek is miserable work; so he muat slip over to the Con- tinent as soon as the coast is clear, and be our corres nondent there. Have no fear for him; he igsafe to do well, go where he will. Think of yourself, Nia. Put the miles: between you"and Birmingham as fast as you'can, and be sure not to trust yourself on a railway.” The parties shook hands with great cordiality, and parted. \ Left to himself, the Barker suffered his horse’s pace to subside into a walk, till the traces of his recent hard riding began to disappear. In pass- ing a lonely spot, he threw off an old serge cloak which he had hitherto worn; and appeared, when divested of it, in the morning costume of a groom. In this character, and having all the appearance of a servant who had been giving his master’s horse an airing, he rode leisurely back towards the town; so satisfied of the security of his dis- guise, so perfectly self-possessed, and so confi- dent of his ability to cope with any emergency that might present itself, that he did not hesitate to ride round by the gaol, or to atop at a place under the wall where he saw a crowd collected, and innocently inquire what was the matter. “What! Haven’t you heard?” asked the party interrogated. ‘Yeu must be pretty deaf, then. There’s been noise enough, I’m sure.” “*T haven’t heard a syllable,” replied the groom. ‘We live at Handsworth, you see, and I brought master’s nag out for a bit of a trot, as he’s off his feed, rather; and so I thought Id take a turn round this way. What has it all been about? Any fire, or anything of that sort?” “Oh, no; nothing of that,” returned the other; ‘they won’t say overmuch about it, but they can’t get over the fact that there was a desperate rum- us last night among the prisoners. My bo Dick, who was over in France for a bit, last year, doing some job work, says that it is what they calls over there a ie mute.” “J don’t know how they French fellows manage it,” remarked another; ‘‘but it wasn’t a he mute here last night, [ know that; nor a she mute neither; for what with the rattles, and the shout- ing out, and the firing” “You don’t mean to say there was any firing?” cried the groom, looking properly alarmed. “Tots of it,” continued his informant. ‘There seems to have been awful work, as far as we can get at the rights of it. They say there was three tur@keys and five rioters smuggled away to the hospital before daylight this morning. I don’t know how far that’s true, but I know there was noise enough. You'd have thought Bedlam was broke loose, if you had but been here to hear it. And then, to hear the women, as they were woke up, singing out to one another from the windows! How their clappers did go, sure-ly /” ‘Well, I’m sure!” observed a female with a child in her arms, who had happened to overhear the last remark; “I’m quite certain that the women didn’t make more noise than the men did; and what’s more, not half as much. Clappers, indeed! Who be you, I wonder ?” The offender had the discretion to say no more against the fair sex, and another of the bystand- ers gave a turn to the conversation by remark- ing— “Lots of ’em got off during the rumpus, ’m told; and I don’t think it’s ali over yet. [fancy I hear some fighting going on inside, now.” **T think I hear something, too,” observed the groom, listening. ‘*“They must be a desperate set of fellows.” “I helieve you,” replied the man. ‘Bless you, they’d knock the life out of you and me, one after the other, and think no more about it than I should about smoking @ pipe.” “T dare say they would,” replied the groom; ‘‘and I for one think myself a lucky fellow that I have not got to standit. But you have not told me what it was all about.” ‘*Well,” replied the other, “‘that’s rather hard to make out, ycu see; for you can’t get the men at the gates to talk over much about it, Some say that their bread was too stale; and others tell 80 long to get more work out of them than what’s down in the act, and the men kicked at last, and said they’d be blest if they’d stand it.” “Oh, no, that’s not it; not a bit of it,” said the young gentleman whose ideas had been enlarged in France; “you are out of bed altogether, father. They wouldn't let °em haye any lobster sauce with their turbot; and they said as they never had ate about it.” ‘Come, come, that won’t do, young fellow,” ob- served the groom; “I don’t know anything about allow them such food as that when we poor folks her love, warm and sincere as it was, could not blind her to the fact that the-man of her every- day experience wag.@ very different being from | what her youti# fancy had pictured him; that the a gold was no better than tinsel; that it was alloyed with much baser matter, which had not been visible under the gilding; and contained an amount of dross that few who looked at the mere exterior would have dreamed of. She had begun, also, to feel uneasy respecting her posi- tion. Her pride, which was of a character very different from her brother’s, had been bitterly galled by the loss of the luxuries which she had enjoyed in her father’s lifetime; and when a hand- some and prepossessing young man, the expec- tant heir of acknowledged wealth, offered himself to her, and assured her of his ability to remove any objection whic? his father might, at first, en- tertain, shé< one eet withstand the temptation of returning to the position she had lest. Not that, to do her jusffce, she had been wholly merce- nary. Henry’s engaging manners and unmis- takable good nature and kindness of heart had made a considerable impression upon her, irre- spective of the weighty consideration to which we have alluded. Still, it might have been in- quiring too closely to ask whether, if he had ad- dressed the dashing and petted daughter of Cap- tain Vernon, instead of the sister of the humble drawing-master, the issue of his suit.would have been the same, Be that as it may, she had con- sented to the marriage in the confident expecta- tion that she would very shortly take her place, if only as a tradesmad’s wife, at least as the wife of one who would eventually be one of the richest men in the town; and that she would be received by her new relations, if not with respect and def- erence, at all events with friendly cordiality. But time had worn on, and one part of her expecta- tions still remained unrealized. Her husband’s affection, it is true, was ardent and devoted; his style of livinie was as costly, if not as elegant, as that of her f)ther had been; and he never seemed yvhenm if could contribute to the gratificatios O% Ler lightest wish; but the prom- ised recogutiics, oe er new father was delayed from time t0¢ time uc yMewe* by One excuse sometimes hy: ibe canally lame an 4.4 imupovent, indeed, that impétent—so | é though he bac Sipgi\ dared to tell her the treth, agunige it. she had begun * sotual evening absences, often And then his protracted to a ei or vather an early hour, were anything but com ~)nentary to a young wife. He could not tell her > “at it was these absences which provided the fax'8 “on which they lived, for he knew that she wul’! have shrunk from being the wife of a profias’ sd gamester; and she, ignorant of the fact—wii}-n, though a wretched palliation of his conduet,s vas atleast its best—was driven to the conclusi#pn that he had associates whose company he prpferred to hers; a conclusion which was naturally Mpengthened by his occasionally re- turning home & 4 state which betrayed the char- acter of at leasijone of the temptations which her society had not epificient charm to counteract. The reflectionty which these things forced upon her mind were hiumbling enough. She was too proud to complain,, but, on that very account, suf- fered the more. She wore a smiling face; but her heart was full of anxiety, not unmixed with bit- terness. She was sorely perplexed by the shad- ows which huug over her path, and yet dreaded to see them dispersed, lest they should unveil a prospect more insupportable than themselves. - A portion of these reflections—or of some very similar ones—were passing through EHllen’s mind as she sat one night, waiting for her truant hus- band. The midnight hour was long since passed, and she had arranged that every one else should retire; alleging that she had some fancy work which she had made up her mind should: be fin- ished that night, and that,it would probably em- ploy her till Mr. Weldon returned. The gay and giddy girl, the spoiled pet of the season, brimfull of vanity and insousiance, had already been merged in the thoughtful and anxious wife. What- ever her husband was, and however different, painfully different, from the bright and spotless image which her young faney had first created and then enshrined, he was her husband; and his failings below that pure and brilliant bequ ideal miserable and heart-crushing as they were, shoul be sacredly kept withip the sanctuary of her own heart. She had bound herself to honor and cher- ish the man with whom henceforward her earthly fate was to be linked: the cherishing inferred an affectionate palliation of his faults; and the hon- oring imperatively demanded that a veil should be @rawn down which should exclude them from the cognisance of every eye but hers. Fully alive to all this—for though weak, and educated in a school which gives no strength to the weak, she was still high principled and right minded, and had, to all intellectual purposes, lived longer within the last few weeks than within the previous corresponding number of years—she had steadily upheld her husband’s honor and dignity to others; and if there were—as we have seen was unhappily the cage—occasions when that honor and dignity were fearfully compromised, she was carefal that none but herself should see how the fine gold would become dim, She had learned to be doubtfal whetherhis return from his frequeut evening absences would not exhibit a proof of the manner in*which a portion at least. of his time had been occupied, which would not redound to the credit of either himself or her; and had pro- vided against such & chance revelation by taking care to be always, on one pretext or another, the only watcher. The excuse on the present occa- sion was, as woe have said, unfinished fancy work; -and, as she listened to the shambling gait of her husband, as, after effecting his entrance with much unnecessary fumbling with the latch-key, he made his way towards their sitting-room, she rejoiced, as she had, unhappily, often had occa- sion to rejoice before, that no one listened to those sounds except herself. Henry’s appearance, however, when he present- ed himeelf, did not quite Justify her anticipations. that the overseers have been trying for this ever | He was certainly much flustered with liquor—one | not glance at his face was sufficient to establish that fact—but he was not reduced to the half idiotic state which it had been, more than once, her painful lot to witness. His eye had an unnatural expression, and his voice was thick and indistinct; but he was in tolerable possession of his facul- ties; and though there might have been a skght want of coherence in his ideas, he evidently, as it without, and they never would, That’s all| Hamlet says, knew “a hawk from « hand-saw,” CHAPTER LY. ‘Well, my dear,” he said, dropping somewhat prisons, of course; but I am quite sure they don’t | suddenly into a seat, “here I am again, you see; & little late, Pm afraid, isn’t it? Yes—yes; it must be, I know—I heard the clock strike—twelve or one; which wasit? I forget. Sorry to keep you up so, deary; very sorry, and that’s the truth of it. But business—business, you see; business must be attended to. Mustn’t it, now ?” “Business never kept you late when we were first acquainted, Henry,” she replied, with some reproach in her tone. ‘It didn’t, chicken; I know it didn’t,” he said; “but there have been lots of things to make. a change since that time, Let me see; we have been married, for one thing; haven’t we now ?” ‘Yes, Henry, we have,” replied his wife, with & freezing coldness of manner which would not be repressed, as she looked upon the husband that was, and thought of the husband which the girl- ish imagination of more prosperous days had pic- tured. The same high spirit which had drawn the comparison suggested that its results should be made to fall, with all the crushing weight which virtuous indignation could give it, on the head of him who now sat before her, sufficiently sober to be conscious of his degraded state, and to use every effort in his power to hide it; and suf- ficiently intoxicated to make these efforts too sick- eningly apparent to the pure being before him. The high and outraged pride of the woman sug- ested this; but the deep affection which atull urked in the bosom of the wife resisted it. She looked upon the face, handsome even in its pres- ent state of degradation—the face which, though it had not been the first to win her heart, had taught her that it was possible for her to love a tradesman, She looked upon it, and every thought of an acrimonious retort died apon her lips. She did not follow up her advantage; but she would have been either more or less than woman if she had not availed herself of the allu- sion so far as to say— ‘And when is that marriage to be acknowledged, Henry? When am I to be received by your father as his daughter? You led me to believe that both these things would haye taken place long before this.” ‘Did 1?” inquired Henry. ‘‘Ah! yes; to be sure, [remember all about it; oh, yes, I know I did, chicken; and I thought so. Ishouldn’t have said so if I hadn’t thought so, you know. Should I? That isn’t at all likely, isit? So, you know, I did think it just as Isaid. Of course I did—you know that well enough—but I haven’t been able to bring the old boy round just yet. Yes, that’s it. Never you mind; I don’t know that it matters so much, after all.” ‘Not matter!” cried Ellen, all the impetuosity of her nature breaking ont; “not matter that I am here in an unrecognized and degraded posi- tion, when I ought to be publicly acknowledged, and received everywhere as the daughter-in-law of Mr. Weldon; who, if he is no more than a tradesman, stands, at least, in the firat rank of his order. Not matter! And have I schooled my pride, and forgot my position for this? OhgHen- ry! I thought that you loved me.” “And ant do, my dear,” returned her husband. ‘‘T love you as well as ever I did. Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I? Butif the old governor won’t come to, what am Ito beat? Ican’t make him, you know. He'll think better of it by-and-by, perhaps; and ‘he can’t live for ever, if he doesn’t. And, in the meantime, never you mind. Tve struck out a new line of business; and I'll keep you like a princess. You see if I don’t—you see if I don’t, my pretty. Just look here; only just look here—that’s all.” And diving into his pocket, he drew out a hand- ful of sovereigns, and cast them down on the ta- ble before her, with a sound which, to her now enfesbled nerves, was positively startling. “That’s the music!” he added, with a chuckle, as he listened to the expiring ring of one or two stray ones that, after rolling a short time, were settling down on various parts of the table. ‘What do you think of that, eh? what do you think of that?” Ellen looked from the gold to the speaker; then back to the gold; and, as if by an irresistible fascination, bagg-geain fron the gold to her hus- band. In one of those intwitive mental caloula- tions, which Wy perform with a velocity incompre- hensible to OUrseves, arttving at a conclusion in- a moment, without any direct perception of the premises which have !ed to it, she connected his hesiteting speech, his half-besotted look, and the late hours he was now in the habit of keeping, with the pile of gold before her; and a new view of the present and the future. unsuspected and undreamed of, seemed to burst upon her sight from the mere contemplation of which she recoiled with instinctive horror. ‘‘Henry,” she said, with an earnestness which partially aroused even the half-stupefied senses it appealed to; ‘husband that I have loved, that I would,4f possible, love still, save me from the thought that is forcing itself upon me. Tell me, oh, do tell me where this money comes from ?” The impassioned tone of her voice, and the searching fixedness of her look, which seemed de- termined to penetrate into the very depths of his heart, and defy the possibility of evasion or sub- terfuge, went far to rally his distracted senses. He hesitated for a reply; he strove to avoid the eye so intently fixed upon him; but there was no escape. His mind rapidly glanced at such ex- cuses as suggested themselves, and as rapidly re- jected them as impracticable and certain to ob- tain no credence; while still the keen, earnest eyo was bent searchingly upon his face, and the voice, from whose clear and bell-like tones his conscious spirit seemed to shrink, exclaimed, in an agony of earnestness— “Speak, Henry—speak. If you would not break my heart, tell me that it does not come from the gaming-table.” Cowed by that tone, and under the infiuence of that glance, he felt it impossible to lie. But he made a feeble attempt to rally. And what if it did?” he asked, in a tone which he meant for independence, if not for defiance; but which was lamentably too querulous for either. The words had scarcely left his lips, when an indignant dash of Ellen’s hand swept the whole of the glittering heap from the table, and scattered it in profusion at his feet. ‘*Am I come to this?’ she said, almost hysteri- cally, ‘**‘Have I lived to become the wife of a com- mon gambler, and to owe the bread I eat to the tears and curses of those who have been ruined to obtain it? It shall never be so while I have hands to labor, and a heart to tell me that a dry crust earned by honest industry is worth a thousand- fold mere than the luxuries which are wrung from the misery of others; luxuries which may bo the parents of their want, and perhaps the forerun- nera of ‘their crimes.” ‘Nay, Ellen,” interposed Henry, in a depre- cating tone. “Say nomore!” she said, with an indignant wave of her hand; while he, astonished at an ex- hibition of energy and determination, which he had never dreamed that she possessed, stopped suddenly, as if spoll-bound. “‘Henry—husband,” she proceeded, with a slow distinctness of utterance, and a calm solemnity of manner, before which he cowered with the sub- mission of a child, ‘‘I cannot live such a life as this. It would break my heart at once. As your wife, I have a right to know our real position. I ought to have exercised that right before; but I loved deeply, confidingly, trustingly. I wake up to-night from my fond dream, and feel that I have erred. The/esson has been bitter, but it is salu- tary. It has shown me what I ought to do, and I must not hesitate to doit. Am I to understand that you have no means of support but that?” And she pointed, with a gesture of loathing, to the coins which still lay scattered on the floor. He was, by this time, tolerably sobered, and answered, in a frank and straightforward man- ner— “JT am bound to be candid with you, Ellen. Unless I can get reconciled to my father, I have » “And this reconoiliation,” pursued Ellen— “which you have assured me, day by day, was shortly coming, but which seems no nearer than at the first hour—what is the real foundation on which your expectation of it rests? It is full time that I should know the exact truth.” ; fhe paused, and See that there was no im- mediate answer, followed up her remark by the direct question— . ‘Have you spoken to your father since the day when you told me he felt a little disturbed at the sudden announcement of our marriage ?” He had never dared—he did not dare now—to tell his wife the sentence of banishment which Se had followed that announcement, and that he had not geen his father since. He therefore replied with a simple negative; adding, that he had thought it best to wait a little, tili Mr. Weldon’s first feelings of annoyance had ceoled down. The family pride of the Vernons was stung by the remark; but the,fact was only betrayed by & sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, which her husband, perhaps still a little confused by the fames of the liquor whioh he had imbibed, was too unobservant to note. The words of her reply only met the fact of her hushand’s silence. “Tt is necessary,” she said, in a firm and de- cided tone, “that we should know his feelings to- wards us at oncé—his calm, definite feelings— now that any annoyance which he may have felt at not having been consulted has passed away, and that he ean look dispassionately on the new alliance. We must know this at once; and as the condition of my pardon for the past,” she added, with a dash of relenting tenderness in her tone, “T must have your promise that you will see your father in the morning, and learn from him plainly what are his future views respecting us. Iam your wife now, and it is my duty to think and speak as your wife. Do not degrade yourself by subserviency; but firmly and respectfully demand his candid feelings. By them our future conducé must be guided. Will you promise me this?” It is too much to say that Henry had already resolved on such an appeal, for resolving did not form a very prominent part of his character; bat he had several times vaguely wondered whether, if it were made, it would have any chance of suc- cess. Now, with that earnest eye bent so search- ingly upon him, it was impossible to do otherwise than give the required promise, and as impossible to refuse the further one of putting her honestly and fairly in possession of the result of the inter- view. “That is my own Henry |” cried Bilen, as these promises were given; and the warm and affection- ate smile which lit up her features as she esid it, showed that the fond wife had already begai*0 blot out her husband’s malpractices from her boos of remembrance. his full and final answer; then we shall see clearly what prospects lie before us. And when we know fully and definitely what our future is, we will look : — in the face, and decide how it may best 6 met, (To be Continued.) eee A BOA CONSTRICTOR AND A PIG. The following facts, illustrative of the great powers of extension of membrane and muscle in the serpent tribe, were transmitted by a genile- man residing in the Malay Peninsula. The story algo illustrates another fact, that the lower or- ders in China will eat almost anything:—‘‘On the 14th ultimo,” says the narrator, “a boa.constrictor was sent for my inspection, which had that morn- ing swallowed a pig belonging to a Chinaman. lt would appear that the snake had been seen lurking about the sty several days previous to his last meal, which cost him so dear; he artfully, hoyever, escaped the owner of thagswine, who had ineffectually attempted his e or de- struction on these occasions; _br morning in question, he succeeded in g mee into the sty, and, having helped h porkgy foun@ himself in the dilemm Bin barn—he could not get ou 0 came upon him in this statd having called comrades the victim, torpid from and brought him in tri will say there is nothi less, the disparity of si the pig and the jaws me so forcibly, and that I forthwith pro, relative proportiong The snake was verse diameter inches; neck roy we Be erate pay and a half inches, than fifty pounds, + young sow, and lay violence upon its bow broken; indeed, old more tenderly with his ingly done with young p} ination it was however were broken; but as the 2 place of sepulture some had been generated to rec & crushing and restore her tc CO. ness of shape. The contrast; was the more striking; but stillit is § mnceivable how the animal was ever swall How the head of the pig passed the jaws of Gasaake would, I think, puzzle a conjuror to determine; and how the snake felt, I leave to the consideration of some hopeless dyspeptic. So distorted were the walls of the abdomen by the unusual meal, that the whole pig could be seen plainly through them— they became diaphanous and thinas gold-beaters’ skin. The vitality of the monster equalled his voracity, for, despite the numberless blows of clubs on its head, two hours after the pig had been cut out of the abdomen, I saw the tail firmly coil itself around a stake. Boa met with poetical jus- tice, for the same evening, he descendedinto the very little less ravenous maws of some Chinese, who looked upon the flesh as something exceed- ingly piquant and appetising, and eagerly they strove amongst themselyes who should possess the largest share of it.” A DRUNKARD’S BRAINS. Hyrti, by far the greatest anatomist of the age, used to sayhe could distinguish in the darkest room, by one stroke of the scalpel, the brain 6 the inebriate from that of a person who had lived soberly, Now and then he would congratulate his class upon the possession of a drunkard’s brains, admirably fitted from his hardness and mere complete preservation for the purpose of demon- stration. When the anatomist wishes to pre- serve a human brain for any length of time, he effects his object by keeping that organin a ves- sel of alcohol. Froma soft pulpy substance, it then becomes comparatively hard. But ‘the in- ebriate, anticipating the anatomist, begins the indurating process before death—begins it while the brain remains theconsecrated temple of the soul, while its delicate and gossamer tissues still throb with the pulses of heaven born life. Strange infatuation, thus to desecrate the god- like! Terrible enchantment that dries up ali the fountain of generous feeling, petrifies all the ten- der humanities and sweet charities of life, leay- ing only a brain of lead and a heart of stone. AM‘TRICAN MECHANICS. The wealth of a well stored mind, the big hand and stout arm of the industrious mecbanic, are worth more, for the perpetuation of our glorious principles of government, and for the prosperity of our country, than all the gold in the world: Already have their scientific researches, their un- ceasing and untiring energy, their many inven- tions, and their numberless improvements in machinery, given to our young Republic a_ glori- ous name and proud position among the nations ofthe earth. he class have contributed largely to the wealth and to the name of our coumtry. Trace it all out, lay bare the thousand secret springs of prosperity, follow up cause and effect as they fall in succession under observation, and you will find American mechanics and artizans have proved to be, in the energetic and industrious career, among the principal agents in effecting American greatness. PECULIARITIES OF GERMANS, The Germans, like other nations, have their peculiarities in the choice and treatment of do- mestic animals, whether of the useful or ornamen- tal class. Rabbits are never eaten by them. A German has as great a horror of a rabbit pie as an Englishman would of a steak or sausage of. horse- flesh, which Germans, like Belgians, never feel afraid of, but regard rather in the light of a deli- cacy. The rabbit, like the Guinea-pig, isin Ger- many only a child’s plaything. “It is indispensable to have — e- preres © | @ THE WOLF! THE WOEF! The keen winds and leafless trees admonish us thatthe gaunt wolf, hunger, will soon be at the door of the poor, and those who have plenty should remember, as they sit warmly clad around their cheerful fires, that there are thousands among us who are shelterless and penniless. J. Macey, the assistant secretary of that really excellent institution, ‘The BREW YORK, DECMEBER 15 1864, Children’s Aid Society,” writes us: ‘‘We beg again to remind your readers that weare great- necesarily charged. Vance American postage. OUR TERME, THE NEW YORK WEEKLY is sold by sll respects- bie News Agents throughout the United States. The ce is Srx Cents, but in some cases, where Agents ve to pay extra treight or postage, a higher price is When there is a News town, we desire our friends to get the WEEKL him. We do not wish to mail the paper except to places where there is no other means of getting it. When sent by mail the price will invariably be ¢3 00 8 year, in ad- Subscriptions taken for three months. bills of all solvent banks taken at par for subscriptions. Oanada subscribers must send one dollar and four cents extra with every subscription to pre-pay the WHOLESALE PRICE OF NEW YORK WEEKLY TO NEWS AGENTS. Mo Wholesale Dealers... sci s es clieces csaces we 41-4 cts. SA RPE) ALORIOWI 5 n'a wi | ais bale vido sidain 6 ads vow ex 4 1-2 cts. STREET & SMITH, ~ ent in the through The “THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,” 121 Nas- sau Street, New York, are our General Agents for » Supplying dealers with the WEEKLY. (ee around the home fireside to ago.” Happy, thrice happy calmly and sweetly! Seemed life’s fair and flo We did not then value, not he. wha ; shq hose whom we chq sn we know t THANKSGIVING. Again the annual Thankegiving has come and gone, and tens of thousands of friends and relatives long separated have met once more talk of the “‘long re-unions! What pleasing and never-to-be-forgotten remem- brances. and associations have we of those early and happy days of childhood, ‘“‘ere sor- row dimmed our eye,” our lives gliding by so “Like some beauteoug, glowing river, wry way.”’ as we ought, the depth of affection which surrounded us. We cannot prize our home too much, for we know ear to us is the hand of that ‘Reaper his sickle keen, may cut down at one so dearly love and he old Thanksgiv- D ill never come again. Home ever, ave kerworm, home to us, when those ties en look back upon the past; odulge in gloomy reverie? with all its many to be recalled. Wheth- wly, itis all the same, hr old season comes, all things given surrounded by every Fitheir home-life. Rich e indolent, selfish, and p constant whirl of gaiety, care, which is sarts, life seeming to have >. fl, holy charm forthem. For “such while ‘ang the head that to conduce to the comfort them; and let us, tune of laughter. for the causes of this effect; satisfaction. laugh, betraying brutality of argument; the Syncrusian, laughter. formity, beating, as quaint cripple with his own crutche the sunshine and melody of versation, to which it adds less delight! of foolish hypochondriacs; best ‘‘life pills,” is the most wrinkles.”’ readers to procure a copy of periodical, Tau Puunny Pur It is just about the “screaming” publications, see if we are not right, p» true Thanksgiving. Often ) of the labouring man is sweet, wears @ crown.”’ Happiness is attainable by all; and let those who are the fortunate possessors of a good, ‘sweet home, do all in their power to make that home happy by cheerfully doing all they can of those around “Only in earnestness each do our best Betore God and our conscience, and trust for the rest, Still taking this truth, both in word and in deed, That who tries to be happy is sure to succeed.” ———_~++@+ »—_____ LAUGH AND GROW FAT. Physiologists talk of the excitation and per- turbation resulting from irritation of the me- dulla oblongata, the little organ that plays the Philosophers dive in search and define it as the visible and audible symptom of inward Physiognomists compute its length, breadth, and depth, gauge the value of its index to individual peculiarities of mind, and christen it by as many names as bewilder 2 Spanish infant. The ancients distinguished its various species; the Sardonic, or horse- character, yet a favorite with logicians on the weak side of an or grin, for the display of fine teeth; the risus, or common laugh; the Ionic, or silent laughter of smiles; the Chian, or simple dimple. add the sneer, the jeer, the giggle, the sniggle, the simper, the whiffle, and the cackle. We do love to hear a good hearty peal of Not mere hilarity; not the laugh of scom accompanying bitter jests, stinging satire, or sour snarls; not the cruel jeer of de- Moderns may Fuller says, the s! But laughter, giad hearts, play- ing in brightened eyes, glorifying the face, and rippling off tongues to which it teaches sweet- est music—the chorus of good-humored con- a new and harm- Away with the affected gravity laughter is an elixir of life, a salutary exercise which enli- vens vitality and makes good blood; gives the marvellous enams eller, and the rarest ‘preservative balm,” ‘“‘heauty wash,” and what not, for ‘removing And it is because we believe in a hearty, old- fashioned, jolly guffaw that we advise our that great comic LuLOW for January. ‘‘screaminest’’ of all Try a dose and ly in need of clothing for the thoussnds of poor children who come under our charge. Old clothes will be thankfully received and sent forif the address be forwarded to the Children’s Aid Society, Olinton Hall, Astor Place.” Who will not respond to this call? There are thousands who could furnish an old garment of some kind without feeling the loss of it—a hat, a pai# of shoes, a coat, a vest, a pair of pantaleons, or any article of female ap- pare Remember that these garments go to clothe the bodies of famished little ones, who have none to help themifyou refuse, for the calls upon the Society are constant, and their means are limited. nemember, too, the words of the merciful one who said, ‘Inas- much as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have doneit unto me.” And let those who can do so, send money as wellas raiment. It could not be put to a better use and will prove to the donors to be ‘‘bread cast upon the wa- ters.” This appeal on our part is unsolicited, but we feel the importance of making it, and we earnestly beg those who can do s0, to give freely of their substance, certain as we are that what they give will be put to excellent use. ———_+H10+>—_—_——_——— WRECKS. river we behold the shore strewn with the wrecks of noble vessels, wrecks of the past and wrecks of the present; some moldering away beneath the accumulating sands of years, and others, which but yesterday left their harborin all their beauty, with gay banners floating on the breeze, amid the shouts of the admiring multitude! It is a sad sight to look upon these wrecks of noble vessels, emblems of man’s ingenuity and handiwork. But, oh, how much sadder it is to gaze upon the wrecks of humanity, as we glide down the river of life!—the wrecks of immortal souls on the shores of time—wrecks of noble minds, of beautiful forms, and of bright hopes, wasting away beneath the sands of sorrow, misfortune and crime! These are the wrecks of God's own handiwork, and therefore doubly sad to look upon. They started forth in all the pride of youth and beauty, with bright hopes and joyous anticipations, and struck upon the rocks iste happiness—far | *hat-lay hidden beneath the waves of passion ! | Fiece as ae ta face wan cbvered cite yon too, that riches Oh, youth |! lainching thy frail bark upon Bisck beard. ig Wore gol ald pretered drab folt ee and fly away;| the river of life. keep a Sent hand upon the | hat, and the, ol, fannel shirt was oer wedi helm, an unquaiiing eye upon the far-off bea- SS ae AOE 5, boots, - con of light, and shun the rocks that lie near the devious channel, and be warned by the As we glide down the grand and_beautifal | DREAMS OF HAPPIER DAYS. Yes, dreams of a happy childhood, when free and careless I sported amid the flowers, unconscious that as I plucked the roses I must eventually find some thorns. Fond memory brings back the face and form of a loved and only sister, who for a short time gladdened our hearts and home, and then joined the angels. A few brief years, and the fond and loving father joins the sister and daughter, where friend meets friend never more to part. Andon from childhood to mature years, when mother and daughter are left to battle with the stern realities of life.alone.. But my cup of sorrow must again be lifted to my lips, and I must drink of it—ob, how unwillingly! The dear mother is called to join the family circt@.ig heaven, and again my heart is full of sadness: This is why the memories of my happy childhood come float- ing around me to-day, and I can only say, in she were here, Eminy, .@- OH, A BEAUTIFUL DREAM WAS MINE! BY, AUGUSTUS TREADWELL, Oh, @ beautiful dream was mine! A dream of a far-off land-- And I thought that my brow felt the cooling breeze Rolling off from the golden strand. I thought I had left Time's shore, And was nearing that P@estifal home Where the music of heaven ehtranoeth the heart, And the sorrows of time never comé. The voices of those I had loved, . Whom we laid ‘neath the elm’s dark shade, From the battlements fair of that city of light Seemed saying, ‘Oh, be not afraid!” Up, up, through the azure of heaven, I sped on the wings of the wind, Till the starry gemmed diadem worn by the night In my pathway I’d left far behind. 3 Very soon I approached near the gate, Two angels then unte “ie spoke, Saying, “‘Euter, thou'rt welcome?’ “twas all that I heard; My vision was gone—-I awoke! Oh, what sorrowful thoughts had I then, When I found that it all was a dream; But a sweet peace stole o’er me as quickly I thought That my soul had of heaven a gleam. TOM PATSON’S REVENGE. BY JACK PERCY. _ Far and near, blazing up with long tongues of flames, or twinkling like stars on hill and plain, were the camp fires of Kilpatrick’s cavalry divis- ion. It was about eight o'clock in the evoning,. as Tom Patson sat near one of the camp fires of his yaeeet Tom was third sergeant of company I, —— Regt. of cavalry. The lond laugh and merry song of his comrades resoujided on all sides of him; but Tom sat with his chit resting on his hands, as silent as the grave. ¢ His hair fell in ens, » of so common oc- ly ever noticed Tom’s fits of abstract: wrecks that meet the eye at every turn. : F. M. Cox. +4@ A HARD-FITTING COAT. A coat was won on an election bet by a man in Oswego, N. Y.; but, strange tq say, the winner was not anxious to take it, while the person who agreed to supply him with it, em- phatically insisted that it should be received and worn. The parties to the bet lived ina boarding-house, where dwell about twenty other male boarders. According to the terms of the wager, Mr. Thomas Cushing agreed that in case McClellan failed to carry the State of New York, he (Cushing) should allow Mr. Robert Griggs to decorate his body with a heavy coat of tar and feathers; in this condi- tion, he was to run around the back yard six times, in the presence of all the male board- ers, who were to amuse themsefves by pelting with rotten eggs the unfortunate winner of the tar and feathers. In case Lincoln failed to obtain a majority of the votes in the State, Mr. Robert Griggs was to be the victim, and submit to the tar and feathers and egg treat- mént. The bet was carried out exactly in ac- cordance with the terms, amid the laughter of the boarders, who pelted Mr. Cushing unmer- cifully with about three hundred rotten eggs. - MRS. HOLMES’ GREAT STORY. It would be impossible to convey to our readers any adequate idea of the excitement which ‘‘Family Pride; or, Purified by Suffer- ing” has produced in the reading world. This beautiful story may safely be set down as the very greatest of all this talented lady's great triumphs. We had been obliged to allow our favorite contributor a long holiday previous to her commencing the present work, and her admirers had grown absolutely hungry for something from her pen—the consequence is that the rush for ‘Family Pride’ is unpre- cedented. Onr edition each week, however large it may be, is exhausted almost before printed, and we are obliged to add to it thou- sand after thousand constantly."and yet we cannot still the cormorant cry for ‘‘More! more!” This, although somewhat trouble- some, is, of course, highly gratifying. >4@>- & THE BRITISH LION HOLDS HIS Jaw. The Foreign Ministers of England are some- times easily frightened, and compelled to keep their tongues quiet. A violent attack of the neuralgia prevented England's minister at Washington from talking on diplomatic af- fairs, and forced the British Lyons to hold his jaw. -=der them beau soft and white. New Way To Wrap a strip of pay ruler, or any round o Write upon it, and chaos, but when brq roller, it will be as would have : sender and re beforehand, zag on the reading it, vinegar and ¢ INFUSION ¥ waterene pin glassfall. This ITEMS FO TRANSPLANTIN = has dropped, transplant ornamental, shad trees. There will be asaving of one year’s g tween those planted now and those in the sp 57 taking up trees great care should be taken not to ae late their roots, for every fibre of the root lost the growth of the tree will be retarded so much, and ite life endangered. Whenever it is absolutely necessary to part with any of the roots, take off the top in propor tion. Lei the holes be larger than the roots, and never bend or cramp a root into a small hole. Where the root is mutilated, make a clean cut with a sharp knife, and new rootlets will show themselves pushing out be- tween the bark and wood. Ifthe soil is poor fill in the holes with rich earth from the woods or swamps; but in no case use stable manure in planting out trees. Topdress the groumd among your trees with leached ashes, lime, or any decomposing vegetable matter. - If rabbits are troublesome in barking your fruit trees ap- ply soft soap to the tuunks two or three times in the ear. . HoEine In Day WEATHER.—Somé farmers keop the plow, cultivator, and hoe going among the corn and potatoes in very dry weather, while othergare particu- lar not to disturb the surface during a drouth, Asa general rule, the lighter the soil is kept by frequent strrings the more porous it will be, and the better calculated to draw moisture from below by capillary attractions, Still, ifa corn-field which had been deeply plowed was measurably free from weeds, and the growth large, we would not plow out the rows in a very dry time, as the injury to the fibrous roots would more than Balance the benefits of lightening up the soil. The same may be said of potatoes. In the garden, however, the soilis apt to become packed by trampling over it, the surface often baked or crusted over, so that a-dash of rain runs off before it’ soaks in. Hoeing such soi] enables it to absorb more dew, and is otherwise of much service in a drouth. Weeds are great robbers both of nourishment and moisturs,and should always be eradicated. Tue Ture To Prant Porarors.—A ‘paper has been addressed to the Agricultural Society of Ghal 78, in which it is stated that potatoes may be safely grown free from disease by merely planting them in June in- stead of April. The writer, who has proved his theory by several years of successful experiment, is of opinion that by planting the roots in April they become cor- rupted by the alternate frost and heat. Corn.—As early as possible haveit all husked and placed in dry, airy cribs, or spread out on warm and dry floors. Corn husks, well baled, meet a ready sale at high prices in Eastern cities. SCIENTIFIC NOTES, Ligutine Gas py Exectrictty.—aA scientific ap- paratus for lighting gas by electricity has been invented in Philadelphia. Itis 8 neat and elegant fixture, com sisting of a brass cup, lined with silk, a loosely-fitting India-rubber stopper, and an insulated copper wire coil, with a platinum point, directly over the burmer. Within the stopper is placed a small piece of tin foil, to hold or store for use the electricity generated by the friction of the India-rubber stopper upon the silk lining efthecup. While the cup is closed there is a complete electric current maintained, but when the gas is to be lighted the cup is lifted, the electric current is brqken, and the electricity passes down the coil of wire to the burner, At the same moment the gasis turned on andis instantly lighted. HyproGen AS Furu vor Steam Borters.—t is said that successful experiments have recently been made in Spain, with reference to the use of hydrogen obtained by the decomposition of water as a fuel for | steam boilers on board ship, 3 . zu New RepeatTine Risux.—Mr. W. W. Wade, of Guy Manehester, N. H., has just invented an eight-pound breech-loading riffs, which discharges fourteen bullets without being re-loaded, could have the management of these childrev 4 i on te . Ne pencireeipiag li ivciticremmeiennt nS Booxs, &e a Attention, Company! | CHARE’S ONGUENT, a powerful stimalant, each f age Warranted to produce a full set of Whiskers or Mous- teches in six weeks, upon the smoothest face, without stain orinjary t theskin. Any person using this Onguent and findmg Munot as represented (by informing me of the fact) can have their money returned to them at any time within three months of the day ef purchase. Priee $1. Sent sealed,and post-paid to any address on receipt of the mon- ey. Address, A. C. CLARK, P. @. Drawer 118, Albany, New York. 35-26 7 ta Ma TATTE AT Warranted to produce @ | SHUL ts ONGL ENT---na set of Whiskers or | Moustaches in six weeks, or money refunded. Sent post- paki for6U cents, or 8 packages for $1. Address 26 F. SHULTS, 285 River St., Troy, N. ¥. *“PSYCHOMANCY.”—How either sex may fascinat and gain the love and affections of any person they cheose instunfly. This simple mental .acquirement all-can possess, free, bymaii, for 25 cents, together with a guide to ‘the un- married of both sexes. A queer, exciting book. 100,000 sofd Address, T. WILLIAM & CO., Publishers, ehiladei- phia A tf. CANCER CURED. Cancers and Trmotrs cured without pain or the use of the knife. Cireular describing treatment : charge. Address & TOBIN, 27 Bond -St., N. Y. Shean DRS. BABCOCK Shults’ Curlique, Sent sealed and | WP curling the hair. Price 50 cents. post-paid. Address C. SHULTS, T , TX 47-3m FoR THE Prorrm!—Send for atanlogue. we ¥. B, ze : - adress LION, 11 Spruce-Street, N. Y. HA } : } i mmoth A : s38t Hi t i BRAZILIAN ER. > | THE BRAZILIAN JER. > One application ranted t rt ang stubborpehair into gi ae TD R { Uiy ent, post-paid, on > 47-3m W7hiskers. . ri rit ser I ile aT a st. aid t oh¢ HAS} } ney refanced 473m S| a e Fine Watch Free AND PER DAY. cane Female, in Town,.and Soldiers in-camp re making easily $15 per day selling our and WONDERFUL UNION PRIZE AND STATIONERY PACKAGES, NOVEL and UNEQUALED, and UnNke ¢iithe eld styles; containing al New Articles, and of fime quelity. Writing Materials, Parlor Games, Use- fal and Fancy Articles, Likenesses of Heroes, Camp Com- panions fer tae Army, New Fashion Plates for Ladies, rich ifts of Jowelty, &c. &c., altogether worth over:$l, for Bn: Y Mem No famtiiy should be without one. - Profits immenss, sales nick. Soldters in camp can act as Agents, and make money fast. SPLENDID WATOH, warranted as a perfect timekeeper, prosonted /restoall Agents. Packages ig endless variety am atall prices. Agents wanted all through the country. Gods sent by Express to.all parte of the Army. Send for “W Circularsfor 1863, containing EXTRA inducementa. Sy CG. RIOKARDS & CO., 102 Nassau Street, Now York, largest ind oldest Prize Package Heuse in the World. t NOW READY, And ForSale by News-dealers 2 25 eid & Fe) every where, ack. | trast the life of a maz® who is blessed with a true woman for his wife, with that of the in- dividual who has ‘‘no one to love, none to caress,” children to make happy his declining years, and never experiences the heart-warming affection thatis ever burning within the bosom of the married man, who can sit by his cheer- ful fireside, surrounded by dear ones of his own flesh and blood. The old bachelor may be wealthy, selfishly extravagant, and revel in all the luxury which money can. purchase; but still he knows not the true happiness which | |an the world; and when the premonitions of | +. on the ‘‘divine institution” recently | few hard-shelled nuts, selected by “‘Lovejoy,’’ several little additions of her own, ealculated to show that the use of Greek fire by Ellen was justified by the uncivilized style of warfare comminced by Mrs. Slat- thery,who endeavored to protect herself by that weapon iv the barbarous ages—the poker, Etlen’s conduct was comminded, and my wife’s history of the battle proved her a heroine so humane that she would scorn to use & weapon more deadly than a dead mackerel, unless her’ inemy had first sought to protest herself by using that terrible insthermint of forgotten ages which civilized people only employ to rake the fire. After goin’ back to her own apartmints, me wife found wan iv the childer almost famished wid hunger, an’ thryin’ to appaise its appetite be aitin’ the hairs iv On- The old bachelor has no home, ne Way is a lawyer’s profession not only legal but re- religious? Because it involves a knowledge of the law and the profits (prophets). WANTED — Some of the beer produced when “‘mischief | is brewing.” | Harp.—‘“I didn't think you would be so hard with me,’’ as the Bharksaid when he bit the anchor, | A youne lady should take heed when an admirer bends low before her. The bent beau is dangerous, TF you want tokindle the flame of love in a lady’s breast, you must spark her till she is eager for a match. | a toothbrish which it found on the washstand. Little Neddy, me three-year-old boy, had also been on a for- box undher the same washstand. I belave they put shugar in blackin® to make it stick to the boot; and whin Neddy found it sweet, he began swallyin’ it like f 2 Suitable matrimonial al- | Molasses candy. always results from a suitable Befor@his mother had time to wa liance. He has no loving and devoted heart | his cheeks and lips, Mrs, Slatthery rapped at wr dure hh ; j ; : | wid the poker, and desired to know from me wife if it to cheer his loneliness, 2% children = whose | was thrue that she had been slanderin’ her to the nay- eyes to see miniature copies of himself re-|b scotia 0° fh > whe lisesi: 2né we * ‘ . }) version of the battle betune Ellen Maginnis and Mrs, flected, nor no kindred lips to press against | Slatthery, wint to the latther and towld her about it, his own or whisper words of solicitude and | jist to arouse a little quarrel betune wan iv the belliger- a : . i ents and a pretinded newtral power affection in his ear. He feels that leis alone| ~ Me wife dcklined to offer one explanation’ to a bel ligerent ‘tin arms,” an’ requested Mrs. Slatthery.to lex. down the poker. The latter wouldn’t agree to this | snd houldin’ the fire-raker threatenin’ly in her hand, | called me wife a dhirty owld slandherer. Mrs. O’Hoe | lahan’s veins began to swell when sho herd her karack- without the love of kindred te cheer him ere | ther defamed, and her fingers began to itch s0 badly se ee : . 11,,, | that she thought she’d scratch thim agen the face of he departs for the mysterious realm. —The | yg. Slatthery. continuation of this:subject we will leave to | : : i | begorra ye’d think me place was a barber’s shop, to see our old correspondent, ‘Tiovejoy,” who has | all the hair flyin round the room and the ringlets dego- be led f ; i nt by the ; , | ratin’ the flure, Afther curlin’ aich other’s hair to ther been called from his retirement by the attacks | tase Conting. nd eraainentin’:thetr c made by | a score of finger-nails, until the face iv aich resinibled 2 war map of Vergania, wid the most important poipts indicated be blood-red spots, Mrs. O’Ho an sudde: | ly displayed sOme mastherly sthrategy, and forced her —s Re ee 2 j inemy intosuch a warm position that the latther ras and i ‘“Debonaire . finds himself unable to | unable to howld it very long. rack tham ha ic : t i Me wife thought she’d thry the effect iv a heavyfire crack them to the satisfaction of e as readers, | on the left flank iv her opponent; and pressing the ex- he must be willing to admit that his opponent | treme right of the inemy very vigorously, she fot.ed ites an at | the left flank of O’Hoolahan’s army against the red- WEIRD OM ADK | hot steve. The first shock of this fire completelt.de- DEFENSE OF MATRIMONY. moralized Mra. Slatthery’s forces, ome pee her Although Mra..Da.-:’ picture of old bachelors was | 8™@*P of what hair was left on the head of Mrs. (Hoo somewhat overdrawn, that does nog justify **Debo- | narried people. One would } death awaken him more fully to a sense of his loneliness, he totters to the grave unheeded, ‘Debonaire.” The latter is presented with a lahan, the latter followed tip her victory by turning her naire’ in his attack enemy and compelling her to leave the batile-grounc ‘ : anaes cee :, ; and take a sait on the stove! have thought that'D. was >much taken down in bis | #24 , dad deubite ost aanetinon co ; b This was 8 piece of sthrategy for which Mrs. Slaitthery oe ta Safe ae te , | w. prepared, and as the position in which she was or usechi on the,subject. { suppose he thought | ¥85 U2 , . pp oad hin ola Staab iat fend. *T.o% joy" atill lives on now placed was too warm to belong tenable, the victim ever and an 9) has once more thrown a own the gaunt. of slandher lost all martial fire by the judicious exer- let, I will pick it up and give hima oue cise of the homeopathic principle that “like cures atts ai y 117M Olic trieve his lost honors. How strange it rechance tere- | * , like,” profess to feel the least interest in a maz: oD to show his head again t that those wh pe a od a al ie pound sky-recket when touched with fire, Mri, Slat- : ; : ne y ‘ 28 si d D the first to meddle with that institution: ow easy it ey ed mredberidimge! tote | the ois nged aif, and is for some folks to think all others are tools whe do Now if you mee anybody that’s c the hater ot ~'¥ aaenee - ’D. greeeine =e ote _— business, and wants to buy a peck or so ty hai ra pe selye >, #8 aS incapable of judgiag «1 e ae oe eee, nae aa : aia eid bliss of aaa fe oa an Icetander | Yell sind him tothe howse iv Tim ¢ Hoolahay, ¥ - : : Ee a a rae ppli i iv all diminsio ih would be to form. correct opinion of tne tropics. He the thn ba ba, oe - ee cannot realize the possibility of summer all the yeu . " . _ round, ®. probably never was greeted with a loving, welcome kiss.on his return home from business. He never knew whatit was to be almost worshipped ‘by a true and devoted wife. He never.watched Azs little in- nocent peacefully slumbering in its cot, with an angelic almost excuses:her propensity for slanda.... Aprovos te slanderous people, we annex atom- THEELLING STORY OF SEIP AND SHORE, ENTITLED, The Vestmaker’s Apprentice ; Wy MAY RES OF Oe » ¥; y 5 2, thorough trial, superceding all rt give then rapid] y use ? tg the Lock Srrrcu nomey, edle and shi th sid is the only stitch sg gape | its vain endeavors to do so for many days previous, durability, elasc orthy of we. They are prop better fimed:motions f tained by craxks 0 the needle threwing « the shuttle passes i threads togethes, mak are-capable of running : e% finished; and making fre stitch: valancé wheel, a speed tinege machine in use Por these reasons the ever known, to.be the unequadied in its s dility, ea 1er shuttle ed, where- de, and is fer, dura- y and cer- arranted. ron , Tailors, akers, &c., in the coun- 1. Send far descriptive AGENTS WANTED in 606 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 42-12t-eow ‘“Werp’’ best se#® yf ss M Box 2,041 DERG & OO.’8 celebrated PATENT CIGARETTOS, Wihdlesale Depot at GAIL, AX & KUGHLER’S Nos. 173 and 175 Water street, New York. DIAMOND PA 4t I ,” | lies; and jist as soon as I’ve swa. ; | gorra she darts awl over the house to convarse wid the ; uther wimnzin, lavin the dishes dirthy on the table, tT meee wmatehes are the BE iS WITHOUT SULPHU La, and a luxury and comfort to sm Wee mugs Sac W holesale and vetall by THE LODI MANUF v6 Courtlan ST IN THEE WORLD, SURE g DISAGREEABLE kers and people iOR-MATCHES. TE < i ACTURING CO., it strect, New York rs PLEASANT PARAGI hough ’tis said that matrimony lessens «ir joys, doubles our troubles, and trebles our mnsee, Still, in the face of these deplorable spective calamities, is it not strange that | Many men have the temerity to seek bhappi- mesa by changing a life of single blessedness | for @ condition which promises so little enjoy- ment and so nruch affliction? They who af- firm that) there is no such thing as conan- bial felicity, are generally old bachelors, who ’ may havedeliberated, in their younger days on the bettefits to be derived from married life, | bot whoseselfish natures were shocked at the thought of the increased expense nece: sary to support a wife and family, and were conse- | quently deterred from following their incli dA PARAGRAPHS. | 4% t tha re Aj “3 n wil aon OU DAR # ® ° a | re tion, just because it would entail a pecuniary | °° “a & outlay which sould be avoided if they re- | mained single. | No happiness in matrimony ! | she saw Mrs. Slatthery gezin’ mystariously undher the | stove, as ifin sarch iv a poker, she bate a hasty retrait | and enthered the defences of Mrs. Mullen‘s kitchen. | tained the steaming beverage, she approached the dure, | received a daytailed ak munication from a favorite contributor, *Al- media M. Brown,” in reference te smile on its tiny face. He never saw Ais little cherub on his Enee, and listened to its cooing. Henever beard his little darling when it first lisped ‘‘Papa!” after all A WOMAN WiC NEVER SLANDERS HER NEIGHBORS. “Mercy knows, *’ said Aunt Jerusha, as she settled herself in her smai! :ocking-chair, and wiped hersteel- bowed specs on her apron before placing them astride her nose, ‘mercy knows I never slander my neighbors, I’ve enough te do totake care of my own affairs. Now there is Dorothy Ann—always knows just what every ene bas on at church. The idea of looking at pepple’s dress inchurch! But that’s some folk’s failings, We ali have our failings, I s’pose,’’ anda sigh finished the sentence, Whether this harangue was addressed to the werld in general, or-was for the especial benefit of a tall rouns lady seated ata tablemear by, inserting 3 sharp pair of shears into a piece of:cloth, we do pet know. The young lady made no:reply, but a mischievous flitted over her face, and a silence fullewed, unt save by the vengeful snap of the shears as tiie over the cloth, and the lond tick of the ciook t ner. Suddenly Aunt-Jerusha peered o dow, “Look, Minerva Jane—ain’t then gixls going-by ?’’ °‘Yjes,’’ vas thé laconic ane see how they are dressed! They camo sailing church during prayer time last Sunday, looking lixe peacecks, I watched them down the j No! with him allis black that he can’t ses. Why,man, open your.eyes and look--look beyend your nose for once-—and you must see that there are innumerable picasures in this world that you know nothing of. You are like-ene bred and born in a coal mine, whe has never looked. on the sun. You have all.to learn. -Come up out.of the pit, and, if you can—for your own sake do, pray—get a 4ood wife, and teli me six,months hence, or two years hence, if you will, if there ie any pleasure in a married lite. .De for eoncein your life have a littie faith; or if you. cannol believe, try it fer yourself. I tell fou candidly that there is no real enjoyment, ne real leasure that cannot be realized in a good matrimonial lignee, There is.a great’‘deal of pleasure in Jiving for other—in administering to the comforts of those we ve. Do not,.for pity’s sake, live for yourself alonsany ser, Be for once ™ your life sensible, wise, and , and believe me you will never regret taking ¢he £--“Lovejpy.”” Because a few married people fortunate enough not to be happy, that is no that ai are unhappy. Because one man ig a Ur, thatis no proofthat all mom ere the seme. - Now, then, “Debonaire,” grasp your pen ily, and giye us an offset te this picture of rimony ..-An animated picture of mnbial enjoyment we have just received “Giendower,” who portrays some LLY SCENES FROM THE LIFE oF A MARRIED MAN, A little oxcitement was occasioned last week by a talkative woman, who resides ina tenement house on iiwenty-ninth street. She is the wife of a good-tem- pered individua!, who has, adopted every means to put & curb on the rattling tongue of his spouse; but.all bis efforts have been fruitless; and all his entreaties seem but to increase the desire of his wife to gratify her mis- chievous-propensity. The excitement to which I have alluded I will relate in the words of the unfortunate husband, who gives the following lucid particulars of the affair: I don't like te tell me throubles in public, and so I'll jist phisper thim to ye. It’s wid an achin’ hart that I’m compelled to seek sympathy from ye, by takin’ me} but I den’t believe it,” ‘Well, now I do say,” replied dure aff its hinges an’ exposin’ to yer vue & picthure av ; Aunt Jerusha,: “I don’t slander my neighbors; but Teddy O’Hoolahan’s domestic harthstone. I’m a mar-| that’s pretty doings, anyhow. Did you ever hear what ried man, but I don’t live happy at all, at all. Me wife | * wild girl she was before she was married? My sis- is the gabbiest woman ye iver met in the whole kodrse | ter’s husband’s cousin used to know her, and she said iv yer life—aither in this world or the nixt; besides | she was perfectly independent; didn’t*care what folks that, she’s as inkwisitive as a daily paper reporter, or a| said about her. But I s’pose you’ve heard of Mr. Este’s detective offiser in serch ivy a keunterfitter. She wants | failure? For my part I don’t wonder at it, his wife was to know iverybody’s bizness, and afther she larns it, |} 80 extravagant; You’ve no idea how much waste thére she isn’t aisy until.she makes awl her nayburs as wise | was in the house; I don’t slander my neighbors, but I as herself. In the house wid me sre four uther fami-| do say I’m notsurprised that her husband has failed. lied me brekwest, be- | But see; there’s young Mr. Benson, he goes to‘'ses Miss Smith every day. They do say he drinks; I should think Mrs. Smith would feel dreadful bad to have Susan marry him; they’re engaged, I’m told. I wouldn’t a tue GiSie CLe@ar their seats. They wore green silks, velvet F loak thelr bonnets locked like Gower gardens; their furs in particular; they were new and fashior Much cause:they have te be proud; I should th glance at home would lower their feathers some. Bart there comes Mrs. Baker! O dear! she is & regular gos sip, and we -zhall have to listen to her long yarns all the afternoon! What a bore she is! A knock at tue door was followed by the entrance the lady in question. Aunt.Jerusha rose with @ eaming face to greet her, ‘‘My dear Mrs, Baker, howe you de? I was just thinking about you. Lay aside you? thi gs and spend the.afternoon. Minerva Jane, bring out the rocking chair for Mrs, Baker. The two ladies were soon seated with their sewing, and Aunt Jerusha asked: ‘‘Have you seon Mrs. Nash recently? I wonder if her husband is as bad as ever? I declare that woman haga time of it. Ispose you knew he stole the pork from Mr, Brien’s cellar a few weeks ago?” ‘Yes, I heard of it. Have you seen Mrs. Slocum riding with the young doctor? Tobe sure; some folks say he’s her cousin, a xD and the childer to row] about the flure, hungry, un- washed, and undhressed, have him courting Minerva Jane for anything; but The other mornin’ she left the childer, as ushal, wid- | then Susan ain’t any better than she should be; I out givin’ thim their brekwest, and wint into Mrs. Mul-/ don’t slander my neighbors, but I must say I shouldn’t len’s to convarse wid that lady about some important | want a daughter of mine doing as she does. Why, ivints that happened the night afore, betune Mrs. Slat- | Mrs. Baker, you ain’t putting up your work; do stay thery and her cousin, Ellen Maginnis. Ye see, Ellen | till after tea, Well, if you can’t, good bye; come again lives out, as cook wid an abbylishin family; and as Mrs-| soon. There! if I ain’t relieved,” continued Aunt Slatthery duzn’t loveabbylishiners very much to spake | Jerusha, as the door closed upon the departing guest, abont, she towld Ellen that she ought to lave her place, | ‘Did you ever hear a woman go on 80 about her neigh- as they might make her an abbylishiner, and compel} bors? The idea of slandering everybody as she does! her to become an aposthate by desartin’ the thrue pol- | To be sure, I have te talk with her when she’s here; lytickle faith. but mercy knows I don’t slander my neighbors! Mies Maginnis refused to give up her good situashin, a _s m ‘ sayin’ thruly that abbylishin money is as good as any We will now change the subject by *p other money, and abbylishin mate jist as fattenin’ if wellccoked, (This was sed by Ellen as a sort of com- pliment in praise iv her cookin’—for she cooks the mate for the abbylishiaers.) As soon as E!len sd thie, Mrs. Slatthery gev her all sorts iv abuse, callin’ her a heretic, and tellin’ her there was always a bad dhrop in the Maginnisses. This aspersihin agenst the blood o’ the Maginnisses aroused the dandher iv Ellen, and she at wanst vindicated the honor iv her ancesthors be seizin’ by the taila big mackerel that hung over the fireplace, wid which she slapped the face of Mrs. Siat- thery, until divil a scrap iv the fish was left together but the tail. This left Ellen widout any weapon, and jist as batch of ‘John H. Weaver's” DEOPS FROM A HUMOROUS VEIN, HIPETROLEUM.—Peter O'eum’s good qualities have re cently been brought to light—his fame is established, especially in Pennsylvania and Western Virginia WaT isa Freeholder? A resident of Freehold, N. J THe, pickpocket who was caught pulling a man’s saying, he was only ‘‘taking time by the forelock,”’ If a man who worships idols may be called a heathen, & woman who does the same must be a she-then, WE frequently hear of our generals capturing **pleces of artillery,” what’s the use of continually capturin pieces? why not capture whole ones? Be this time Mrs. Slatthery re-organized her demor- alized forces, and bringin’ the poker to a *‘charge,’’ fol- lowed the inemy until her progress was impeded by nding the embrasere of Mrs, Mullen’s fort protected by a locked dure,. Then tightening her apron strings, to give her strinth fo» a brilliant final attack, Mrs. Slatthery attimpted to carry the definses by assault, and at wanst endeavored to make a breach in the dure ! by several vigorous charges with the poker. The siege lasted but a short time, however; for being an Irish cook, it may be supposed that Ellen knew something about ‘Greek fire,” and its sanguin ary ef- fects when used in a scientific manner. She had heard that “‘Greek fire’? was something very hot, and wag generally used to burn out an inemy; and while Mrs Slatthery kept on hammerin’ at the dure, the eye of Ellen suddenly fixed its gaze on Mrs, Mullen’s coffee pot steamin’ on the stove. The scalding coffee, she thought, would be an excellent substitute for “Greck fire,’ and taking from the stove the vessel. which con- we give our usual instalment of RIB-TICKLERS. Way do pioneers go before the army? To aze the way. Wey is a tight shoe like a fine summer? makes the corn grow. Wury is care to a man like tether to a sheep? Because it contracts his brows(e). LEGAL ProspLeM.—Find the amount of a judge’: charge” to a jury, and the “summing up’’ of the evi- dence, The answer to be given in ‘figures of speech.’’ Wy does arich lady act penniless man ? Bask Corn.— Money placed in a foundation-stone. HORRIBLE AFFAIR. —At a dinner party in the country the other day a great sensation was caused by a gentle. man dividing two ladies, WHEN did Sir Isaac Newton cut up shines? he divided the rays of light. TALKIN’ of law, what the ’mortal C suddenly opened it, and gave Mrs. Slatthery a vapor bath iv hot coffee rite across the neck and showlders. This caused 2 panic to the assaulting party, who at wanst dropped her weapon and fled in terror toward | her own fortification, leaving the brave Ellen Maginnis uashin. Whin me wife met Mrs. Mullen the next mornin’, she int iv the great battle; but the | ago. port was rather prejudicial to the good generalship played by Mrs, Slatthery, who was pronounced the belligerent that commenced the attack. No sooner had me wife heard the tull news, than she wint off to the naybors, and informed them of the conflict, with When ”’ says Pompey, ‘makes to, who lib mosta the years once —the law is like a groun’ glass winder, t gives light enuff to light us poorgnortals in de irk passage.of life; bit it would puzzle Me old gentle- man himself to see troo it,” Way is a person drawing an ox’s teeth like the set? Because he’s an oxy-dental phenomenon, eaiA Baia san aging expedition, to satisfy the cravin’s iv his small | stummock, and whin his mother intered the room, he | was aitin fistfulls of boot-blackin’ that he found in a | sh the blackin’ from | ors. Ye see some 0’ the people who heard me wife’s | Thin comminced g tarin iv faces and curlin iv hair: omplexions with | Bounding from the stove as rapidly asia six- | — The prodigieus valor of Mrs. O’Hodahan 1 | comb continually with the other pair. lable ink a } ‘ gorous | of | pending a few spicy paragraphs from the last,| watch from his pocket by the chain, excused himself by | 8 : As suitable companions to the foregoing, | Because it | prudently by marrying a | Because she husbands her resources, | ‘TIS FOR THER, SAD SOUL. BY GRACE DE LA VERITE. j | "Dis for thee, sad soul, ’tis for thee! } "Tis for thee the measures move, "Tis for thee I sing of love! Tis for thee, ’tis for thee, wherever thou may’st be, | *Tis for thee, sad so ul, ’tis for thee! Every care and grief soon shall fiee! Ah, we little heed thenight In the sweetly dawning light— | Light for me and for thee, wherever thou may’st be Ah, for thee, sad soul! ah, for thee! Only free, sad soul, Only free, When we join that song above, hich the mystic measures move— | ‘Toned for me and for thee, whoever thou may’st be} | Ah, for thee, sad soul! ah, for thee! <<>> ¢ (9 0-6 <0 ne [TEMS OF INTEREST. aap A man in Wheeling, who was out hunting a few days ago, being rather unsuccessful in finding | game, took a shot at alot of crows. He wounded one | Of the birds in the wing, causing it to flutter to the | The | } wounded bird cried most piteously as’ he held it in his | | hand, and soon brought a whole flock of crows to its as- \.E In a body they attacked the hunter, fluttering { head, and picking and scratching his face | with such violence that he was forced to defend him- | self with a stick, and finally released the crow and beat | |} ground, when the gentleman picked it up. | Sistance. about his | & hasty retreat. Of course, the hunter’s success on that day was not much to boast of, and only the birds are likely to crow over it, ; | painting of the American eagle, prized the work of art so much that all his friends were invited to see it. in boasting of it. Recently the painting suddenly dis- appeared, and the owner advertised it as stolen. | Was so natural at flew away. actors. } countenance assumed a dirty slate color. age A wealthy Jew in England, who always af- fected the most intense horror ef black pigs, died about two weeks ago, leaving a provision in his will that his eldest son should purchase twenty black pigs, feed and permit them to propagate or be eaten, gelvee at a house in Spencer, Pike Co., Missouri, a the bridegroom and all the males present, made an attack on the supper prepared for the occasion, and complimented the women on its excellance, nay Ladies with walking sticks have for a long time been quite numereus in the streets of the Frenc capital; but now they have introduced fine steel blades into the handles of the more costly canes, so that they may be used as weapons of defense. ea A human head, in a putrid condition, was discovered lately in a cellar at Cincinna'i. The woman | in whose house it was discovered affirmed that it was | brought her by a medical student, who wished to have the flesh boiled off, that it might be preserved as an | anatomical specimen, | #a@- A four-legged turkey is astonishing the | Californians, It roosts on twe legs, and brushes 8 Tt is a wild | bird, and the way it uses the comb shows it to be bar- * | baroualy inclined, ri aa@- All the soldiers whe are enlisted at Con- ¢ | cord, N..H., have their photographs accurately taken. | Oa the back of each likeneas is written the description | of the original, for the purpose of aiding his arrest should he become a deserter, sar The oldest inhabitant of the United State is said to bean elderlycolored individual of tke masculine gender, now residing in Poinford, Vt., who is 420 years }old. He wears green spectacles, and lives on boiled | rice. as A rag-picker’s ball was given lately at To- ronto. The peripatetic rag-gatherers assembled to the number of about three hundred; and they all say the | affair was so grand as to ‘‘take the rag off the bush” of anything of the kind yet seen in Toronto, aar At a late fairin San Francisco were exhib- ited fifty pears on 9 stem eight inchesin length. Local journals are bragging of two fruit crops in one year, and say that three crops are not uncommon in the in- texior. ag Picket duty for the Confederate army is now performed exclusively by veterans, Gen, Lee has scripts are inclined to desert as soon as opportunities present themselves, aa@- At Waterbury, Conn., a man died suddenly the other day, and the post-mortem examination dis- closed a fact which is supposed to have uo parallel—the deceased had but one kidney. aa- An eating-house has been established in London, where only food is served that is calculated to reduce corpulency. Quite a number of fat. men haye already become regular customers. aw Red hair is beeoming attractive, and is now considered a feature of beauty in Paris; conse- dyed a carroty hue, age Children by the bushel are raised in St. Louis, by man named Peck. He is the father of ten young Pecks— equal to two bushels and a half, ag A famine in New Mexico is feared, because of the backward state of the crops in that locality, in- duced by the prevailing drouth. The people of Arizona also anticipate a similar naisfortune, ag A beautiful and wealthy young lady of this sity, Miss Mary Lee, has just been married in Paris, to Prince Frederick, of Schleswig-Holstein, American princesses are increasing rapidly. aa Short petticoats, high-heeled boots and plaid stockings, appear to be the fashionable winter costume for Parisian ladios, | Agr Upwards of thirty generals in the United | States army profess the Roman Catholic faith, among | whom are Sheridan, Meade, tosecrans, Sickles, and | Keyes, ag A poor woman in Oincinnati lately gave birth to three seven-pound children, The quartette | all survived. say The middle range of the White Mountains aré now ornamented with three feet of snow. | #@- "Tis said there are but two unmarried wo- men in the territory of Arizona, ag Petrified trees are very common in Minne- rt ORE TEI LIE ONAL YAS EE EEL TO CORRESPONDEN’ ENTS. | | j ; - | iGossre with READERS aND CoNTRIBUTORS.— | James N, S.—Your poem is well written, but too | lengthy for our paper, Narrative poems are seldom used by us, for the reason that they are not generally | read. A prose sketch embodying the incidents of your ; poem, would, if well worked up, command greater at- | tention and be better appreciated by the great mass of readers.. Royal True.—We are always anxious to oblige | our contributors, and will do what we can for yon with | regard to the autographs. It would, of course, be im- | possible to get them aH at once, but we will collect | them from time to time and send them to you. regard to ourselves, we do not care to be placed in the MOUY. ..44. Cypher.—The initial poem of the series | which you propose to furnish is well written, but we | must decline your offer for the reason that we cannot pledge ourselves to publish a series of poems under the same heading. In the first place we can publish one each week regularly, and in the next I lastly, we do not care to bind ourselves to any terms whatever...... Ida Ingle.- | and we should be pleased to hear from you again.. : | The following MSS. are received and accepted: ‘‘Ohrist- | mas Oarol;”’ | and the Storm;” *‘Hercnles Gosmo;” “O 1, Give me | Home;” * Memory Hauntings;” ‘“‘Maggio’s Every-Day Tnoughts.”’..... -The following are respectfully de- clined: ‘The Dying Mountaineer;’’ “Stoxm Waifs,” | into line on the left, just in time to m | pel a furious charge from the enemy. Tho Rebel le k@- A man in Troy, the owner of a splendid | He always contended that it was the:most life-like and | natural painting ever executed, and took great delight | His | | friends now banter him about its loss, saying that it ‘ aa- The tragedy of “Othello” was lately repre- | sented in a theater at Hayti, by a company of negro | The jealous Moor was represented by a colored | | i ' man, who painted his face white, to mark the difference in compiexion between the Venetians and the Moors. | | During the performance Othello perspired freely, the | | white paint streamed from his face, and at last his | } ' j | care for them in a proper manner, buton no account | aa While a wedding party were enjoying them- | nuniber of Rebels suddenly entered and conscripted | Ehey then | issued an order to this effect, as new recruits and con- | quently, many of the belles are having their ringlets | With | company of such patriots as Vallandigham and Sey. | not engage to | lace | some numbers of the series might not suit us, and | Your sketch is a good one, | | returned. j rant T \TI7 Tf AN A CHICKAMAUGA, By Ryde The 19th of September, 1863—ons of the bloody days of Chickamauga—will be long remembered by many, but none will retain a more vivid recol- lection of the memorable day than Corporal Wil- kins, of the ——th Indiana infantry, whése adven- tures on that occasion are worthy of record. The Second Division of the Twentieth Army Corps to which his regiment belonged, was, atthe beginning of the battle, posted on the extreme right of the Union army, but before noon it was ordered to the extreme left, The distancegwas traversed at doubl e-quisk, and the division swung eet and re- line was eepulaedi, and fell back in disorder, fol- lowed closely. by our forces. In the pursuit>Cor- poral Wilkins, in his eagerness to be “in at the death,” got far ahead of hig com pany, and ere he was aware of the danger he was in, was suddenly onfronted by a Rebel soldier, whose rifle was al- ready leveled at his breast, and not more than a | dozen yards distant from him. Quick as thought | his own piece was leveled, and simultan ously | both pieces blazed forth their leaden é | of death. The Rebel’s ball hissed by in u fortab:e proximity to Wilkins’ ear, but he was | harmed. His antagonist was equally fortun ste; | both having missed their aim in the rry to get the first shot. The bayonet would soon have de- | cided the contest, but just at that moment a‘’storm of balls hissed around them, coming from bot} directions, and the startled combatants discove that they were midway between the tw: ing lines of battle—that the Rebels | & position from which it would. be odge them,andthata long and bloody « |-en before either line would leave the p then occupied—they saw this at a glance each dropped to the earth, as the only m escaping the furious storm of shot and sh: pt over the ground between the two lines. Wilkins was in an awkward situation, The shot and shell passed so close to the ground that any effort to change his position or reload his'gun | would be fatal. But the Rebel was similarly situ- ated, and was utterly unable to reload his gun. | Both saw and comprehended their situation, and | quietly waited for something to “turn up.” Several minutes passed without any material }ehange in the state of affairs. Each moment seemed an age. A moment more and the Rebel called out: **Hello, Yank!” “What's up, Johnnie ?” “Is your gun loaded ?” ‘No, Is yours?” ‘No. I say, Yank?” ‘“Well.” ‘“Let’s compremise |” “I can’t see how we'll get out of this scrape by | compromising.” **When they let up we can crawfish.” ‘Very well, we will not fire on eack other until each one of us has reached his own lines.” “PH do it, Yank. Got any tobacker? If you | have, can’t you manage to toss a chaw over this | way ?” Wilkins divided his “plug,” and tossed half of it | over toward his late antagonist, who, with some difficulty succeeded in reaching it, and taking an | chormous chew, settled himself closer to the earth, to await a favorable opportunity to crawfish out | of his unpleasant situation. | Half an hour passed ere the fising ceased i enough to allew their eseape, When it did, each } one, true to his agreement, crept away toward hig | own line without even a farewell shet at the other, The battle raged on during the day. Night came on, and at dusk the pickets of each army were but a few yards apart. ‘The men of Wil- | Kins’ regiment were hot and thirsty, but no water could be procured inside the pickets. Water naust be had from some pe and Wilkins, remember- ing a small pool of water near the scene of his compromise with the “Johnny Reh,” ebtained permission to go outside the line in search of it, Groping his way carefully through the bushes, he at length had the good luck to find the object of his gearch, and soon had his canteen falle? water. | At this juncture the sound of approaching foot- | Steps attracted hig attention. Waiting breath- lessly for a moment, he discovered that the ene my were moving their pickets furiher out, had even then inclosed him within their lines. His situation was uncomfortable, indeed. Escape through their watchful lines was almeat impossi- ble. To remain inside was equally dangerous, He drew back into a clump of bushes near by, and was turning over in his mind the possibilities of escape and the probabilities of a journey through Dixie and a sojourn in Libby prison, | when his attention was again attracted y the footsteps of. some one approaching from the di- rection of the Rebel camp. Nearer and nearer they approached, coming directly toward him, until he deemed discovery absolutely eertain, lit- tle dreaming that the same object that brought him to his present awkward predicament. ~the pool of water—would also attract others to the same Vicinity, urtil a Rebel soldier, unarmed, stepped out in front of him, and stooping beside | the water began to fill a number of canteens which he carried slung over his shoulder. Wilkin iS waited but a moment to decide what course to ursue. Springing noiselessly toward the Rebel ¢ leveled his gun at his breast, exclaiming, in an undertone: “Silence! Speak but one word above a whisper and you’re a dead man!” __ Lhe Rebel remained silent, and Wilkins added, in a whisper: “I came accidentally withia your lines. Take | me in safety outside and I will not harm you; but if you refuse to do go, or speak but one werd to betray me, I will shoot you through the heart! Will you lead me outside of* your lines ?” The Rebel was dumb with surprise, and for a moment hesitated, undecided what to do; but a warning movement from Wilkins brought him to his senses, and he reluctantly consented to eon- duct his captor outside the Rebel lines, *‘Lead on, then,” said Wilkins, “and remember | that if you violate:your word, or by word or ac tion seek to betray me, that instant you shall die,” “It’s a pretty tough case, Yank, but TU take you out safe,” muttared the Rebel, as he moved stealthily toy<2— — = Rebel pickets. ‘Follow me | closely, and step light,” |, Wilkins followed close in his fo | him well covered with his rifle, | every moment closely. | they moved on, until they reached a small ravine, not more than five or six feet deep, running in the direction of the Federal lines. | “This is the only chance, Yank. | tinel on each side of this gully, | yards from it. | right.” | Onthey crept for a hundred yards or more, | when the guide halted, and in,a whisper informed | ee that they were outside the Confederate | lines, | ‘How far are we from them ?” asked Wilking “About fifty yards.” **Then we are about midway between the two lines ?” 4 otsteps, keeping and watchine his Slowly and cautiously There’s a sen- and only a few If we can get through it we are all ‘About half way, I reckon,” | hi | and as the Rebel looked full at Wilkins he ex. Just then the moon, which until then had been dden behind heavy clouds, .shone out bright, claimed: ‘‘Ain’t you the with to-day ?” Wilkins scanned his countenance and recognized 1 same Yank that I compromise: | his quondam antagonist of the day before. Couldn’t we Yank ?” he said. “I can’t see the necessity for it now, JShannie,” replied Wilkins, ‘Affairs have changed since then,” “Johnnie Reb” persistently urged that it-would be nothing more than a fair thing to allow him to return, since he had he/ped Wilkins out of a bad scrap® And possibly Wilkins would have per mitted him to return had he not feared that hi comrades would have doubted the truth of the improbable story he would have to te when he ‘his turned the scale, and Wilkins make another compromise, “The Star-Crowned Maid;” “The Maniac | 8002 had his prisoner inside the Union lines, a] | venture was folly corroborated by the ‘Bhe story he narrated to the colonel of his ad-F ly ¢ : prisoner, Wilkins received a sergeant’s war- efore the week was ended. and Corporal h v 2 8 iy sy Wee drawing himself upon the rock his plea- Co},) Sure was e little dampened by a quick jerk at L» A ome of the legs of his pants, as though some is § AMONG THE SHARKS. A TALE OF THE SEA, BY KROGER STARBUCK, They who have had any experience at sea, will agree with me when I state that the fcre- eastle of a whale-ship is not a pleasant sleep- ing apartment in warm weather. My little shipmate Jack Breeze, or ‘‘Jack- in-the-bunt,” as he was sometimes called, ow- ing to his wonderful dexterity in handling the bunts of the tepsails, could never be persuaded to sleep in the forecastle except when the thermometer was at the freezing point, or when the ship was rolling and pitching in a heavy gale $f wind. On every other occasion when it was the time for his watch to go be- low,‘he would make his bed upon the top of the round-house—a position so near the stern that a man can easily roll from it into the sea, This maneuver was unconsciously performed by Jack Breeze, on a certain night, while his vessel, the Reindeer, was booming through the waters of the South Pacific Ocean, abouta league to windward of the Navigator Islands, under everything she could carry, and home- ward bound. ‘The weather was foggy, and for this reason almost every man belonging to the watch on deck was stationed near the bow in order to keep a good lookout, while the sailor at the wheel should direct his whole attention to the compass and the helm. As to the two officers of the watch—the third and second mates—they were seated upon the carpenter’s bench in the waist, conversing in low tones of home and friends, and occasionally throwing a glance into the main-topmast rigging, in order to make sure that all was right aloft. It will be seen, therefore, that the minds of those on deck were too much absorbed with the management of the ship and other matters to enable them to hear either the splash caused by the fall of Jack’s body or the wild shout which he gave when he awoke to find himself struggling with the waves! Poor Jack! Lit- tle did he think when at seven bells he spread his blanket upon the round-house, that the excitement he had undergone during a recent argument with one of his chums, was des- tined to make him fall overboard! Nevertheless, the accident which afterwards took place was owing to this excitement, for it was the restlessness resulting from if during sleep, that caused him to roll over the edge of the slanting roof. The shock given to his frame by the cool water would have broken a much deeper slumber than that of Jack Breeze, and although he was a little confused at first, it did not take him long to comprehend his situation. He saw the ship’s lantern receding swiftly away from him in the darkness and the mist, heard the flapping of the sails and the creaking of the masta. . Obeying the impulse of the moment, he struck out desperately to- wards the fading light, which, asit glided away, glared tauntingly upon him like the great red eye of some gigantic fiend, whose form is veiled by the darkness as he strides over the sea. But the young sailor soon perceived that his exertions were useless—that he could neither hope to reach the vessel by swimming, nor make himself heard by shouting, and he turned over upon his back for rest and reflec- tion. “They know nothing aboard there of my having fallen overboard—that’s plain enough,” be muttered; ‘‘so my best plan will be to ware round and, make for the Navigator Islands, which, luckily, are to leeward of me, and not so far off Lhope that I cannot reach them. Wind and tide are in my favor, at all events, and I willtry. I is my only chance for life.” With these words he turned around, and a minute later he was striking out manfally in the direction which he hoped would enable him to reach the islands. He had continued his exertions for an hour and e half, when he fancied he could hear the roaring of the breakers ahead. His heart bounded with joy, and additional strength seemed to nerve his’ frame as the welcome sound fell upon his ears. But in a few moments a terrible reaction elouded his mind, and chilled the life currents in his veigs, for with his practised ear he could no longer deceive himself with the hope of gaéning the land. The roar of the breakers was not ehead, as he had at first supposed to be the case, but to windward of the course he was pursuing, and it would be impossible to make sufficient head against wind and current so gain the beach before he should be carried | past itl Still he did not entirely give himself up to | despair. ‘There was a bare possibility of his | being picked up by some native in his canoe, | or of his gaining a foothold upon some one of | the detached rocks in the vicinity of the| island. Olinging to this last hope in particu-| lar, he continued manfally to struggle with the | tide, and it was not until the receding noise of the breakers convinced him that he had al- ready. passed the friendly shores of the isle, that he felt willing to look upon his fate as decided!. Then believing that his doom was fixed—that ean ocean grave was his destiny— he threw himself upon his back, exhausted | both in mind and body, and allowed the re- morseless currents to whirl him along toward the open sea! But in the course of a few minutes his outstretched hands came into con- tact with a substance which he could not mis- take. It was long and stringy, and felt like India-rubber to the touch. “Seaweed!” he exclaimed, in surprise, and rolling over he thrust his hands forward, and clutched the surface of a small rock! In his wild joy he shouted aloud, but as he person were trying to pull him back into the water. He turned his head, expecting to be- hold a savagein his canoe, but he saw nothing except the sparkling foam of the surge in his vicinity. Then, by a sudden, powerful effort, he succeeded in lifting his leg clear of the waves, and with it the upper part of the huge body of a shark, the animal still maintaining its hold of the bottom of his pants! A cry of horror escaped him, but at the same moment he heard the sound of tearing cloth, and the shark dropped into the seal The weight of its body suspended by its sharp teeth to the pants had been too much for the strength of the cotton, which had parted, thus enabling the young sailor to get clear of his unwelcome burden. Shuddering as he thought of his narrow es- eape, Jack now sprang to his feet as quickly as possible, and then proceeded to take a survey of his position as well as the darkness, faintly relieved by the phosphorescent light of the waves, would permit, He perceived that the rock upon which he stood did not rise to an elevation exceeding a foot above the surface of the water. The gloom of nig::t, together with that of the fog, pre- vented his vision from extending to a greater distance than six fathoms in any direction, and his sensations were far from pleasant when his eyes fell upon a number of long, dark-looking fins which were slowly cleaving the surface of the space of water exposed to his view! To and fro they moved, approaching the rock one moment and receding from it the next, as though their owners were trying to contrive some means to get at their prey. Occasional- ly, when close to the young sailor’s position, two or three of these ferocious creatures—and they were the most formidable-looking sharks that Jack had ever seen—would leap nearly the whole length of their bodies out of the water, with their jaws open, as though they hoped in this manner to get a ‘‘snap” at one of the legs or hands of the youth. Seating himself upon the central portion of the rock, Jack continued to watch his ene- mies, and to struggle against the feeling of drowsiness which was gradually stealing over him. But nature was too powerful, and in the course of a couple of hours his head drooped upon his bosom and he fell into a doze, which lasted until daylight. When he opened his eyes he perceived that he had not changed his attitude during sleep, and the first objects that met his gaze were the dark fins of the sharks still gliding about the water in his vicinity. The fog had not yet cleared, and the island was therefore still curtained from his vision. But a wider stretch of water was now exposed to view, and the light of day penetrating to him in spite of the thick mist, made him feel cheerfal. the edge of his rocky platform and examined its sides. ‘Then he rose to his feet, looked to- wards the sharks and shuddered. ‘‘Perhaps I am mistaken, after all,’’ he mut- tered; *‘perhaps the rock was but half a foot | above the surface of the sea last night, as it is now.” He refiected a few moments, and then drew a small dirk-knife from his jacket, to which was fastened a lanyard madeof twine. Kneel- ing close to the edge of the rock, he lowered the knife until the point of the blade was with- in a quarter of an inch of the surface of the sea, which was now as smooth as aslate. In this position he held the dirk for about a quar- ter of an hour, at the end of which time, per- ceiving that the water had risen above the point of the weapon, ke replaced the latter in his pocket and again looked towards his fero- cious enemies. ‘*Ehe tide is coming in,” he muttered; ‘there can no longer be any doubt upon that score, and this rock will soon be covered with the water, and then——” He completed the sentence by a sigrificant glance towards the sharks, A shudde con- vulsed his frame. He felt that he must be- come a prey to these fierce creatures as soon as the tide should overflow his narrow plat- form. Was there any way to escape thij fear- faldoom? He reflected long and deeply, but he could think of none. In the memtime there was the water rising higher every mo- ment—creeping slowly but steadily up the sides sides of the rock. It was already yithin four inches of the upper edges. Ho pulled his dirk from his pocket and opened the blade. This could afford him but little assistance against a swarm of sharks, for these animals have been known to live and to do much mis- chief for hours after their bodies have been nearly cut in two by a whaler’s spade, The young sailor was not ignorant of this fact; but he felt that it was his duty to fight these mon- sters to the last—to die, if he must die, with his dirk im his hand! But while he stood awaiting the final mo- ment, with his weapon tightly grasped in his right hand, he thought he could distinguish the sound of a paddle striking against a canoe. The noise seemed to proceed from a long dis- tance, but not doubting that he could make himself heard, he shouted with all the power of his lungs. He repeated tke ory until he was hoarse, but there came no response, and he again prepared himself to meet his fate like a brave man. The water was by this time within a quarter of an inch of the upper edge of the rock, and numbers of the sharks were now leaping near- ly their whole length out of the sea, as though exulting because their prey was almost within the grasp of their ferocious jaws. ‘Twenty minutes afterward the pumps upon upon our hero’s feet were submerged, and he saw his enemies closing around him in a oir- cle. In a few minutes the water would be deep enough to enable them to reach him, and in spite of all his efforts the blood rushed back to his heart and his cheek grew pale as the Suddenly, however, he sprang to} terrible moment drew near. Oue of the mon- sters was already within two feet of him, with its jaws open, and its teeth bristling as though eager for the anticipated feast, and the eyes of the young tar were riveted upon this creature with a steady gaze, for he believed that it would be the first to attack. him. It absorbed his attention so much that he did not see a canoe, guided by a tall, half naked islander, emerge from the fog and con- tinue to glide rapidly toward the spot he oecupied. It was not until the little vessel was within six fathoms of him, that he per- ceived it, and before he could express his joy at the sight, the canoe dashed alongside of him, and he was drawn into it by the powerful arms ofthe native. He thanked his rescuer heartily, and the latter replied to him in broken English. He stated that he had heard the shouts of the young sailor, and had thus been enabled to piadts his canoe in the right direction. We have only to add that Jack was kindly treated by the islanders during the two weeks that he remained among them. At the end of that time he shipped in a vessel bound to the Northwest, on a cruise after right whales, ee ee ETHEL'S MISTAKE. BY EDA MAYVILLE, Alone in the bright, cheerful little room, with its heavy lace curtains, its velvet carpets, its fancy rugs, its vases, and pictures, and birds, and plants, sat Ethel Carlton. Beauti- ful Ethel! with orange blossoms in her shin- ing, golden hair, the rich folds of snowy satin falling around her matchless form—Ethel, in all the paraphernalia of a bride. Below the sound of merry voices rang out, yet silently she sat, tears trembling upon her eyelids anda look of sorrow upon her young face. In her hand the held a letter. The chirography was plain, and the bold strokes bore evidence that it bad been written in faith and confidence that no thought of the trouble it would cause had crossed the brain of the happy writer. In her childhood Ethel had known Frank Eaton, a brave, brown-haired lad, with reguish black eyes, that always softened at her ap- proach, Together they had rambled through the breezy woods and rested upon the hills; together they had culled the first blossoms of spring, and when in autumn the golden fruits hung low upon the branches, together they had filled their tiny baskets as they trudged homeward from the country school. Very early in life had Ethel learned the sweet lesson that sooner or later comes to all | Ske knew, almost before the wild hilarity of | childhood had given way to the sweet serenity of womanhood, that in her heart was already | Shrined one whom neither time nor absence | cotild displace. Before her fifteenth summer, Frank was sent away'to school. She remem- bgke~now, sitting there, how handsome he ; locked when be bade her good-bye, his heart | elats with bounding hope; and she remembers | too how lohely and‘ deselaté the long spring | mn snths seemed to her, and how she would creep away to the haunts they had frequented and weep for the absent loved one, wondering why it was that no letter came to cheer her solitude. At last, after a year’s absence, there came a whisper from hi3 friends that Frank’s health was failing—that he was scarcely able to pur- sue his studies; and then for a long time all was silent. Ethel heard nothing; pride would not let her inquire concerning him. She knew not if helived. If he did or not, what mattered itto her? She was forgotten. Four years went by, and to the quiet home of Ethel there came a stranger—a proud, no- ble, handsome man, Nor was it any wonder that, as weeks ripened into months, and his visits became frequent, that Hthel should be- come interested. She was lonely; his brilliant ideas and fascinating manners pleased her; besides he was very attentive, and knew well the little “‘airy nothings” so sweet to the ear of woman—the words which say so little, yet mean so much. ; Yet when he asked her to be his wife, the | delicate natura revolted, knowing as she did that heart and hand could not both be given. Bat serious reflection overcame the feeling. Pride came to the rescue. Frank had never told her that he loved her; and for years she had known nothing of him; he had forgotten her, while she mourned him as deeply as at first. She would put by such childishness; she would be a woman, and if her heart could never again throb the quicker for words of love, it should be no reason that she should consign another to the wretched life she led | That Henry Thorne, her handsome suitor, i loved, she never for a moment doubted; and as she listened to his low, impassioned plead- , ings, she placed her hand in his and told him that she would be his wife. | And now the day had come for the nuptials. | But alas! that morniag she had received a letter from the iruant—a letter from the boy lover—telling her that he should be home soon; that his health was quite recovered, his studies completed; then followed a resume of the hours they had spent together, of, the art- less happiness of their early years, long linger- ing assurances of unfailing affection, a full and earnest declaration o&fove and a proposal for her hand, For a while her senses whirled in a wild confusion of joy; then the past and present rose before her; she remembered it was her bridal day, the day that she must take upon herself the terrible sin of perjury; that she must utter vows to which her bleeding heart gave no response. Like a térrible phantom, the form of her affianced lover seemed to rise between her and happiness; but at last she re- membered all his softly-whispered assurances of affection; his truthful, éarnest manner; and then she thought of the long years of Frank’s eruel silence, and she doubted if the words traced upon the page before her were the promptings of a heart that beat alone for her; doubted while she loved. The hour had arrived for the ceremony. Ethel arose as Henry Thorne entered her apart- ment; she looked into his eyes and gazed long upon the classic, handsome face; then, her own features settling into an expression of stern resolve, she said mentally, ‘Tt is my duty and I will try te love you;” and leaning upon his arm she went below. The ceremony was performed, and half an hour later a sweet young face, half hidden by its bridal lace, looked tearfplly out from the carriage window, bidding a silent adien to all; and that was the last of Ethel Carlton. Six years later a sad, pale woman stopped at one of the hotels in the pleasant city of S. It was Mrs. Thorne, our little friend Ethel. Life was destined to be to her a weary pil- grimage. Her marriage had proved unfortu- nate. Her husband was cold, cruel, cause- lessly jealous; and worse than all, now a bloat- ed inebriate. How singularly threads of existence are in- terwoven, How strangely fates run across. Sitting quietly in the public parlor of the ho- tel, Ethel raised her eyes to meet the earnest gaze of the only man she had ever loved, and from whom, for nearly half her life, she had been separated. He came eagerly forward at her glance of recognition, clasped her hand eagerly, then, as if remembering their social positions, dropped and stepped back respect- fally, saying, earnestly, ‘Ethel, tell me, are you happy? Do you find all the bright dreams of early life real- ized ?” What right had he to question her? author of all her trouble? For a moment her cheek paled and her eyes sought the ground, but pride again came to the resoue, and she replied firmly, ‘‘Yes.” He spoke not for a moment; his eyes filled with tears as he gazed upon her with such lin- gering, hopeless tenderness, At length with a trembling, unnatural voice. he said, ‘Ethel, life is worthless to me.” Then turning he left her, passed ont of the house, and she knew he had gone to return there no more. ifor a week her brain was in a constant whirl of excitement, a hundred different emotions striving for the mastery. At the end of that time a sudden summons came to her. Her husband, crossing a rickety bridge in the night, had fallen into the river and was drowned. His body after a long search had been recovered. With dismay she hastened home, feeling in her heart almost that she was his murderer, ag that the shock had fallen as a Judgement her for the wickedness of entertaining teu for another which in themselves were sin. The funeral obsequies were performed—an in her desolate home Ethel sat down to m over her singular, yet wholly unkappy ff Clouds and darkness seemed closing with mo: density around her. ‘There were.no straggli rays of sunshire—naught but deep impen'! trable gloom. And thus days and weeks went by—and then? Nothing save the tangled web of life was made smooth. Ail that had seemed strange and mysterious in the past was ex- plained by the appearance of Frank Eaton, who, true to the first love of his heart, had waited on through long. hopeless years, firmly believing that the time would come when the one wish of his heart could be realized, the wish to claim his little Ethel as his own loved bride, +@* THE LONE CABIN IN THE WILDERNESS. BY HANK THE HUNTER, When the savages attacked and burned Red- mond, one of the most flourishing of the set- tlements at that time, there was one house far upon the outskirts of the town, which from this very reason escaped their notice, and con- sequently their fury. In the darkness of the night, glutted with carnage and plunder, and burdened with captives, they quitted the scene without having discovered this dwelling, which was at the time occupied by a widow, who be- ing too poor to obtain other shelter for herself and six young children, had taken up her abode here, She had escaped this time, but was left more defenseless than ever by being so far removed from the vicinity of any of the settlers; and one night she was awakened from her slumbers by the whooping yells of a hordes of the mis- creants, who, passing that way, had chanced upon her humble abode, He, the ! with wild kisses, into the oven, bidding them \ retreat to its farther extremity, and whatever happened, to make no noise. There wis an angle in the oven into which the little creajures obediently crowded themselves, and taking some Skoldering coals from the hearth, Mrs. Munro stttered a few at the mouth ofthe oven, and létt the door ajar. She then progeeded to open the outer door to the savages, €xpecting to be at once braihed by their tomahawks, but with her distresa of mind somewhat alleviated by the thought that her children might, thtengh the precautions she had taken, eseape notice. The instant the door wa opened the h- dians poured into the little room, seizing the widow, but offering her no injury- Theythen proceeded to plunder the cabin of everything that attracted them, and peering abdut for the ‘missing children, whom they suspected to be hidden away, and whose presence they sur- mised from various childish signs about. every movement they made, lest the liftlsons: should cry out and thus disclose their hiding- place, or be discovered by some other means. Several of the savages peered suspiciously into the dark depths of the capacious oyen, but when one of their number pointed significant- ly to the smouldering coals which the prudent mother had scattered at the mouth, they de- sisted from further search. Mrs. Munro watched them in an agony, léat they should set fire to her little dwelling, But, contrary to their usual custom, ‘they quitted the spot without doing so, and drows- ing a deep sigh of relief, she rudgeantign with her captors so cheerfully_as te. attract their attention, and extract from them) various sigus of approbation, which she was ‘not SLOW to interpret and improve to her advaritage. She quietly resolved to diligently watch lier chance, and embrace the first opportunity to escape from them. No such opportunity offered that night, nor the next, but cencealing her distracted stat; of mind, because of her children, whom ah feared might freeze to death or porish wit hunger, or wander forth into the woods in search of her and get lost, she continued her |journey with apparently the same contented | pa as before, Affected by this, the savages gradually saf- | fered her more freedom, and when ¢hey lay, | down about their camp-fire that night, didaoj | with the rigor of the px confine hg night N | slip carg ow oO 1 const her an boy of some 0 woods, # pon it the now. He had kept the ri house, and altogether, conducteS@@Mfiatters & wise and prudent manner, worthy of an old head. Mrs. Munro was well aware that it would net answer now to remain where she was an hour longer than was necessary; yet how to get away, with neither conveyance of any sort, nor animal to draw such conveyance if she had it, she knew not. She was, however, a woman of indomitable energy and untiring resources, and she set about at once active preparat for the journey, which she did not know J to accomplish, but which she was determi} she would accomplish by some means, The happening and peril of that hazardo™ and sorely beset journey, we must reserve fill a future sketch, lest it should make this too jongthy. oa PLAYING CARDS. THE AMERICAN GARD COMPANY'S Ni} UNION PLAYING CARDS, NATIONAL EMBLEMS, They are the prettiest card. made, and suit the pow idea. The suits are EaGuxs, SHIELDS, Srars, and #L COLONEL in plagg of King, Goppess or Liuexty for Quy +A Rousing, she cast agonized glances at her little ones, who were still sleeping peacefully in their little beds. The doors and windows be- ing well barred and secured, the foe had not yet succeeded in making an entrdnce, but, doubtless, soon would do so. Waking the children, she hushed their cries of fright by threats more terrible to them than even the savages, and proceeded with the utmost haste to dress them warmly, well knowing that if captured and forced to travel through the wil- derness at that inclement season they must otherwise perish with cold. Meanwhile, she cast actively about in her mind for some means of escape, for some help in this dire and terrible emergency. The In- dians were fercing an entrance, which she had no means of repelling, when her eye fell provi- dentially upon the huge brick oven which was on one side of the fire-place. Hurriedly open- ing it, and threatening the little ones if they | bearing foreign emblems made any noise, she thrust one after another, an be played as readily as with canis Kach pack is putup in aa ee gant c:rd-case, and then in dozen boxes for the trade. 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