| hard every spare moment, having a natural in-
% clination in that direction, and he had become
“) a master of sciences and languages, and the pos-
) Sessor of quite a library, which he had greatly |

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

se Lf PPP EP TIO”

 

 

 

STREET & SMITH,
No. 11 Frankfort St.

 

 

“WHO WON THE WIDOW’S
HEART?

2

BY ANNIE &,.

 

 

In a bower 2 maiden dwelt,

At her feet three suitors knelt;

Each adored maiden much—
Each essayed Her heart to touch;
One had wit, and one had gold,

And one was cast in beapty’s mould;
Guess which won it—won the prize—
Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes?

First appeared the handsome man,
Proudly peeping o’er her fan;

\. Red his lips and white his skin,
Could such beauty fail to win?
Then stepped forth the man of gold,
Cash he counted, coin he told,
Wealth, the burden of his tale—
Could such golden projects fail?

Then the manvof wit and sense
Wooed her with his eloquence;

Now she blushed, she knew not why,
Then she heaved an ardent sigh;
Then sbe smiled to hear him spéak,
Then the tear was on her eheek;
Beauty vanish, gold depart,

Wit has won the widew’s heart.

 

> «@>

THE

 

 

ay

 

SILVER SHIP; |
OR, @

The Bloodhound of the Caribbean!

 

A SPANISH-AMERICAN STORY.

 

BY LOUIS LEON.

 

CHAPTER <I.
THE HAMMOCK MAKER,

In a central portion of the Caribbean sea,
there is a group of islands which is called on
an old Spanish map before me, Las Islas Es-
condidas, or the Hidden Islands. The largest,
isla Grande, is about fifteen miles in length by
six to eight in breadth, and is rich in every
variety of tropical scenery, in addition to those
minor riches which have caused it of late years
to become noted (under a less romantic name
than that given it by the old chronicler) for
its sugar and molasses.

On the north side of Isla Grande, midway
between its ends, there is a deep land-locked
bay, in which a hundred ships might anchor,
at the head of which stood the only settlement
the island contained; a village of two or three
hundred .inhabitants, who were chiefly em-
ployed in hammock-making and fishing,

To the right of this village, on the promon-
tory defining the southern side of the bay,
stood a neat cottage, under several lofty palms,
which formed a striking feature of that part
of the coast.

In the little porch of the cottage, one after- |.

 

 

 

$2 50 PER YEAR,
Invariably in Advance.

No.

 

 

 

NEW YORK, MARCH 81, 1864

 

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS BY STREET & SMITH, IN 1864, IN CLERK’S OFFICE OF DISTRICT COURT OF UNITED STATES FOR SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORE-

 

 

 

boat was on its way back to the galleon. On
landing, he was met by acrowd of his ae-
quaintances, all asking for some information
about the vessel and its oceupants. Dismiss-
ing them by telling them that he really knew
nothing of the stranger, Ruy hurried to the
cottage, where his father was now quietly re-
posing from the labors of the day and smoking
a pipe.

+ “Well, Ruy, what is she?” he asked. ‘She
has an air of mystery. I notice that she is
well armed, and that a guard is posted fore
and aft.”

“She is mysterious, that’s certain,” replied
Ruy; ‘‘but she’s honest, I can vouch for it,
Her owner and commander are gentlemen.
I like them!”

Leaving his father to await the return of
Tolet, our hero improved his appearance by
brushing his hair and changing his clothes,
and then went to the little store of the village,
where he expended: his doubloon and some

 

additional change in a book and a dress, and
set out through the rear of the village towards
the interior of the island.

CHAPTER IL
YOLAs

As we have indicated, Isla.Grande was one
of those paradises which are found only in the

 

“HE DID NOT STAND UPON CEREMONY, BUT SHOT THE MOST TROUBLESOME OF HIS ASSAILANTS DEAD WITH HIS PISTOL!”

 

 

increased by a couple of visits to Havana with
hammocks,

The Leols were engaged at the moment we
look upon them, in netting hammocks and in
watching a galleon which had appeared off the
bay, aud was about a couple of miles from it,

The wind had been light and changefyl dur-
ing the day, and was now dying out gradually,
so that the galleon (which had been several
hours visible) had become nearly motionless,
a puff only occasionally filling and shaking her
sails,

As the Leols continued to watch the stranger,
conversing with one another, a cloud was seen
rising above the western horizon and advane-
ing toward the sun. :

‘It's my opinion, Rny,” said Leol, with a
glance at the sky, “that yon gaileon had bet-
ter take shelter in the bay till to-morrow.
She s too much among the islands to move after
nightfall under such a gale as is coming.”

“That's clear enough,” replied Ruy. ‘‘Per-
haps her commander contemplates such a
step. See! a boat, is being lowered from her.’’

The movement he had remarked was suf-
ficient to attract the general attention of the
villagers, young and old, and they collected on
the beach, watching the proceedings. It was,
seldom that a'vessel passed within sight of
Isla Grande, and still less frequently that ene
had any communication with the inhabitants.
‘“‘Now that a sensation has broken in upon

noon in August, 1820, were seated three per- |®ur work, father,” said Iolet Leol, arising, “I

sons, comprising a family named Leol, a mid-
die aged man, a youth of twenty years, anda
young girL

The first had a frank and honest face, and
was the possessor of a hardy frame; but there
was nothing remarkable about him, save that
he seemed more intelligent and domestic than
the majority of his neighbors.

The last was the daughter of the preceding,
Tolet Leol, a bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked
maiden of seventeen or eighteen years, with
unusual beauty, and with an intelligence that
was still more remarkable for one in her walk
of life. She was both noble and charming.

The middle figure in the group, and the one
the most noticeable, was that of Ruy Leol, the
foster-son of the old hammock-maker, and
consequently the foster-brother of Iolet.

Ruy was of splendid appearance, having a
talland powerful frame, well-knit by en active
life, and.a countenance expressive of the rare
manliness and ability with which nature had
endowed him.

His real name and origin were unknown.
He had been left, one night, when a mere
babe, before the cottage of Senor Leol, and it
was supposed that he had been put ashore,
from some cause or other, from some passing
vessel.

During the last five years he had studied

 

will go and pay my promised visit to Senora
Miron, and take her some of those nice fish !%

“Very well, child,” said her father. ®*Re-
turn before dark!" :

The girl took her unfinished hammock into
the house, provided herself with a little basket
of dainties likely to please an invalid neigh-
bor, and left the dwelling, with a light re-
mark to her father and Ruy, going down the
coast of the island.

The boat which had heen seen leaving the
galleon neared the shore rapidly, propelled by
a dozen stout arms, and was soon near enough
for the watchers to mark distinetly the noble
and distinguished appearance of the man in
command of it. A few moments more anf it
reached the land.

**A good day to you all, Senors,’’ was the
greeting of the new comer. “I wish to see
the best weather-prophet and pilot among
you !”

“That's Ruy Leol!” ora a dozen voices in
chorus.

‘Where is he?”

The young hammock-maker, who had steadi-
ly continued his work, was pointed out by a
score of willing hands, and the distinguished
looking visitor moved along the shore towards
the cottage. .

He was about forty-five years of age, and
such a man aS one may take a day’s journey
without meeting—dignified and aristocratic,

 

without being haughty; kind and genial, with-
out being either patronizing or familiar; deep-

ly versed in business, without being debased
by it; in a word, a man of true nobility; one
who considers and entirely respects the rights
and happiness of others while commanding
his own. He was richly dressed, in that plain
style which is a part of true refinement.

His wishes were soon stated to Ruy,

He was the owner of the vessel, and wanted
a pilot to bring her into the bay, as a precau-
tiohary measure against the ce ming tempest.
He scanned the face of the young hammock-
maker closely, while talking with him, ap-
pearing to be struck by it.

The conversation of the two*men exhibited
entire accord on the prospeetsof a storm, and
the necessity of seeking the shelter of the
bay, and Ruy went off with the stranger to
the vessel. She was large, an.j both old and
old-fashioned, having three decks and a high
stern and bow. She carried a crew of thirty
men, all well armed. Her captain was a
young man of fine presence aad ability, and
had a manner which at once fixed the respect
of Ruy, and placed him at his ease. Taking

command, the young pilot ordere: i] f a brace
of boats to tow, took advantage ommmery puff
of wind, keeping a sharp lookout? “he reefs

lining the channel in several places id in an
hour the galleon was safely anche in the
bay. '

‘‘We have reached this safety none too soon,
Senor Leol,” said the owner of the galleon,
when the pilot's duties were ended. ‘I sup-
pose your bay is quite safe now that we are
fairly in it?” +

“Quite safe, Senor. You wil! house all, of
course, and drop all your anchors, but it will
be an extraordinary gale, indeed, if it gives
you any particular trouble!”

The owner unconsciously drew a sigh of
relief at these words, and then took several
doubloons carelessly from his pocket, and
handed them to Ruy, saying :

‘Accept these for my sincera thanks for
your care and skillfulness, Senor Leol!” -

‘Tt’s too much for the service, Senor,”
said Ruy, quickly. ‘The half of one of those
pieces is amply sufficient!"

The wealthy stranger looked at him a mo-
ment, not only with a wondering and inquir-
ing glancé, but with positive astonishment,
and tben said:

“Nonsense. You have earned more than a
common feo, If I mistake hot, there was a
moment, as that last ptfl strack us in the
narrows, when a less ski’yol eye and hand
would have got us into Mpible. Tuke it—I
insist!”

A heightened color eame to Ruy’s face at
the compliment paid him, as he replied, with
a quiet smiles

‘All that is in the way of business. Never-
theless, since I have had, as you are pleased
to notice, some extra anxiety and trouble, I
will accept one of those pieces, as I havea
very particular use for it.’’

The stranger’s face expressed a kindly in-

 

terest and undisguised admiration, and he
tried to force larger pay upon Ruy than he
had named, but in vain. He finally said:

‘Well, perhaps I shall see you again before
we can resume our voyage. In the meantime,
as you are certainly quite a different person
from any I expected to find here, let me ask
you a few questions, First, do you see any-
thing singular in our presence in these
waters ?”’

“Well, yes—if yon want a candid reply,
Ssnor. It occurred to me that one of three
facts is concerned—that you have been. driven
out of your course; that yon have gone ont of
it unknowingly; or that yon have intentional-
ly run out of it to keep clear of pirates.”

The stranger's eyes sparkled, and he ex-
claimed:

“Capital! You reason well, Senor Leol.
Let me frankly say, since I seo that you are a
reliabie man, both at head and heart, that the
latter supposition is the true one. We have
been chased by a pirate, whom’we believed to
be the famous Scourge, or Bloodhound, or
whatever he is called.”

“Ti’s. quite likely. We hear of him occa-
sionally in these waters. You shook him off?”

‘*Yes—or he us, I hardly know which. The
factin the case is that he was near us last
night at sunset, and ont of sight this morning,
just as we found ourselves out of wind. What
becomes of him when he thus vanishes? Has
he a reireat on some of these islands? Is it
possible that he goes ashore somewhere as a
quiet citizen, when hiding from pursuit or
tired of his profession ?”

“That's hard to-say,” replied Ruy. ‘The
thing that admits of no donbt,’”’ he added,
pleasantly, ‘is that ypu are fortunate to be
well rid of him.”’

“You really know nothing about him,
then ?”’

“Nothing definite,” ansvered Ruy—‘‘noth-
ing more thau the common rumors known to
every one in these seas,”

After a few further remarks, he took his
leave of the owner and commander, they
causing him to be sent ashore in a boat. Their
parting glances were expressive of a singular
interest,

“Who does that younz man look like?”
asked tho stranger, abruptly, as he turned to
his captain.

“Like yourself, Count.’’

“You notic2d it, then-the strange resem-
blance! It occupied me all the while he was
here, and tempted moe to say something confi-
dential to him.”

‘'T were idle to do so,” said Captain Ro-
mero, gravely. ‘The seas do not give up
their dead,”

“And yetI was tempted to ask him of his
history. As it is, I will see himagain. Of
course the resemblance means nothing, in the
light of sober fuet, but it inereases my deep
interest in him. Ti see him to-morrow.”

Ruy had now reached the shore, and the |

West Indies, and its beauty burst upongthg
sight of thy young hammoc*\ymakyr the iaSo ae
he reached the little hill back of the village—_
a landscape of several square miles spreading
out before him, and forming a miniature of .
the whole earth, having rivers, creeks, lakes,
woods, valleys, plains, etc., all-as wild asin
the primeval morning of their existence.

As he passed along, he saw palms of various
genera, including the stately cabbage-palm,
with leaves like waving plumes. He saw tall
mango trees, with spreading tops, with leaves
pendant in dark green masses, and with
trunks like smooth and even columns. He saw
the summits of the rocky hills crowned, in
glorious luxuriance, with tree ferns, over
which convolvoli and other creepers had clifab-
ed and suspended their painted and odorous
blossoms, He saw the trunks of trees almost:
hidden by gay and fragrant mosses, and the
soil thiekly sprinkled with plants and flowers
that are cherished in the Northern States of
America as exotics, and are intoxicating in
their rich perfumes. He saw the wild fig-tree,
of giant proportions, sending down suckers
from its branches into the earth from a height
of eighty or ninety feet, each tree thus form-
ing a grove initself. He saw fieldsof bamboo,
of marvellous growth; the nutmeg, the cassia,
the Friendly Island bread-fruit, an@ a thou-
sand other rare and valuable products, growing
in the wild and magnificent pomp so charac-
teristic of the tropics, and eombining to ren-
der Isla Grande a perfect paradise to its fortu-
nate inhabitants. Pineapples, oranges, pa-
paws, bananas, plantains, spices, and other
fruits and vegetables, were there ‘in profusion.
Birds of all kinds, including water-fowl,
abounded, and Ruy saye@reen turtles and fish
luxuriating in the 2” gece and creeks,
where they weré so easily caught that the sport
of hunting, fishing, and turtling, lost their
zest at Isla Grande, and the poorest person on
the island daily fed on what aréin other places
the rarest and most costly luxuries.

Through this charming scenery, so spicy and
fragrant our hero proceeded about half a mile,
and at length came in view of an old and
small stone monastery, built on a deep arm of
the sea, in adense jungle. It was reputed by
the villagors to have been erected bya band of
monks, who retired to this lovely spot many
years before, and who deserted it not long af-
ter it was finished, returning whence they
came. It was now the residence of Padre
Lasso, the only priest on the island, his re- ©
puted niece Yola, and their old housekeeper
Near the padre’s residence stood the old
church, where the villagers assembled every
Sabbath.

Passing into a spicy grove, Ruy &:9n pene-
trated into a. romantic spot at some distance
from the priest’s dwelling. The trees were
draped in blossoming creepers, and the tops
of some of them were broad sheets of odorous
flowers.

Suspended between two of these trees, and
rocking gently to and fro at considerable dis-
tance above him, was a handseme and strong-
ly made hammock. From the ground, no oc-
eupant could be seen. :

Ruy smiled as he sawa rope ladder dang-
ling against one of the trees, and quickly

 

mounted, ascending into the branches, and

 

 

 

 

 

      
  
 

 

 
 

 

 

   
   
   
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

 

  

SS Anca.

 

 

Se a

cree'ping out so that he could look into the
haramock.

An enchanting picture met his gaze.

Reclining against a pile of soft and rich-
{ooking shawls, with a book in one hand, and
her lap filled with oranges, bananas, end con-
fecticnery, was a young girl. She was not
more than seventeen, and possessed a petite

and graceful form, a classic head, crowned
with pale, golden curls, and a face.so spiriluel-
te, so charming im its innocence, so exquisite-
ly perfect and delicate in it8 rare and glorious
beauty, that it seemed the face of an‘angel, |

Ruy’s eyes looked tenderly and lovingly up-
onher | ,

*Yeia,” he said softly, “guess who’s here ?”

The girl locked up, with a start of delight, ex-
claiming, ;

‘On, Ruy, ’m so gladto see you! Come in
hers! See, I’ve got a little nest for you!”

She moved aside a little, and disposed the
ee into a-nest large enough for two, and then
esi
“ome, Ruy, it’s owr hammock, you know, for

you gave it to me.” \

Disposing his bundles under his arm, the young
‘man crept out into the nest arranged for him.

“Tmo glad to see you, darling,” said the girl,
putting her arms around his neck. Dear Ruy.”

The young man returned her loving embrace
den a fervor that showed how devotedly heloved

er.

“What are you reading, darling ?” ho then said,
picking up her book, ‘Spanish, French, or En-

18} *.
“Thanks to yon, dear Ruy,” answered Yola, lov-

’ ingly, “I can read or speak all three of those lan-
* guages. This book is Byron’s poems, in English,
the one you bought me at Havana.”

“Lot me hear you read a little,” said Ruy.

The young girl obeyed, reading with so pure ah
gccent and so clear a comprehension, that Ruy
bf obliged to kiss her repeatedly in his admira-

tion.

**Well done, little Yola,” he said, with a smile,
as he closed the book. ‘Here is your reward.”

He handed her the book and bundle.

The book was opened first,-and proved to be a
richly bound copy of De Solis’ “Conquest of
Mexico.”

“Oh, thank you, dear Ruy! How much I shall
prize it!” she exclaimel, flushing with delight.
“How good you were to buy it for me.”

‘Now open the bundle,” said her lover, sharing
her pleasure. “See how you like its contents.”

The girl untied the package, revealing its con-
tenis—a dress of blue silk, sprinkled closely with
grow Pahes_-reeey, the product of Northern

ooms. . ;

Although full of a sweet and womanly deli¢acy,
Yola was but a child in her enthusiasm, and her
admiration was pleasant to witness.

“I do love pretty things, dear Ruy,” she said,
holding it up to her in soft folds. ‘‘And I do love
you!” she added, nestling in his bosom. ‘You
must have deprived yourself of books to give me

this splendid dress; andI love you all the more.
for rs generous self-denial.”
_ “I am glad you like it,” answered Ruy, delight-
-ed with the reception of his gifts. ‘I came over

to have a nice, long talk with you, little Yola. I

‘have been thinking some of becoming a sailor.”

“A sailor ?” exclaimed the girl, her cheek paling
and her becoming frightened in their ex-
preamian, “Oh, Ruy, would you bea sailor, and

eave me here, where no one loves men—leave
‘me to mourn continually for you?”

- “If it were necessary for me to go, little dar-
ing,” he gaid, tenderly, ‘‘you would be brave and
ss kDOW YOU wo’ You know I am poor,
have to c bammock-makitg a
pig wuile before I can make a pretty home for
you. Iwantto get rich, and bring you to a luxa-

rious———" :

‘No, Ruy,” interrupted Yola, * ‘You must not
think of going off and working alone. It is not
the luxuries I care for, it is you! Think, dear

Ruy, “how happy I could make you in your little

os down by the sea; how I would festoon it
with flowers; weave mats’to carpet it; how you
would add toit and brighten it up; and how we
would work lovingly and earnestly together! I
want to work with you, querido mio, I don’t want
totake the benefits resulting from it when you
have worked allalone! No, no, my own Ruy!”
and sho kissed him earnestly. ‘‘I want to be your
little wife in poverty as well as in wealth |!”

Tears came to Ruy’s eyes at her artless confes-
sion, and hoe said, in a voice full of emotion, as he
pressed her to his breast,

‘*A man blessed by the love of such a noble and
pure little women as you are, Yola, can do no less
than become good and great for her sake! You
are the star that lights me onward and upward—
you are my patron saint, little Yola—you are the
brine of my aspirations—the ark of my hopes
and rest! Do you believe,” he added, “that your
uncle will consent to our marriage ?” ;

“JT don’t believe he is my uncle,” answered the
girl, her bright, sweet face clouded for amoment.

I wish I knew who I Ruy! There’s some
mystery about mo, and Id like to know what it is.
The padre would like to kon me in ignorance,
2nd_ he tells me such strange things——”

“Strange things ?” echoed ‘Ruy. :

“Yes, darling. His eyes eae frightfally
when he saysthem. He tells meI shall go to
parsstory if [love any young man on the island!

ut, purgatory or no Purgatory,” she add
kissing him repeatedly, “I love you! I love you
And I am going to marry you, too, Ruy!”

Qur hero sighed, while tears again came to his
eyes. The love of such a pure child-woman, so
lovely, so beautiful, and so innocent, thrilled him
with a worshipping tenderness—a strong and
protecting love.

The mystery of her relations, and the strange
actions of the padrein warning her against loy-
ing any of the youth of Isla Grande, made him
fear that, in his poverty and obscurity, he would
be refused, if he should ask for her.

Besides, the padre had always appeared to ha
him, even from his early boyhood. That hatre
had its cause, he believed, in some mystery he
gould not fathom.

‘I think I shall have to go away, Yola,” he said,
after a thoughtful pause. ‘Perhaps the padre
intends to get you a rich husband, one of these
days, and so wishes you to keep aloof from young
men here! Ishan’t be gone long at a time, if I
decide to go, darling!”

‘‘Wait a while longer!” said the girl, blushing.
“Qld Yora said one day that I was no relation to
the padre, and I am going to ask him right away
about it. Perhaps I'm somebody rich. If I am,
Buy, aie give it all to you. Wait a little while

onger

“If you had millions,” and he kissed her ten-
derly, “it would not change my purpose of cary-
ing my way, darling. I must rise by my own
strength of will and p se. I must mark my
path. Ihave no wish to live and die, little Yola,

ike the millions around us. I want to leave my

mark!”

The girl’s face flushed with loving admiration.

You are right, tg &s you always are,” she
said. ‘You want to leave a shining track, like
vessels in the sunlight! And that reminds me,”
she added, ‘‘thatas I lay here this afternoon I
saw a handsome galleon enter the bay. Perhaps
some one on board of her might help youl”
Wate go and see!” hejsaid. “It isa good

ea ”

He told her of his visit to it, and described the
owner and the commander, concluding:

re are both gentlemen. It may be that
=. ill give me something to Go|”

ola approved his resolve and then kissed him,

5 began to weep, still caressing and blessing

m,

“T will be true to. you; darling!” she whispered;
“don’t mind my foolish tears. I’ll think of you
continually day and night, and pray for you—not
before the priest, but to that God who hears in

but will wait for you hopefully and patiently,
feeling that I too have something todo! And
you will always remember, Ruy, how your little
ola loyes you!”
She embraced him, clinging to him, unable to
restrain her tears, yet forcing a smilethat touched
her lover’s heart with the keenness of a knife,

secret! I will not reveal ourlove or engagement, | b

os

te ae

 

 

and the gun was getting ow when Ruy declare
that he must gohome. Theydescended the tree
together, and strolled trough the wood towards
the sea, lingering over the parting.

says. Good night, ray precious little Yolal”

e held her tiny figure to his breast and show-
ered kisses and.caresses upon her, calling her
sweet names and murmuring his love for her.

She answered as a@ true woman ever answers
in faith, in hope, in trust, and in all the graces
and. glories of her spirit—and at length, with a
stifled sob, she bade him good bye and-left him,
returning in the direction of her hammock. Ruy

sight, and it then seemed as if the light and glad-
ness of his soul had vanished with her, He ex-
perienced a foreboding as sensitive souls fre-
quently do before the coming of evil—an unde-
fined fear so keen, so terrible, that he was tempt-
ed to call her back; but he treated the feeling as
a weakness, and hurried away through the gath-
ering shadows. :

CHAPTER IIL.
IOLET AND HEB SUITOR,

Tolet Leol had paid her promised visit—spent
an hour or twoin comforting her invalid neighbor,
and started for home by the route she had come,
& rude path winding near the sea, and following
the indentations of the coast. Her heart was
light, and she danced along almost as boundingly
as the waves. Suddenly, as she was passing
along the neck of a wooded peninsula, a man
came out of a thicket from which he had been
examining the galleon, and smiled and bowed,
with the remark, ;

“A gloomy day, Senorita Leol, but I see that you
are as brightand charming asever. Let me have
a moment’s conversation with you.” ‘

The girl patsed, betrsyidg some repugnance to
the intruder, but at the same time appearing
anxious not to offend him.

“You will please not detain me, Sgnor Nerle,”
sho said, after greeting him politely, “I am hur-
rying home to get supper for father and Ruy.”

“Oh, as to that, I will not be hard,” answered
Senor Nerle, as he advanced to her side, fixing a
lawless glance of admiration upon her fresh
young face. “I merely wish to make a few in-
quiries.” _

Senor Nerle, as Iolet had called him, was a per-
fect picture of a Spanish cavalier, not ohly in
dress but in person. He was tall and slight, with
a painfully white complexion, contrasting stran ely
with his dusky, glittering eyes, cosk- black fase
and curled moustache, He had an air of honest
frankness, and bore a great reputation for piety,
but there was a strange and sinister gleam I his
eyes anda Haan undulation of movement in
his person, like that of a deadly serpent, that w:s
singularly at variance with his saintly character,
He was the great man of Isla Grande, was polished
in his manners and luxurious in his tastes, and
his castle, about a mile from the Village, was re-
puted to be a perfect palace in its adornings.
Senor Nerle had come to the island years
before, accompanied by a large number of work-
men, who proceeded to build, under his directions,
his castle, and also lay out the adjoining grounds,
They had then gone ~ ey The Senor kept a
number of servants, and a beautiful sloop belong-
ing to him was anchored near his residence when
he was not voyaging in it to Berean oe else-
where, as he frequemtly was. No one iW any-
thing of his eee whence he 6. He had
frequent guests, but they were h looking
men, and did not mingle with the people of the
village. Despite the admiration in ch he was

 

held by the gers, Iolet had experienced a dis-
like for him. He seemed to her t ey sag
pure in-

and strange a honesty, an
stinctls warned her against him, - Bicnstiy ,

“Siy on, Senor,” said the girl, with an inyolun-

tary sensation of fear.
“I merely wish to ask,” and he assumed a sort
of patronising suavity of tone which seemed
foreign to him, “if you have reconsidered your
late refusal to be my wife ?”

There was a somewhat awkward pause, and
Tolet then replied, ; .

“T am sorry ge should ask me such a question,
Senor Nerle. I can only repeat that I do not love
you, that I cannot change my decision, and that I
am astonished that such a rich gentleman should
seek my hand!”

wa‘‘Love knows no distinctions of rank and for-
tune,” said the Senor, inasilky tone. “I seek
you for yourself alone—not for wealth. I pre-
sumed that you might have thought the matter
over and so reached a change of feeling. People
frequently change their minds.”

Iolet quietly reiterated her refusal, and told him
that while she had every respect for him, that she
must regretfully assure him that she had no love
for him, concluding,

“There is not a person on the island, Senor
Nerle, but isloud in your praise. You are good
to the poor and the sick, and I respect you for it.
I feel honored by your proposal, but can only re-
peat that my heart must go withmyhand. I must
again and forever decline your offer.”

She bowed politely, and was about to pass on,
when Senor Nerle said, blandly,

“Qne moment, Iolet. Have you said anything
to any one about my former proposal and its re-
ection ?”

“Not a word, Senor. You expressed a wish that
this subject might not be mentioned, and your
wish has been respected.”

a looked around with @ scheming eye, and
said, in

“Excuse me for troubling you a moment
longer.”

Tolet inclined her head, as an indication that
she was listening, and he went on,

_ “I cannot tell you how surprised I was at meet-
ing you last summer at the village. I had no idea
that such a flower of beauty had blossomed on our
island. Since then, as you may have remarked, I
have sought every occasion to see you and con-
verse with you, and the result is a love for you at
which Iam myself astonished. You have grown
upon my heart even more than upon my admiring
attention, and it has at last become a fixed pur-
pose of my life to win you |” :

A flush of painful embarrassment mantled the
maiden’s face, and she trembled at the menacing
intonation of her suitor’s voice,

‘No more of this,” she said. ‘Is it notenough

that I do not love you? Why ghould you sue i
the hand of an humble Village girl? Are you not
rich and powerful ?”
_ Well, yes, in my way. I have had ef choice
in such commodities as fashionable belles, and
the’ve palled upon my senses. My present dream
is something more true, more natural, more sub-
stantial, I have heard of grim old savages being
loved by fairy-like girls,” he added, assuming a
hollow sort of a smile, ‘andI have hoped that
you would accept my proffers of marriage——”

“Let us dismiss the subject, Senor,” interrupted
lolet, with gentledecision. ‘I can never think of
marrying before loving, and that settles the whole
question.”

Nerle looked angry and disappointed.

‘‘Has your brother said anything against me ?”
he asked.

eae re Iam frank enough to say
merely tha’ don’t like you; and that the mys-
tery about you will not draw him into a closer ac-
quaintance;’

‘‘Perhaps you share his opinion?” said Nerle,
with a darkening face,

‘‘My opinions are valuable, I presume, only so
far as they concern your proposal of marriage. I
will, therefore, refrain from expressing them.”

Nerle looked ugly, his eyes blazed as he glanced
around him, and then said, ’

“Since you have notreportedmy proposal, Iolet,
you shall not. I shall take you home with me,
If you scréam for help I will gag you.”

The girl knew that Nerle oa keep his word;
that a call for help was not likely to be heard; and
that her best course would be to keep her mouth
clear against a possible meeting with some neigh-

0

r.

“Home with you ” she demanded.

“Yes, as a prisoner. I have tried gentleness,

and will now try force.”
He took her form in a firm grasp, and led her

away. A strong temptation came over Iolet to

scream, but a rapid survey of the solitude around

her prevented,

 

An hour or two passed ‘m sweet communion,”

“I will bo here ags.in to-morrow, darling,” said
Ruy, ‘and tell you what the owner of the galleon

 

Nerle conducted her through ‘retired paths in
the bushes, of which she had not so muck as sus-
pected the existence, going further and further in-
to the fastnesses of the island,

At length they came out upon a bold and rocky
bluff, crowned with a castle, thatseemed a part of
itself, and toward this they proceeded, passing
through a.small private gate in the high wall sur-
pete the grounds, and entering upon the gar-

on. ’

Despite her fears and her peril, Tolet could not
repress a cry of astonishmenton finding herself
in such a wilderness of floral beauty as was now
presented to her gaze—the smooth and even
walks of sea-pebbles and sand, being lined with
gorgeous blossoms, shaded luxuriant trees,

looked back occasionally until he was qut of her| and inhabited by thousands of the winged gems

of that region—the en and gold humming-
bird. The air was fall of concentrated fragrance,
bewildering to the intoxicated senses. .

Iolet saw that there were no servants on that
side of the castle, and that itwas evidently Senor
Nerle’s private garden. :

Before them rose a structure of stone, large
and handsome in its dimensions, with towers and
battlements, mullioned and oriel windows—the,
latter fronting the sea—the whole fabric being
strong enough to keep at bay a small army of as-
Sailants. - ,

Senor Nerle, with a grim smile on his usuall
pleasant visage, half-led, half-dragged the maid-
en to a small iron door, which he unlocked, and
then carried her into the castle, locking the door
after them. os

He then carried her through a narrow corridor
into a marble-paved hall of grand dimensions,
whose walls were niched and adorned with rare
and costly statuary, past open doors, revealing
sumptuous drawing-rooms and parlors, past 2
magnificent library, adornei. with books and
. paintings, up a broad staircase, and finally into

an ponent square chamber, andhere he gave her
a seat. +

The girl gave a wondéring ‘and frightened
glance around her.

A gorgeous Persian carpet covered the floor,
andin its soft thick pile her foot sank without a
sound. The furniture was of the most delicate
pattern, yet solid in workmanship. The walls
were hung with heavy arras of- crimson silk that
swept to the floor, and decorated with costly
paintings. Divans and couches on every hand
gave the room an oriental air. Tiny marble
statuettes gleamed in every corner, and books and
flowers were heaped together on the marble-
topped centre table. The two. windows looked
out upon the sea, that side of the castle reaching
to the perpendicular precipice that held the
gleaming waters of the eeain abeyance, They
were latticed windows, jutting out a little over the
water, built after the fashion of the Moorish win-
dows in Spain and Algiers, and Iolet noticed that
the lattices were formed of glittering wires—
strong, yet gilded and woven closely together,

It was indeed agorgeocsprison |.

“Well,” said Senor Nerle, watching his cap-
tive’s surprise, “what do you think now ?”

“T think,” answered Iolet, with spirit, “that you
will be punished for this outrage!” .
“How?” asked Nerle, with a gay and mockin
smile. ‘Who would dare to suspect me? ‘Amt

not the intimate friend of the priest—Padr
Lasso? Am I not b mnt and pious? N
one would su me of your abduction, my

dear Iolet. The villagers were all occupied witi
the galleon, and we were notseen,”

The poor girl shuddered with a sudden and
deadly fear. y
His words were too true. She realized that
Senor Nerle would be the last person to be sus-
pected of abductingher, © ©

“I say this,” continued Nerle, in his habitual
courteous manner, “that you may realize where
you are. By morning you will realize that Iam

Nerle went on, telling her of his vast fortune,
of his family jewels, and other possessions, all of

lent.
“Very well,” he finally said, arising. ‘Per-
haps by morning you will be able to answer me.
Tilithen, adieu!”
With a mocking and triumphant smile he
bowed himself out, locked the door behind him,
end sent down stairs, singing an old troubadour
hallad. y
Tolet’s first movements were to examine the
walls and windows and door, but a brief scrutiny
convinced her that elegant as was the apartment,
it was strong and secureas a dungeon,
Weary with her efforts at last, and oppressed
with grief and anxiety for her father and Ruy, she
sank down upon a silken couchin one of the lat-
ticed windows, and looked down upon the bare and |
deserted sea in front of her.
‘‘What can be the mystery of Senor Nerle?”
she thought. ‘Why has he flung off his mask of
goodness and gentleness, and carried me off? Is
née a hypocrite, and his gooodness but a pretence?
No one will ever thinkof looking for me here,
and there is no chance of a rescue. Iam only a
weak girl, andin the power of a bold, bad man.
What shall I do?” ;

She buried her face in her hands and gave way
to the dull an te that crept over her, moaning:

“O father! O Ruy!”

CHAPTER IV.
RUY IN TROUBLE.

As night came on, Ruy and his foster-father,
seated in their litile cottage, grew alarmed at the

non-return of Iolet.
“She never stayg@i away before, and left us to

get our own sup saidthe old man. ‘‘Some-
— = hay ppened to her. Where can
she be?” q

“T hardly know/how to answer,” replied Ruy,
arising. ‘I will look for her.” ,

He left the cottage and went down the coast to
Senora Miron’s, where he learned that Iolet had
started for home about two hours before,

“She must be at some of the neighbors,” was
the next reflection of Ray. “I will inquire of all
her friends for her.”

This step proved fruitless.

“Perhaps she has fallen down some of the
cliffs,” thought Ruy, gyery instant becoming
more and more excited. “Ifnot, what can have
eT. e .

e hurried along the edge of the sea to the
northward of the village, running here and there
among the rocks and cliffs, and frequently calling
the missing girl’s name, When this measure
had also pore fruitless, Ruy hastened home to
report to his father and consult him.

t was decided, after some discussion, that the
two men should take lanterns and make a careful
search along the coast, one going above the vil-
lage and the other below it,

“Tf this fails,” said Senor Leol, ‘‘we will call in
the neighbors and have a general hunt.” —

“Or, first,” answered Ruy, “pay a visit to Padre

so’s and to Senor Nerle’s. She may have
ne to one place or the other. If not, Senor

erle has quite a number of servants, and would
help us look for her.” ‘

‘You have no suspicions of the galleon, Ruy ?”

“Not the slightest. She’s honest.”

The old man stepped to the door and looked to-
wards the spot where she was lying. The dark-
ness had increased so fast that a dark spot on the
surface of the bay was all that indicated her
presence, ,

Rte kore mighty quiet,” he said. “She shows
no light!” :

‘Perhaps not—but she’s honest!”

This ended the conyersatiog about her.

The two men armed ‘hagbetves and lighted
their lanterns, and left the age, going in op-
posite directions, with the understanding that
they should return in half an hour or sooner.

The night had now closed in with marked indi-
cations of the coming tempest. The sky had be-
come grimly lowering, with here and there a
pect of starlight showing fitfully in its depths.

he usual evening breeze had been hushed, and
the sea was ominously quiet, yet moaned and
sighed along the rocks as if telling of the strife to
come. There was no wind, not eyon an occasion-
al gust; but over all the scene rested that calm
whic 1 is not repose, and that peacefulness which
is not security—the brooding murkinoss. which
heralds the hurricanes of the tropics.

\

 

 

which should be hers, but she still remained si- }

 

“A wild night is before us,” Ruy_ involuntarily
exclaimed, as he scanned ‘the darkened heavens;
‘this search for Iolet cannot be too soon fin-
ished!”

As he hurried along the sea, peering among
the rocks and bushes, exciting and, agonizing
thoughts grew upon him,

‘Perhaps we have been fogsarcns, he thought
—“too heedless of the peril the lawless times
in which wevare living. The sea swarms with
pirates; strangers have lately called here; tray-

of evil eyes to be attracted by Iolets beauty.

How easy for a boat’s crew from some rover to

haye come here in the night, to hide and rest

pare the day, and to have seen and seized
er |” 4

He seanned every portion of the beach above.
the village, looking at the base of every cliff, and
wading along tho water’s edge in every creek and
bay where it was posatbe for the praaire oe to
have walked or fallen in the darkness. He con-
tinued the search until weary in body and sick at
heart, the conviction finally forcing itself upon
his mind that some positive evil had befallen the
absont maiden.

“What can it be?” he asked himself. ‘Has
some prowling ruffian dragged her off into the
jungles of the interior?’ The owner of the galleon
spoke of the presence of Callocarras in this vicin-
ity, and it may be that some of his lawless gang
have seized her, Perhaps——”

The apenas De an Oar seaivard interrupted the
sentence, and the young hammock-maker held his
lantern above his head, and looked steadily in
that direction. The splash was soon repeated,
and the next instant the ouilines of a boat filled
with men came to his view out of the darkness.

The first impulse of Ruy, at the view of the
strangers, was to beat a retreat, but it was nega-
tived By ie experience, he reminding himself
that he had\not been subject, in all the years he
had lived, to any molestation or peril. He re-
mained, therefore, in the yery place where the
discovery of the boat had’ come to him, and
watched its approach, soon perceiving that is con-
tained eight or ten rough-looking men, who were
well armed with various weapons, including
muskets,

Don’t you move, there!” called a voice, follow-
ing the sharp click of a gun-lock. ‘We have
business with you.” ?

A bitter and defiant look crossed Ruy’s face.

The boat touched the beach, and several of the
men leaped from-it, advancingupon him.

“Stop, Senores!” he commanded, in a clear and
ringing voice, when they were nearing him men-|
acingly. “Youcan save your threats and steer
‘clear of violence.”

The men surrounded Ruy, appearing to take a
wholesome hint from his quiet and firm greeting,
and one of them said,

“IT suppose, Senor, ‘you belong hers, on the
island—perhaps in the village?’ \
mS do, Senores. In what can I be of service to
your
“In this,” replied the spokesman of the party,
appearing to be pleased at finding such a civil re-
spondent, ‘You can conduct us along the shore
to the village, where we have business.”

“Excuse me,” answered Ruy, “I am just now
fully occupied with my own affairs, If you wish
to ies the village, you had better approach it by
water,

He pointed in the required direction,

‘And be seen the sharp eyes on that gal-
leon,” sneered the spokesman of the party,
a : lies pray in front am cottage to
which we pro your res .

- Ray tattod, What dd theman mean? Leol’s
cottage stood the nearest to the spot where the
galleon was anchored.. i

“So, you can heaye ahead,” continued the
stranger, “‘and take notice that a good musket

in earnest. Give me your promise both of secresy | has you continually under its eye. We prefer to
and acceptaticn, and I/will let you go home, ppercagh the village by land, and hope you under-
and @ grand wedding follow.” f re d that we me be very ei er wise,

lolet did not reply. ¥° are iE pif -you should chan utter a word or louder

than a sneeze, down you go, with a ball through
you. Understand?” ’
‘No, not in the way you intend,” replied Ruy.
“Before I shall conduct such a body of men to the
village I shall be likely to know the nature of your
business.” ;
“You will?” was the response, in a menacing
voice, is
“T willl” Kee ‘
The man made a movement toward Ruy, who
drew a heavy pistol and presented it, saying,
“Not a step nearer, or you will see trouble.
Down with that musket—down with it! At the
slightest offensive movement of any of you I will
fire!” ,
This unexpected bravery momentarily eonfused
the strangers. The spokesman then said,
“Come, come! Don’t be foolish$ Senor! We
are too many in number to be trified with, even by

the shore-path to the village, and I will pay you
well for your trouble.”

“Not a step,” said our hero, ‘until you tell me
your business.”

The chief of the party appeared to be struck by
the noble appearance of Ruy, haying scanned him
pore ales and he turned to his companions,
and sai

“An idea strikes me, boys. This is our man—
thé very man we want!”

He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket,
and compared statements written on it with our
hero’s appearance, at the same time saying,

“The very man! Height, six feet; straight as
an arrow; dark and clear eyes; dark complexion;
anda splendid figure. Looks like a nobleman!
The very man! He is called Ruy Leol, and he
lives in & cottage under some markable palms—”

The sentence was not finished. ue

Ruy had realised -thatsome plot was being
served against him, and suddenly hurled his lan-
tern into the sea, leaping backwards, and making
a quick, bold break for the shelter of the nearest
thicket.

There was an instant shout and chase, a ming-
ling of curses and shouts of rage. ,

Unfortunately, one of the strangers had mark-
ed his intention in season, and before he had ta-
ken a fourth step had dealt him a heavy blow with
ai ay of his musket, that stretched on the
sands.

Before he could rise, a brace of the ruffians
were upon him, and then and there commenced
an awful struggle in the darkness.

Excited by the loss of Iolet, even more than by
his own peril, the hammock-maker did not stand
upon ceremony, but shot the most troublesome of
his agsailants dead with mice and then com-
menced wielding a stout 6 vigorously upon the
others.

His brave resistance, however, did not avail
ae He was soon overpowered, and bound hand
and foot.

‘Produce the glim from the boat,” whispered
the chief of the party. “Tt is well we had ropes
and tools handy. s

A dark lantern was brought, and the pockets of
the prisoner were searched, the perme ine in
the production of a bill of sale of a boat, and sey-
eral other papers, in which his name was fully re-
vealed.

‘You see that we have him,” said the chief of
the ruffians—‘“‘that he’s the man wanted, Ruy
Leol, What"ll be his pay for killing Doro and
cutting up Brosso,in this manner, the captain,
only knows.” '

They bore the prisoner to the boat, and pitch-
ed him intoit without any ceremony, and the
chief of the ruffians continued ,

“His capture, boys, is a good job forus. He’s
the best pilot in the place, andthe only one who
could take the galleon to sea*in such a storm as
is soming. Hal ha! We've :ade sure of that
ship by making sure of him! She’s a doomed
craft, I tell you |”

He again laughed, and Ruy realized that his
seizure was in some way connected with a plot
aainst the strangeship in the bay, and that his
captors were pirates. :

A moment more, and the boat was being pro-
pelled swiftly away from the island into the dense
gloom, which had now settled upon the water,
and the thoughts of the prisoner, suffering from
the numerops injuries he had received in the
short but fierce conflict, went back to his bereaved
ed foster-father, to the unknown fate of Iolet, to
the great grief that was before Yola, and to the
plot menacing the galleon! Horrible situation !

 

(To be Continued.)

 

elera are going and coming; and there ars plenty |.

     

| MY BROTHER’S DESTINY.

BY M. EDESSA WYNNE.

 

  

We slowly paced the silyer beach, (aa
And watched the shadows fall and rise,”
“And heard the evening bird beseech =|
The whispering wind, with soft, low
» And trod the pebbles, arminarm, ==
And talked of nature’s varied face—
Of ail the things\the senses charm, vt
' And beauties that the green earth grace, _

And when the white waves upward ea
And washed our footprints from the san
From out the white cloud’s fleecy fold
There seemed to stretch a beck’ning hand: —
The soft wind murmured low and ceep,
The rolling waves caught the refrain,
“No print of yours will this sand keep—
Think not to bind the angry main.

“Then gaze upon yon radiant star,
And follow it while you have strength;
It watches o’era land afar,
And you must trace a weary length
Ere you can gain the boon you eraye,
And stand at last where it doth shine;
While you have youth and strength, be brave,
And you shall walk in Palestine.”

oN * * * & s

The waves rolled back, the clouds closed sound,
The winds arose with fearful shriek,
I threw me on the wave-wet ground,
Andon the sand I pressed my check,
I bade him go across the sea—
No quiver broke my inward life;
That star led to his déstiny,
T told him to accept the strife.

®
* * & & 6 s

Well, he has crossed the olden track,
Toward the city of our God,
Long years ago, He came notiick— '
He stays, enchanted, on that sod.
, On! didIsay? Ah no, beneath. ,
The turf of Jordan’s banks he Hes;
His life at last has #@und its sheath,
* And death at last has closed his eyes.
To tread the path our Saviour tread,
To die where too our Saviour died,
Beneath the star that onward lead,
He sleeps with Jordan by his side;
And Asia’s winds blow o’er his tomb
And Asia’s rich skies o’er him shine,
While Ilive here in lonely gloom,
My brother sleeps in Palestine,

The Neglected Warning ;

THE TRIALS OF A PUBLIC SOHOOL
TEACHER.

 

 

By Mary Kyle Dallas,

Author of “Cora Hastings; or, The Rebel’s Daughter,”
“The Bride of Death; or, The Toll-Gate.
Mystery,”’ etc., etc.

 

[Back numbers of “The Neglected Warning; or, the
Trials of 2 Public School Teacher,” can be obtained

 

 

States.)
7 ce tee Te
ae CHAPTER XXX.

THE DEACON GETS INTO DIFFICULTIES.

Yes, Winnifred Hall was betrothed to Ralph
Rothwood. This was the first thought that
forced itself into her mind as she awoke in the
morning, and sat up in bed—a beautiful picture,
though she did not know it, with her long, dark
hair clustering in rich waves about her temples,
and her exquisite bust only half veiled by the soft
lace and muslin of her night robe.

Was it true?—could it absolutely be that she
had promised to be his-wife, or was the scene of
last night a dream, conjured up by her wander-
ing fancy ?

No, it was true !—for looking at the little, white
hand, which lay upon the counterpane, her eye
caught the glimmer of a diamond engagement-
ring, which he had placed there when they

a brave fellow, which we see you are. Show us| parted

arted.

The deed was done! The barrier between Mark
Graham and herself aan and high—too
strong, too high for the rashest thought to over-

leap it!

rt is well,” said Winnifred, hiding her fair face
in both her hands. “It is well, and I should be
happy; and I must try to leve Ralph Rothwood
better every day. He is so good, so noble, he
loves meso. I should be wicked not tobe very,
my happy !”

et she was not nares No blissful day-dreams
filled her mind. She did not think of Ralph Roth-
wood as betrothed maidens think of their lovers,
blushing even when she breathed hisname in the
solitude of her own chamber. Yet, in a measur
she did love him, only that love was too calm an
sisterly—far different from the emotion which she
had flung from her and put her foot upon. She
did not suffer herself to think of this, but kneel-
ing at her bedside yrares to God that she might
make a good and true wifeto the man who
would so shortly be her husband.

Then she dressed herself in a robeof delicate
grey, and went down stairs to breakfast.

Deacon Grey was there alone, walking up and
down, with his stealthy, cat-like tread, and rub-
bing his hands over and over one another, as
though he were washing them.

He looked up and bowed as Winnifred entere:
and then cast his eyes sev the floor again, an
paceds on, seeming to take the greatest.pains to
tread glternately upon a green and a brown

u he crossed the carpet.

“athe hire¢ girl came in in a few moments to put
some finishing touches tothe breakfast-table, and
to her the deacon spoke in his own solemn

' “Were is your mistress, Bridget ”

"Tn the sitting-room, sir.

“Request her to come here, Tell her I am wait-
ing breakfast.”

‘Yes, sir.”

Away went Bridget; and soen the lady of the
house entered, and took her seat behind the tray;
but there was something unusual in her manner,
and her grey eyes glittered angrily, and there
were harsh lines upon her face which presaged
nothing very pleasant to the individual who
awakened her wrath.

The clouds gathered darker and darker, and as
the deacon handed up his cup the first thunder-
clap broke over his head, : 3

“T wonder, Mr. Grant, that you can look me in
the face, after your shameful conduct last night,
No, sir, you needn’t glanceatme! Ifyou are
ing to begin such a course at your time of life I
shan’tbe a cloak for you! Not only Miss Hall,
but all the world beside, shall know it, I assure
you, sir! Inever, never, was so ashamed of any-
thing! IfIwere you I should Wislaihe earth to
open and swallow me! [I should, in -

The deacon looked as though he were
nearly in the unenviable state of mind in W
his wife considered it his duty tobe. He grew
alternately red and pale, and muttered between
his teeth

“Family affairs, Mrs. G.! I trust you’llremem-
ber that! Family affairs should be sacred !”

“Ah!” gasped Mrs. Grant. “I have no doubt
you think so; but though we have been married
five-and-twenty years, I haven’t identified myself
with you so completely as to consider your wick-
edness my family affairs! You, a deacon of the
church—a man of sixty odd! Oh, good gracious,
what is the world coming to when inigq uity is to
be found inthe church itself? Deacon, you are
a base, good-for-nothing, contemptible, insulting,

 

 

ing, and tell the congregation so! You bypo-
‘exite ” * ‘

 

 

from every News Agent throughout the United -

      

>

 

disgraceful, dissipated wretch, and I’ve ten mindaeesy
to stand up in the lecture-room next Friday meet- <*

 
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  

 
 

 

 

 
  

 

   
    

> her own choice—he only wished to make her very
Sy: happy. Then he drew her down upon his knee,

 

 

“Rather intemperate language, Mrs. G.,” said
the deacon, mumbling his words and grow-
-ing scarlet tothe tips his ears.

‘Intemperate language, indeed! {ntemperate
language isn’t so bad as an intemperate hus and,
as I know to cost,” said the lady, sharply.
“You look astonished, Miss Hall, So amI. Mr.
G. came home intoxicated last night, and led me
such a dance. Don’t deny it, you brute, you
know you didi” ‘ ; ;

“Tt is not so, Mrs. G,,” replied the Deacon. “If
what you say really happened, I must have walked

in my = f

‘Walked in your sleep—a likely story!” said
Mrs. Grant. “TI tell yeu you’d been drinking;
nothing else could be any excuse for or explana-
tion of your cenduct. Meeting of the trustees,
indeed—ugh! Il trustee you! Miss Hall, if
youll believe me, I was awakened at twelve or
half-past twelve o’clock at night by that man,
who neyer came in until eleven; and there he
stood in his night-gown, staring at me with his
oom ee open and glassy, as if he had been

e /

‘* ‘What's the matter ?’ I said:

“But he only shook his head, ant muttered
something I couldn’t understand, and I called out
a

gain,

** ‘Are you ill? What’s the matter?’

“Then says he, the beast,

. - ‘Tye lost it; I can’t find it. Where did I hide
i

* ‘Hide what ?

‘Never a word of answer, Miss Hall; but he

just took up the candle and went out of the door,
and I, sonay to drop, as you may imagine, put on
my morning gown and followed him. He went
down stairs and out into the garden—I shudder-
ing in my loose sown and slippers, and «fraid to
lose sight of him—and he opened the little gate
that leads into the churchyard, and across that
into the church itself. You know he has a key,
and wears it on a cord about his neck; and I, in
the middle of the night, still after him—for it
didn’t strike me that hé was tipsey then, you
mors . Tdhave roused the nee .

6 deacon, growing angrier than ever, here
brought his fist down upon the table with a crash
that set the glasses jingling, and arose to his
feet, oversetting the chair on which he had been
seated by his hasty movenients.

“You are oyerstepping all bounds, Mrs. G.!” he
cried. ‘“Tll not bear it.” eis

“You'll not bear it?” cried the lady. ‘Well
done, indeed, You are the hentsired: party, I
suppose. I shall finish the story. I followed him
into the church, Miss Hall, and there he was stum-
bling amongst the pews and rooting at the cush-

ions like a madman, and I caught him by the
shouldera and shook him, and, I suppose, sobered
him, for he turned around and asked me what
was the matter, and how he came there; and I
told him it was me enough what was_ the mat-
ter, and walked him home, where he slept him-
self sober, There’s adeacon for you! there’s a
ey Ah! but Pl be even with the nasty
oa

Here the deacon ended the tirade by striding
from the room and banging the door after him.

_Immediately on his departure, Mrs. Grant sub-

sided into her usual phlegmatic state, and turned
tovent Winnie with a shrug of her angular shoul-
erg.
“*Pve frightened him nicely,” she said. ‘He'll
hardly put himselfin the way of suchan expose
again. Of course you'll not mention it to any
one, Miss Hall; but really and truly I haven’t ex-
aggerated one bit. There are things I didn’t
mention, What sort of a man was your father,
Miss Winnifred?”

“An excellent man—upright, and pure, and
loving.”

‘Winnie’s voice faltered as she spoke, and her
eyes filled with tears,

“‘There—don’t cry,” said Mrs. Grant; “I never
do, I only asked because the deacon talked about
him so much while he’ was fumbling among the
ehurch pews; and I thought he might perhaps
have owed him something. Deacon ’t like to

have a ae owing to tim, and I know he had

dealings with Mr. Hall. If "twas so, you could

pay it by de 8, you know, out of your salary.
‘d arrange it easy

 

““My father was not one to act dishonestly to
any one,” said Wion‘fred, her color rising.

‘Well, may be not,” said Mrs. Grant; “but Tm
sure it was money that troubled Mr. Grant’s mind
last night, and he went on all the tire about
‘Walter Grey,’ and not being able to find it, Hows
ever, ifhe was tipsy, he wasn’t 2:countable for
what he ssid. I don’t think he'll do 3; apain-”
and Mre. Grant, with the Neares* approac. to a
~~ im-which she ever indwyed, arose from the

Winnifred Hall f-jtowed her exampl

4 & e. She

sare Sh remark on the subject, but her infnd was

+ pe © t8".embered that terrible night in the

9. ae wa,and the awfal figure of the sleep-
wa Sey with his glassy eyes and rigid features.

Her father’s name—yes, he had indeed uttered
it. But her mind gave other significance to the
words than that suggested by Mrs. Grant, She
felt positive that, in someway, Deacon Grant had
wronged her dead father. She was sure of it!
But how? “A dozen steange fancies chased them-
selves through her mind—memories thronged
thick and fast upon her. John Grant—ay, the
name was familiar, the voice, thestep—she had
eae something of him in the far past. What

ee

Tell me, love. Be my wife soon, darling. [long

to wear you in my bosom.”

Thus he urged; but Winnie could not speak.

Her heart smote her; he loved her so much, and

she returned his affection in such small measure.

Yet she did love him a little, and that love
should grow great when she was once his wife.
So she let him say what he would, and did not
deny him when he fixed ypon the first of March
for their wedding-day, It was not three months
off, but after all the sooner the better. Helen’s
happiness would be the more certain when Mark
knew that she was the wife of another, ~

‘And Mark is nething to me now,” she re-
peated. “I cast him off long ago. I am not weak
and wicked enough to love him.”

And so when Rothwood left her that evening,
‘she sat down by her window in the moonlight,
and thought of the promise she had given, and
tried to think cheerfully and hopefully of her fu-
ture life. How thankful she should feel to God!
How happy in such earnest love as Rothwood’s!
Why, why was she so wicked, so ungrateful?

She arose as this thought crossed her mind,
and leaned forward to draw the shutterto. The
motion gave her a full view of the street. It was
at this hour quite deserted, and only one figure
could be seen—a dark, tall figure, moving swiftly
ers vanishing almost in an instant in the night
shadows.

Winnifred Hall’s blood ran cold; her eyes almost
started from their sockets; her fingers grasped
the clasp of the shutter convulsively; and for a
moment she found herself literally without the
ibe of moving, for in this hasty glimpse, hard-

before the object had vanished, she recognized

 

voice in which she had before spoken. ‘Go on—
Tm listening.”  _

‘The next time we met,” said Helen, “was at
Sabbath-school. .He came there to teach. I sat
on one side of the room and he was on the ather;
and I was et much to blame, and did very
wrong indeed; because, of course, if Ihad not
been looking at him1 should not have known
that he was looking at me ali the time! And once
I was so dreadfully ashamed, for it was in prayer-
time, andI did—oh, Winni. I own everything to
youl shee" tely did look up over my Laniter
chief, and I caught his eye so bright and black,
with such long, curling lashes! You'll despise
me worse and worse, every word I speak, I know
you will, Wicnie! Oh, if you would but speak to
me—one word |”

“Go on, Helen,” sighed Winnie, “go on.”
‘Well, Winnie, I don't know how it was, but
there were meetings of all kinds, and we met at
them; and once or twice he called on me, and we
became acquainted; and pretty soon I discovered
that when I did not see him, I felt sad and un-
easy, and that when I did, I was very happy; and
thatit did not matter half so much to me what

 

Mark Graham thought as what William Morris
thought about anything. But you see, being en-

love with William. Qh, dear me! Grandpa says
theaAdversary was at my elbow, prompting me to
do wrong, and thatI didn’t resist him. But do
you know, Winnie, I fancied just about that time
that Mark did not seem to care anything about
me, or at least nothing in particular.

‘*Well, the time came at last when William was
with me every evening, and Mark was so busy he

 

 

the woman in black |—that mysterious being who
had haunted her steps so long, and whose pres-
ence always brought anxiety and trouble.

She was there. Again she had tracked her

footsteps; just now, when she needed all her
strength and courage, those mysterious words
might be uttered in her ear, Again in*imagina-
tion she heard the words, ‘Shun Ralph Roth-
wood if you would not rue the day your mother
bore you.”
What dark mystery lay beneath these words?
Dared she believe them but the wanderings of a
disordered brain? Dared she trust implicitly in
Rothwood, and scorn and doubt all who uttered
aught against him? She should—she must—for
she had promised to be his wife.* \

And now for the first time she realized the im-
portance of the rege that she hadtaken. Hither-
to all had seemed like a bewildering dream. A
i fina wife! Ah, how much that word im-
P

 

* CHAPTER XXXIL
A CONFESSION.

Miss Patch being unusually cross the next day,
heaped up the tasks of her assistantsin a man-
ner which caused the utmost indignation among
those young ladies, and brought upon herself the
epithet of “mean old thing,” and other even
stronger epithets. .

Even Miss Patch, however, could not keep
school in forever, and at last Winnifred Hall dis-
missed her last delinquent scholar, and started
for home,

Opening the door with her latch-key, she went
straight to herown apartment, expecting to find
it empty; but as she crossed the threshold, that
undefinable instinct, which so often tells cs of the
presence of another human being, even when that
person is neither visible nor audible, made her
pause and look about her, °

‘Some one is here,” she said; but she saw no
one, and half inclined to think the impression a
mere fancy, closed the door behind her.

Still she advanced with wary footsteps, until in
the shadow of the white-draped bed she sawa
form cast down are tke floor, and heard a sound
of sg sobbing.

“Who is it ?--what is it?” she asked, and the

 

 

 

form lifted up its head and she saw the face of
Helen @f0‘caxd, and shrast= back like & guilty
thing, Covering her face with her hands and ut-
tering, not one word. : 5 ;

_'aen she crept away and hid her face in the
Plows and knelt moticnless as a statue, until a
soft hand rested upon her shoulder, and put aside
the tresses that had escaped from their confine-
ment, and fell ia heavy waves upon the coverlid, .

‘Winnie, I did not mean to frighten you so.
Forgive me, You donot know how yery miser-
able Tam, and you are the only one I can con-
fidein. The others are so angry at me. Though
indeed, I have prayed to do for the best, an
fee\ agif any otherconrse would be wrong. Oh,
Winnie, how can I tell you—though I came here
on purpose, It is too dreadful. It sounds as
though I were a wicked wretch!” and agaiu
i Howard sobbed as though her heart would

reak,

Winnifred Hall lifted her head, and looked at
her, There was griof in the fair face, but no an-
gef and no reproach, Perhaps the thing she
dreaded had not come to pass. Perhaps she was
spared this, at least.

With a new hope at her heart, she caught Helen
by the hand, and whispered in tremulous ac-

cents,

“My darling, my darling Helen, yon make me
tremble; you alarm me beyond measure. I am
afraid to ask you what has happened. You do
not know why, how——” she paused, unable to
utter another word, and gazed at Helen, with her

ai upon _ coer a Bt
CHAP XXI cannot, cannot tell you,” sobbed Helen.
TERE “You will think so meanly of me. Perhaps you
NAMING THE DAY . — to Gos Pes a your ere es I
ave had reason to—I—oh, Winnie, I am not go-
Now that they were Pee retieds Roth- | ing to be married to Mark Graham 1” °
wood spent every evening with Winnie. Heseem-| Winnie’s cheek blanched.

paid ang and was tender and loving as man
could be; but now and then a restless anxiety, for
be a ie could not account, took possession

Then he word pace the floor, making her walk
ner - and holding her ‘hand in his, and

8a ‘ =

“If we were only on the ocean, my darling—if
we were only on the ocean |”

And then, in a hurried sort of a way, he would
rehéafse the plan of their journey, 2t what ports

they should stop, where they would sta d
what they would seo. ed
“And we will never come back ‘here, darling,”

he would say; “never return to thisland; but'will
dwell far,far away; andif those about us are
strangers and _— a stranger’s —— it will
only draw us closer to each other. ill it not,
Winnie? You would not grieve never to see
America again, would you dearest ?”

- And Winnifred Hall could answer truthfully,

“T never care to return—the farther from these
shores the happiet I shall be.”

Once when she said this, Rothwood looked
down into her eyes, and canght her hands,

“Is it because you have suffered so much
here ?” hesaid. “Is that it, Winnie ?”

She answered,

“Yes.” \

Butin a momentshe looked up at him with her
earnest eyes, and said solemnly,

“There are reasons which I have never told you
which make me wish to leaye these shores. Some-
time, perhaps, in future I shall tell you a secret—
one which I know you will not ask me to utter now.
Sometime when od _ Spent together have given
Us greater confidence in each other, Ralph.”

‘I can never feel more confidence in you than
Ido now, Winnie,” replied Rothwood, “I can
never love you better. And, perhaps, I also have
a secret to give you in exchange for yours. I only
said perhaps, Winnie; I did not say it was so.”

He broke into a laugh, and turned the subject
here, and began to 8 of other things. He
praised her hair—her beautiful, jet black hair—
80 like the tresses of the Italian women, They
would goto Italy, and she should see its beauti-
fal sunsets, and its splendid old ruins. And they
would be as happy as the day was long, and more
—no one could trouble them. - Would she rather
live in Italy or Germany? Men talked more of
Ttaly, but, after all, Germany was the real land
of romance. Its people were friendly to the
stranger, and made him welcome, Then there
was Irance—a beautiful land, Perhaps, after all,
they should dwell in France, She should have

and whispered, _
“And when will you make me most happy, dar-

yor open the door andturnme out!

member the pic-nic of the Sabbath-schoo
to a good while ago? You were ill, and could not

‘He has spoken at Jast,” she thought; and as
Helen sank sobbing down upon the floor, every
other feeling was lost ae

“Tf he could prove f to you, Helen,” she
said, “the is not worthy of yourlove. If he could
be An to you he could be constant to no
one
‘Have courage,” she continued, twining her
arm about Helen’s waist, “‘you will learn to de-
spise him soon, as I can—yes, as I-can!” she re-
peated, with a proud glance of hereye. “There
are truer and better men in this wide world than
Mark Graham, though, perhaps, we may both
have thoughttoo highly of him,”

Helen looked up through her fast-falling tears,
Do not blame him,” Winnie, she cried. ‘Oh
no, it is not his fault; itis all mine, Yes, Winnie,

self a Christian; I who thought myself affection-
ate and tender-hearted ! Oh, Winnie, why don’t
Love some-

ody else! Llove him so dearly that it seems as
though I never loved Mark at all; and I’ve tried
and tried so hard to conquer’ myself, and all in
vain; and atlast I have told hith, and he knows
it; and our engagement is over; and Aunt Jeru-
shais angry enough to kill me; and Uncle Hiram
prove for me every morning. Of course,” said
elen, interrupting herself, “that Iam very giad
of andthankful for, only he expresses himself so
plainly about my being a sinner, and having car-
nal feelings, that I give way to—which we all
have, of course—only, only, I seem to be consid-
ered so very much worse than anybody else, as

indeed I am! and grandfather prays for Mark,

and speaks of him as being so unhappy; and -no-

body loves me at home; and, only for William, I
—_ die! Oh, Winnie, I can see you hate me
also |”

Winnifred had bowed her face in the pillow

again,
“Tell me all about it, Helen,” she said in a
husky voice.

“TY know nothing yet.”

“Oh, yes,” said Helen. ‘Well, Winnie, you re-

went

ol
“Yes,” said Winnifred; ‘I remember.”
So I went alone,” said Helen; “and we had a

char’ time; and, I think, I never knew such a
beautifu

and there, under a great elm tree, I was introdu-
ced to William, Oh, if you could have seen him
and heard him talk you wouldn’t haye wondered |!

day, or such green grass or blue sky;

But I did not know at first, indeed I didn’t! And
you know, Winnie, Mark was not there; and sohe
was my beau all day, and saw me home in the]
evening; and Ionly thought how happy I was,
and did not reflect upon the consequences. Don’t
you hate me, Winnie ?”

 

“Goon,” said Winnifred,in the same husky

“ *

I have jilted Mark Graham! I—I—who call my-}

could only come on Sundays; and by-and-by I be-
gan to feel a little troubled, and at last, one even-
ing, when nobody was in the room, he—oh,
dear! dear! dear !—he kissed me, and I let him
do it—on my mouth, too; and, oh! what a wicked
girl must be! There was never such a sweet
thing-in all the world as that kiss was; and I
knew how it was then, andI went down on my
knees and prayed, when he left me, that I might
do right. But it wouldn’t seem right to give up
William, do what I would.

‘After that I was very unhappy, and sometimes
I made excuses not to see either of them, and it
appeared to make William wretched, and not to
trouble Mark one bit. Perhaps that was the Evil
One again. And so it went on, days, and weeks,
and months, andI never had powmee to say to
William, ‘I am engaged to Mark Graham;’ and I
never had courage to say to Mark, ‘I like William
Morris better than I do you;’ and sometimes I did
really wish that the ground would open and
swallow me and put an end to all my trouble.
But four days ago the crisis came. Mark hadn’t
‘been near me for days, and William had been at
our house every evening, and he came an
brought me such a beautiful book; and as I
sewed, he read it to me, and he would sit ona
footstool at my feet, and I couldn’t help it,

At last he arose to go, Aunt Jerusha was at
Wednesday,meeting—so of course were. grandpa
and uncle, and I was very busy stroking gathers,
and didn’t know what he was going to do, and he
caught me suddenly about the waist, and kissed
me fifty times. h, dear! dear! dear! as I
turned, all in a frightened flutter, there stood
Mark in the door-way, looking at me—looking at
us both! -

“The next thing I knew, William was gone
andI stood before Mark, like the guilty thing I
was, not daring to lift my eyes, and he came to
me and took my hand, and said:

‘¢ ‘Helen, you love William Morris better than
you do me,’

‘And I said, as well as I could:

* ‘Oh, no! not better, only differently.

‘And he said:

*‘sT have known it a great while. I have been
sure for many months ¢ you would never be
my wife; but you will be my sister— my friend,
and I will ee brother ae.

And I could only cry, and say:

Don’t te hate me, Mark!’ and he kissed
me he y forehead, as old grandpa might, and
went awhy. Te . ? «

“And then the worst was to come, and they will
ever love me again; though whether the Adver-
sary prompts me to think so or not, I can’t be-
lieve that Mark felt very bad about its not half so
bad as Idid. Now you know what a wicked girl I
am. Winnie, what has happened?—how dread-
fully you look!” E

Winnifred Hall had arisen, and stood shaking
in every limb, and white as the driyen snow be-
fore her, -

‘Cruel, cruel, crnel!” shé moaned. ‘Oh, why
did you not speak before? Did you know what
you were doing? But, no; blind, dreamy girl, you
guessed nothing. How could you?”

‘““Whatdo you mean, Winnie?” sobbed the ter-
rified Helen, ‘You look as though you were dy-
ing! What did I not know? “Do you mean about
Mark? Does he feel dreadfully? Has he told
you? Oh, yes, I know you hate him !—you hate
me also! Forgive me, forgive me, Winnie!”

‘Forgive you! forgive you! Oh, girl, you have
killed bim!—you haye killed us both i I never
can forgive you!”

These were the words that died away in an aw-
ful scream as Winnifred Hall flung her arms above
her head, and fell back upon the bed senseless as

a stone, (
(To be Continued.)

 

HOME FROM THE WAR.
BY BLANOHE ALPEN.

Home from the war! but his eyes are closed

In a long and dreamless rest,
~ And hands once busy lie folded now

Over pulseless breast;

No word of greeting! his lips are mute—
Others must tell the story,

How he fought and won a deathless name,
And a laurel wreath of glory.

Home from the war! A mother weeps
Sad tears for her only son;

A father cries from an anguished heart,

“Oh God! Thy will be-done.”

Oomrades come, with arms reversed,
4nd slow and measured tread;

And muffied drum and bugle note
Wail oué a dirge for the dead,

Home from the war! They bear him away
To a grave in the quiet valley;
No more at the sound of reveille .
Shall the sleeping warrior rally;

His fight is fought, the victory won,
His labors all must cease,

For he’s gone to camp by a crystal stream
In the beautiful realm of peace. -

%

But he’s only one! In many a home
There stands a vacant chair,
And they miss the tones of an earnest voice,
When they chant the evenfng prayer;
Aye, many & mother’s soldier son,
The same dark path has trod,
And gone direct from the battle-field —
Up to a home with God.

RED-HANDED HUGH
The Heir of Osmond Hall.

[Back seine of “Red-Handed Hugh; or, The
Heir of Osmond Hall,” can be obtained from every
Nows Agent throughout the United States. |

 

ee
CHAPTER VIII.--(Coxrrvep.)

“Fold off your hand!’’ exclaimed Sir Reginald, in a
tempest of wrath; then, turning to Sir Geoffrey, he
continued, ‘Hang it, sir, to what extent do you intend
to carry this folly? This man, Stevens, whose signa-
ture that paper purports to bear, has been dead for
nearly twenty years. It is notorious that he and his
crew were drowned in the great storm that visited our

 

%

rant

coast, in the year 18—, Andif he were not drowned»
do you know the man whose evidence you would use to
brand me? A smuggler, a pirate, a mur——”

“Say the Jword, Sir Reginald,” said an old, white-
headed man, who now advancedinto the room, “Hard
word though it be, say it! Red-handed Hugh has no
need to tremble at the word. But you, Sir Reginald,
you ought to tremble. Don’t you remember me?
Look!” stretching out his hand; “there is the red
mark. But it was born with me; and ill deeds though
thet hand has done—may God pardon them-—human
blood bas never purpled it. Can you ssy as much for
yours ?”’

Sir Reginald made no answer. The moment he be-
held Hugh he remembered him, and the word ‘mur-
derer” stuck half way in his throat. ,

“Ihave told you my story, sir,’’ said Hugh,’ turning
to the magistrate, ‘‘and now, in your honor’s presence,
I will produce some witnesses, which may remind Sir
Reginald of that night of the storm in which, as he
thought and hoped, Hugh went to thie bottom. I have
keptthem in this trunk for sixteen years, and now I
commit them to your honor’s custody.” -

s Unlocking the box, he drew forth some child’s cloth-
ng. i

“Do you remember the night when you fetched them
andI putthem on him? Look here, here is another
witness.. In your hurry to get rid of me you gave me
the pries of the child’s blood in this.”

He held ups pocket-book and then handed it to Sir

gaged to Mark, it never struck me that I was in| Geoffrey.

“You will see, sir, by some papers in that book, that
it belonged to Sir Reginald. And now,’’ continued
Hygh, looking triumphantly at the baronet, who gazed
upon him asif he was the impersonation of avenging
Fate, *I have one proof left, which I will bring face to
face with you.” Then, turning towards the people,
who crowded about the door, he said to one of the un-
dcr constables, -

“Tell Antonio to come to me.” ~

“‘Antonio!”’ almost shrieked the baronet.

“Ay, Antonio! He whose life you sought twice—
first when he was an infant, and next when he was a@
man. ank Heaven, Sir Reginald, that you failed.
If he had died I had sworn that whenever you and I
should meet again—and I would have hunted you
through the world—your life should pay for his, He
did not die, and we are saved that meeting.”’

“Then,” exclaimed Sir Reginald, rallying, *tyou are
the impostor who traded at Cadiz under the name of
Don Antonio da Silva; andthe unmannered cub who
went by the name of yourson is the imposter whom
you would foist upon me for my nephew.”

*‘You shall judge for yourself—if you have not judged
already.”

The door opened, and Antonio entered with the chief
constable. ; :

“Behold,” exclaimed Hugh, lifting up his hand, ‘‘the
heir of Sir Edgar-Osmond!”’

It is impossible to describe the expression of Sir
Reginald’s face as his eyes once again encountered
those of Antonio. It is impossible to describe the thrill
of conviction which passed through the minds of the
spectators as they observed the baronet glance from
Antonio to the full-length portrait of Sir Edgar Os-
mond, which hung over the fireplace; as making a
comparigon between the picture and the youth who
stood before him. The example Sir Reginald inad-
vertently set they followed, and a buzz of wonder was
forced from them by a resemblance so striking that the
lips of the man in the picture almost seemed about to
open, and to declare that Red-handed Hugh had spoken
the truth, and that the heir of Sir Edgar Osmond stood
in the flesh before them. :

“Mr, Brand,” said Sir Geoffrey Hilton, on whom all
that bad passed had produced a deep impression, ‘‘let
the room be cleared.”’ ¢

Mr. Brand proceeded to obey this order, and in a few
minuteg all who had no other claim than curiosity to be
present were shut out,

Two other magistrates, to whom Sir Geoffrey had
despatched messengers, had arrived during the pro-
ceedings we have narrated, and with these he now car-
ried on a consultation in whispers.

“There can be no objection, I should hope,” said Sir
Reginald, interrupting them, ‘to allow me for a few
minutes the privacy of the adjoining room. If, Sir
Geoffrey,” he added, “you consider me your prisoner
still, I shall be as safe there as here, for there is no re-
treat except by the window; and I have no ambition to
risk breaking my necK in order to escape the perplexi-
ty ofa farce,’ :

“You may go, Sir Reginald,” replied Sir Geoffrey.
*We have no wish to render this farce more painful
than it must be.”

Sir Reginald bowed and retired into the adjoining
room, closing the door behind him.

The magistrates returned to their consultation. An-
tonio, who had been stunned by his sopposed ther’s
announcement, and whose mind was plunged into in-
extricable confusion at finding himself the object of
an interest he could not understand, looked from one to
the other in complete bewilderment, Meanwhile Sir
Reginald, having paused for » moment to ascertain
that no one followod him, gently opened a cabinet, and
taking out two pistols, loaded and capped they) ang
then hid them in his breast, There was now no agita-
tion in his manner. There was a gleam of light in his
Deis face, his lips were firmly compressed, and his
whole appearance was that of a man calmly resolved
upon some desperate act. Closing the cabinet, he pro-
cosdcd to the door, opened it, and rejoined the magis-
trates. \

“T have not kept fti long,” he said, with & smile.
“What course have you reso.7°4 to adopt with regard
to this old man’s romance ?’’ %

“Sir Reginald,” replied Sir Geoffrey, ‘‘we have coti-
sulted on this matter, and cannot consider it, as you
affect to do, a subject. for contempt, There are evi-
dences here which, to say tho least, implicate you with
Hugh Stevens, who has made oath that the young man
who is now before us is the son of your late brother; that
son who so mysteriously disappeared sixtgen years ago,
and to whose rights and to whose title you succeeded.
It is fortunate that both myself and my brother justices
were well acquginted with Sir Edgar; and we cannot si-
lence the fact, Which we think has impressed you also,
that. between him and this loon there is a very singu-
lar resemblance. That will, of course, go for what it is
worth; but we cannot—and it pains us more than I
will attempt to express to come to this conclusion—we
cannot but admit thata case has been made out which
compels us to refer your share in this mysterious busi-
ness to another and a higher tribunal, Itis, therefore,
my duty to commit you to the county jail on the
charze of secretly making away with your b er’s
child, and suborning the man Stevens, commonly
called Red-handed Hugh, to murder him.’”’ Then turn-
ing to the constable, he continued, ‘Mr. Brand, you
will perform your duty in such a way as to render it as
little painful as possible.” ;

*T have,” said Mr. Brand, “ordered one of Sir Regi-
nald’s carriages to the door. Allis ready.’’

“Stay |’? cried Sir Reginald. ‘‘You will permit me,
perhaps, a few moments’ conversation with this young
man alone?”

“Nol”? exclaimed Hugh, who had been narrowly
watching Sir Reginald.

“Silence, sir!’’ said Sir Geoffrey.
cannot permit your request.”

*You will suffer me, then, to speak to him in your
presence?” *

The justices motioned assent, and Sir Reginald be-

an:

Sir Reginald, we

gan:
“Edgar!’’ he exclaimed, to the astonishment of all

4 present, ‘when you lay a child in your cot, I hated

and I cursed you, for your feeble breath, the worthless
life which throbbed in your infant breast, reminded
me of intolerable wrongs, and stood between me and
the assertion of that power which I felé Heaven had
given me to play a great partin the world. With my
own hand I could have crushed you; and would to
Héaven that I had! But, child though you were, I
trembled when I looked upon you and thought of mur-
der, and I hired that pirate to do for me what I dared
not do myself. He looked the man I wanted. But he,
too, it would seem, turned coward, for when T eaw you
come into my room at Cadiz, and heard you speak to
me, and saw the old look of my brother in your face, I
knew that you were his son, and that Red-handed Hugh
had deceived me! You see, gentlemen,’ he continued,
turning to the justices, “Iam making an open confes-
sion.”’ ;

“Sir Geoffrey,” exclaimed one of the justices, “if Sir
Reginald—or Mr. Reginald, as we must now call him—
is wiling to recognize his nephew—as indeed he has
now done so—might not this matter be hushed up,
and the recovery of Sir Edgar’s son be madea matter
of rejoicing, rather than one over which we must partly
grieve?” -

“J thank you, sir,” continned Reginald; ‘but I ac-
cept no courtesy from Sir Geoffery. Iask nothing but
that which I can—and which I will—compel. Suffer
me to proceed.’”?’ Then, turning to his nephew, he
continued: ‘“‘No sooner did I recognize you than I
cursed the feebleness of purpose which, years before,
had committed to the hand of another the task of
taking your life, and resolved this time to take it by
my own. We fought, andI left you on the field for
dead. But you rallied, you survived, and you are
now here. I yacate my honors—they are now yours.
I hail you, Sir Edgar Osmond, master of this ancient
hall, lord of the broad acres which surround it, and,
happier still, lord of her—of her” (here he almost
choked with mingled emotion and rage) ‘‘for whom
I would have gladly given them all. But do not mock
me.”’

T have not mocked you,”

“You cannot look at me but you do so. The sight
of you, the knowledge even that you live, mocks me—
galls and maddens me. ButI am not wholly without
confort, I was duped in my first attempt to strike
youdown. ‘The second went nearer to success, The
third-——”’

As he put his hand into his breast, an action which
all comprehended, the justices started from their seats,
while the constable rushed forward to seize him. But
he was not in time.

“The third shall not faill’* exclaimed Reginald; and

 

Yo Sbieieeves~

beg these words he levelled a pistolat his nephew and

Ti was not Edgar who fell; it was Hugh. The old
man had thrown himself between the assassin and his
intended victim, and so paid with his life for the wrong
he had done him in his infancy,

‘Hold off!’’ exclaimed Reginald; and asthe consta-
ble sprang upon him he hurled him to the ground.
Then, before he could be intercepted, he withdrew to
the room where he had prepared himself for this last
stand against inexorable fate, and locked himself in,
What were his thoughts in that supreme hour: how
the past rushed back upon him, how every thought and
act of his life rose up in judgment against him as the
violator of a sacred trust, néed not be told.

As the servants in the adjoining room lifted the old
smuggler from the floor and Jaid him on the sofa
another explosion was heard; and when the door was
broken open, the inanimate form which lay stretched
in death upon the floor was all that remained of great
ambition and a.greater crime, «
Meantime, the explosion of the pistols had drawn the’
whole household to the room in which Hugh Stevens
lay dying. Those who could not get beyond the door,
and those who were obliged to remain in the lobby,
indu!ged themselves in conjectures as to what had hap-
pened. ‘Who had done it?” “Was any one killed?’ |
“Who?” Inthe hubbub of the moment these ques-
tions were variously answered: ;

“Sir Reginald has shot his nephew.” k
“No, no; Red-handed Hugh has shot Sir Reginald.”
“Nonsense; Red-handed Hugh and his supposed son
have shot Sir Reginald, and one of the justices has been
wounded.”’

Presently there was heard a rustle of silk, and Donna
Teresa, followed by Maria, came rushing towards the
rocm,

**‘Let me pass! let me see him!” she exclaimed.

The crowd opened to admit her, and as they did so,
she perceived Antonio—iet us now call him Sir Edgar
—stooping over Red-handed Hugh. At once compre-
hending what had happened slie approached them, and
kneeling down beside the old man, took his hand in
hers and bathed it with her tears.

Hugh groaned. He was suffering torments; but the
greatest of all was the pain that was too great to let
him speak. A messenger had been despatched for a
surgeon; but he had some distance to go, and it must
be long before he could return. Meantime, life was
ebbing fast from the oid man; so fast that his pain be-
gan to subside. The writhing of his features ceased,
and he breathed so faintly that the lookers-on expected
every breath would be his last. When he had almost
ceased to breathe, he opened his eyes, and stared
anxiously around him. Then, with sudden, reanima-
mation, he raised himself on his elbow and called,

“Antonio! Edgar!l’’

Sir Edgar knelt down by his side,

“Sir Edgar, pray for me—pardon ms! I am dying.”

“God forbid,” said Sir Edgar; “I would sooner lose
all that I have than lose you.”

“Thank you,” said Hugh, with a deep sigh; “it is
paying the good for evil.. But still Iam dying, and I
am glad ofit. Think of me with pity when I am gone.
It was a great crime—a terrible sin; but,’”” with sudden
vehemence, “I never meant to harma hair of your.
head.”

“I know it, [know it,” said Sir Edgar; ‘‘you were
more than a father to me.” .

‘A rough one,” said Hugh; “but I loved you. I
toiled to repair the injury I had done you; and I was
nigh doing tt when all went wrong, and grasping for
more Llost what I had. But now you have heard your
uncle’s confession, and these good gentlemen will wit-
ness for you what he said if he disputes your title,”

“Beis dead, Hugh,” whispered Geoffrey.

*Deadl”’

*By his own hand.”

“Then we go to the great judgment together. Pray
- for us—both!”

He sank beck, still holding Sir Edgar’s hand.

“In the trunk from which I took these papers, you
will find a writing containing the history of your
youth, and of our adventures ever since that night
whose crime Providence has ayenged upon his head
and mine,”

Then he was silentfor awhile. His eyes closed; he
drew his breath heavily. Dropping Sir Edgar’s hand
he said, faintly, .

“Good night—good night, boy!”

For a few seconds there was a pause, atillas death,
while all eyes were bent on the old man’s rugged face.
By and by fhe silence was broken by the arrival of the
doct>r, who no sooner looked at Hugh than he saw it
was the rigidity of death which was settling upon his
features. : ,

He raised the old man’s hand and felt for the pulse.
Didit beat? Yes; once—twice—very faintly, and then
—no more, ;

“Humph!” said the doctor; “you had}
this lady away.’’ ™

Maria led her mistress out of the room. ;

‘What do you think, doctor?” asked Sir Geoffrey.

“Think. 8'y Geoffrey? Why, I think he’s dead!”

, > Zhock of grief, deep, manly, overwhelming, burst
arom Edgar.

“My dear sir,” said Sir Geoffrey, taking him by the
arm, “do not deny one of your father’s oldest friends
the first favor he asks you. Let me persuade you to
leave the room,”

_. OHAPTER IX,

Side by side in the same darkeiied chamber for gev-
eral days stood two coffins. Side by side, in due time,
they were laidin the same churchyard, lowered into

the earth by the same hands, and to the sound of the
same burial service,

Then the days, and the weeks, and the months, wore
on till a summer morning broke in the high summer
tide of the year over Osmond Hall; and by the same
door by which the funeral train had passed to the kirk-
yard, issued another procession—not re in
mourning, but joyous, laughing, robed in whit
crowned with gay garlands, decked with the lily and”
the rose, bright as the June morning, which had
dawned sweeter and fresher than all that had gone be-
fore it, to do homage to the brave bridegroom and the
happy bride. ‘

Early that morning had the birds wakened Teresa,
Was it really the birds? When she rose and threw
open her window how lovely her garden looked |—how
sunny the fields and the hills beyond, and the summer
sea, leaping and sporting with the light breeze that
wooed it, ,

‘How calm, how sweet! 0, to be ever thus!”’

But someone knocks at the door,

‘My lady 1”?

It is Maria. Teresa’s heart palpitates. One cannot
be “ever thus” if one is going to be married. For
there is the trousseau to be puton and a thousand odds
and ends to be lookedto, And—hark!

‘‘What bells are those, Maria? .

“What bells, my lady ?—what belis should they be ?’”

And Maria’s arch look siletices any further hypocrisy
upon that score. ;

Maria can treat this matter without trepidation, for
she has vowed for her part never to marry. Bradley
having deceived her, all mankind must be false; there-
fore, no huebazd for her,

But it did so happen, and we may as well mention
it here, that two months after Teresa’s marriage, her
waiting-maid took—no matter whom—for better for
worse; well, ifyou must know, it was Bradley. But he
had become a penitent Bradley, and the reader will be
pleased to hear that he made the young Spanish girl a
faithful husband, and found her, under the cultivation
of time and experience, an improvable and improved
woman, and always true to their joint interests.

«0, those bells, how they make me trembie, Maria!’

“Never mind the bella, my lady, but just you look in
the glass now that you are dressed. and tell me what.
you think of yourself.. Were Sir Edgar.a king instead
of a baronet,” continued Maria, tossing her little head
proudly, “what more could he ask ?””

give him more in the way of loveliness.

‘And quite of that opinion was Sir Edgar himself. He
was Waiting, with Sir Geoffrey Hilton and a gallant
company of friends, at the church door.

*sWill she ever come?”

*Bo patient!”

‘Listen |” 2

Ay, those are the village choristers, whom yor hear.
They come first; and look! yonder is the baide’s car-

her, and four bridesmaids follow in a carriage by them-
selves, nota whit jealous of Teresa; but, on the con-
trary, happy whenever they hear wedding bells chim-
ing from the old church tower.

“The more of these ceremonies the merrier,” they
say in their honest hearts, ‘Thine to-day, Lady Tore-
fa; mine, and mine, and mine to-morrow.” :

Then the carriage rolls up to the church door; and
if the fairies had driven, on fleece-cloud chariots, their
own bright qneen to be his bride, not with prouder
step or princelier air could Sir Edgar have lifted her to
the ground. ‘

Then, when her father had led her up to the altar, the
solemn priest advances into the sanctuary, and with
prayer and admonition bestows the nuptial blessing.
Tears! tears! How the women cry. Some of the
men, too, have tears in their eyes. Is it because they
are not married, or because they are? Who shall say?
Man and wife, till death part them, Sir Edgar and his
bride turned from the altar and marched down the
mid-aisle.

What a clatter the bells are making! But my lady
trembles no longer now. Sir Edgar hands her into the
carriage, and takes his place beside her. Then the
carriage rolls on, and the shining bays toss their heads,
proud of the heavy burden they are whiskinggelong the
road, -

And now, a8 in the old times, when their love was
young, Sir Edgar puts his arm round Teresa’s waist
and takes her hand in his. He presses her glowing
cheek with his lips; and, as he feels his kiss returned,
he exclaims, in a rapture of joy, :
“Thou art mine atlast! Mine now and forsyer!”

THE END.

 

 

 

Whatever he might ask, flesh and blood could not »

riage winding into the road. Her fatheris seated by .-

 

  

  
 

 

 

   
    
   

 
 

 

  

 

   
   
   
 
    

 

 

 

 

YORK

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, MARCH 31, 1864.

 

OUR TERMS,

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY is sold by all respecta-
ble News Agents throughout the United States. The
rice is Fivz but im some cases, where Agents
ave to pay extra freight or postage, a higher price is
charged. When there is a News Agent in the
town, we desire our friends to get the WEEKLY through
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 $2 50 a year, in ad-
vance. Subscriptions taken for three months, Two
copies will be sent for a year for $4; four copies for $8.
Postmasters and others who get up clubs of ten, and
send us $17 50 at one time, will be entitled to an extra
copy for their trouble. The bills of all solvent banks
taken at par for subscriptions. Canada subscribers must
send one dollar and four cents extra with every sab-
goription to pre-psy the American postage,

 

 

MRS. HCLMES AGAIN,
Next week we shall commence the publica-
tion of a new story by the public’s favorite,

MRS. MARY J. HOLMES,

This beautiful romance is entitled

Adam Floyd.

It is written with all the skill and power of
the great anthoress,and must createa sensation,
When this is finished, we shall conimence’an-
other story by Mrs, Holmes. This, we are
sure, will be good news to our readers.

 

 

TALENT AND GENIUS,

How often do we see a man of humble tal-
ent arise to eminence, while the man of genius
sinks into a state of mediocrity, or terminates
his career at an early period of life. Itis a
‘popular fallacy” that men of genius must, of
necessity, be irregular in theirconduct. ‘Men
of genius’ have been compared to comets,
possessing a brilliant but transient life; but
nature intended that they should have the
steady, useful, enduring light of the sun, and
not rendered useless by the nature of its comet-
like illuminations. It is by the well regulated
warmth, the equally diffused light of the sun,
that vegetation is promoted, verdure given to
the fields, and fruits and flowers ripened and
expanded into perfection.

The mind of genius requires, more than
any other, the exercise of rigid rules. The
river, which, as it rolls, threatens to become
a torrent, and to inundate the plains, requires
to be restrained by an embankment; the splen-
did Arabian steed, that starts at the sound of

rapet, and neighs when he hears the
murmur of the distant battle, must be checked

‘by a curb of steel and fettereé by a powerfnl

“Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Cailing, but in vain!”

Far from the scenes of his childhood and
youth, with no one to breathe a prayer or
blessing over his remains, no stone to mark
the place where he must rest so long under the
burning sun of a Southern sky! Oh, it isaw-
ful_-something from which we all would
shrink, but the same Father watches over
them there as here, and we fear not for our
country’s dead! Eupurasig,

 

<> + @re
WISDOM, AS TO MARRIAGE.
So interesting is this business, (the being
wedlock-wise) that good writipg on the sub-
ject cannot fail to be attractive—to those who
have become connubial fractions, as well as
to those who still remain unwedded integers.
A brother editor, feeling very philosophic about
it, says: ‘In opening an old book, the other
day, the first passage that our eye fell upon
was this. We copy it entire, although we do
not believe every word it contains. The old
writer says: ‘Marriage has in it less of beauty,
but more of safety, than the single life; it hath
not more ease, but less danger; it is more
merry and more sad; it is fuller of sorrows and
fuller of joys; it lies under more burdens, but
is supported by all the strengths of.love and
charity, and those burdens are delightful.
Marriage is the mother of the world, and pre-
serves kingdoms, and fills cities ahd churches,
and heaven itself. Celibacy, like the fly in
the heart of an apple, dwells in perpetual
sweetness, but sits glone, and is confined, and
dies in singularity; but marriage, like the use-
ful bee, builds @ house, and gathers sweetness
from every flower, and labores and unites into
societies and republics, and sends out colonies,
and feeds the world with delicacies, and obeys
their ruler, and keeps crier, and exercises
many virtues, and promotes the interest of
mankind, and is that state of good to which
God hath designed the present constitution of
the world.’ Now we will admit that this is
very terse and beautiful. But it is not all to
be agreed to, particularly the statement thet
‘marriage has init less of beauty than the sin-
gle life.” There is hardly anything in the
world so- beautiful as the union of two hearts,
that united because of their love, and for no
unworthierreason. There is hardly any augury
of promise so auspicious as an early love, that
looks toward marriage as its faithfal seal and
signet. There is hardly any festival among
men 80 genial and happy as the anniversary of
the wedding day,”’
+ 18)
THE RIP VAN WINKLES OF OUR RACE.
One of the most succinct and comprehensive
statements of the kind we have ever seen, late-
ly appears in a speech made by Rey. Samuel
Coley, before the missionary anniversary of :

the River of Death, to theland beyond the val-

' THE HYGIENIC FIEND,

A writer in the Leader draws the following
portrait of the above-named animal: ‘He is
what I call a hygienic fiend. He believes wa-
ter, and air, and exercise, to be the trinity of
health. Hecame into the world with a great
pair of lungs that have been growing larger
and stronger ever since, He breaks the ice
in his bath-room on winter mornings, and dis-
ports himself in the Arctic fluid like Barnum’s
seal, Then he puts on alight coat, and goes
out into the blast, and grows red in the face
while he draws in the atmospheric needles,
and his great heart pounds away in his breast
like a trip-hammer, forging fresh vitality for
him. If he meets me on such a morning,
shrunken and weazen with the cold, a diar-
hoea in my head and the rheumatism in my
joints, he brings down his ponderous fist upon
my back, knocking what little breath I have
out of my body, and shouts like a demon:
‘Ah, a fine bracing morning, my boy !’™ Then
he draws in all the air thereis about us, leay-
ing me gasping with scatce strength enough
to dodge the next blow heaimsatme ‘Ah!
you want air!’ he roars, ‘Expand your
lungs; use plenty of water. Look at me!’
His pneumatic treatment is no worse than his
bydyropathic. If some poor wretch, worn out
with a lingering organic disease, and just
breathing his last with a faint gleam of plea-
sure on his emaciated face at the prospect of
a long rest, were to send for my hydropathic
friend, he would come tearing into the sick
chamber, shouting: ‘Ah, he wants air and
water! Out with him! Get the windowsup!
Geta sleigh! Order a bath-tub!’ And if he
did not send the poor fellow into an eternity
(where I hope there is no water) by a slap on
the back, Iam mistaken in the man.”

REE ERaRECL ERC
GONE TO REST.

Diep.—At Bovina, Wis., Jan. 26,1804, Fransre N.
Torney, aged 3 years, 11 months, and 15 days.
Oa the other side of the River of Death an-
other little angel stands, in robes of Heaven’s
own whiteness, departed to joifi the army of
the loved ones gone before,
Dear little friend! we scarce can realize that
he isno longer here among us! Even when
we saw him for the last time on earth, as he
lay in his little coffin, ‘with death so like a
gentle slumber on him,” it was hard to realize
that he was indeed dead; but he is gone, and
we no more shall meet him till we cross over

 

ley of sorrow, and tears, and bitter partings,

God called our little friend away,
To dwell with Him in Heaven above,
In the sweet sunshine of His love, ©

Through Heaven’s eternal day.

We know fhat he is happy now,
Au angel in a fair, immortal band,
Where hymns of praise and victory

: fow |
In that dear Ejen-land. :

   

PP

‘1. When a woman is legally divorced, by what
name is she in future to call herself? 2. Is a
divorced woman entitled to wear a wedding-
ring?” Here are a,couple of nuts to crack
round any cheering fire these cold nights,
Many people jump to a conclusion, and the re-
spouse is generally very decided. However,
opinions very much differ on these points,
The practice, as far as our observation ex-
tends, isthis: a divorced woman usually re-
tains her wedding-ring, and re-takes her
maiden name, but calls herself Mrs. For in-
stance, Miss Jane Smith, we will say, marries
Mr. Brown; they are legally divorced, and Mrs.
Brown becomes Mrs, Jane Smith, wearing the
ring Mr, Brown gave her at the altar.

+@re
THE WAY TO FIX THEM.

The milkmen of Paris are kept honest by a
well-known practice of stopping their cans at
the city gates while an inspector examines
their contents. Ifhe finds any milk watered
eo kicks over the delinquent can and the con-
tents run into the gutter. Sometimes so much
milk is spilled in this way that a white stream
half a mile long is seen running down the gut-
ters. Ifthe same law were put in force here
instead of ‘‘a white stream half a mile long,”
there would be aperfect inundation, and how
the price of chalk would go down after a week
orso! Afterall, we fear it would take our
citizens a long time to get used to pure milk.
rr ooo

{7 No man is a gentleman who, without
provocation, would treat with incivility the
humblest of ‘bis species. It is a vulgarity for

 

  

Dolor is sure to to have its way when fancy
becomes fly-blown, and we chill all over when
gazing on the bug-bears of our own distem-
pered imaginings: spectre, dc ubts, and fears.
Well, the mail is distributed, and no one
can imagine the multiplicity of ideas it has
brought. What a strange medley the mingled
manuscript would make! There are the mer-
curial, the jubilant, the eccentric—affection’s
billet-doux and affliction’s cypress. One over.
flows with maternal love, whilst another rings
out with mirth and laughter, whose wit, like a
goblet of nectar, sparkles to the beaded brim,
There are golden eggs to be hatched and golden
visions in prospect—polite literature and pe-
lucid nonsense, One abounds with precepis
and but-ends of mothers’ blessings, enjoining
upon Sonny to “take care of himself and keep
out of harm’s way!” Another overflows with
connubial affection, breathing words of ten-
derness from her to

oe

whom he ever turns,
To be refreshed where one pure altar burns,’”

Again, there is one so fraught with genial,
genuine kindness its heart can almost be felt
pulsating onthe paper where ’tis traced. Still
another is so profuse of apologies and pale
ink, with difficulty you discern the spectre de-
signed to stalk before you; ‘‘the stars dim-
twinkle through its frame.” The next details
all the news, from the freezing of the rooster’s
eomb to the phenomenon of the cat’s tail that
pointed due north all day before old Boreas
went on his last bender. Then comes one
from a merry little joker, whe can’t put pen to
paper without making a transcript of his own
feelings. He never is still, but constantly

 

 

 

which no accomplishments of dress or address
can ever atone. Show us the man who desires
to make every oné happy around him, and
whose greatest solicitude is never to give just
cause of offence to any one, and we will show
yous gentleman by nature and by practice,
whatever his condition in life may be.

AEN EEE

MONOTONY IN CAMP,

AND

IN* MAIL-BAGS, |

 

VIVACITY

BY GUSTAVUS GROATSWORTH,

 

The monotonous inactivity of camp-life
finds no relief that can compare with the plea-
sure incident to the distribution of thé mail.
There afe moments of pensive memories away
from drum-beat and bugle-call; sessions of
silent thought, when dark hours roll by heavyi-
ly; moments of carefal reflection, when re-
memberances of the past come thronging to
the mind with all their hallowed endearments,
When letters bring light and joyonsness, en-
tertwined with tepder sympatkics, agd hopes

 

 

the|British Weslyans, on a late occasion. Itis
a passage worth preserving:
“I suppose that no country has ever had{

rein; the stag, which, in its impetuous ight, such a power of invention and such stunted

"o>

might stumble and totter down a precipice, ; intellectual development as China, The Chi-f

should be restrained and confined to a place of

*
security.

That is the most perfect freedom and truest

nese is the largest, yet, beyond its own realm,
the least influential, ef monarchies. From
China no mission ever started, no conqueror

Within the cold and siientgrave ° :
His little form is laid to rest;

radiant with fature brightness, their tone of

sings out at the top of his voice, like the
French cock, ‘‘Whilst I live I crow!” His
epistle is read all around with high glee, and,
as a natural sequence, all the jolly cocks abeut
camp begin crowing in the same jocund
strain. A jubilant letter has an extensive
reading, and the laugh comes in clear through
to repay the sprightly pen that done the jot-
ting,

But mail-bags for the army are not exclu-
sively monopolized by letters. Thousands of _
literary journals contribute their mental ali.
ment. Those only who have experienced the
pleasure of the intellectual banquet can appre-
ciate the gratification it affords.

Among all the journals of kindred charac-
ter, none sarpass and few compare with the ~
diversified reading found in the columns of
the deservedly popular Wzrxxy. .

To write a long letter with care requires _
time, for whatever is worth doing at all is
worth doing well. But acopy of the Wzrxuy,
with its forty columns of variagated and fla-
vordus entertainment, is cheaply bought and
easily mailed; whilst to the recipient it ever
proves a talismanic messenger, bringing a lux-
urious store of exhileratmg mentality to in-

 

But where the palms of Eden wave, .
He dwells forever with ee blest.

Good-bye, dear litle friend; no more
We meeton this side of Heaven;
But on that fair eternal shore
A sweeter friendship wili be given.

Dear friends, you mis@ the prattle of your

€

state of happiness which is founded upon the | ever marched. Before all people in rndim ual | loved @ne; you hear his little footfalls now no
laws and rules of wisdom; and the boasted | invention, they are behiad «ii people in devel-| More; and when the toil of day is over he runs
liberty of doing as we like and gratifying our |Opment. They had both goldand silver coins | 2° more to greet your coming. Everything

own caprices, resembles the policy of the ty- | before the first Daric was minted, yet they tells with silent speech ‘‘of the little boy that | *

rant, who, to prevent his slaves from observ- | traffic by the scales to this day. They first had| died;” but look ahead! He beckons you on-

ing their thraldom,
ous kinds of amusements, and to conceal the

base metal of which their chains are composed | Were long beforehand with the magnet, but no | More to break the ties' cf love asunder, and

wreathes around them the roses of delight.

The ship tossed about upon the billows, will| British ship. They have printed from time|°f Praise and psalms of victory and thanks-
be observed if it carry a lamp at its prow;|immemorial, but their literature awakes no| Siving with those who have crossed over the
while another without one, though equally | progressive intellect. They have made glass! tiver ol death before us.

hurried onward by the current, passes unno-
ticed. The light of the glow-worm directs the
eye to the ground upon which it shines. The
white snow retains and renders conspicuous
the dark print of the foot which has pressed
it. The brilliant mirror shows the breath that
has stained it. ;

So has if ever been with Genius; its defects
and blemishes are rendered apparent by its

-own brilliancy, and those who enjoy its mo-

ments of most enchanting wit and hilarity are

often found amongst its severest critics, and

most unpitying detractors and calumniators,
G. W. West.

 

«Qe
OUR COUNTRY’S, DEAD.

Where are they, do you ask? Go to the
fields of Antietam, Chancellorsville, Chata-
nooga, and Gettysburg, and let the bleaching
bones of eur fallen heroesanswer! Goto that
sorrowing mother, bent with the cares of many
years, who has given up her son, her only stay
on earth, and ask der, if you can bring your-
self to call up her grief anew, after looking in-
to that smileless, wrinkled face, her only an-
swer will be: “Our hero, my poor boy, I trust
isin Heaven, and although he cannot come to
me, I shall soon go to him.’’ God bless that
broken-hearted mourner! her trust is placed
in One whe can and will sustain her, until
she is called to dwell forever with Him in
Heaven, and there renew her vows with him
who left her so soon alone on earth; and her
darling boy, who, wé trust, is gone to the
fallen soldier’s reward. —

Oh, Getteysburg, why can I never banish
from my mind that ever-present scene? Why
will those bleaching bones forever come be-
fore my vision ?—are they not crying out to
my patriotic heart to be avenged? Hark, can
we not hear the words, ‘‘Avenge us, and save
your perishing country!” coming from those
shaliow, hastily made graves—graves that
have been made by fellow soldiers, and: water-
ed with, their tears! 5

War has been called glorious!

seem s0 to some! To die is nothing!

ce§ Many seek death, and the brave man fears it

not; but to diein battle, away from friends
and home,

It may

= RINT them with vari- | gunpowder, but have got little further with its ward—he call you to meet him by and by in

use than to blaze it away in crackers. They

junk ever crossed the ocean except in tow of a

for two thousand years, and ordinarily do not
make it clear enough td see through yet.
Their, astronomy is still astrclogy, nor has
their chemistry awoke from dreams of alche-

my. They have politeness, but its odd forms,

and slavery of etiquette, only make them more
unsociable, They have a wonderful language,
but its elaborate cleverness is a curse and a

fetter to their minds, making it the labor of a

life to learn to read. They are not without
notions of dignity; but the men find itiz nails
long enough for claws, and the women in feét
crushed into the shapelessness of hoofs. In
the South Atlantic there is a sea—the Great
Sargazo. All the currents pass by it, Dall,
dead, heaving waves just move the heaped-up
tangle of weeds that grow, and the drift of
wrecks that rot in that stagnant, melancholy
ocean limbo, China is the Sargazo sea‘of the
ocean of humauity.”

TRE SILVER SHIP.
Tn this number of the New Yours Wrexuy
will be found the opening portion of our great
story, ‘The Silver Ship; or, The Bloodhound
of the Carribbean.” There cannot be a doubt
that it will be pronounced the greatest romance
-of modern times. Our lady readers in pat-
ticular should not fail to readit. I¢ will be
full of interest to them, and especially will
they find themselves drawn towards the hero-

*

ous creations ever portrayed by the pen of the
romancer. They will also find themselves
deeply interested in her lover, the ingenuous,
brave and noble-souled Ruy Leol, and his sis-
ter, the pure and high-toned Iolet. The whole
story, in fact, will appeal irresistibly to the
hearts of our lady readers.
<6
THE PRUNNY PHELLOW.
Look ont for the next number of that chief
of humorous publications, ti great

NEW YORK PHUNNY PHELLOW. ©

It is fullof side-splitting, suspender-burst-
ing matter, both pictorial and letter-press. It
is admitted by everybody to be the most ori-
ginal of all the humorous periodicals of the
day as well as the cheapest. Don’t fail to se-
cure &@ copy or you will miss a rich treat,

in

 

q

confiding trust and animated spirit makes,
hearth-stone and home-circle all the more

lovely.

All know the cordial greeting extended to

Ictters at home. What then must be the wel-

gome awarded by those subject to the priva-
tions of camp? Its rigor gives a keen zest for
home tidings. The intelligence enfolded in|
one little envelope may contain a world of
heart’s-ease. It brings glimpses and glimmer-
ings of the loved and the loving ones. It tells
of ‘auld lang syne.” It guilds the future with

ine, the beautifal Yola, one of the most glori-%

Eden’s happy fields, where death comes never

where we all shall meet-and sing sweet hymns

Ezen E. REexrorp,
+o
GENERAL ROSECRANS,
A corréspondent of the Commercial, speaking
of the above-named hero, says: ‘‘General
Rosecrans joined the late railroad excursion
at Meadville, when he was called out and
spoke a Sew words, and he responded hand-
somely.to the toast of “Our Army’and Navy.”
From the soubriqguet of “Old Rosey” and the
reported positiveness, not to say the austerity
of the man, Ihad expected to see features
stern as January, and hair equally white with
the frost of age. On the contrary, the hero of
Stono River stood up quite young looking,
to all appearance not being on the wrong side
of forty; hair and full beard sandy, without a
silver line that I could observe; face ‘bland
and smiling withgevident good nature; eyes
clear, but mild; look qnite modest; voice
mellow and even sweet, while hardly able to
make itself heard over theroom. He tolda
spicy aneedote illustrating the morale of the
American soldicr, and sat down, evidently en-
joying the whole scene. Rosecrans is none of
your very reverend, morose, crusty sages,
bursting at every pore with wisdom, self
conceit, and vanity, or even devotion, . But
what a head and physique in general! Trank
as round as one of his own fieid-pieces, Head
large, and planted finely on a substantial neck.
Forehead full, square, and lofty, showing a
frontal region such as Fowler and Wells
would like to putin their front window. High
cheek bones, with a full supply of muscle,
etc., to protect them. Infact, physically,
morally, and socially, ‘‘Old Rosey” is a model
fellow. No wonder that the boys fairly
adored him, for I am not yet come from under
his influence.”’
a 8
ALL ABOUT DIVORCE.

The English Divorce Court has set a num-
ber of notions afloat in English society. Many
people who hold to the Scriptural command
in respect of marriage, refuse to admit the
omnipotence of Parliament and Sir Cresswell
Cresswell’s Court; and the Court Journal thus
discourses on the two grave questions raised
by the antagonism of beliefs on this subject:

~

 

 

starry brightness. Its cheerful glow proves a
solace for moments that might. otherwige be
listless and dull

and unstudied sentences; what though rheto-
rical flourish and rounded period form no part
of their adornment; they open up the remem-
berances shrined in the soul, and speak like
angels’ whispers of that heaven on earth he
longs so much to gain. ~

What though they come in homely phrase

All sorts of létters find their way to camp.

They are folded methodically, enveloped pra-
dentially, pre-paid lawfully, mailed promiscu-
ously, and received enthusiastically,

“By no possibility could they be made to
march in single rank and follow each other’s
heels like a fileof Navajo Indians. Among all
the mottled multitude not two arealike. They
vary in tone and style no less than their au-
thors differ in physiognomy. ‘They are sent.
by novice and nymph, by the bashful and
bare-faced judge and joker; milksop and moral-
ist post them off. They are sent by hard-
fisted old fogies and hair-brained young hufri-
canes, by poets from Paradise and paupers
from the poor-house. They are penned by
beanty in her teens, brim fall of mirth and
loveliness, and by the garrulous old grand-dame
who grew fat laughing in her first childhood,
and kéeps fat laughing in her last.

Some are versatile and vivacious, abounding
with sallies of "humor, whimsical rhapsodies,
capricious fanticies and grotesque conceits.
They erray in fantastic attire the mirthful mu-
sings of the mind, and scatter around the spark-
ling corruscations of wit. Others are of the
opposite extreme, opening magnificently sad
and scientifically sedate—a sentimental com-
mingling of pathos and paregoric. Yet all
are welcome, for whoin camp is not glad to
getaletter? ‘till it is a mistaken policy to
bind them'with bla¢k galloon and spatter them
with rheum beyond reason. It prefigures sad-
ness and awakens gloomy forebodings to have
the tears roll ont big as ostrich eggs on cpen-

 

full. Far better that they open rich, with
loaves of love frosted like wedding cake, to-
gether with mirth cut uncommonly fat, and
sandwiched between kind wishes done up in
packages of gilt-edged jollity, and sealed with
most eloquent broad grins.

Not but that soldiers desire thoughtfal, seri-
ous letters, but the difterence is as great be-
tween seriousness and somberousness as be-
tween the tinkling of a cracked sheep’s-bell

 

ing a letter. They fill ones lap altogether too.

struct and amuse. Thus the soldier is enabled
to ‘shake off the golden slumber of repose’’
whilst reading his mail, and when it is finish-

ed, he fills the dudeen, and as the smoke eurls
in wreaths and rings, and floats in wavy undzu-

lations, reclines him back in meditative fancy
to mnse and luxuriate in day-dreams of happi-
ness. Sweet visions of home pass before him
like the cheerful gleam of the early morning,
and an earnest, eager, longing desire fills his
heart again to taste its joys and share its tran-
quility and peace,

BROKEN LINKS.

BY LUTIE VERNON.
——

New Years Day! Not fair and pleasant with

 

sunshine and sleighing, for the sun essays in

vain to pierce the impenetrable dun, and the
eaves are drip, dripping in continuous, yet
musical tinkling. Father Time, with his busy
sickle has added the few remaining hours of
the old, the sad, the dying year, to his golden
sheaf, and the old clock in yonder church
tower has chimed its knell. But it will have
sounded many strokes of the ‘‘New Year,” be-
fore this shall have reached the readers of ‘‘The
Werstyx.” There comes back to me from the
past many gay and happy scenes—many that
are sweeter still in their serenity and cheerful-
ness, and anon the shadows of pain, of sorrow,
of bereayment, fall heavy and still. 9 Here
the links in the chain of life are readily
traced’ by the flowery wreaths festooning
them, and there they seem dim and broken
through the obscure of tears. But, oh! the
future stretches out before me a blank, which
my straining imagination strives in vain 40
fill. In anew place, mid different scenes, it
shall come to me, for Iam soon to leave this
beautiful village at the source of the winding
river. My lips have been dumb with a heavy,
oppressed sensatior, until last night. I was
awakened from sleep by the oft-heard sound
of the band playing the ever.new air, “‘Home,
Sweet Home,” in such sweet strains as rippled
and thrilled through my strangely stirred soul,
flooding my lips with expression, till I would
fain have pent it up again. Whohas not heard
some strain of music that has aroused, puri-
fied the soul, so that its vivifying influence
was felt through all the after years?: Dear
WEEELY, if you have ever been drifted away
by the force of circumstances, from a place en-
deared to you, you will sympathize with me.
I shall look upon these surrounding hills and
the lovely little lake spreading away to the
north no more; enjoy no more quiet walks
through the pleasant streets. Ido not mean
‘this literally, for I expect to visit my old home
very often. Butthe feeling of identity with it
will be exchanged for individuality. Ah, this
is what saddens one. There broken links in
the chain of life give pain in their sunder-
ing, but there is one link that shall still bind

ful and entertaining friend, the New Yors

 

and the sonerous sound of a silver bugle.

*

WEEELY.

 

  

 

 

 

 

me to the past—’tis the presence of my cheer- Fay

  
al

  

trapper at the words recalling to him, as it,did,

_ scent of a deer, I know where to find him. It’s

_ muned the o/d trapper with himeelf.

 

 

   
 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

TO ELLA.
BY EDWAND A. NIVEN.

When the morning bright is dawning,
Painting skies with red and gold;
When the sunbeams, with their rich gleams,
* Touch the meadow, stream and wold;
When the dew drops, on the tree tops,
Dance and sparkle by ihe lea,-
In these glad hours, when wake the sweet flow’rs,
Iam dreaming, love, of thee. .

And when shadows, o’er the meadows, »
Creep at twilight’s mystic boar;

When with gludness, stript of sadness,
Zephyrs sigh within the bower;

When the moonlight, and the starlight,
Flood the earth and silver sea,

In the heaven of tke even,
Iaim dreaming, love, of thee,

er

THE

ONE-ARMED TRAPPER:

The Heroine of the Prairie.

 

BY WILLIAM H. BUSHNELL,

Author of “Bertha,” “Left Alone,’”’ “The Floating
Feather,” ‘‘Estelle, the Vivandiere,’’“‘The
Outlaws of the Wabash,” etc. 4

 

®

CHAPTER XIU.
ESCAPE—THE DEATH CRY—DESPAIR—LIFE.

Leit to himself Old Bruin began at once to look
about him for the means of exzcape, satisfied that
if he could accomplish it he would be able in some
manver to save his comrades, and more than all
the life of his daughter, who was now dearer to
him than all else of earth. The knowledge that
the Whirling Wind had escaped, as well as the

Yankee, emboldened him to make the attempt, |.

though all his hope phen: from the former, as he
knew that the Indian would pene upon their trail
and aid him when least expected. But the task
was one of great danger, for a hatchet would at
once put an end to his life if detected. Yet to re-
main thus in confinement, and court as it were, a

ingering death of torture, was not to be thought

. Better, far better, one glorious struggle, even
oie failed, than to be burned piecemeal at the

e. :

Once resolved, he was not long in forming a
plan. While his guards were away he haatily
prepared a figure, out of such matetials as he
could gather, and with his upper garments care-
fully wrapped around them, gave it the semblance
of himself, This he laid at full length and in fall
sight of the door, keeping himself in the back
ground and instructing his companions to talk of
bim asif asleep. The bait took far better than
he had expected, and he soon had the satisfac-
tion of knowing that the watches were most com-
pletely deceived. 5

“The old man—him of the one arm, sleeps
sound—him be very tired,” grunted one of the
Indians. -

‘Him sleep sounder to-morrow,” was the reply
of another, hinting of the death by torture, «

“An old fox, him—been in de trap once and log;
bis arm.”

“rut loose his head—sealp and all next.”
“How de medicine now ?” :
“Ugh! de witch girl most.kill him—blow his

.| without even the upturning of an eye.

 

 

going down to certain destruction! Oh, God!
that I only had my other arm for oue good half
hour. Then—but I must save them as it is, or
myseif go down into the torrent’s bed.”

Once more, and with renewed life, he dashed up
the steep rocks, apparently scorning-danger. A
few minutes brought him to a point from whence
he could look down upon the helpless Yankees and
the struggling, still brave Indian, whose strength
was very fast failing, and the root to which he
clung shivering in its parting: But a half a score
of feet above them he could see every motion,
but how help them? And could he not doxo
and that instantly, he would see them hutied
down the dizzy precipice, and know that they
were dashed into a thoueand atoms upon the rg-
morseless, ragged-edged stones.

“Hold on, Wind! Hold on a moment for your
life,” he shouted,

“Thank the good Maniton, Al-e-mo-nee-qua
(the broken arm) has come!” replied the Indian,

No time was there then for. words, but as the
terrible thought flashed through the mind of the
old trapper as to how he could save them, his
iron frame became weak as a wailing infant.
“The hold of the rootis slight as the downy
feathers of the scarce fiedged bird. The Whirl-
ing Wind will soon be with his fathers,” said the
Indian, in a whisper, and yet so deep and clear a
one as to render every word perfectly distinct.
Ob! how the terrible announcement fell upon
the ear of Old Bruin, and yet he stood there see-
ing his friends going down to fell destruction,
and he eve to do aught for them. x
“Great 1” burst from his lips in the intense
agony of the moment, “lend me thy mighty arm.
Wiocg—Wind, what can I—slrall I do?” s
“The leather tree stands on the brink,” cams
hoarsely whispered back. “But before my
brother éan tear the bark off, the pale face end
the Whirling Wind will bein the land of spirits.”
Quickly as the words were spoken, the old
trapper stood at the side of the designated tree.
With a knife he had secreted about bim he gir-
dled the trunk and stripped off the tough bark.
Making his feet and teeth answer the purpose of
one hand, he soon had knotted together a strong
rope of the pliant thongs, and after making one
end secure to a neighboring tree, he laid down,
stretching as far as possible over the rocky brink,
and swung the noosed end below.
’ “The pale face!” shouted the Indian.

“But yon?’ asked Old Bruin, a8 he strove to
lasso the dangling form.
‘Am in the hands of the great Maniton.”
Attempt after attempt made invaiv, the noose
caught around the feet of the Yankee, and was
slowly drawn up until it was securely fastened
beneath his arms, Senseless almost by this time,
he knew not that the Indian kneeling down,
gently relaxed hia hold and allowed his entire
weight to come upon the bark rope. Stretchiug
beneath the strain, then cracking, and more than
one sirained parting, it was but as a thread be-
tween him and eternity. And there he hung and
swung, the sport of the wind, and being whirled
and bruised against the cruel rocks, while the In-
dian, released from the burden, quickly crawled
around the point, and ina moment aiter stood
by the side of the excited trapper. There was
no word spoken—the tension was too great upon
the’r nerves for vain forms of speech. A single,
strong grasp of the hand,a giance of the eye,
and then the Whirling Wind bent down, and ap-
plying his entire strength to the task, hoisigd the
white man slowly, inch by inch, aloft—aloft until
the trapper grasped him by the huge collar of
h's coat, and dragged him swiftly away from that
direful precipice—a live man, but sorely dis-
fraught, . ;

 

a

eer

What the

 

. ;
‘ eat PaaS . a TPasa wy wees
| | Stein E ee] = aT c L E 4 PSS

 

 

was this belief to the poor, savage, superstitious
dwellers of the woods; and bowed down in abject
terror, they stood speechless, waiting their doom.

above their camping ground, and dreading what
next shouldcome. Waiting, watching, and they
saw a huge mass of rock, lifted as it were by un-
seen hands, with a terrific noise, and hurled,
splintered into the chasm beneath. Ah! poor,
simp‘e, uneducated red man, ye little knew the
power of powder when in the hands of a cunning
Yankee, who had learned your foolish belief from
the lips of an old trapper.

“Blast ye!” muttered Abomination Slocum, as

no swearin’ either, but Pil fix ye so that your
cussed narrow paths will neyer fool a Yankee
agin,” and he applied a match, and another mass
fell in a stony chowa below, some even within
the circle of the wigwams.

While the Sioux were watching with amazement
this proceeding, and deeming that the thunder-
bolts of angry Manitou were being hurled to
earth, the white girl had severed every bond, and
the Frenchman, Irishman and Negro, weré bound-
ing away, fear urged, on their race of freedom.
None had offered to molest or stay them, and
directed in a whisper by the girl, for well she
fathomed the mystery, they soon were toiiing up
the rough mountain side, and soon seated by Old
Bruin, free once more. j
_ And yet stillthe white girl lingered—lingered
in the vain hope of persuading the red one to ac-
company her and spend the rest of her life among
civilization. ‘

“No, nol” answered the Fire Plrme, “the pale
face scorns the poor red man, and Fire Plume will
be far happier in the wild woods. The chieftain
is kind te his daughter, and now that the hour of,
their wrath has passed away—now that they be-
lieve the Great Manitou has arisen in all his ter-
rible majesty, she will be safe with her people.” »

“Then the Spring Spirit must bid her red sis-
ter farewell, for much as she loves her, yet her
heart longs for her father and her errs

“And so it is with the daughter of the Sioux.
Go, Spirit, before my heart becomes soft and I
cannot bear the parting. Go, the Manitou guard
and bless you. Go, and when you see a poor-red
man wandering through the streets of the great
camping grounds of your tribe, be kind to him for
the sake of the Fire Plume.”

‘As I hope for mercy, I will,” replied the white

girl through her.«obs,

“Go, and give this little tokento him who was

80 kind to the poor Indian girl when the giant

bear had struck her sorely.” *

“To the Frenchman?”

“Yes, tohim. Tell him that the Fire Plume

— ever pray tothe Great Spirit for him, and—

and——’

‘Shall I tell him you love him?”

“THe ave of the Fire Plume speak not lies.
eart would say the lips may utter.”

“Why not go with me then?”

The white girl thought that she had at length

found a power that would make the other accom-

pany’ her,

“Tt may not be. Go.”

And the Indian girl kissed her fair-skinned sister

and darted into the wigwam before the white girl

could devise her intentions; and then, with her

head buried in her blanket, she sat and com-

muned with her own thoughts.

The watchers on the now ruined ‘“Pasnther’s

Leap” saw alight form speeding toward them,

and dashing in a body down, they welcomed the

Spring Spirit with open arms. ;

 . “Father!” murmured the girl as she fell upon her

parent’s bosom, exhausted, both from her recent

suffering and present excitement, or ~

“Daughter—dear daughter!” and the fervent

 

CHAPTER XIV.

 

head cffi—same as powder. She cure him though
and now he have her burn.” f 4
A shudder shook the iron frame of the oid /

the perilous situation which his daughter stood,
and had he been but armed and surrounded by a
few chosen panions, bloody work would have
followed. AS8 it washe could but wait, watch and
bide his time.

When the night was at its blackest, and the
storm at jts height in that forest primeval; when.
the giant trees groaned and the dry branches
were torn from the parent stems and whirled,
splintered, along; when the slender lodges of the
red man swayed, rocked, and in many instances
were blown down, covering their inmates with
the reich ae heart of Old Bruin awoke within
him and he felt that his hour had come. a

Gently ratoes up the skin covering on one side
of the wigwam, on that fartherest from the side
where his guards were shivering around a very
scanty fire, he crawled slowly out, buried almost
in the deep snow drifts. Then slowly, as a wound-
ed snake, he wormed his way along through the
debris until he had almost reached the woods.
Here, and just as he thought himself safe, the
camp rang with an unwonted noise, and he fan-
cied that his escape had already become known.
Into a drift of more than usual magnitude he
buried himself, leaving but a very minute open-
ing for breath. Distinetly could he hear every
sound, and with ears rendered preternaturally
keen he listened. A very few moments, however,
satisfied him that he was safe, for he heard one
of the watchers tell the other that he still slept,
and heard, alse, his late companions cursing in
no very gentle terms about being disturbed.
Again, therefore, he set out, and soon finding
himself in the woods, arose from his serpent-like
position and taking the usual “lope” bounded
9 away, without the slightest time given to
rest. » .

“If the Wind,” he muttered to himself, think-
ing of his Indian friend, “hasn't, lost the trail,
ard I should as soen think of a hound losing the

a dangerous trail—one that I'd like very bright
sunlight to follow; but this is no time to be as
dainty as a gal picking her way across lots to her
first dance. No, no! I’ve been there before and
I'd go again if it was ten times as dark; and the
Indian will be there for sartin. No baby-nerved
man he when there is danger abroad. Ugh!
how dark it is, and how the snow chills my old

THE DOOM—A TERRIBLE OMEN—FREEDOM.
The morning after the terrible storm beamed

brightiy again trgon «he world ‘as-if. nature,
softened in her mood, had resolved to recompense
her children for their suffering. W: even, the

sunshine shimmered down and kissing the newly
falien snow soon sent mimfe riyulets dancing
through the rifts.

But was it looked upon with gladness by the
poor prisoners in that home of savage, ruthless
tortures? Didit bring to them an assurance that
life would be long and joyous? Did it come to
them as a harbinger of brighter, better days, or
bring promise of release from their sufferings, ex-
cept by traveling through the dark portals of the
tomb? Ah! sunshine glories, ye fall but darkly
on the eye when the hearbis breaking beneath a
load of mental sorrow, ’

With the first dawn of morning the guards has-
tened to inspect the wigwams wherein the prison-
ers had been confined, and great indeed was their
consternation when the old trapper was found to
have escaped. The rude figure lying there ex-
plained at once how they had been deceived, and
in their wrath they devoted the residue to imme-
diate torture. Vain were their pleadings for de-
lay, and it was pitiful to see the utter, abject mis-
ery of the negro as he was once more bound to
tthe stake. The Irishman, no less fearful, was.
still defiant, while the Frenchman bravely pre-
pared to meet his doom.

Torn from each others arms, the girls were led
forward and the preparations of the previous day
resumed, One chance alone remained for them,
and that was to accept some Indian brave as a
husband, to become worse than a slave for life,
To both the offer was made, for both had long
been sought. Yet both, even in this dread hour,
with death the most horrible staring them in the
face—reaching out his skeleton hand to clutch
their very hearts, spurned the offer. With the

rayers of childhood on her lips the white girl
2 t, even amid the faggots, and consecrated
herself to God—to God to whom her spirit should
g00n go, purified by the fearful torture of fire.

“She talkes to her re whispered the
Indians, feartully, and a hushed, strange awe fell
upon that savage group of warriors, and they
stood fearful of some unknown curse.

‘Tet her call,” answered the medicine, boast-
fully, “the will not listen to her words. She dies
the death 1”

‘Jet her be free and the others be offered as

 

bones. I wish I had my good, thick hunting
shirt now, but its doing good duty—playing Old
Bruin in thatcussed wigwam. Ah! here is the
turn of the trail. I know that lightning blasted
tree well. I wish, those infernal Sioux were
hanging as thick upon it as I have seen acorns.
And my gal, too—my daughter—my dear;” but
his feelings and the intense steepness of the trail
forced bis tongue to silence as he scaled, by the
help of his single hand and feet, hig way along
the dizzy path.

Up, up! like a mountain gost he clambered—
now sliding back—now half buried in the treach-
erous drifts, and now lieing flat upon the bare
rock to save himself from being hurled headlong
into the deep valley below. Cautiously and silent-
ly he crept along through the thick snow and
murky mountain shadows. But what were these
to a desperate man? QJow, however, was his
progress when his single“arm was oft of more use
to him than his feet—puiling himself up one
‘precipice only to slide down another—keeping

imself from death one moment only to have it
stare him in the face the next.

But the danger at length was past, and he
stood exbiatinted with his efforts, and peered
around him in the darkness in yaiu tor his
true and tried Indian friend. But he wos no
where to be seen. The angry river surged on
hundreds of feet beneath him, and its roar thun-
dered on his ears. —

“Jt was here he should haye met me,” com-
"He knows
thé spot well, ani itis not the first time we have
sat here and watched the red-skins when they
but little thought us near. Well, well, I must
wait. If it wasn’t for my child, now I would—
Good Heavens! what sound is that?”

His ears were becoming accustomed to the
sound of the waters, and he thought he could dis-
tinguish some other than that of nature.

By Heaven!” he continued, after laying his
ear to the ground and listening intently for some
minutes—"‘By the great Heaven, it is a human
voice shrisking inagony! And that—that is the
death cry of the Whirling Wind! I should know
_itamong a thousand! Isee itallnow! They—
one « jeast—has fallen from the rocks in trying
to get around the ‘Panther’s leap,’ and boih are

sacrifice to the Manitou,” again whispered the
timid ones.

“Tet all burn together,” was the command, and
the torch flashed in the air, and the flame burned
brightly as it was descending to iire the high-
piled faggots,

“Hark! Hold!” shouted the chief, just in time.
“Hold! Ihearthe steps of one comming swift
and fast.” :

All eyes were turned toward the woods, and in
another instant, a young Indian, wounted upon
a half-broken horse, one wild and savage ag him-
self, dashed into the circle. Unsadied, unbri-
died, except by a single thong of undressed deer-
skin, he rode, a very picture of a warrior—grace-
ful, self-possessed, and still headlong. From the
bare back of the snorting steed he threw himself,
with heaving heart and fire-flashing eye. Yet
headlong as had been his haste, he no sooner had
struck the ground than he became statuesque—im-
movable in feature, and apparently unconcerned.
He was learning fast the lessons that would make
him a great man among his tribe.

Eagerly all bent forward to hear the first whis-
per, for nothing but news of the most vital im-
portauce to the tribe would have authorised his
coming in such a fashion at such a time, Cun-
ningly was he questioned, and slowly the intelli-
gence dropped trom his tongue.

“The ‘Panther’s Leap’ is falling! he said,
and a moan of horror ran througa the entire
group, and found utterance from every tongue.

‘The Panther’sLeap!” |

“Tven as Lerode by the huge rock that stood as
a sentinel above it tottered and fell with a clash
like #huuder into the waters w.”

“The Manitou is angry,” said the chief,

“The race ofthe Sioux is doomed to destruc-
tion,” replied the trembling old medicine.

‘God in thy merey I thank thee!” burst from
the lips of the whife maiden, as she tore herself
from her bopds and hastened tothe Fire Plume,
for well she knew the tradition of the tribe, that
when the ‘‘Paxther’s Leap” fell, then should de-
struction come to them. Like the old fabled
molto,

“While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;

Waiting and watching the cliff that towered far.

he prepared another blast, “‘blast ye, and that’s | k

All. saw and knew the terrible danger that’ sur-
rounded her; knew the strength of the whirl-
ols that, guarded as they were with snags and
uge tree tops, would erush that birchen bark like
an egg-shell; knew the foaming undercurrent
that would drag her down beyond the help of hu-
man hands; knew that death, sudden and violent,
was around her in one of its most frightful shapes;
aye, and knew still more, that they were almost
impotent to save!

“Help, Father, help!”

Softened by the distance and the roar of the
waves, the cry of distress yet came ringing upon
= ears with the terrible distinctness of a
nell,

“The canoes !- quick! the canoes!” shouted the

disconsolate parent, as he sprang the very fore-

moat to execute his own orders.

‘May the blissed Vargin save her!” was the re-

ply of the Irishman ag, on looking for them he

found that, having been carelessly left afloat, they

had been stove upon the rocks.

“Then God alone can seve her!” was the heart-

broken reply, for all saw at 2 glanee the impossi-

= of any human hand stemming that angry
ood. , :

“By Heaven, but we will tryit!® came from

more than one pair of lips.

“Stop!” commanded the old trapper, with a

voice trembling with emotion. “Stop! What

would you do, men?’

‘Save her or perish !” ~
_ It was a bold resolve, a reckless, daring thought,
and yet one might as well have attempted to turn
back the fear-driven herd of buffalo, or the fire-
startled wild horse, as to oppose the sinews of
man to that fiercely rushing ‘“‘Hell of Waters,”
that should never know resi or stay until lost in
the fathomless ocean.

“Stop! You’re mad to think of saving her by
swimming. Go below to where the drift wood is
sucked close up to the bank. There is a chance,
and the only one I know of. Oh, my poor, dear
girl! Go there, I say, part of you, and the rest
see if one of the canoes cannot be raised and
mended. Come, I will go with you. Whirling
Wind, you and the Yankee and the Frenchman
are handy at canoe-making—you stay and the
rest go with me.”

“Help! for God’s sake, help!” again came to
their ears, and with one accord they sprang down
the river bank, forgetful of their own danger in
that of the girl, °

Help! They saw the little frail canoe, tossing,
whirling about, and each moment drifting farther
from them. They saw the pleading arms stretched
heavenward, and heard the plaintive agony of
that shipwrecked soul. They saw the splintered
trunks of the sunken trees—the giants of the
mountains hurled down from their primeval
homes and anchored fast, with their skeleton fin-
gers outspread for wreck and pitiless destruction.
‘They saw the huge masses of drift wood, grind-
ing, crushing, splintering, in the waves, and tell-
ing of the fate of anything that should come with-
in their power!

Yes, all this they saw, and then floating help-
lessly on that tiny egg-shell bark, of which no
atom would remain when thrown into the forest
maelstrom, but fairly ground te powder, lost for-
ever to humanvision. And such a fate was re-
served for her, who, in the very spring-time of
yn and beauty, had become so dear to them
. ;

“T’ge a gwan in,” muttered the negro, as he
stood disrobing himself upon a log that jutted far
out in the stream and rose and fell with every
ulsation of the current—“T’se a gwan in, Massa
ruin; and if I don’t sabe her, say a good word
for de poor nigga dat thought less of hisself den
he did of your gal;” and Pete plunged boldly into
the water, before any one could prevent him.

 

kiss impressed ppon her forehead, told how true
and deep his love.
“By the powers of mud! hurvay!” exclaimed
Tom Burke, swinging a tremendous shilelah
round his head, and at the same time drawing
Bees — ee to Tote teas. =
ars. ‘2’ érned i aye.shed a tear be-
ie since my ould mother, God rest her soul,

“Golly!” exclaimed the negro, in return, and
while extcuting a most wonderful double shufile,
‘T’se agoin’ mad wid joy, Tis!”
“Jerusalem and Wethersfield onions!” cho-
rused the Yankee, “but the powder did the job
for the cussed red-skins. I rayther think that
last shot made them wilt like a frosted cabbage
leaf. If they knew all, wouldn’t they give a small
sum for the scalp of Abomination Slocumb, Esq!”
The gh freeing herself from the embraces of
hér father, called fo the Frenchman, and motion-
ing hiia aside, held along and whispered conver-
sation with him, at the same time giving him the
wampum present she had received from the Fire
Plume. That night he was missing from their
eamp, and ever after there dwelt in the wigwams
of the Sioux a white hunter, who boasted of the
“prettiest squaw in the tribe.” He had uncon-
sciously won a wife when only intending to be
kind to a poor wounded Indian girl.
“Howly Saint Patrick!” exclaimed Tom Burke,
when he heard the news. ‘An’ did yes iver hear
the likes of that? By the piper that played be-
fore Moses, if ’d ever thought of such a thing,
wouldn't I have talked swate to the red-skinned
critter. An’ to think she should have marrie
that frog-eatin’parley voo, when such broth o
a boy as [am was around! The murderin’ thief
of the world !”
“Jehosaphat!” fairly shouted the Yankee when
he heard this speech. ‘Jist to think of the im-
pudence of a brogue-talkin’, snake-hatin’, whis-
ky-lovin’, bog-trotter! Wall, I guess the copper-
complected gal would dandelion and turn yaller,
if she heard you talk.”
“Here, Whiskey!” laughed the negro, “cum
and see yer master, like a good for nothin’ in de
worl’, dorg as ye are;” and the poor brute came
dragging himself into the circle, evidently
strangely perplexed.
But his perplexity soon came to an end, for a
moment after he bounded aloft and executed
some of the most unaccountable gymnastics ever
recorded in any dog-alogical book. Round and
round, up and up he went, followed by a strange
ve :
“Wall, I swum,” said the Yankee, “if that dog
hasn’t got the fuse fastened to his tail that I was
a lookin’ arter!” “
‘Him dun gon sn’ celebrated on bis own hook!”
answered. Pete, who, in keeping with his usual
mood, had fastened it there.
“May the divil Liast yes for a nagur, as ye
are!” said Burke, as he extinguished the match
and quieted the cur.
‘Now, boys, for the homeward trail,” command-
ed the old trapper; and with joy and at their leis-
ure, they returned over the trail they bad so late-
ly traveled in bounds and as captives.

a

CHAPTER XY.

THE “HELL OF WATERS !”—EARNEST LA FORGE—A
TERRIFIC ESCAPE,

Often as we disregard and make light of the
axiom, “L’homme propose, et Dreu dispose !” yet
just as often is its truth forced upon us in a man-
ner that can neither be misunderstood or caviled
at. And go it proved now with the party that had
escaped so many dangers, and joyfully thought
that the future would bring them nothing butease
and exemption from trials,

Safely had they arrived at the Missonri River—
prepared their canoes—loaded them with their
traps and provisions, and promised themselves
that the dawning of another day should see them
floating down the yellow tide toward civilization
and home. .,

And that morning, so long wished for, came,
and night no more ruled the scene. Rosy fingers
swiftly drew away the sable curtains, andthe red-
browed sun flashed gjoriously upon their gay
trappings and glittering arms.

But where was she for whom so much had been
ventured ? She who had become dear io many a
heart? ‘

Far out in the turbulent tide they saw one of
the canoes, tossed like a feather, and in it, with
outstretched hands, sat the daughter of Old Bruin
whirling swiftly down to destruction. A broken
paddle drifted toward the shore, and well the eyes
of all read that she had vainly endeavored to stem
the tide.

But why she was thus situated was a riddle none
could solve, even had the time then been given

 

 

“By the howly powers, but he had a white
heart !” exclaimed the Irishman; and then seeing
the burly form of the negro swept to the shore,
he hastened to drag him out.

At any other time it would haye created a laugh,
but now the scene waa one of far too deep interest,
and the would-be savior, ateney stunned by hay-
ps struck with his head & sunken trunk

as left to recover as best he might, while all
eyes were again riveted on the earcase that was
now being hurried, as if by unseen hands, to a
crashing raft of drift-wood that lay resting un-
easily against the opposite shore.

“By Saint Patrick, but must we stand here, like
sO mapy omahdcouns, and see the girl be kilt en-
tirely !” "again exclaimed the impulsiv@and warm-
hearted Tom Burke.

“Tt is folly, madness, utter madness to attempt
her rescue, but at least we can die together!”
was the solemn reply of Ojd Bruin, as he stepped
to the brink, ey

“Be jabere, then I’m the boy to try it

“No! It is I, her father, that ehall go!”

“Not while [ have any strength in this ugly
ould carcase of mine!’ and he prepies with the
trapper and bore him beck bodily from the shore.

het go your hold, Tom, or it will be the worse
for you!” and Old Bruin’sfhand rested gon his
knife as if he would free himself by that means,
if all others failed. .

“Boe the memory of me euld mother, but you
may kill meif yees like, but I’m not goin’ to let
you abe yerself entirely, and yees with only one
arm

“See |” said the other; “even now she is sink-
ing down—has almost reached the drift! An-
other moment, and it will be too late !”

“Whirling Wind will go for his pale brother !”
interrupted the Indian, who having found that
the task of repairing the canoe would be a work
of time, had guddenly and silently joined the
anxious grou

“T would not have you venture your life in so
desperate an undertaking, and yet you are the
only one that would stand the slightest chance.”

*The children of the forest are ever in the keep-
ing of the Great Manitou. Whirling; Wind will go.
But see!” and the Indian sat down and buried his
face in his hands.

‘See what?” and the trapper burst from the
grasp of Tom Burke, as if the arms that held
him had been those of an infant.

“She’s dun gone! De Lord have mercy!” re-
plied the negro, suddenly awaking from his stu-

rs

‘Help ” once more the cry came to their ear,
but how feebly now, like the last whisper of a
parting soul.

Whirling round and round, that ill-fated bark
was being hurled into the very gripe of the splin-
tering drift, and the buoyancy that had so long
saved it was becoming lost, for the girl, rendered
desperate by her hopeless situation, had grasped
one side, her weight almost oe oe it, and the
waters were leaping in foam to clutch their prey |
Another instan’, and all will be over! Another
of the pulse beat, and the heart will be stilied for-
ever! Another thought-flash, and that furiously
grinding mass will have crushed the fair young
form into undistinguishable atoms |!

“God! Heaven! Mercy!” burst from the lips
of the agony-wrung father, and it required all the
strength of his companions to withold him from
also seeking a watery grave.

‘De dug out is dun gone for sartin !” muttered
the negro, wiping Jarge tear-drops from his eyes,

“By the lightof heaven, look!” exclaimed the
Irishman, andhis voice had in it so much of the
music of hope that all started forward as at a
trumpet’s call,

A man’s form was seen springing from log to
log towards the cance, A man’s hand was seen
waving wildly in the air, and his harsh voice
ringing with encouragement. He nears her; his
form is bent over the shattered bark; he lifts her
fainting form, even as the splinters are hurled
high above his head; he folds her in his arms and
starts back for the firm land!

“Thank Heaven, they are safe!” burst rever-
ently from every lip. ~ .

“Phey are ground down in the ruin,” said the
old trapper, as they at the very instant disap-
peared from sight.

**To the still waters below the raft,” commanded
the Whirling Wind, and springing into.the waves
rapidly swam down with the current, followed at
once by his companions.

A little sandy island lay in the very bosom of
the tide, and here the waters, parting on either
side, seemed to rest after their furious struggles.
Reaching this the Indian paused for a moment,
and then again dashed rapidly towards the Mis-
souri shore. His keen eye had seen what the
others had not, and soonhe was dragging ashore

 

 

 

 

 

And when Rome falls—the world,”

them for sush a solution,

the form of a young hunter, with an almost dead

“Great Heaven, Ithank Thee!” murmured Olé

of his girl on one side, and that of her rescuer on
anc ther.

“It was a terrible moment,” replied the young
man, “when my footing gave way, ead we were
hurled together in that crashing raft.”

‘“But how came you here, Ernest La Forge?”

“You know I often longed to join you, and was
secking you when——”

“The Great Maniton gave to the arms of the
pale young warrior a bride from out of the very
bosom of the raging waters,” interrupted the
Whisling Wind.

“Be gorrah, but that may be so for sure,” re-
plied Tom Burke.

The blushing cheeks of both girl and man told
how truly the random shaft had struck, hom
for in an hour like the one they had just passe
through love springs instantly into a perfect flow-
er. But however much they felt, it required time

journey, sweet words were whispered, it would
not have been strange after their having been so
nearly joined for eternity,

 

CHAPTER XVI.
THE END OF THE TRAIL.

“Wall,” said a live Yankee, gistering in blue
coat and brass buttons, as he walked through the
streets of St. Louis, some years subsequent to the
scenes we have briefly narrated—“Wall, Jerusy,
(this was toa female who hung on bis arm like a
work-bag, and, boasted the name of wite,) this
has got to be a middlin’ smart chance of a place
sin’ | was here last, and—and—thunderation |”
Don t swear, Abomination!”

“Wall, it aiu't right, sin’ I jined the meetin’,
that’s an up and dowa fact, but how can a iellow
help it when he sees——” and te:ring away from
his spouse, he darted down the streets, cryin
with all his might, “Olid Bruia! Olid Brnin,
say!” much to the amusement of the lookers on.
‘Wall,’ sexclaimed the deserted female, ‘if
Abomination ain’t-possesst, Pi gin it up,” and she
followed after him, screeching his name at every

step.

Conttietity out of breath, the Yankee caughé
up with and clung to a tall, one-armed man,
dressed in a full suit of buckskin and armed with
rifle, hatchet, and knife, as well as carrying with
him a bundle of beaver traps. The meeting was
a cardial one, and after the unfortunate femaioe
had arrived and been introduced in a peculiarly
down-east manner, the trio proceeded down the
street, followed by an aged and rough-looking
dog, that answered to the name of Terror.

“Here we stop,” said the old Trapper, and en-
tering a small but neat looking house, they were
welcomed by a woman in the very prime of beau-
ty, and the Yankee at once remembered and hail-
ed as her former preserver.
“Wall,” continued the Yankee, after their mu-
tual affairs had been fully discussed, ‘‘wall, ye
hain’t been and gone, and done it, haye ye?” »

“Done what ?” queried the woman.
‘ “Got spliced, like Jerushy here and me.”

“Not yet,” and a resy flush colered brow, cheek
and neck,
“To-morrow will be her wedding-day,” explain-
ed the father. ‘And this is the bridegroom. You
hayen’t forgotten him, I hope. Tom Burke, the
negro, even Pierre and his Indian wife, will be
here; andit is not an hour ago since we were
wishing for you.”
“Johosaphat, if it isn’t that brave boy, La
Farge! Jest tothink of that! Give me your
hand, old feller! Jerushy, won’t we make our
shanks fly! YonknowIL told you how he saved
her life! Ye see, squire, we huin’t been married
but a week or two, and jest thought we wouid
come out this way on a sort of a weddin’ tower.”
“By the piper that played before Moses !”
shouted a strong voice, with a rich brogue, as @
stalwart man entered the door. ‘By the piper,
Spirit, but the Frenchman and Fire Plume have
e, and the nager, and—whoop! whoop !—
kurrah | if here aint the Yankee, tod! Arya,
now, but we'll have lashins of whiskey, to-night,
boys!” and he shook the hand ofSlocumb until
he cried out for pain. .
‘Golly !” exclaimed the negro, Pete Robinson,
as he poked his head into the door, and exhibited
a very large amount ofiyory. ‘Golly, but day is
all heah, for sartin—dut is, day will be as soon as
de Frenchman has dun gone and tied up his ea-
noe, and toted his squaw and little pappooses up
from de levy 1”
Gathered that night, the band that had dared
the dangers of the wild woods, (except the noble
Indian, Whirling Wind, who nad been gathered
to his fathers,)and the savage wrath of the venge-
fal Sioux, they knelt reverently down, while the
old trapper, in his simple but earnest, manner,
poured out thanks to the good God who had so
strangely preserved them ail!
The morrow dawned in beauty, and when the
stn was driving his golden chariot ahead, when
the fire was flashing from its shining wheels, and
earth*had put on her regal attire, the daughter
of Old Bruin gave her hand to one who long had
had her heart, even from the day he risked his
own life to save hers, and with them all was ivaly
“merry as @ Inarriage bell.”
“J give her away |” replied the father, reverent-
ly, in answer to the usual question.

An’ I, be me sowl |” said the Irishman,

*T does too 1!” echoed the negro.
“Jehosaphat! and I too |” responded the Yan-

ees. 7

All seemed to claim her as their child—their pe-
culiar property.
The last seen of the Irishman-and negro that
night, they were both, in honor of the occasion,
trying to lead each other. Tom Burke was trying
to sing, With many a “hic,”
“Oh, Brien O’Lynn (hic) had no (hic) bretches to

wear,
He (hic) bought him a (hic) sheepskin, and made him
a (hic) hair.”

while Pete Robinson responded with guffahs,
And so the threads of their lives have all been
gathered, and their story is told.

THE END.

ORPHAN EITTY.

BY THORPE BEALE, -

CHAPTER IL.—(ConrInvep.)

"Tis a bridal scene I will show you now, and
Heaven smiles upon few happier. In a tastefully
arranged chamber, Louise Rivington was being
decked for the ceremony that was to unite her to

 

 

 

as she fondly trusted, were centered all the graces
of her girlish beau ideal. Her soft eyes gleamed
forth a light of peace and love, while her check
glowed with the fancies crowding up in her boson.
Her unclouded brow, her low musical voice, and
quiet smile, told that the hopes of youth lay bliss-
fully upon her heart, And sweetly fair she look-
ed, in her bridal robes, over which, the silvery
mocabeams drifted, arraying her in a celestial
plcry, asif she were a being of holier sphere than
this of time and change.

‘Are you ready?” said a quick eager voice,
while the deep eyes of the speaker looked tender-
ly upon the blushing form before him. The
sweet eyes would notseek his, but tears, tears of
happiness filled them.

“I wonder how it came to be my good fortune
to win you ?” he added, taking her hand tenderly
in his own.

“Am I not equally blessed?” she softly respond-
ed, looking fondly up at him. And he seemed
worthy the love so many had sought in vain ; so
bright and noble, with the stamp of manliness
upon his brow. None could point at his past life,
and say “there rests a dark spot on the otherwise
fair page—you failed in that—then, God desertod
you!” None thought, or if they thought, said,
“impulse is more your master than principle.”
The future will be your test. Chance has thus
far been kil to you!

But let these shadows rest.

Darkness follows light ; and, deepest wailing,
joy, Harth legsons are sad, yet inevitabie.

into Louise’s eyes, a tear not of bliss, It seemed
like an omen of evil, and instinctively she with-

 

girl locked in his dying grasp.

 

for perfect fruition; and if, on their homeward ~

the one whom her hoart had chosen, and inwhow, .

Even while gazing in qulet happiness upon ,é
Charles, a tear from some unknown cause stole

   

Bruin, as he sat an hour after holding the baud ie

 

drew her hand from its warm clasp to wipe the Ra GA@

 

 
     
  
 
 
 
   
 

 

 

 

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intrusive drop from her cheek, where it lay scald-
ing and threatening. ;
‘What canit be?” she thought, then stealing a
glanee at Charles, which served to reassure her,
she smiled again. ,
“Are you quite ready, love ?” was asked once
more,
“Quite !” and they. passed down the staircase fo
the room below, where were to assemble the wed-
ding guests. i
The words of the gray-headed minister were
very. solemn and inexpreseibly touching as he
prayed for the happiness of the young pair, whose
vows were 7 yet firmly uttered.
How few words yet meaning so much!
.. “Not now! not now, will I demand vengence,
but when it willcat deeper into her heart-strings
shall it be mine!” and De Bragh, by a powerful ef-
fort ovefmastering his sour urpose, thrust the
unused weapon of destruction beneath his sacque,
and leaped noiselessly from the tree to the

round. From his hiding place, he had witnessed

e whole of the torturing ceremony, at the close

of which he disappeared from Mereton, «
CHAPTER Ii. *

It was the hour of midnight, and a young
mother, from whose cheek the roses had been
stolen all too soon, sat_watching beside the cradle
of her first-born.

Oh, why does he leave me alone and go often ?
Tam filled with an overmastering preséntiment of
evil that hangs about me like a leaden weight I
cannot shake off. And what meaneth the mut-
tered incoherencies of his wretched slumber, in
which he tosses and raves like a chained crimnal
waiting his doom!” With adeep sigh, and
thoughtful brow, she replenished the fire, then
alg her heavy raven curls into a knot at

e back of her gracefully balanced head, she re-
sumed her seat beside her infant’s cradle. Soon
a hasty, uncertain step ascended the stairs, and
the young wife rose with a glad, unreproving
smile to welcome the comer, who greeted her with
uproarous rapture mingled with maudlin tears .

_ “Ah, my sweetest, again you could not seek
eral couch, ifI did beg you not to mst our
lossoms on such & worthless dog as I!”. Then
clasping her to his bosom,he pressed honied kisses
upon her brow. The poor wife had but a sigh to
ive in return, for the true eyo of affection read a
sgusting tale in her husband’s looks. Nor was
this the first time that she had thus béen greeted.

“Not glad to see me, girl? and tears in the
dearest eyes in all the world? Come hither, and
let me whisper in your ear a tale of good fortune
that will bringa smile to your rosy lips, and a
light to the face that seemeth to me, all'too sad,”
and he drew her tenderly upon his knee.

‘Alas! I cannot be glad,” she murmured,

“You permit my trifling losses to trouble you
foo much—”

“Losses? Ehave heard of none. But stay !—
that, then, is the troubled language of your
dreams |” interposed Louise, as, with a shudder,
she half started from her seat, to which she im-
mediately returned, and ciung closely to him, as
ifnow more than ever he needed her presence.
With Sheol, choking down her sobs, she re-
sumed—

‘ “Tell me, dearest, what those losses are ?”

“What a chit! Hear her ; just as though such
as she could help a body, andI believe that ig
what she purposes.”

“But women, as feeble as you deem me, have
assisted men in emergencies.”

“True, little wife. So you want to know about
the debts; well child, they amount to nothing.
In short, they resulted from a desire to increase
my funds, which happens to be devilish low, just
now.’ :

“Low? Surely that ought not to be, The for-
tune your uncle left’ you was large enough to
double our*needs:” -

“T know that, and ifI’d let those cursed specu-
lations alone, I should be, what Iam not now—
a hapy man,’

“Who suggested those speculations ?” asked
Louise anxiously, well knowing, but dreading to
hear thename she hated, scarce knowing why,

now. Her husband not seefning to hear her,
she repeated the question.

‘My noble-hearted friend, Artwell,” he replied
with a burst of enthusiasm,

‘artwell? Always Ariweil!” she groaned.

*“Pghaw, child! I believe you are jealous of him
—that old gray haired man that loves meas if I
were his own child, and you too.”

*{ want none of his love, nor interference—I
tremble at the sound of his name. For some
reason that I cannot fathom heis dragging you to
ruin. He first tempted you with the wine cup;
then the charmed folds of speculation he turned
around you; and now,.in the gambler’s hell he
sits beside his victim, Charles! Charles! leave
him, ere it is too late!”

But the lost man heeded not his wife’s admoni-
tion, and was drawn to the pit of ruin with blinded
eyes. Long since, upon the death of her mother,
Louise removed from Mereton, and was now a
stranger in a strange land.

Still farther to the Northwest, Uharles proposed
moving, and his almost desponding wife con-
sented, hoping to outreach the deadly influence
of Artwell, whom, to her agony, she discovered
yet on their route.

It was a lonely place that Louise now called her
home, with no neighbor in many ® long mile.
One evening she sat with fear and trembling,
awaiting the return of Charles, who had been ab-
sent some days. He always came now, intoxi-
cated and abusive. Her little girl, old enough to
observe and understand much of the misery. sur-
rounding her, sat watching her mother’s face with
childish anxiety.

A rough hand lifted the outer door latch, and a
rougher Voice exclaimed, asthe speaker advanced
towards the wretched mother, who held her af-
ee child to her bosom, wondering what new
evil awaited her,

**You are my prisoner!” and he peered hideous-
ly in her face, as, with a strong grasp, he clutch-
ed her arm, and bade his accomplice bring forth
the chains.

Chains!” shrieked the victim, scarcely be-
lieving she was in her right mind. God knows
she — long suffered enough to drive her to in-
sanity,

“Yes, chains; soft bonds weren’tmade for run-
aways.”

“Oh, epeak! What mean you?”
‘None of your palaver; we’re used to it.”
“Good lo g for a slave,

repugnance to the officer.

‘Slave ? “By what horrid conspiricy amI sur-
rounded ?” ;

After anathematizing the empty larder, their
captors threw Louise and Rer child into a covered
wagon, and drove rapidly away. A steamboat
landing was at length reached. The victims, en-
veloped beyond recognition, were hurried on
boarda boat, and zealously guarded. As they
were supposed to be fugitives, of course they re-
ceived no mercy from the passengers, some of
whom indulged in the charitable hope that a good
cat of nino tails was waiting to meet them,

It would be impossible to describe the misery
of Louise, whose senses, had it not been for her
child, must have taken flight. :

She,could not surmise by whose order she was
subjected to such ill-treatment, but believed it
was owing to a dreadful mistake of her rough vic-
tors, which would be cleared up befure long, as
soon, indeed, as Charles found that they were
missing.

But the mystery vanished when she heard
herself accosted by a well knowa voice) at which
she trembled in ever limb,

‘Louise Riverton, said I not that I would have
revenge ?” and the stern, vindictive face of De
Bragh rose before her. ‘Yours hag been a bliss-
ful life since last we met I ween!” /,

“Mercy! mercy |”

“Did you grant me it?”

His victim fainted beneath his taunting tones,
and dreadful looks, while the little child shrieked
in terror and pain, for the chains were not yet re-
moved from her delicate flesh. ;

 

CHAPTER Iy, ‘“«

Two years had swiftly flown since my visit to

mé4 the old homestead:

“Kitty a proficient inmusic !” I exclaimed,show-
ing a letter I had just received from Lilyvale to
cousin Magaret, who indolently reclined upon

eh sete yf ;
4S é7 a lounge in my chamber,

il.

 

SPigragy

 

‘Almost sorry to
capture her,” said the accomplice witha show of

“Our grandparents are astonishingly indulgent
to # mere servant,” replied Margaret. My indig-
nation immediately fired at this reply, and ‘I re-
joined warmly :— .

She is not a mere servant, by any means.
In education I dare say she is vastly our superior;
in beauty and grace all must acknowledge she
takes the lead ; and cousin Edward, in particu-
lar, feels that she has no equal in his immediate
circle of female friends, for he has often told me
so, and I am sure that he meant it,”

‘Tua! 80 he tells every rustic beauty that he
meets.”

“He never dared to utter merely flattering words
to ang No man would!” I interposed indig-
nantly.

“Well, they ought not to; for it might turn her
head, and, as she'll probably never be higher than
she is now—unless she should become a teacher
of music, and that isn’t possible—it would be
very impolite in her to beget high views which she
could never carry out,” and Margaret groaned as
if weary of the subject, which I spitefully pursued.
“JT am not certain that, at some future time,
she will not occupy a higher position in society
than she does at present.”

‘*Which you would undoubtedly assist her in
attaining ?” asked Margaret, still professing indif-
ference.

“Assuredly; even to. the giving her a brother,
if I had one,” I very honestly replied.

“T hope your generosity in this respect does
not extend to other peopie’s brothers ?” she laugh-
ingly interrogated.

‘*Kyven to the bestowal of my dear cousin Ed-
ward, if Kitty would accept the gift,” I replied,
with a fast reddening face.

“Tam afraid in your quixotic enterprise you
will be obliged to make encroachments upon some
other family than your own, as, unfortunately
you have no brother, and mine is engaged to the
fairest of Italia’s daughters.’

‘Hoe is? Oh, Lam so sorry!” I said.

“Why?” asked Margaret, languidly.

“Because, at Lilyvale, I composed a charming
little drama, which required only a wedding to
make it the most perfect extant.”

‘‘Who figured as heroine ?”

“My beautiful friend, Kitty Merrows.”

‘Indeed !—and the hero?”

“My beloved cousin, Edward Wright.” .
‘Ah, well, like every other drama, it’s grand
final is but an ideal, and the impersonal heroine
finds herself as usual, standing on her own feet.”
To describe my anger at my cousin’s provoking
language would be impossible. I believe I said a
thousand foolish things, when Margaret bade me
not waste my Saxon, but expend it in the forma-
tion of another drama, with a more successful
and possible hit as denouement.

After enjoying my anger awhile, she proposed
an excursion to Lilyvale, sure of my immediate
acquiesence.
had not seen Kitty for two years, and conse-
quently was not prepared for the change which
had taken place in her. If, when I first saw her,
I thought her beautiful, how much more worthy
of the term did she seom now. I started, and
uttered impulsively an expression of honest,
hearty admiration, She had grown tall and full,
a perfect Juno in form and figure, with an air of
inborn pride’ characterizing every graceful mo-
tion, that I have never seen equalled by any
atrician belle. The haughty curve of the ruby
ip, the proud, SaaS ie a nostril, the elegant
arch of her polished neck, the bend of her grace-
ful head, around which clustered geome masses
of magnificent raven curls in enviable luxuriance,
presented a vision of beauty seldom seen,

The contour of hér bust and arms was perfect,
and the touch of her tiny, taper-fingered hand felt
like softest velvet in the warm clasp I gave it.
Her glorious eyes, which at our first meeting
flashed haughty defiance, now emitted a soft, gen-
tle, loving light, as if the spirit that gave them
such tender beauty had already donned celestial
vestments, and beamed from above into their
liquid depths.

could have fallen at her feet and worshiped
her as a holy visitant from realms of Paradisiacal
splendor. She seemed to my excited fancy a wan-
derer from spirit land. *

And this radiant being was the impersonal of
Margaret’s satire! I believe I gave my cousin a
most triumphant look, She returned for the
glance, an expression of blended admiration,
superciliousness and discontent toward the. fair
object, who, for some reason, left the room just
then, givigg Margaret an opportunity to inquire
of grandnfa what induced her to permit a ser-
vant to learn music, as itmust necessarily take
time from her labor. s ‘

‘She liked it, and having a great taste for it—
as indeed she does for all such folderolls—she
begged me to allow her to hire Squire Scrigg’s old
piano, which he took into his head, was not good
enough for his fifth wife. Did you know he’d got
his fitth? Well, she is helpless as a baby; never
used to any kind of domestic labor, and is as
sour as vinegar to his children. Oh! these
mother’s-in-law! He tried hard toinduce Kitty
to marry him, At first she did not know. the
cause of his frequent visits here, but entertained
him in the manner of a born lady, talking books
with him, till I wandered how in nature-she had

sparkled, and his words flowed like a clear-
running brook, Kitty all the while thinking him

est run. And she never knew it, till one night he
happened to come when I was in thé clothes-press,
which you know opens rightintothisroom. Kitty
didn’t think I was there, for she entered this room
after I went into the closet, It happened that
she looked so beautifal, that he was charmed into
offering himself right away. For a moment she
couldn't speak, she was so astonished, At last,
trying to say she was unprepared for this, she
burst into tears. :

‘He stood beside her, twirling his hat, not know-
ing how to take her emotion, I thought I should
fly right out of the window, and_ wished to mercy
Icould. I had seen, as well as heard, the whole,
my door being slightly ajar.

** “How I to understand this emotion?’ at
length asked the squire, in a husky voice, and
trembling so that he could scarcely stand,

‘¢ SAlas! not favorable to your wishes,’ said Kit-
ty, soon as she could command her voice.

‘* “How? I hoped you regarded my attentions
aright. Can you hold out no hope for me?”

‘“*His voice went right to my heart; it was so full,
and peeding. and hopeless.

‘None at all. But,as my manner may have
misled you, you have a right to know why I ap-
pear thus unmoved and ifffifferent to a regard
that would do any woman honor——’

‘Ah, I see, t aeel’ he interrupted. ‘I might
have known it had not my eyes been so blinded.
Knowing you, Ihave experienced more happiness
than in a long time previous. May you be
as you. deserve to be!’ then seizing her hand he
raised it to his lips and departed. e

“In a few months he married a woman—as peo-
ple say—only because she had a look of -Kitty.
And [ have not lost anything in letting her have
the piano. She has repaid me over and over
again in her capableness about overseeing the
work, which goes on as regular as the clock,”

, “So she’s exalted to the rank of housekeeper?”

‘Yes, Margaret, as much that as anything; and
she finds time to give lessons in music besides.
She has.a number of-scholars. I am not sorry I
had the piano brought into the house, for father
and Ilike the sound of it in the evening, when
we always sing to it ‘Coronation,’ ‘St. Martins,’ or
some other good old Bible tune, that kind of cheers
us up, and reminds us that we are immortal be-
ings, barely separated from our eternal homes,
-only a thin veil between us, and that easily rent
by the impatient spirit.”

We were, for a few moments, awed into silence.

“This is not the old piano ?” I asked, at length,
when my thoughts had. time to return to their
old track, and inwardly vexed at my grandmo-
ther’s care of the “almighty dollar”—the good
soul’s greatest fault.

“No, indeed, thisi s Kitty’s; she earned it b
teaching, She would buy it, although I advised
her to save her money against a rainy day.”

‘Has any other squire proposed marriage to
your prodigy?” asked Margaret, carelessly.

‘No; because there isn’t any more here. If
there were, very likely they would,” said grand-
ma.

The entrance of Kitty ended this conversation.
Afters he had played and sung, agreeable to Mar-
garet’s request, the latter observed that the fair

 

picked up so much knowledge, while his eyes}.

interested in her subject, but I saw how his inter- |

appy

Italian of Edward’s devotion was the most supe-
rior vocalist she had heard.

Kitty, who still sat at the piano, slightly started
at the remark, but immediately gained her self-
possession, and struck into a lively waltz, that
distressed me unaccountably, for E could see her
heart was not with us, but wandering—oh, whi-
ther ?—and in her beautiful eyes, so lately beam-
ing inexpressible love and gentleness, shone in-
stead the olden look of defiance,

I felt angry with Margaret for making the re-
mark, not because it depreciatedin any way Kit-
ty’s excellent performance, but from an ill-defined
feeling I could not divest myself of, that a tangled
web was woven involving honor and happiness in
its ugly meshes.

The work was done,

Margaret gave us an excuse for remaining but
a day, at Lilyvale, a multiplicity of engagements
that could not be Fempenes.
For myself, Idid not care to stay a moment
longer. The tangled web was the prevailing bug-
bear in my imagination, and nothing would de-
throne it. I felt like doing much, but knowing
nothing, merely surmising, I was powerless.

One month after this short visit to Lilyvale,I left
home, to make with my parents, the tour of Eu-
rope ; amid the gaities of which, I had nearly lost
sight and remembrance of friends. and scenes in
the father-land behind.

One letter from the old homestead surprised
me by the intelligence that Kitty had misteriously
disappeared from Lilyvale. ears were enter-
tained that she had destroyed herself in a tempo-
rary fit of insanity, produced by continual dwel-
ling upon some secret sorrow. I showed the let-
ter to Margaret, who, with her parents, had re-
cently joined us at Florence. Iwatched her coun-
tenance while she perused the sheet, She tuned
deathly pale, but rallying, remarked,

“Tt is wellthe actual marriage of Edward will
be unlike the ideal of your drama; an insane wife
being a fearful appendage.”

“Ah, but what made Kitty insane ?” I fearlessly
demanded, facing the astonished girl.

“Tf you were more achild than you are, I should
advise you toreturnto your dolls,” said Margaret,

4 scornfally. -

“I pens play with more dangerous tools than
those,” I rejoined.
“Yos, Such as jack-knives.”

‘A more murderous weapon dares sometimes to
cut into that most delicate cf, all created things,
the human heart, Margaret,”

 

CHAPTER YI.

Gayest music sounded from the ball-room of a
magnificent villa on the banks of the Mississippi,
where were assembled groups of nature’s most no-
blesons and loveliest daughters. Peerlessamong
the bright throng moved Lucella Germond, the
queen of the South. A murmur of admiration
followed her entrance upon this brilliant scene,
which she seemed not to heed. No flush of tri-
umph lighted her facs, or sparkled in her eyes, as
adulatory words and flattering, attentions were
showered upon her. She might well be called
Queen of Night, for her deep, starry, bewildering
eyes, and majestic figure; her glittering diamonds,
and black lace dress spangled with silver, would
claim no less a title. ‘

Noble cavaliers and beautiful ladies clustered
around her; but to all their salutations she
the peerless, returned only half sad smiles, an
ane: though gentle, yet listless, while her eyes
roved restlessly over the gay assembly. But
suddenly a change came over her; the icy cold-
ness melted, and she seemed a very woman once
more. Her whole being appeared melting be-
neath thronging emotions that burst from her
bounding heart, as if to shatter her; freezing
drops stood upon her marble brow, and sigh after
sigh started irrepressibly from her turbed
bosom, and fell upon the pained ears of her aston-
ished o servers. 4

“J am faint—lead me to the air 1” she gasped,
laying her hand on the arm of the nearest gentle-
man, who, too,happy, supportyd her. to an open
window, through which they stepped upon the
verandah.

In a few moments, bya fierce struggle, Miss
Germond gained the victory over her? feelings,
when she said gayly, : ‘

“J believe I will revoke my previous decision,
Mr, Fernwood, and dance the next set with you, '
if you still desire that honor.” s

The gentleman addressed immediately drew her
hand proudly beneath his arm, and,in another
moment, the elegant couple took their places on
the floor. ; f

Miss Germond’s face was white as drifted snow,
and her eye dark as the last hour of night; but
her manner grew every moment more gay and
careless. ‘ y

Her sparkling wit and pleasant humor drew a
bright throng about her, and, in this new phase
of character, her admirers thought her more
glorious than ever. ;

But who is that tall, dignified stranger, so
visibly affected atthe sight of the beautiful crea-
ture upon whom all eyes are now resting ?

“The name—the name of that peerless being ?”
he cried to abystander.

“Miss Germond, of St. Elia.”

‘Alas! I thought it was an old friend.”
‘Perhaps she is. She has not always borne her
fpresent name, I believe, but took it a few years
since from a distant branch of the family. She
is now an orphan, Wilhout a single relative, I have
heard.”

The first speaker expressed his Packnowledg-
ments to his obliging informant by a low bow,
then moved to a spot where he could better ob-
serve Miss Germond. He could not watch her
long. ‘Overcome by a flood of recollections she
had evoked, he rushed into the park to regain
his composure. After which he re-entered the
fegtal scene, and craved an introduction to Miss
Germond. Them he begged the honor of her
hand for the next dance, if she were disengaged.
She was not, so he was obliged to wait, and feast
his eyes with gazing, until the sixth was called,
when he was permitted to lead her out. Hecould
scarcely conceal his distress, ‘While his eyes were
fixed in mournful questioning upon her radiantly
thoughtless face,

“Oh, God, how like my sweet, lost wild-wood
flower is this glorious creature!” he exclaimed,
unconsciously aloud. ;

*Did you speak, sir ?” she asked, in musical ac-

cents.

Alas, lady,
of faded flowers !

“A gloomy pleasure, I fear.”

“It is, God grantit may never be your lot, lady,
to twine a wreath of withered hopes. Far better
sink to sleep now, while life wears a golden hue,
than be reserved for such a doom as I have met.”

The lady averted her eyes, in which the hot
tears were gathering. In 8 moment she calmly
observed, “ F

“Tt is said your sexis proverbially cold-heart-
ed, with a nature elastically suited to disappoint-
ment—is it so ?”

“T know not, lady, Alas, I am occupied only
with my own woes,” he sadly replied, dashing his
hand across his eyes,

The dancé being ended he led her to a seat,
then quickly withdrew, for he could not endure
the cold glances from her eyes, that reminded
him too cruelly of a lost loved one. Still a mag-
netic influence recalled him toher side when he
found her in tears. He respectfully inquired their
cause.

“I have just recollected it is the birth-night
of a dear friend of mine, whose life has been a
succession of painful incidents from its beginning.
But you do not‘care to hear the tale.” :

“T do! I do!” hs interrupted.

She resumed, shading her face.

‘Tn earliest years she trembled when the curses
of an inebriate father were called down upon the
patient and devoted wife ef his bosom, whose gen-
tle tones were never raised in reproaches, whose
kindness and hope held out to the last, even
when, after receiving inhuman treatment, he be-
trayed her into the worst-of slavery, with her lit-
tle child—my poor friend. In their master the
wretched woman discovered a rejected lover,
whose insatiate thirst for revenge had ruined her
domestic happiness,

‘After suffering unheard of cruelties for a brief
space, she sank into a premature grave, when
her child was thrown upon a relentless demon for
mercy which he had never yet shownit. But the

 

lonely thing had pne friend, an old free negress,

Rm WEERLY,

 

my mind was weaving a chaplet |

| like the brilliant but fitful fire-ly, its brightness
:

who, by means of a Yankee
spirit it away to the Eastern States, where it was
left on a doorstep, in a peguions own, It met
but little love or sympathy here. Whatever was
left in the motherless heart, ~ confiding, and
loveable, came nigh being cru’ hed out now, when
it was regarded as a trouble and incumbrance by
those who should have sheltered its friendless
condition, Chance at length conveyed her to the
home ofan aged couple, who took her in, a weep-
ing, moaning little waif, one stormy night.

***Don’t send me back to those cruel people!
Tran away from them. Please let me stay here,
Iwill work all the timeif you willl’ she cried,
clasping her thin hands pleadingly together.

‘They treated her kindly, giving her for the
Iabor she was taught to perform, food, shelter,
and clothing, but no love. This they withhelda—
this that she languished in secret for.

“So the lonely child bade her heart be rarer
under this trial, and she went about her daily toi
with the consciousness that she had not a friend
inthe whole world. * .

“A few years groaned on, dismal and cheer-
less; when one day there beamed into her soul a
light clear and holy as if from Heaven. That mo-
ment was the dawning of a new life to the child,
who strove earnestly to make herself worthy the
precious gift. The midnight hour witnessed her
efforts, and her prayers for their success. And,
as the child progressed step by step, she com-
pared her attainments with many more favored,
pecuniarily, than herself, and, without vanity,
felt that she should not disgrace him, whom it
gave her infinite joy toremember. But the raven
wing of Despair fanned out the beautiful light in
the child's soul, and this darkness was deeper
than all others to her.

“She had wandered far out into the forest, one
day, when her whirling brain was tempting her
to throw off the useless coil of life. While she
stood in bewildered thought, trying to find the
means surest to this end, she was suddenly
seized and borne away by some invisible captor,
from whom, when she did see, she turned with a
groan and shriek of despair, for in thoge fearful
eyes she read the revenge that poisoned her dead
mother’s hopes. Once besides, since she left
him, had she caught sight of that demon face, in
the dear old forest, when, by some strange, un-
accountable impulse, she dared beard him fear-
lessly, and he disappeared without recognizing
her. But now, as she had grown the counterpart
of her .poor mother, he could not mistake. His
joy at recapturing her was unbounded; had she
been in full possession ofjher faculties, the mo-
ment would have given strength for her release.
As it was, fate favored him; alone he had recovered
the prize he and his accomplices had long
sought. He bore her swiftly to his home, where,
as if to augment her agony, her senses were re-
turned to her. And now he sought to make her
lower than his meanest slave. Heaven alone
could save her, and its divine aid was not with-
held. One morning, he broke a blood-vessel that
resulted in his death. Before the awed specta-
tors ef this closing scene in the vile drama of his
life, he begged the poor girl’s pardon, and made
her heiress of his vast possessions. But what
mattered all this gold to her? It could not
bring back the summer-spot of her youth, nor
heal the wounds her faithless lover had made
deep in her heart. When she was a child, living
with the aged ee she used to think that
some time, in the fullness of her rare beauty, she
would appear before her mother’s persecutor, and
with | ragged load him with remorse; the same
deadly hate she felt for her father, but upon in-
quiry, she found he had died, the victim of ex-
Ts Even revenge, you will see, was denied

er.” : ; 4

““Would—ceuld she have sought it, had her
enemies lived and circumstances favored it?”
#8‘‘Ask the outraged, the scorned, their dearest
wish!” she replied, with flashing eyes.

‘‘Would she have sought it of her lover?” -

‘*He was false. What mercy deserved he?”

‘*How knew she he was recreant ?”

‘“‘By his cruel silence and babbling sister,” she
murmured; almost expirizg frv™ excess of feel-

ing.

Sven those might have told false tales.”

' False! false tales! Oh! if this should be
true!” she g sped; seizing his arm wildly and
waiting, as if her life depended upon a kind, con-
firmatory answer.

“Nay, nay, be not so agitated! Your friend
may yet be restored to love and happiness. Lie-
ten while Trelate a simple story. 1, too, have a
friend who loved a gifted maiden, a mere child
in years, more beautiful and bright to him than
all else the world contained. He went to a for-
eign land, while her young Jove nestled warm in
his heart. Soon tales of her faithlessness reached
him, when he lamented the day that gave him
birth. He wandered listlesslyabout in a rtate
of inconceivable wretchedness, until he was
called home bythe deathof his father. But what
was his surprise to meet, at the first ball he at-
tended, at the expiration of his mourning, his
beautiful, his own—still his own! Kitty, darling,

edler, managed to

look up!”

 

Iarrived homein time to attend a wedding,
that I had learned to despair would ever occur,
My joy was second only to that of Edward and
Kitty, who quite commanded me to officiate
bridesmaid. Could I refuse ? ' ;

My groomsman—a rejected admirer of the fair
bride—I have since married, and am not sorry
that she preferred my brilliant cousin to him.

Margaret bitterly repents the misery her fool-
igh pride caused two loving hearts, whose happi-
ness she now delights to augment. s

I think companionship with the pure and high-
minded Kitty is a saving influence upon her, for
she is utterly uvlike the Margaret of former @ ays.
Yet another grief weighs heavily upon he~. spirits.
The gentleman to whom she wag ePyaged, hear-
ing of her evil conduct, dismisse%, her. His high-
ae revolted from & wnien promising so

6.

““Thave lost all confidence in you,” were his
parting words. Words which she has never for-
gotten,

5 THE END.

“TIRE THOUGHTS.”

BY LU LIGHT.

 

 

 

«Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at ali!”

The truth of this assertion can be felt only by
the Christian. :

Nothing but religion can enable the mind of
maz to relinquish its cherished pleasures and fond
antripations, and to bid adieu, with a sustaining
hoye, to those objects of affection, around which
areentwined the tendrils of love which are ex-
tenied from every human heart.

Nothing but the hopeof a something beyon1
thegrave, can reconcile the heart to the loss of
frietds or fortune, or of any of the great common
blesings which render life desirable or en-
durvble.

The Christian resigns the joye of this world,
feeing that they are vain and transitory when
compared with those which are laid up for him in
another life, i

No matter how bright. may beam his earthly
skis, or how unclouded are his prospects, he
knows that in that world ahove are brighter skies,
that there, no’clouds can overshadow his pathway
with their gloom, Althoughhere he may see the
star of his fortune grow brighter and brigher, and
rise higher and higher, until it reaches the
zenith, he knows that that star will soon descend
or be eclfpsed by the light of brighter orbs—that
dies with its gleam.

He sees his loved ones die, bit the conscious-
ness that He, m he loves béter than #ll the
world besides, has called them away, softens the
plow. He knows that “He doeth wl things well,”
and faith assures him that, if it bi in accordance
with His just laws, he will meet hose departed
ones in another and a hippier life. Not thus can
the unbelieving or unchristian maz console his
sorrows. When his heart treasums are taken
away, he cannot. rely with an undothting faith
upon those promises which would asstie him of
happiness ina future world—ofmore enduring

 

 

When his friends deceive and forsake him, he
cannot turn to that friend who ‘‘sticketh closer
than a brother,” whose tender heart has bled at
all his sufferings, and whose kind hand is out-
stretched in his extremity.

Alas! these hopes, these promises, these con-
solations, are not for him!

As be walks along in his life-pathway, over dead
trunks, trees uprooted, and with the blossoms of
his hopes scattered and withered upon the ground

‘no bright flowers of faith spring up to gladden his

heart—-no springs of heavenly love burst forth to
quench the thirst of his panting soul.

OUR KNOWLEDGE BOX.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBEBING,

[We have received numerous communications from
persons who are desirous to contribute to ‘‘Our Knowl.
edge Box,” providing they are paid for their trouble;
and we here desire to say to all such, that we o
this department for the benefit of the readers of the
WEEELY at large, and are always supplied, gratis, with
matter enough to make if interesting. 6 shall be
thankful to all who wil furnish us valuable receipt ;
etc., and in doing so, they will be benefiting the: ves
as well as us, because for any one item which they may
furnish, they will receive half-a-dozen in return.]

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANT-
ED.—Anglonquin.—STErL is formed by heating pure .
icon in contact with charcoal,and is a compound of iron,
with a small proportio: of carbon, The process is
called cementation, which consists in filling a proper
furnace with alternate strata of bars of the purest
malleable iron, and powdered charooal ; atmospheric
air is carefully excluded from the boxes containing the
bars, and the whole kept for several days at a red heat.
Atared heat it admits of hammering into various |
forms, andof being melted or united by the blows of
the hammer to another piece of steeloriron. The pe-
culiariti@s of steel, is its property of becoming, by sud-
den quenehing in water, when at a bright red heat, ex-
tremely hard, and of being again softeneddown to any
requisite degree by the application ofa certain tempera-
t.ve commencing at about 300 de; and terminating
at 2 dull red heat. This p:0 ess is called tempering ; and
the workman is guided by the color of the polisned sur-
face of the heated steel, in the extent to which itis car-
ried—it being first rendered ofa pale straw tint, then
yel.ow, brownish, purple and blue, as the temperature
rises from one extreme to the other. The latter color in-
dicates extreme softness and elasticity, such as be-
longs to watch springs, some sword blades, eto; pale
straw indioates great hardness, as for razor blades;
yellow is somewhat softer, and showsa fit temper for
penknives and the incipient biues announce the temper
that belongs to coarser cutting instruments, and to
table knives, any of which, made of bard steel, would
soon get spoiled, and notched—butthe edges, when
properly tempered, resists both breakingand bending.
apie a Mrs. L. H. G.--INK Spots ON LINEN may be ex-
tracted by rubbing ithe soiled part witha cotton rag,
dipped in a weak rolution of oxalic acid....... Charley
T.—An excellent WATERPROOF CEMENT is formed by
mix ng boiled jinseed oil with pure clay,dried by a gen-
tle heat and powdered—the mixture to be of the con-
sistence ofa paste. It may be colored by adding a lit-
tle red or yellow achre. or any other similar pigment.
This cementis extensively used in
acquariums,

i . a
Srcret WriTING.—This art has been employed
to a great extent by military and naval officers, for the
purpose of conveying information of the movements of
the enemy, &. Many plans have been resorted te to
attain this end. The simplest consists in wri with
anink which is colorless, and consequently invisible to
the eye, until heat, a sure chemical means, has pro-
duced a change, and made the secret writiag apparent.
Some ofthese inks are very simple. The juice of an
onion, or milk, will be invisible till exposed to heat,
when the parts written with it become ofa brown col-
or. Starch, dissolved in water, will, ifemployed as an
ink for secret writing, remain without color until
washed over with asolution of iodine, when it becomes
of a bluish color. .Water in which bruised oak-galls
have been soaked, may be used as an ink for secret
writing, which will become black when washed over
with a weak solution of sulphate of iron in water. The
green, sympathetic ink is well known ; it is a dilute
solution of cobaltin nitro-muratic acid. The writing

 

 

 

the formation of

with this ink assumes a green color when the paper is

warmed at the fire, and resumes its original invisibili-
ty when cold. Thissolution has been, therefore, used
in washing over different parts of prints representing
landgcapes with snow, and other similar subjects.
These, when bronght near the fire, of course, become
of a green color, so as to change the wintry appearance
of the view into the appearance of spring ; when cold,
again returning to its former appearan:

 

 

How ro Cur Guass witH Inon.—Draw witha
pencil, on paper; place the pattern under the glass,
holding both together in the left hand--for the glass
must not rest on any plain surface—then take a cem-
mon spike or similar piece of iron, heat the point of it
to redness and appiy it to the edge of the glass; draw
the iron slowly forward, and the edge of the glass will
immediately crack ; continue movingthe iron slowly
over the glass, tracing the pattern ; and the clink in the
glass will follow at the distance of about@Mialf an inch in
any direction, according to the motionof theiron. It
may sometimes be found requisite; especially in form-
ing corners, to apply a wet.finger to the opposite side
of the glass. Tumblers or other glasses may be cut
or divided very fancifully, by similar means, /The iron
must be re-heated as the crevice in the glass/ceases to
flow.

Frostep Feet.—The following remedy for frosted
feet has been successfully tested, and immediately alle-
viates the sufferings occasioned when a psrson’s feet
have been frost-bitten :—Mix Indian meal in the consis-
tency of paste with cold water or milk,and apply it speed-
ily. Renew the application when it becomes dry, and
continue it until relieved.

SUBSTITUTE FOR ,CoFFEE.—Take clean, sound
peas, soak them for some eighteen hours in hot 9x
warm water every five or six hours, or at leac’. iiukes
times, then rinse and dry the peas. Brow “10m like cof.
fee, mix and grind together, first by ¢ynaj parts; after
a few days, two-thirds peas may be and still make
& good cup of coffee, ,

——_e

 

ITEMS FOR FARMERS AND GARDENER,

Om Caxe ror CatTriz.—This cake, on whieh
cattle are fed, is nothing more than vegetable oil seeds,
which bave been crushed for manufacturing purposes.
The spurious nuts, which grow on the top of the paim-
tree, are crushed at Harburgh, on the Elbe, and the oil
extracted from them is converted into a ‘toilet soap,
which is largely consumed in Germany. The crushed
nuts are exported to England as oil cake for catile, The
crushed seeds of the poppy form a valuable oil cake, as
it causes that tranquility and sleepiness which condu-
ces to the rapid growth of young cattle. Walnuts are
crushed extensively in France to extract a juice for
culinary purposes, and the crushed nuts form a useful
oil cake, but it gets rancid too rapidly to be of
when exported. Oil cake is also formed from cru
doddor, sesame and cotton seed.

A REMEDY For MEeLon Buas.—A gentleman who
has had much experience in raising melons, states that
the best thing to keep bugs from the vines is,—sulphur,
one tablespoonful; yeliow snuff, one tablespoonful ;
cayenne pepper, one tablespoonful ; ground m

 

 

riches, garnered for him in the safe treasure-
house of Heaven | .

one tablespoonful Mix the whole with halfa pint of
flour, and apply to the plants when they are moist, _
CreLtEry.—Sow in a gentle hot-bed or cold
frame. Shade from hot sun and water as need, till
plants are up, : : ,
To Destroy Pza WEEViIL.—The peafweevil may
be destroyed by soaking the peas in scaldiug water

just before planting, 5
, «

 

SCIENTIFIC NOTES,

SnepEcor’s Union Tourret.—This improved
turret is the invention of Mr. George Snedecor, of this
city. Its most noticeable features are that itis per-
fectly shot-proof, easily constructed, and may be made
of any desired thickness, , This last desideratum is at-
tained by making the sevéral sheets or plates of dove-
tailed grooves, which are so formed as to interlock
each other. The turret is made in parts,.so as to be

conyenient for transportation; and each two succes-
sive courses firmly inset‘ together.
these courses can be used, as emergency
Mr. Snedecdr’s system of plating can be applied to
forts, vessels, or structures of any kind, requiring
iron mail. It can be quickly set up in place, and after
having been once filled needs no further adjustment,

Any number of
requires,

DEsIGNs AND AUTOGRAPHIC Messages BY TELE-

GRAPH.—There is now in operation at the Electric Tele-
graph Company’s office, London, an instrument which.
from its ingenuity of constructicn and perfection of re-
sults, deserves attention. The object is to transmit
autograph messages in the exactform in which they
are written ; and the most complicated
signs, sketches, or indeed anything that can
by an ord'nary pen, are transmitted as readily as the
simplest dot or stroke. ;

8, de-
‘drawn

" Aw Antirtotan Toncuz,—M. Maisonneuve, sur-

geon of the Hotel Dieu, Paris, recently removed from
a patient the whole of a tongue affected with cancer, by
means which he terms cauterization en fleches, 80 as to, A
cause all the diseased portions to slough off in one B
mass, This patient, after the removal of the tongue,
could neither swallow nor speak, but
these functions on being supplied wi
gorse of the natural size.

rformed both
& gutta percha.

 

 

.

+

St

z

\

xt

Cie rnp nner

 

 

   
 
 
      
‘aust peasant setie leita msds

    
 
   
  
 
  
   

  

ful remedy, do not contain iron, calo:
' an h to

“25. 18t

 

 

Jd. H. WINSLOW & CO.

ATCHES, CHAINS. &C., &C.
a aiid WORTH $500,000 ° 1
fo bs sold for One Dollar eack, without regard to value, and

noi to be paid for Nil you know what you are ta get.
Splendid List.

OF ARTICLES TO BE SOLD FOR ONE DOLLAR BACH
Gold Hun Cased Watches.......ese00+ $190,00 each
Gold Watches. sepsnvevasessserccemopecge  Gueach

adies’ Gold Watches.....- ciasesee 85,00 each

 

 

 

ies’ and Gents’ Silver Watches.......... 15,00each
Vest and Neck Chains....ccscccssceess er pene
Gold Band BE QOUes. vis angpessos nes eta

 

   
 

 

 

 

PEEEEES seeeeses

  
 

Cameo Brooches.......ssses0s 40 to 600cach
Mosaic and Jet Brooches...... . £00to 600 each
Lava and Florentine Brooches...... 00 to 600 each
Coral, Opal, and Em. Brooches...... 4@to 60 cach
$000 Cameo Har Drops.........00« sccevesee £00to 600 cach’
Mosaic and Jet Ear Drops.........00. £00 to 6 00 each
Lava and Florentine Ear Drops...... 40 to 600 each:
Qoral, Em., and Opal Ear Dreps..... £00 to 800 each-
5000 Gents’ Broast Pins. .......00e00+ + 250to 800 each:
8000 Watch Eeys..........cceccceee + 20to 600 each
eee cmeg epee oe heme He phere
— Bosom eveeerereee Y 250 to 600 each.
6aR8 . 250 to 500 each.
. 250to 600 each.

+» 2850 to 10 00 each.

5 00 to 10 60 each.

 

i xtension C;
wn aa i Oa sa
Goods will be sold for one dollar

dea eeenseesenes

the above list of
toe ifioates of all the varies abet coe ee arux
each one can are uw o enve
and mixed : and ween oedersd, are taken out without re-
> Or th ie f thee er aco went
chance. 6 0 :
ou can eve; and ean, itis at your option to send one dol-
& and teke ;

In ali for forward-

the eee an the business,
cents each, which must be enclosed when the Certificates
sent for. Five Certificates will be sen 1 ; eleven

t
for 32; thirty for $5; sixty-five for $10; and a hundred

for $15.
eae Those ape! a3 agents will be allowed ten cents
on every Certificate ordered by them, provided their remit-

tance amounis to one dollar.
for avery Certificate, and remit 15 cents to us, either in cash
or 2 stamps. Great caution should be used by our
correspondents in sogard to giving their correct address,
Fown, County, and State. Address
WW. H. WINSLOW & CO.
208 Broadway, New York,

Beauty._Hunt’s White Liquid
ENAMEL.

Agents will collect 25 cents

 

ared by Madame Rachel Leverson, the celebrated
»Enameler. It whitens the skin perman-
ently, gi it asoft, satin-like texture, and imparts a

fees transparency to the complexion, which is
quite natural, without hr ons in. It is also war-

.. Sent by from observation, on receipt of price, 30
* eents. Ad U venth
street, and 41 South Eighth street, Philadelphia. 029 tf.

 

A MAN OF A THOUSAND.
A CONSUMPTIVE CURED.

DR. H. JAMES, a Retired Sorpee of great eminence,
discovered, while in the East Indies, a certain cure for Con-
sumption, Asthma, Bronchitis, Coughs, Colds, and General
Debility. The remedy was discovered by him when his
only child, a daughter, was given upto die. His child was
cured, and is now ve and well. Desirous of benefiting
his fellow mortals, he will send to those who wish it the

‘recipe, containing full directions for making and _ success-

fully this remedy, free, on receipt of two stamps to
ry expenses. There is notasingle case of Couaan
at it does not at once take hold ofand dissipate. Night
sweats, peevishness, irritation of the nerves, failure of
memory, difficult expectoration, sharp pains in the lungs,
sore throat, chilly sensations, nausea atthe stomach, in-
action of the bowels, wasting away of the muscles. :
Ad RADDOCK & CO.
318,5m. 225 North Second st., Philadelphia, Pa.

~ QHE GREAT ENGLISH REMEDY,
SIR. JAMES CLARKE’S ,
CELEBRATED PILLS!
Prepared from a prescription of Sir. J. Clarke, M.
Physician ecesord pany to the Queen. ‘ap
This well known medicine is no osition, but a sure and
asfe remedy for Fomale Ditiouition oat Ghatrustions, om
although a powerful remedy, it contains nothing hurtful
= the constitution. To married ladies it is peculiarly

In all cases of Nervous ase

 

Back pe eee Fatigue on Sante alpitation of
the Heart, Hysterics, etc., these Pills will effect a cure
when allother means have failed; and although a power-
mel, ani .
the constitution. .
a ons in the pamphlet around each package,
which should be carefully preserved.
For full particulars, get a pamphlet, free, of the agent.
N. B.—$i and 6 postage stamps enclosed to any authorized
agent, ensure a bottle containing over 50 pills by return

Sold by all, Drugzists.
JOB MOSES, No. 27 Conrtlandt-st., New-York,
Sole United States Agent,

aa- IF YOU WANT TO KNOW

Man and Woman, Inside and Ouf,what the sexes are made
of, and how drawn together, the cause of disease, and ma-
‘trimonial and social wretchedness, read revised and en-
larged edition of

“MEDICAL COMMON SENSE,”
acurious book for curious people, and a good book for
every one. Price $1 5v. Sent by mail, postage paid, every-
where, on receipt of price. Contents tables mailed free
toevery applicant. Address, DR. E. B. FOOTE, No. 1,130
Broadway, New York. J mh3 3m

CANCER CURED.

Cancers and Tumours cured withont pain or the use of
the knife. Circular describi treatment sent free of
wha e. Address D. BABOCOCK & TOBIN

im ;

27 Bond St., N. ¥.
> ~~. Warranted to produce a
SHULTS ON GUEN full set of iskers or
Moustaches in six wrekn money refunded. Sent post-
paid for 30 cents, or 4p es for or _ Address
mh24-13t Cc. F. SHULTS, 285 River St., Troy, N. Y.

Baker’s Cough Mixture and Fever Cooler,
Baker’s Rheumatic Balm, and

‘Baker’s Croup Alleviator,
are four remedies that no family or mother should be with-
out. Price One Dollar Per Bottle each; also, BAKER’S
KIDNEY AND GRAVEL REMEDIES, which are’invalu-
able. Price $5. Principal Denes No. 154 Tenth Street, near-
Fourth Avenue, New York, and sold by druggists generally.
Remedies sent to any address on receipt of price. mh3l

LE BON TON, FOR.MARCH.

This beautiful Journal has just been received from Paris‘
andisnowgeady. Itcontains a numberof Fashionable-
cut Patterns. Every lady should get acopy. SoldbyS. 7
TAYLOR, 407 and 811 Broadway, N. Y., and the book trade
everywhere. mh3l it

YOUNG MAIDS AND OLD BACHELORS
Should read the exciting story of ST. ROCH; or, MATRI-
MONY MADE SY, a curious book (fourth edition) con-
taining plain common-sense directions how ail may be
suitably and Reperakiy secs. irrespective of age, sex,
or position, good looking or otherwise, with a treatise on
the art of fascinating any person you desire spatanely: a
complete scientific experiment which cannot fail. Sen’ by
mail for 25 cents. dress T, WILLIAM & CO., Publish-
ers, Philadelphia. mhi7tf

Sedalia

 

   

And Stuttering cured by'Bates’s Patent Scientific Appli-
ances. For (New Edition of) descriptive Pamphlets and
re address H. C. L, MEARS, On W. 28d St., N. Y.

GREAT TRIUMPH.

STEINWAY & SONS, Nos. 82 and & Walker street, N. Y.,
have been awarded a first prize medal at the Great Inter-
national Exhibition, Laonilon aa powerful, clear, b
and aypepathetic tones, with excellent workmanship, as
shown in grand and square pianos.”

ere Were 269 pianos from all parts of the world entered
pecial corresponden

 

Pp
for co’ tion; and the s t of the New
York Times 3:
M“‘easrs Steinway’s indorsement by the Jurors is emphatic,

and stronger and more to the ing dian teh oe on Euro-
pean maker.” “ 1.9m.

A SPECULATION.

ts, Male and Female, in Town, and Soldiers in camp

 

. sir sy ar ORSHUCL tios tat Sp

 

TIONERY PACKAGES, NOVEL and UNEQUALED,
and unlike all the eld styles containing ail New Articles,
d of fine quality. Writing Materi ‘arlor Games, Use-
and Faac cles, Likenesses of Heroes, Camp OCom-
panions for the Army, New Fashion Plates for Ladies, rich
of sewer?) &c. &¢., ee worth over $1, for
at by ey are just the thing fora presentto your
end in army. y
Wotan should be withont one. Profits immense, salés
mick. in we can act as Agee, and make money fast.
SPLENDID WATCH, warranted as a perfect eee:
presented sree to all Packages in endless variety
rices. Agents wanted allthrough the country.
Goods sent by Express to allparts of the Army. Send for
NEW Circularsfor 1863, containing EXTRA inducements,
. O. RIC. O., 102 Nassau ae York,
ae oldest Prize Package House in the
8 $1 '

Agents.

orld,

 

{S-PSYCHOMANOY.”—HOW EITHER SEX MAY FASCT-
nate and gain tke love and affections of any person

y: they choose instantly. This simple mental acquirement

* gll can possess, free, by mail, for 25 cents, together with a

; eone S the unmarried of beth sexes.
ok. 100,

A queer, exciting
LLIAM

0,003 copiessold. Address,T. WILLIAM 4 OO.,

 Pablistiers, Philadelphia, 029 tf,

e

ong, Pain in the

oC SOU SrERer Care EETEns hs D7" LNEETETE IER eo PRET ye et Tas Sherrer. 2 1 see ove rene
4 *

 

 

 

 

SKATER’S SONG. ;
BY AUGUSTUS TREADWELL.

Merrily onward gliding,
Hearts both lightand free, _
Over the glassy surface,
More than happy are we.
Swift as the breezes blowing,
Chill from the cold nor’ west,
Over the lake we’re bounding,
Ob how a skater’s blest,

Ye who sit by the fireside,
Fearing the winter’s cold,

Ye know not the bounding pleasure
Felt by the skater bold;

The warm blood gushes freely

a With life thro’ each swelling vein,

While ruddy each fair face beneath,

Joy knoweth no care to restrain,

JUDITI’S TEMPTATION,

The March wirld was howling through the snowy
streetslike an Arctic tornado. The gutters were
all transformed to turbid sheets of ice—from eares
and gables hung a fringe of glittering icicles, and
the sky, veiled in flying drifts of sullen, black
clouds, looked asif it never could smile into blue
sunshine again. ;

Mrs. Hampton’s earriage, with its shining cho-
colate panels, and heavily fringed hammer-cloth,
was standing in front of Tiffany’s marble palace of
jewelry— she had been selecting a pair of solitaire,
diamonds to be manufactured into pendants for
her aristocratic ears, and was just sweeping acrogs
the pavement, when a hand was laid on the sleeve
of her velvet cloak.

“Judith Tree? Dear, how you startle one!”

And well might she be startled at the pale face
and sunken eyes of the woman who stood before
her, clad in scant and faded garments, and with
coarse woolen hood tied under her chin, Yet sh
had been pretty once—would be pretty still, per-
haps, if the hand-to-hand struggle with starva-
tion had not stolen the crimson bloom from her
cheeks, and quenched the yiolet 8parkle in. her
eyes.

“I was coming to your house, Mrs. Hampton,
to ask yononce more to pay me the money for
making that velvet dress.” . °

Mrs. Hampton arranged the tassels of her muff,
abstractedly,

“Ah, yes, well, it isn’t convenient to settle just
now,” said she, coldly. ‘Come some other time,
Judith—next week, or week after.”

“But, indéed, I neei the money very much,
Mrs. Hampton,” pleaded Judith.

“T can’t help that,” said the lady, pettishly.
“What a fuss you working people make about ten
dollars or so—a mere trifle |”

“Tt may be a trifle to you, Mrs, Hampton; but
it is a fortune to me.” ;

‘Well, well, come next week |” said Mrs, Hamp-
ton, squeezing her voluminous skirts through the
carriage door, and directing the coachman to
drive home,

Judith Treestood where Mrs. Hampton had left
her, in a sort of blank despair, throug which a
keen sense of the injustice done her burned like a
devouring flame ! ;

‘She might as well rob me at once!” she mur-

 

 

 

 

| mured, setting her teeth close together. ‘She

might as well——”

udith paused suddenly, for as she g¥anced
downward, a small pocket-book, of Russia
leather, banded with stripes of gold, was lying on
the pavement at her feet. She picked it up, and
read on the reverse side, in gilt letters, “Ger-
trude Hampton !” —..

 

ut

 

 

 

} venture any further remark, but left the room

with a slow, dispirited a As she approached
the carved oak entrance leading to the library,
the door opened, and a gentleman came ont,
Both stood silent a second, the full light ofa dou-
ble gas-burner on their faces,

‘Judith, my dearest!”

fe‘‘Alfred! ed Croydon! is itindeed you? or
ee senses failing in this moment of utter de-
spair ?” ;

He hadcanght her to his breast, the old lover

of her youth; he was whispering words of hope
and tenderness in her ears, and then Judith re-
membered no more—she had swooned away in
the suddea flood tide of her great happiness.

‘Somebody to see you, Mrs. Croydon.”

Judith Croydon glanced up from her luxurious
boudoir chair as a faded-looking woman, in shab-
by black silk was shown in,

“Mrs, Hampton! Pray be seated,” she said,
kindly. ‘Can I do anything for you to-day?” —

“T called about the housekeeper’s situation,
ma’am,” said Mrs. Hampton, humbly. “I heard
it was vacant, and since my husband’s death——”

‘Say no more,” said Judith, pityingly, ‘‘it shall
be yours, if you care to undertake the charge of
hsolarge an establishment.” s

“Thank you, Judith—I mean Mrs. Croydon,”
sobbed the widow, taking refage behind her
pocket-handkerchief. ‘‘You’re. very kind, I’m
ite ay Tll do my best to give you satisfac-
ion

She curtssyed herself meekly ont of the room,
leaving Judith to ponder over the strange re-
verses that had chequered her life since the day
of her temptation, and the victory she gained
over it. ; ‘

marrecemes anes IR (OD FP re een

GOING A SLEIGHING.

BY ANNIE B,

 

Did yo ever have a real downright conntry
sleigh ride, reader? Ihave, and if you have not,
then you have indeed missed one of the greatest
enjoyments on earth; not even excepting skating—
by the by, I willsometime give you some of my
experience in dhatlinetoo. But now for thesleigh-
ride. It is not one of these little tucked up cut-
ter affairs, going with one horge, but a large
sleigh, half filled with hay, and filled up full with
a dozen or more boys or ae averaging in years
from fifteen to thirty, and drawn by from two to
six horses, « ;
You are supposed to know of the arrangements
for the ride, but that is not always convenient, 80
sometimes the first intimation you have of it, is
the drawing up of the party already collected, and
you are inyitec to make haste and get ready, and
poorvyou, if you happen to haye on what you
conld not by any pragine'2 wear, have indeed to
make haste, for all the rest but your especial at-
tendant are waititing very im—very patiently in
the cold,
We willsuppose onrselves fixed, and started,
perhaps, only to draw up to another place, where
he same ceremony of waiting is gone through
with, and start to stop again, and so on, ad injin-
itwm, but hot tothe end of the chapter—only until
the sleigh is filled, then off we go to some tavern,
or some one’s house, where they have a big room
for dancing, and a good disposition and clear con-
science, for they must posses both if they let you
come the second time, for such a muss, and a
turning every thing upside down they never had,
only when they do their spring cleaning. .
We are welcomed almost with openarms. First
we have some mulled cider, then while we are
warming ourselves or arranging some stray locks,
or tying that incorrigible bow, we hear the tuning
up which puts our hearts in « flutter, and dies the
pretty country girls’ cheeks a more blooming color
than vineger de rouge ever dysd our—any silly
ladys’, and vastly more becoming

 

“So,” she pondered, slipping the tiny treasure
under her shawl, and walking hurriedly down the
thronged thoroughfare; “so If can pay myself out
of this heartless woman’s own purse!  Provi-
dence has opened a way for the coming of its own
justice |” y

The fire was very low in Judith’s bleak fourth
story back room, when she turned the key in the
‘lock, ‘There was no cheerful strip of carpet on
the -floor, and the only curiain to the one win-
dow ‘was the heavy traceries and arabesques
worén by the fantasttc fingers of the frost. She
canie'in, and untying her hood, sat down beside
the deadening coals in the grate, and greedily un-
clasped the little pocket-book.

“Five-—ten—twenty dollars! Oh!” she gasped
under her breath, “Mrs; Hampton never will
miss this money—she never will know how she
lost it—and it would be like a mine of gold to me!
I could buy that warm woolen shawl; I could get
the wine and oysters that the dispensary doctor

rescribed, instead of starving on bread and meal.

h, what luxuries could I not procure with all
this at my disposal |”

And then, like a lump ofice at her heart, came
the stern signal of conscience.

“But it is not mine! Of course it is not al
mine,” she endeavored to compromise, “but
have I not a right to take the ten dollars this
woman owes me?”

“No right at all!” responded the inexorable
monitor beating deep down‘in her heart; ‘‘no
sane nen than you would have had to pick her

e
poyadith Tree’s head sank on her hands with a
sick thrill of despair. .Had the brief vision of
plenty come for a moment only to vanish in denser
mists of wantand poverty? Was it only another
trial added _ to the long lists she had endured ?

But she would endure—to the very last!

“I will take it to Mrs. Hampton to-night, ’ she
thought; and with her head still drooping on her
hands, she wondered if all of earth’s sunshine
had vanished out of her path since the time her
youthful lover went away to seek his fortune
among the palm trees of the tropics, and was
never heard of more!

~Mrs. Hampton was ready, dressed for a party,
and was waiting, rather impatiently, in the dimly
lighted drawing-room for the appearance of her
lord and master. Her superb black hair was
dressed with eordons of large lustrous pearls,
which corresponded to a charm with the heavy
white silk dress, whose ample folds trailed on
the carpet behind, and the white lace shawl
hanging over her shoulders. Mrs. Hampton had
been very pretty once—and rouge and pearl pow-
der kept up the delusion still.

‘How late you are!” she said, snappishly, as
her husband entered the room. ‘We ghall not
be there before ten o’clock, and——”

‘Hush |”

Mrs. Hampton started back, terrified by the
sharp undertone in which the savage monosylla-
ble was hissed out.

“Take those gaudy morpues off!” he said, in
the same fierce, smothered accents, “Your days
of ball-going are over, Gertrude!”

‘What do you mean ?”

“JT mean that Alfred Croydon has come back.”

ae Croydon? He was lost at sea, years
ago!” _

“He was not lost at seal” ejaculated Mr.
Hampton, stamping his foot on the crimson pile
of the Aubusson carpet. “I wish he had been!
For all these years that I have been enjoying the
inheritance that should have been his, a fearful
reckoning has been accumulating against. me.
Why did I ever touch that miserable money?”

Nay,” soothed his wife, “he will be rich still—
we have used but a triflc of the income.”

A trifle to him, perhaps—a terribly heavy sum
tome. It was your fault, Gertrude; it was your
mad ambition that tempted me to take the gold
that was not mine. He is waiting down stairs
now—waiting forme to render up some account of
the treasures entrusted to my charge |”

“Miss Judith Tree,” announced a 8
that moment, gently opening thie door.

*T can’t see her!” ejaculated Mrs. Hampton.
‘Tell her.to come some other time!”

“7 will not detain you a moment, madam,” said
‘Judith, advancing into the room; “I merely wish
to return you this pocket-book which you dropped
in front of Tiffany’s this afternoon.”

“Oh—yes—ti had not missed it though. Much
obliged to you,” said Mrs. Hampton, pocketing
the recovered purse, but without offering to pay
the just debt for which Judith had importuned
her, scarcely two hours before.

The girl, chilled by this cold recaption, did not

ant at

 

elo Tru VvuLU vy vieirt 9
for a straight four, Virginia reel, etc. The way
they goin for enjoyment would surprise you, I
guess. And they do enjoy it, andso did I. Now
do not screech and be so surprised. You would
enjoy it too, I tell you, more thanI woulda stately
Mmuette, the Robinson, Mazourka, or even the
plain waltz, with Dodworth’s music.
We had supper at twelve—everything good
and substantial—just what we wanted. We had
no green seal or boned turkey, of couzse—it
pleased us just as well as if we had. ;
We danced a little after that; then we had the
grandest time playing games—and such kissing!
Well, some people say it is not proper and all that,
putt guess they have never been there.
Ido just like a country sleigh-ride and the con-
comitants. Then there was the lovely ride home,
with the sleepy, half-drowsy feeling, the moon-
light, the tinkling and the twinkling, and the
swinging and the ringing of the bells. By the by,
did you ever read “‘The Bells,” by Poe? If not,

read them slowly; let the music glide off the
tongue as if you tasted every ripple; you will like
it, particularly if you have a sw oice. But ex-

cuse me—I am getting a long way from my bells.
Let’s see—I was flying along with a young man’s
arm around.me, There, I ought not to have told
that. But never mind, he was real nice—at least
Ithought so. The air was clear and frosty, the
snow made music er the runners, the balls
flew from the horsés’ feet, the buffaloes were
tucked about us, and we were about as comforta-
ble and warm as we well could be, when, oh! hor-
rors! he ran upona oe and turned over all in
the cold snow. No one hurt; but, thank good-
ness, we were near home, and I shall always
think it was that naughty driver who doneit on

Ose. y

LENT,

_ BY cousin JORR,
The revolving wheel of Time has again brought

 

] around the holy season of Lent.

From the solemn fast of Ash-Wednesday (80
called from the ancient custom of notorious sin-
ners prostrating themselves at the church door
and receiving ashes upon their heads, in token of
penitence,) until the glorious feast of Easter,
many of our fellow Christians retire from the
amusements and festivities of social life, and de-
vote the intervening period to meditation, prayer,
acts of charity and self-denial,

The word ‘‘Lent” is thought by some to be &
derivation from the German word leinen, to thaw.
Other affirm that it has its origin in the Saxon
lencton, “‘spring,” or, “when the days lengthen.”
The period of its duration—forty dayd—corres-
| ee py our Saviour’s miraculous fast of forty

ays; the forty days ofthe deluge; the forty days
of the Ninevites’ renee in dust and ashes;
and the forty days fast of Moses and Elijah.

According to St. Jerome and St. Augustine,
Lent was instituted by the Apostles. But other
writers designate the early part of the second
century as being the period of its institution,
However, though the precise date may not be
fixed, yet it has, from the early ages of Christian-
ity, been observed as a season of repentance,
meditation, prayer, self-denial, and of prepara-
tion for the great festival of Easter. The observ-
ance of stated periods for moditation, fasting and
prayer, is & custom of great antiquity, Isaac
went into the fleld to meditate at eventide. Our
blessed Saviour himself fasted forty days and
forty nights; and though upheld, during that pro-
tracted fast, by his divine nature, at its close we

6 told “he was unhungered.” He has act us

example of frequent prayer also, We read of
hi going up into a mountain to pray; of his con-
tinuing the whole night in prayer; and of Lis
agony of prayer in Gethsemane, where “his
Sweat was as of great drops of blood falling down
to the ground.” The Jews had several fasts,
which they kept with great strictness, The dura-
tion of a Jewish fast was generally twenty-four
hours, from evening to evening; not only total
abstinence from food, but all other innocent in-
dulgences was enjoined; and the synagogues re-
sounded with sobs of grief and supplication as the
penitents, shrouded in sackcloth, with hands un-
washed, with heads unanointed and covered with
asheg, cried, “Spare us, good Lord; spare thy
people, and give not thy heritage to reproach.”

In the Caurch of ‘England, on Ash-Wednesday,
ia read the very words of denunciation of God’s
judgment agai tent sinners,which Moses

 

inst unpenil

 

 

directed to be read on Mount Ebal, in olden time,

meee

© LOY LPN SENS TUS BINS EIGN LES | BIS TNT OST ESTELLE SE REMERON ITS POYNTER Sa SUNRRE EEE ERIE NN EAST STREET CPT SER DARE PETE cL eT Es

too; then they
take then p :

ous pleasures ofa carnival. Men and women will,
one day, deliberately plunge into the deepest fri-
volity and dissipation, and, on the next, prostrate
themselves before the altar, profers hearty repent-
ance for sin, and rattle off an incredible number
of prayers, With no intention of amending their
lives or conduct. How inconsistent. True re-

entance is followed by amendment. And to pro-

ess ourselves truly repentant, while the heart
purposes no amendment, is an absurdity, and
must surely be displeasing to God.

To be §sorry for anything, we must firat know
what itis, and to experiénce sincere sorrow for
our sins, while haying no definite idea of what
they consi:t, is.an nttcr impossibility. Hence the
necessity ofmeditation, An old writer justly re-
marks: “If we purpose to mend our faults, it is
not sufficient barely to confess them at all adven-
ture; but we must let our confession be in steep
in the water of moditation.”

This, then, though our bonnden duty at all
times, is especially so in Lent. To review honest-
ly our lives during the past year; to see wherein
we have‘grievously offended God or man; to ac-
knowledge and bewail these offences; and to
make reperation to the extent of our ability. We
‘must not, however, stop here—for though good
works cannot procure our acceptance with God,
certain it is,we will not be re without them,
Therefore they should form a large share of our
lenten duties.

We need at this riod @ season of retirement
and humiliation. The hand of God hath pressed
heavily uponus. The cry of the widow and or-

phan is heard amid the clash of arms and the
groans of the wounded. “Give me bread! give

 

winds from starving prisoners at Richmond; and
shall we not all unite in the cry, “Spare us, good
Lord ! spare thy people, whom thou hast redeem-
ed with thy precious blood, and be not angry with
us forever |”

In our meditations let us reflect upon the many
broken family circles—the many sorrowing hearts
that cringe in agony as the infant pratiler lisps,
*Why don’t papa come?” .

Poor innocent, may be

He has bid to this world a long good-bye,
And sleeps his last sleep ‘neath a south’ren sky,

Or perhaps he is wearing his brave life away in
the cold, damp cell of a rebel prison. In our

rayers jet us remember these afflicted ones.
et us implore the God of battles to protect the
brave fellows now breasting the current of war,
and fervently supplicate that the angel of Peace
may speedily overshadow with her white wings,
our afflicted country. In bewailing our sins,
those of the nation should not be forgotten, for
every one, no matter how insignificant, is a com-
ponent part of that great whole, and our indi-
vidual sins form the aggregate of national iniquity.
In our good works let the widow and orphan of
the soldier be remembered. Let the one be com-
forted and provided for, the other be fed, clothed,
and educated. And the war-worn veteran, bear-
ing upon his wasted frame the marks of devotion
to his country, shall he beforgotten? No! Youth,
beauty, wealth, talent, all cannot honor too much
the noble soldier. And when the Easter chimes
shall proclaim the anniversary of Christ’s triumph
over Death whet the prale organ shall pour
forth its grand te dewm, and allelujahs, mingled
with the incense of flowers, shall ascend to our
risen Lord, then will we remember those bravo
heroes, who, at the final resurrection, numbered
among the heavenly legions, shall forever shout,
“Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be
unto Him, whé sitteth upon the throne, and unto
the Lamb for ever and ever!”

TE MSO SE IRE WTS ARTO

_ PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS,

_.+=Let_the ioyfal peals of marriage bells re-
sound, and, mingled with the cheerful ho-
sannas of silver-toned choristers, procleim
“‘Glendower’s” wedding-day! Yes—‘‘Glen-
dower’ is married! And the fact may be con-
sidered a forerunner of the hasty disruption of
the world, when we affirm that two of tho
most antagonistic dispositions have harmo-
nized—that ‘the lion and the lamb will lie
down together.” The veracity of this asser-
tion is vouched for by our informant, ‘‘Addie
M. Pollard,” who states that it is

, STRANGE, BUT TRUE. »

I laid my fair head ona pillow of down—so tired and
sleepy, I almost forgot to invoke protection; but never-
theless Iam here, safe and sound, right side up with
care, Yet I dreamed,and thus ran the strange tenor
of my thoughts, I stood bya window, with a setof
wedding cards in my hands, and on their snowy sur-
face [read the names of ‘‘Glendower’’ and ‘‘Spencer.”
Down went the cards and up went my hands in holy
horror, ‘Jerusalem!’ ejaculated I; and the contribu-
tors of the N. Y¥. WEEKLY smiled complacently, whilst
the editors stroked their elegant whiskers and smacked
their lips in anticipation of the wedding feast, Well,
the days sped on, and the happy day arrived that was
to make two ONE; and to our dismay (but not astonish-
ment) it rained—I mean the clouds showered down cats
and dogs. But they were up to time, and in the
‘twinkling of an eye” the,two were one, They were
surrounded in an instant by friends eager to congratu-
late them; and such a whizzing and hissing of kissing
Inever heardin all my life. But it came my turn after
awhile, and as I put up my pretty lips to salute the
groom, I perceived he had no -teeth. I was seized at
that moment with a violent fit of coughing, and passed
on, joyfully yielding my place to “Miss Ruby Garnet.”
Oh! how happy she looked! and I knew she was re-
joiced to think she had escaped the fate of being tied
toa toothless old naglike him. The kissing part of the
programme was soon accomplished, and we proceeded
to the banquet hall.

It would be impossible to repeat the similes used by
the many guests who crowded round the extensive ta-
ble. The host had judged his visitors by himself, and
provided [spoon victuals for his guests, ‘Mush and
roilk, gentlemen!’’ bawled the waiter. ‘Thunder and
lightning!’’ was the only echo. Notwithstanding the
peculiarity of the food, for the want ot something bet-
ter, several exquisite-looking men removed their glit-
tering ivories, and sucked away with a will. Soup,
mashed potatoes, blanc-mange, cream, floating islands,
formed the principal portion of the meal; at least there
was nothing in the meat line but some rather*suspi-
cious looking sausages. They were presented to Glen-
dower, who looked at them with a terrible scowl, and
with an ominous growl answered, ‘‘Cursed be the day
I secured board in Madison street! and doubly doomed
be she who invented tooth-extracting sausages!’ I
shrank away, but Vickie re-assured me by reminding
me he could not bite. Music and dancing followed;
but, alas! for poor Glendower. In his rather minute
frame he combined all the infirmities that ever came
under the inspection of woman or befel man. As he
went through the dance his bones rattled like beans in
a bushel basket, and I heard Ruby’s blithe voice call-
ing him “Shakey,” and Vickie calling him. ‘‘Rattle-
bones,” and the folks in general becoming rather tur-
bulent. And such a scene of confusion was never
heard nor seen; and at last every one was swimrhing
in 4 sea of milk or skating on the mush, and the finale
was a general row, and the ‘‘perlice’’ came in and car-
ried the groom off on a charge of disturbing the peace;
and then I awoke,

We think

— Poor, toothless ‘‘Glendower!”
the perusal of ‘‘Addie’s’’ dream will make
him look more ‘‘down in the mouth” than
ever. His parents, too, are to be pitied; and
they may exclaim, “Oh! sharper than a ser-
pent’s tooth it is to have a toothless child!”.......
That child of Momus, ‘John H, Weaver,”
gives us another batch of his

DROPS FROM 4A. HUMOROUS VEIN. °
Youne ladies should never think of marrying per-
sons who are in the habitof dyeing their hair, unless
said persons are possessed of immense wealth, for in-
variably they-are old bachelors in disguise, and un-
doubtedly in a short time will die themselves.
SPEAKING of a couple of young men who were on
trial for a criminal offence, said Jones, ‘“They’ll got
about four years each.” ‘*That’s not half punishment
enough,” said a coutryman who stood by; “they ough
to have the seven years’ itch.”

Way is the head of a pugilist like the roof of a rural
cottage? Bocause it is shingled.

Why is an unsuccessful poet like the strains that
issue from s piano, when skilfully fingered? Because
both are muse-sick, z

AN inebriate went toa grogshop with a pint bottle,
and requested the landlord to All it with whiskey. The

 

 

»

oe

RE ERI PEERS FS NOM ER LSE

BERLY, #53cc2-

Lent is preceded, in some countries, by the riot-

me bread!” comes borne tous on the howling [

 

landlord did not quite fill the bottle, and knowing ‘+ to
hold just a pint, said the inebriate, “Do you gal!—chat

@ pint?” “Certainly,” rejoined the landlord. I
s*pore you intend that fora joke,’ said the ‘inebriate,
‘but I can’t. see the p’int.” :

— A p’inted retort! The landlord could not
fail to ‘‘see it.” ..... Here is a pointed and
pungent letter concerning a contributor who
detests babies; and we hope he will profit by
the remarks of “‘A, W.,” whoindites »

A FEW WORDS FOR ‘’DEBONAIRE.”

Of course Debonaire was once a baby, for every crusty
old bachelor, however much he may affec$ to despise
the institution, has the melancholy satisfactio: (?) of
knowing that he was once a member thereof; but I
very much wonder whai sort of a baby Debonaire was,
4 1 wonder if he was ever the pride and darling of some

dcting parent’s heart? If no gentle mother ever press.

ed her tender, loving kisses on his baby brow? If no
admiring relatives ever discussed his cunning baby
ways? But Debonaite has grown to manhood, and he
‘despises babies;’’ “they shock him;” “they disgust
him;”’ *they sicken him !’”’- Poor man, I pity‘him, I
pity him, because his heart has become so hardened
by worldly contact that even the beauty and purity of
innocence cannot soften it. I pity him, because the
germ oflove that the Great Father implanted in his
soul, for want ofnourishment, has withered and died.
I pity him for his lack of allkindiy, gentle feelings, of
all warm and tender sympathies, of all pure and holy
instincts! In the strength of his manhood he looks
down on helpless infancy, and it has no power to
awaken within him: other feelings than disgtist and
loathing! He abhors the little ones—the precious lit-
tle ones—whom Jesus took in his arms and blessed;
the darling little ones, who fill our homes with light
and joy, who nestle so confidingly in our arms, and
creep so closely, lovingly in our hearts--the laughing
little ones whose winsome ways aid merry pratile be-
guile so many hours—-the blessed little ones, of whom
itis written, “of such is the kingdom of Heaven.’
These Debonaire despises. Alas! d@ greatly fear that
in Azs heart all the ‘“‘milk of human kindness’’ has been
turned toacid vinegar, that the fountains of his soul
send forth but bitter waters! I pity him!

valiant and powerful champion in “A. W.,””
who thus‘manifests her love for them......

| Love is the subject of a communigation from

“Nettie Vernon,” who desires information,
and asks,
WHERE DO PEOPLE OBTAIN

LOVE STORIES?
~ A kind friend proposed to me one day that I write a
love story. Wishing to oblige, and scarcely knowing
even the first letter of the amatory alphabet, I came to
the conclusion to apply to some kind, experienced
friend to aid me with facts on which to build a two-
dozen-chapter story, fearing that if I undertook to
manniacture an article of this stamp with no solid
foundation, should ultimatelyfind myself in a bad fix.
- Well, of whom should I make the first inquiries?
Who should read forme the opening chapter of that
mysteriously sealed book? I thought of a good old
lady who had amused me hour after hour with stories,
until I began to wonder if her tall oaken chest was not
densely packed with these “pictures of memory.”
Please imagine me making my request in the prettiest
manner possible, and then imagine, if you can, my ut-
ter sense of good-for-nothingness, which followed the
old lady’s cool reply—* Nettie, you had better run
home and play with your doli/”? Resolving not to be
discouraged, I hit upon another plan, and snatching
my hat wag soon on my way to Aunt Susie’s. (This
lady, from the fact of her being a clever old maid, was
called ‘‘aunt” by everybody.) Aunt Susie and myself
had never been on the most intimate terms, but I re-
solved to “win her over’’ that afternoon sure, Every
flower and herb by the roadside I carefully gathered
for her at the imminent peril of my gloveless hands
and clean white apron. Well, after niaking minute in-
quiries for her health, after dissecting her bundle of
4 gossip, (isn’t it strange that old maids who liye alone
are always sure to know everything?) after repairing
an infinitesimal fracture in her work-bag, ‘*’cause my
eyes were sharper and younger than hers,’’ after mov-
ing her tiny work-table halfan inch nearer the north-
east corner of her chair, after straightening the spruce
boughs in her best fireplace, after petting her kitty for
halfan hour, when from my heart I hated the old
black creature with its staring eyes, after repeating the
“tem commandments,” forwards, backwards, and

contained three volumes, viz: Bible, hymn-book, sn
almanac, I ventured to ask her if she had always liv
jin that little brown cottage, ‘Not always, Nettie,”
and Ihearda deep sigh. ‘‘Were you pleasantly and
happily situated before you came here, Aunt Susie?”
“No, Nettie, far from it,’? and the old lady’s head
. drooped and her eyes closed. ‘‘Oh, don’t, don’t, Aunt
Susie! I didn’t mean anything! Don’t faint away or
go on a voyage tothe moon! I’li go find your cat and
hold her all day ifyou won’tdie! Come, look up and
smile,’ said I. AuntSusie did look up, and hoarsely
whispered, ‘‘Never seek to fathom an old man’s heart,
Nettie, never /’? Now, where can I find material on
which to founda story? Who will tell me, and receive
e thanks of NETTIE VERNON?

— Can any of our readers favor her?.....Our
esteemed friend, ‘Ethel Carlysle,” favors us
with a few pithy paragraphs, which sheentitles

ODDS AND ENDS.

~ MaRrtiaces are very fashionable this season, and
some of them—at least in this vicinity—seem to be en-
tered into with about as much forethought as one
which took placein a neighboring town a short time
since. The young man was not considered very re-
markable for smartness as far 28 acquiring the “filthy
lucre” was concerned, and his aquaintances were
somewhat surprised to hear of his marriage; and one
of them meeting him afew days after, inquired how he
expected to support his wife. “Why,” replied Benedict,
in innocent surprise, ‘I am sure I almost oa ad
myself before, and J sholud think she might help some
now.”

AxsouT as laughable a case ofeconomy as I ever heard
was related to me the other day by a friend who
vouchs: ‘forits truth. A sleighing party started from
the village of E——,a few winters ago, and among
the party was one Jim S—— and his lady love. After a
4 pleasant ride of fifteen or twenty miles, they stopped
at a hotel, where supper was prepared for them; and
Jim taking his lady into the parlor, left her with this
remark—‘‘When the victuals are ready, you go in and
eat what yom want, and I’ll pay for it; I don’t want any
myself, for’ I brought my dinner in my pocket.’”? And
he forthwith proceeded to where he had left his team,
and seating himself in the sleigh, refreshed his inner
1.an with the gingerbread and doughnuts in his pock-
et, while his horse ate the hay he had brought in the
sleigh for his accommodation. 4

A sHORT distance from here lives one John B—,
who a few years ago was paying particular attention to
a Miss G——; but one Sunday night he met with a
slight rebuff, for the lady meeting him at the door, ina
formed him, in very decided language, that his com-
pany was not desired, then dr at any future time. Some
time after, in relating the circumstance to a friend, he
ended the recital by exclaiming in an exultant tone:
“But I had my revenge on her for it,”
asked his listener; ‘what did you do?” “Why, I
ae went near her again, and I’ll bet that punished

er,’

— They say ‘punishment chasteneth the
soul,” and we guess Miss G. liked it..... We
like the orthography of the annexed copy of »
“Notis” which ‘‘Washington’”’ tells us he ob-
served posted in a barber’s shop, a8 &

NOTIS TU THEE HANS.
Plese, notis. these, ruls, No. .swarin, or. "profain,
languge. aloud. also. all, imployd. hans. will plese,
clene. up. an. keep, 80,

— A great deal of point is contained in the
above proclamation—one after every word.

er. eee
“ane following MSS., intended ‘for this department,
are accepted: ‘Except the Oaptain;” ‘‘Paragraphs from
J.H. W.;” “Hez in the City;” “Answering Matrimo-
nial Advertisements.’’
declined: “Story Telling;” ‘Skating Incidents;” “A
light Mistake ;”’ ‘"No, Thank You;” *‘A Slide” is not
devoid of merit, and the author, with a little more care,
might have amended its defects.

 

 

_Low measures of feeling are better than ecsta-
cies for ordinary life ,Heaven sends its rains in
gentie drops, else the flowers would be. beatensto
pieces, c

_ Contentment is more satisfying than exhilara-
tion; and contentment means simply the sum of
smail and quiet pleasures,

KinpNEss.—The faults which are committed
through excess of kindness it requires. small
kindness to excuse,

Ir those who have died of joy had but been soft-
ened by thankfully gazing aloft, they wouldecither
not have died at all or died of a swooter raptur

ComMPARATIVE.—In certain moods the won

Oe

naeg

 

ceasingly, and on the slightest touch,

RR eee eH

POS BE PEE. 68 EL OE TEE

Wat oor

2

— The Wabies—God bless them!—have a

‘‘MATERIAL” FOR

 

 

every which way, after arranging her bookcase, which

Mh

‘Did you ?’’.

The following are respectfully ~

soul, like injured trees, pours forth its tears un- ”

 

 

 

 

* te a ae

 
 

 

    

a

BY MRS. IF. B. COLLINS.

Who comes along the garden walks,
Wlih airy tread, and singing,

Fresh flowers from the clover fields
Within her apron bringing?

Who whirls amid the merry dance
With Bob, the sturdy drover,

Then leaves him broken-hearted for
A more accepted lover?

Who is it Cupid favors most,
And teaches wiles and blushes,
When some pastoral, lovesick swain
Into her presence rushes?
Who with an arrow from his bow
Trios every heart to slaughter?
The smiling, winning country maid,
Tho farmer's lovely daughter.

Who tells Jos Smith she will nct go
With him that eve a walking,
And stands beside the cottage gate,
With Jerry Miles a talking?
Who knows the alphabet of love
That no grey sage has taught her, q
* And weds the handsome country lad?
The farmer’s lovely daugater.

DDS rere
ETHEL;
on,
THE BLIND GIRL’S SUBMISSION,

BY ELIZA SPEAR COOK.

CHAPTER L.
THE CHASTENING ROD.

“Ethel is looking unusually beautiful to-night,”
remarked Mrs, Vane, as she passed wp the long
Vista of rooms on the arm of her husband. ‘New,
agree, Vane, that our daughter cannot be
eclipsed in all this gay assemblage for either
beauty or accomplishment;” and the handsome,
bui rather arrogant looking lady glanced proudly
from her daughter up inte her husband’s face.

“ZF agree; but, Margaret, do you not think you
ere paying too much atiention to the outside
glitter of our child, and leaving the inner part in
darkness and gloom, beautifying and deeorating
the casket and leaving the jewe!—the soul—all un-
polished and rough—in fact, making a perfect
butterfly of fashion of Ethel, with not a thought
beyond the gay world she is moving in now, aud
perfectly unfit for the wife of the noble man I
s2ould wish for her husband.”

“Spare your lectures to-night, Mr. Vane. Iam
notin a humor to listen, and pray leave the care
eud education of my daughter tome. Do I inter-
feve with you and our s0n Claude?” -

“No; but I should thank you to, if you saw
ety error in my training of Claude. But, Marga-
ret, I am not lecturing—merely hinting at what
taight possibly be a forgetfulness on your part.”

“Hinting? Humph! indeed I understand your
hinting, Mr. Vane. You fancy our daughter in-
tends accepting the attentions of Paul Cliffordy
the minister, but you are grandly mistaken. Al-
low me to tell you if ever she entertained such a
notion, ithas been cast to the winds long ago.
No, indeed; when our daughter marries, it will
het be to live the hum-drum life of a parson’s
wife, but something that will bring honor to the
name of Vane. Why, do you know,” she went on,
confidently, “Brad. Thornby, the rich banker, is
paying marked attention to Ethel—attention, I
am psreuaded, will end in something more
serioas, What do you think of that, Mr. Wise-
body?” she finished up, triumphantly.

“Are you in earnest, Margaret? Brad. Thorn-

by, that senseless man, our daughter’s husband

in view? God forbid! Margaret, if you have
_ficcseded go well in breaking off an honorable

 

\

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
   
  
 
 
  
  

Yairriage, take my advice and succeed better in
breaking off a dishonorable one,”

“You are ridiculous to-night, Mr. Vane. I
haven’t the patience to listen to you. Please be
89 kind as to conduct me to the card room. I
will dispense with your services and advice for
the rest of the evening;” and the lady stalked
along in indignant silence, biting her red lips un-
til the blood almost started, at her husband’s
ovstizacy. \

Mr, Vane heaved a deep sigh when he turned
from his wife after leaving her at the desired
room, and a deeper one when he gazed toward
his daughter, just then enacting an immensely
pathetic part with Thornby in some gorzeously
gotten up tableau for the evening entertainment.

This was a grand birthday fete, in honor of
Miss Hthel’s twentieth year, coming off rather,
earlier in the season than was exactly the mode—
in fact, it might have been called latein the sum-
mer, for the autumn leaves had not even began
to iacg. But as this young lady happefed to be

‘bora &% precisely this time twenty years before,
aud as it was a whim of this exceedizgly pig-
headsd young lady te have her first general in-
troduction into the aristocratic society of the pret-
ty western city of C—— on this twentieth birth-
cay of hera, there was nothing to do but have it
50, and the consequences were, the evening
pa excessively warm—in fact, sultry; all the

ow French windows were open, back and front,
to admit every passing breeze; but never a breath
stirred. The splendid lace curtains that were
looped slightly back wiih a novel idea in the shape
of beautiful bouquets of hot-honése flowers inter-
twined with drooping fern and trailing blades of
variegated grasses; bouquets on the mantels,
in the antique urns that rested against the huge
pillars dividing the parlors, and held temptingly
orth in the delicate hands of snow-white statues,
Indeed:the sultry air was overburdened with the
perfame of these gorgeous flowers. si

Still the gay revelry went on; clouds offsnowy
tulle and gossamer laces floated by in the mazy
Gance; the musicians worked away at their in-
struments, and all seemed unmindful of the dis-
tant sound, like the rattle of heavy cart wheels
over pebble stones, until with a crash, like the
discharge of a hundred pieces of artillery, the
tempest poured its wrathful voice on their terri-
fisd ears. The timid ones shrieked and covered
their faces with their hands; the wiser ones be-
~\gan_hastily drawing in the shutters, closing the
windows and removing everything of a dangerous
natere from the glare of the fearful flashes oi
lightning. Again tho thunder rolied and rever-
berated, apparently shaking the house to its very
foundation, accompanied by a flash of forked
lightnivg, so intense that the outer world appeared
oue vast sp2ce of livid flame, and the sky ap-
peared rent from east to weatin zigzag lines,

The glare of this lightning had not died away
in the pitchy darkness of that stormy night, ere a
ghriek, so wild and piercing, ringing in the ears of
terniacta Msteners long after it had died away
itself, sounded above the reverberating thunder
and loud splashing rain, apparently from the rear
gardens attached to the house.

The whist party in the card-room dropped their
hands upon the table, tumbling their tricks to-
gether in dire confusion, and stared with pale,
bewildered faces at each other. Some instinct 6f
the mother told Mrs. Vane that fearful shriek is-
sued from her daughter’s lips, and hurriedly has-
tening from the room, she reached the rear parlor
ia time to behold Brad Thornby entering from
the garden, and bearing in his arms the inanimate
form of her daughter.

Kie inatantly resigned her to her mother’s gen-
tler care, while anxious groups gathered round,
ei talking together, and all wonderfully surprised
that Ethel should faint ata crash of thunder or
flash of lightning—she who had always expressed
se much delight im viewing the heavens while in
the majestic fury of a storm.

“That's just it,” commenced the thoroughly
annoyed Mr. Thornby, fastidiously wiping with
his delicate handkerchief the rain-dreps from his
face and oiled beard; ‘“‘that’s just it! If Miss
Ethel had not been so extremely desirous of
watching the storm-king approach in his fiery
chariot, hurling his thunderbolts on devoted mor-
tals below, and deluging them with bucketsfull
-% of water beside, all this scene would have been

§ spared us. I expressed my wishes to instantly re-
y, turn at the first warning of an outbreak amid the
elements. But Miss Ethel expressed her wishes
exactly opposite, and of course it is not the role of

 

 

 

a gentleman to refuse, therefore we had but just
turned our faces shelterward at that second clap
of thunder, followed by a flash of forked light-
ning, the sight of which I shall never forget until
my dying day. Miss Vane was looking up into the
heavens at the time, and suddenly clasping her
hands over her eyes, uttered that scream and
fainted instantly,” and Mr. Thornby shook out
his saturated handkerchief and laid it carefully
over the outstretched arm of a marble Venus.
Meanwhile all eyes were turned on the fainting
girl, who began to give symptoms of returning
consciousness; her large brown eyes opened slow-
ly, staring vacantly toward the ceiling, then as
slowly and gracefully closed again, the beautiful
head turning over in her mother’s lap as though
just awakened irom slumber. Mrs, Vane, shook
er head gently, whispering softly, :
“Rouse, darling! speakto me! Ethel! what
ails my child!” t
- *“Den’t, mother,” she answered, petulantly.
‘What made you wake me? It is so dark; surely
it ain’t morning yet.”

shook her more severely.
*Fithel ! ae child! wake! open your eyes!
look around on your friends!
dear—don’t you remember?”
Just then a clap of thunder, rumbling away in
the distance as the storm began to subside,

hands over her eyes.” ;
“The thunder—the lightning! mother, ch!
mother, . did it

ingly around her.

standing around you.”
young girl. She clasped her hands together.

teasing me—say thai the roomsare in utter dark-
ness—that you cannot see me any more than I
can see you! Oh! my God! my God! am I
blind? * No, no, no—it cannot be! Say, say that
Tam not! Mother, father, speak!” and she groped
her hané@s helplessly about.

Utter horror and bewilderment had stolen into
every face. The mother, in wildest despair,
caught her child to her breast, gazing eagerly in-
-to the eyes, where no blemish could be seen; but
returned 6) glance with such a dull, meaning-
less stare. Aiew gathered round with attempts
at condolence, but she beat them away with her
restless hands, moaning out in such a pitiful war,

unconsciousness of the grave than to pass through
life in this utter darkness!”

The mother did not try to sx0the her, but, like
& crazed woman, she cailed on God’s name in vain,
rebelling in the fiercest manner against His will,
The company broke up inconfusion, Brad. Thorn-
by was heard to say toa mutual friend, on passing
out, ‘“Deuced bad affairthat! Miss Mthel was a
fine girl. I might have married her; but that has
pee now. inever could think of making a

lind girl my wife. Suppose we go into the S——
and get a glassof brandy; my clothes are infer-
naliy damp. Fred, women are the biggest sim-
pletons on the globe!” and this soulless, selfish
man passed on, thinking no more of one who
might have yielded her young heart’s fondest
affections to him, going down to the grave insher
misfortune, with pain and despair at his cruel de-
sertion,

Alas! for those men who, in hours of sunshine
flutter round some fair shrine, vowing eterna
constancy, gathering, if possible, the rich jewels
from off that shrine, only to cast them aside when
some fearful storm has dimme i th ei®Justre,

»
eee ee

CHAPTER II,
SUBMISSION.

“Out of the darkness cometh light—ont of rée-
bellion cometh submission—out of repentance

souls, have pity upon me, grovelling in the dark-
nes3 at Thy feet! take me up in my blindness and
grant me the light of christianity; wicked, sinful,
rebellious as I am. Oh! God! my Father in
Heaven, have mercy! have pity!” and the bowed
head bent lower, and the hot tears trickled slowly
through the slender fingers of the blind girl who

had stolep into the house of prayer that bright

afternoon, led to the door that chanced to be open,

by her Httle maid, Aunette,who waited in the vea-
tibule while her mistress groped her way up the
long, silent isle; guiding herseif by the tops of the
pews, until she knelt at last on the soft cushions
surrounding the altar-railing, and laid bare her
heart to her Maker in submission,

“Row down Tnine ear, oh! God! and hear me,
for Iam poor and needy, and Thou art good and
ready to forgive, and plenteous in mercy unto all

them tliat call npon Taee.” _

It was the minister's voice that chaunted the

beautiful words—the minister’s hands that fell

with such a tender caress on the sotthair of Ethel

Vane, and kneeling dewn by her side he poured

fourth his soul in prayer, and repeated such beau-

tiful passages from our Saviour’s life that the

blind girl’s tears slowly ceased to fall, and her

head bent forward, while smiles crept round

her sweet mouth, as she listened to the soft,

deep voice of Paul Clifford; and yet, how her heart

ached when she thought of the time when she hed

turned from this noble man’s love. For what? He

would not have turned from her in her misfortune,

Ah, no! andalmost roused to rebellionagain, she

burst into a passion of tears, and cried out vehe-

mently, .
“Paull Paul! will I ever dare hope to be
Christian? Can I ever, ever, be so good, so pure
as you? Ever since that fearfal night I have
siruggled and rebelled with my God! Sometimes
my brain seems on fire! Some angel, surely, di-
rected my footsteps hither this afternoon! I
knew not any but God listened to my appeals !
But, oh, Pau!, you have done me so much good |”
“Ethel, I am buta sinful and erring mortal, like
yourself! But, ob, darling, if I could be the in-
strument in God’s hands to guide you to his fold!
If you could only love me enough to entrust your
happiness te my keeping for life! I am not
handsome or very rich, but this ecoula be of little
account to you now! Beauty you could not see—
the thiags riches would surround, you could not
enjoy! But, my voice should be ever attuned to
the tenderest accord for you! No loud retort, or

 

 

‘angry reproof should ever greet your ear from

me! Darling, say that you will let me lead you
down io ths valley of the shadew of Death ?”
Ethel could not answer then. God was too
good, she thought; and after relieving herself in
a torrent of tears, she turned her sightless eyes in
the direction where his voice came. __

“Paul, dear Paul, would you take me, a helpless
burden for life? Do you love me enough for
that? Itso,may God bless you! Oh, why did I
ever tarm from you—I loved you so in my heart ?
Dear, dear Paul!”

And there, in that sacred place, they were be-
trothed; ‘and the young minister gently lead her
out to Annette, who had been peeping through a
crack in the door, in utter amazement, atthe far-
away, dim, shadewy picture she had conjured of
two kneeling in such close proximity, and the
faint murmur of two voices, that stole faintly
through the keyhols to her listening ear.

One month from the above, ons Sunday morn-
ing, Paul Ciifford slowly and gently guided his
blind bride up that same aisle, tenderly deposit-
ing her in the minister's pew, where her father
and mother had preceded her.

Ethel could not see the pitying glances bestow-

ed upon, nor would she have mindedthem. Her

heart was so placidly content now, oné might

have fancied an angel’s voice issued from the

blind girl's lips, and joined in the opening chant:

“Bow down thine ear, oh God, and hear me,

For I am poor and needy;.

And Thou art good, and ready to forgive,

And Penson in mercy unto all them that call upon
ee ,

and an angel’s face that was raised withsuoh a
tender, confiding glance to the spot where she
knew Ke was looking down upon her, and intently
listening to the words that seemed meant for her
ear alone.

Perhaps the greatest rebellion had taken placa
in the mother’s heart, Fiercely and defiantly she
had seen her castie in the air shattered into hope-
less chaos by one fell blow of the Almighty’s hand;

 

Every one looked surprised, and the mother

Your birth-night,

seemed to startle Ethel into something like con-
sciousness. She started to her feet, pressing her

ut the lights ont?” and she
dro ped her hands, staring vacantly but beseech-

“My God!” cried her mother; ‘Ethel, what ails
you? The lights are all in—your friends are

A white horror slowly crept over the face of the

“Mother, mother, dear mother, say that you are

“Tet me die! let me die! Rather the darkness and

cometh peace. Oh! God, Jesus, Saviour of our}with him and threw him on the floor.

and ’twas long ere she acknowledged the wisdom
of God in crushing her vain, worldly hopes; buta
Christian daughter, and a Christian son-in-law,
led her gently but surely from her rock of defiance
until even she knelt at lastin utter submission to
the wisdem and gdvodness of God !

Oi

CLARENCE VERNON: —

OR,
THE GAMBLERS REPENTANOE.

BY WALTER H, BRYANT,

 

 

 

That was a bad scrape dewn at O'Brien's last
night? That young chap from the States would
have got used up pretty bad it we had not wentin,
By the way, Farry, what is his name ?”

* Clarence Vernon, I believe, was on the card he
gave me.”

‘ O’Brien’s is a very bad place for a yonng man
tobe. Why itis one of the most notorious gamb-
ling-hells in San Francisco; and, Harry, I think,
you had better have nothing to do with Mr. Ver-
non, although he appears to be anice young man,
yet O'Brien’s was a very bad place for him to be.’

“Tom,” said Harry, laughingly, ‘you had bet-
ter wait and see whether Mr. Vernon will want to
have anything todo with us. I wonder who that
can be knocking at the door—but, comein, come
in, \
The speakers were two Californians, who had
come to San Francisco from the mines to avoid
re rainy season, which was at that time just set-

ing in.

I will now return to my story. -In answer to the
Californians’ request, or command rather, the
door opened, and a young man, about twenty-
three years of age, entered.

Any one seeing kim for the first time would call
him effeminate, but though his limbs were small,
there was a heap of muscle in them, His hair was
a dark, curling brown; his forehead washigh and
broad; the eyes were adark, clear blue; the nose
was slightly of the Roman cast; the mouth was
small and perfect; the teeth clear and regular;
while the lines about the mouth denoted great
firmness of character.

This was Ciarence Vernon as he appeared to
Tom and Harry Talbot, as_he stood in the deor-
way of their room, in the M House, in San
Francisco.

Aiter inviting him to sit down, Tom asked him
to what were they indebted for so early a visit.

“Because,” answered Ciaresce, “I wished to
thank you for your kindness to me last evening, I
wished to let you know whyit was Lwasin that
gambling saloon last night. It is necessary to.
give you my history, in order to fully explain why
it was that Iwasthere. If not disagreeable to
you 1 will now give it to you!” ho exclaimed, in
an inquiring manner.

“Not at all,” said the brothers, in one breath.

“I was boriin the city of Philadelphia. When
I was seven years old my father died, leaving my.
mother a small fortune, en which to raise and
educate myself and my litile sister Mabel, who is
five years younger than pyeolt, About one year
ago my mother’s agent absconded with over half
ot the money that my mother had received at my
father's death. Six months age I completed my
last term at college. Kuowing thet if I studied
for any profession, that it would be scveral years
before Icould maintain myseif, and consequently
I would be a heavy incumbrance on my mother,
T concluded to come to California, I arrived here
but yesterday morning, and last evening asI was
strolling through the town, I heard a voice very
much hke that of the unfaithful agent, before
spoken.ef I entered the house from which the
voice came immediately, and came face to face
with the delinquent. 1 could not be deceived, for
over his left eye there is a large tumor, I had
often noticed it when he was my mother's agent.
T accused him of theft, and demanded him to re-
4 turn the money he had stolen. He laughed .at
me, and struck nie in the face. Then I grappled
When he
found that I was getting the advantage of him he |
called to his associates, who quickly responded to
his cries for help. To keep off these new assail-
ants, threejin number, I hadjto rise from the pros-
trated agent. It nowlooked as if I was to pay
dear for my indiscretion, when your oppoatune
arrival turned the scales in my fayor, and, as you
know, the villians fled. This is my history up to
the present time.”

When Clarence ®eased speaking, Tom asked
him if he had yet chosen with whom he would go
to the mines.

Clarence replied that he had not, as he did not
know any one in California, He had determined
on buying his tools as soon as he found out what
Was requisite to take with him.

“Will you go along with-Harry and me »” ask-
ed Tom, after consulting with his brother for a
few minutes. - ,

“T would like nothing betéer.” :

“Then itis agreed that we three are totorm a
party for the coming.ecason te

‘It is.” pe

 

 

 

 

'

 

I will now skip over the following two years,
with a few words of explanation, viz.: Each of our
party had amassed a good fortyne. During this
time Clarence had become the imseperable com-
panion of Tom Talbot.

At the beginning of the third year, they took in
with them a man who gave his name as William
Parkinson. They were now mining in one of the
gorges atthe base of the Sferra Nevada moun-
tains. Early one fine morning in summer, when
Clarence got up, Tom was missing. Clarence,
thinking he had gone ont to doa little prospect-
ing, did not trouble himself about Tom’s absence.
About noon, when Harry was preparing the din-
ner, Parkinson came to the tent and informed
them that he had seen the prinis of Indian moc-
casins in the sand about a mile below the camp,
and that he had alsoseen the imprint of Tom’s
boots at the same place. This frightencd them
not a little. Clarence was the first to recover his
enses, and acting on his suggestion, after provid-
ing themselves for the journey, they immediately
set out in pursuit. After ten days weary march-
ng they came across a party of five Indians, who
had Tom in charge. This party they surprised,
and killed three. Theother two escaped to the
mountains, and were not seen again, ey soon
set Tom free from the buckskin thongs by which
he was bound, and not till then did they discover
that Parkinson was missing. On looking for him
they found that he had been shot by one of the
flying Indians. The bullet had entered the left’
breast above ghe heart, Finding that he could
not live, Parkinson to!d Clarence to draw nearer,
to receive his dying confession. He began by
telling him that his name was not Parkinson, but
Charles Adams, and that he was Mrs. Vernon’s
unworthy agent, He said that while he had been |
in San Francisco he had had the tumor removed
from over his left eye bya ski!lfal surgeon residing
there, and that was the reason Clarepce was not
able to recognise him. _His breath was getting
short, and knowing he had but a few moments to
live, he implored Clarence’s forgiveness, which
was quickly given. He then to!d him to call Tom
and Harry, who were standing a few steps from
them. He said to take from his money enough to |
| pay for the principle and interest of Mrs. Vernon’s
money from the time he abzconded with it until
it was returned to her, the remainder he be-
queathed to Miss Mable Vernon. He soon after
breathed his last, and was given christian burial
by those who had heard his last words.

- The manner Tom had been taken by the In-
dians wasthus described by him: ‘The morning
thathe was missed he had left camp to do a little
prospecting. About a mile below the camp he
had been captured by & roying band of Indians.
After nine days marching the band separated and
left mein charge of the five in whose company
you found me. This determined our party to sei
off for home, which they did in the first steamer
that left San Francisco after their arrival there.
Nothing worthy of note oceurred on the voyage,
therefore I will skip over it. Itis needless tosay
that our party, Clarence, Tom, and Harry, re-
ceived a warm welcome from Mrs. Vernon and
Mabel. Clarence laid vigorous siege to the heart
of a young lady of Philadelphia, who had to capit-
ulate, if the following notice, which appeared in a
Puiladelphia psper about six months after his re-

_

 

 
 

from you again...,..The following MSS. arereceived

 

Rey. J. W. Hill, at the residence of the bride’s
father, Mr. Clarence Vernon to Miss Maggie
Dean,’ About three month’s after that happy
event Tom led Mable Vernon tothe altar. Shortly
after this Tom and Mable bought a beautiful resi-

| dence on the Ohio River, a few miles below the

sity of Louisville. Harryis an old bachelor, and
spends his time alternately between Tom’s and
Clarence’s,”

10 CORRESPONDENTS.

aa We are often requested by correspondents to ans
awer them by letter. This we should be very happy to
do in all cases, if we could find the time, but as we have
but very little leisure, we can hatdly undertake so oner-
ous & task.

Gosstp wirtp READERS AND Conrnisvrens.—
Mrs. H. F. B., of San Franciseo,-We have sent you &
long letter by mail, and nothing has occurred worthy
of mention since that was written. Letus hear from
you as often as you can make it convenient,.......A2-
gustus Treadwell,—The paper shatl be sent......4. H.
Dayten.—lt the sketch alluded te by you was not no-
ticed in this department, cither as accepted or declined,
we never received it. We invariably notice everything.
b eeee Isabella B.—You undoubtedly have talent; but

 

 

last attempt, which is hardly up to the standard......
William S., jr.—We esnnot add to the list of our pai
oontributors...... Mary J. Allen.—Yours is a well.
ccived and beautifully written sketch. We read it with
much pleasure, but we think you might have improved
it by giving ita differentfinish. Why could you not
have sent the hero to the army, allowed his erring wife
to die, then had the hero wounded in action, and sent
the heroine to nurse him back to health, and then
tomarry him. Don’tyou think that would have been
better, or are you fond ofthe melancholy?....... eee aed
Arbuckle.—Mrs. Holmes has had seven volumes pub-
lished, we believe, and we can send you one or all of
these at $1,25 per volume, postage paid......P. J. R.~
We do notlike the lasi poem you send ug, as a whole, al-
though it contains some fine lines .....4/. E, S.—Your
poem, though not destitute of merit, is hardly good
enough far publication........ C. D, Clarke.—We do not
think we can make any use of either of the long stories
you sentus. The MS. is subjsct to your order.......
Lizzie.—For a little girl of twelve, Lizzie, your compo-
sition is excellent, and if you will persevere you will
without doubt makea writer, in time, Your style is
am vertoct as yet, however. Butkeep ontrying.....
Ethel Carlysie.—You wil perceive that all your contri-
butions last sent are accepted. Send along your story,
....@raceDeLa Verite,—Thauks for the words and music,
“Forever and ever,’’ which you sent us. The words
ate full of the sp rit of religien, and are very pretty.
The music we have-not tested, but from a hasty glance
we should suppose it to be very. sweet and in keeping
with the words......‘‘Z'wo Levers.”—You have much
talent, and will certainly make a writer of no mean pre-
tensions after you shall have had sufficient practice. At
present we fear your judgment is somewhat at fault.
The ideacf taking for your hero a schoolboy of four-
teen, causing him to fall in love with a full-grown wo-
“man, and she in love with hiin, separating them, mar-
rying her to another, and after the lapse of seventecn

-| years, bringing the hero and the daughter of his first

love together, and marrying them, is slightly absurd.
The plot isa good one, and might easily have been pre-
served with more naturalness as to characters. Always
try to keep within the range of probability. A school-
boy offeurteen is generally more in love with his top,
his marbles, his kife, his pact eens ADS Y and his bread
and butter, than with anything else......#. Heglyn,—
A beautiful sketch. Letusa hear from you again.,....
Nettie Vernon.—We cannot say whether the articles
have been published or not. We do not keop the run
of conteibutions afier they have passed through our.
hands. Tne missing numbers shall be sent......An
Old Reader.--We will endeavor to answer your question
next week. «...Piere Wm. M. Taylor.—We are afraid
that eur pres@nt engagements will preciude the possi-
bility of eur entering into any arrangement with you
for the publication cf your great story. Firmly im-
pressed, as we ate, however, that so stnpendous and
stunning an effort should not be lostto ihe world, we
publish your proposition, so that our cotemperaries
may see i® and tske advantage of it, if they feel so in.
reclined, Here it is:

feb the 27 186 &

Mr Street and Smith

i herefore give Notice to you that ihave written 2
story that is very interesting to bot® young and old
and it.can partly be relied on as true and if you wish to
have the bust and most interestipgest story that has
ever bin published in the pages of nistory you can by
sending me a fiew lines

it is the sufferings of grace Thomas the orphat girl
or the abuse of acruel uncleor the demand of, cbris-
tiiine and the reched antonia who committed the out-
razious murder of Robert Thomas and if desired it will
be continued from paper to paper

end I think it will be a warning to)Thousants of our
readers

ritten by the auther of the great sea Story or the
tradgedy of the graham family
Piere Wm M Taylor

Hammondsyville jefferson
Co ohio

«ses. Orissie Annie Markle.—We should like to oblige
you, but cannot. Your poems do not contain merit
enough to warrant their publication......@. B. Chapin.
~-The articles alluded to must have been published by
us. At amy rate they are not among our articles filed
for insertion...... Royal L. De True.--Whore shall we
send the two pages ot “Jenny Thorne?’’...... Geo. G.
Mead.--We have not the MS, of “Kata Worthington’s
Mission,” We never preserve MSS. unless especially
requested to do so, and then we do not like to do it,
for it snbjects us to much trouble......£. Holenshade —
We will cheerfully comply with your request as far as
weareabletodoso, We like you......4. B. Z.—The
letter was mailed to you some time since......M. M.
Hum*s.—We will send you the book, postage paid, on

 

  

you need practice We think you can improve on your |

ITEMS OF INTEREST.

x@" A few weeks before the death of the late
Mr. Thackeray, he was present at the usual Saturday
dinner, at which the contributors to Punch are acdns-
tomed to meet and arrange the pr for the next
week’s number. The conversation tnrning upon Mr.
Thackeray’s skill as a penman—as he rided himself on
the neatness and dexterity with which he could cram
the greatest possible number of words into the smallest
possible syace—he was challenged to giveanillustration,
whereupon he produced a fourpenny. piece, and having
marked the oircle of the coin with a pen on a piece of

per, he drew in the centre a crown, and the re-

ing space with the Lord’s Prayer, which he tran-
scribed without a single contraction, except im the case
of the word “which,” spejling it “wh.” Singular to
relate, too, the pen used was an ordinary googe-quill,
which happened to be in the room. The ‘ fourpenny-
piece” mentioned above is about the same sizo as our
half-dime, ;

aa” The farmorsin the neighborhood of Berks
Co. Pa., suffered this winter from the depredation, of
an animal now in that part of the’country. It is three
months sinos he was first observed, and he has been
prowling about the neighborhood of Rascumbmanor
township ever since. It was soon found that he was
very wary and cunning, and some western men having
come upon him while devouring ths carcass of a sheep,
in the ‘*gloamivg” ofa short winter day, they pro-
nounced him a large Cayotte, or praivie-wolf. On the
53d ult., a ty of six mepand boys came upon the
wolf near Berkley, and gave chase. Their dogs pur-
sued him for halfan hour and he was finally brought
to bay, and shot by Levy Wesner, near Tuckerion
Station, on the Eastern Pennsylvania Railroad. ‘The
wolf was a very large one of the prairie kind.

xa In Dresden there is an iron egg, the his-
tory of which is something like this: A young prince
sent this iron egg to a lady to whom he was betrothed,
She received it in her hand, and looked at it with dis-
dain. In her indignation that he should send her such |
a gift she cast itto the earth, When it touched the
ground, « spring, cunningly hidden in the egg, opened,
and a silver yelk rolled out. She touched a secret
spring in the yelk and a golden chicken was revealed;
she touched a spring in the chicken, anda crown was
found within; she touched a spring in the crown, and
within it was founda diamondrivg. There is a moral
to the story, I

Ag A case for international litigation is just
now slowly emerging from the Mediterranezn, between
Malta and Sicity, in the shape ef a volcanic island,
which, over twenty years ago, madea first appearanca
above high water, but almost immediately snbsided
several fathoms. The local surveyor from Valetta,
Capt, Graves, lost nat a moment in hoisting thereon at
that period the English fiag, and there wag no delay in
a counter claim from the. crown of the Two Sicilies,
But the bone ef contention was, in tha interim, re-
swallowed by old Ocean, This Iola Ferdinavéa is now
announced as heaving upwards anew, and only a few
feet cover it at low water. ~ .

 

.

xa- During 9 floolin one of the French prov-
inces lately, the River Lot was covered with a varioty
of objects, and among them was one of considerable
size, which especially attracted attention. A boatman
put off to ascertain what it could be, and was astonish-
ed to find that it was a cradle, containing a fing boy
about six months old, fast asleep. At the child's feet
lay & large Angola cat, which seemed paralyzed with
fear. Thechild and its companion were conveyed to
the Hospital of Mermade, and will be kept there until
the parents can be discovered. e

ag A snuff-taker, who proved to be not “up to /

snuff,”’ Jately entered an omnibus in Paris, where he
found a pe'sonalready comfortably seated, who soon
entered into conversation, and civilly offered his new
acquaintance a pinch of snuff, which was accepted, but
had no sooner entered his nostrils than it produced the
efiect of a powerful narcotic, of which the wary travel
er soon took advantage by relieving his sleeping cc,
panion of 15,000 francs in bank notes, 3 isnelle
other money, besides his watch, chain, and ring,
b> M see sy, itis needless to say, he escaped un-

stected.

£= A strange rat story is chronicledin a French
journal. A gentleman who had resided six, years in
the tropics, recently determined to return to Rouen,
and desired to bring back a serpent about six feetlong.
He accordingly put it into a large box, andalong with
itamumber of live rats for it to kill and eat when so
disposed. Onopening the box after his arrival, he
found that during the passage the rats had not only
eaten all the food enclosed for them, but had also de.
voured the serpent itself,

xa A lad about ten years of age, representing —

himsclf as a ‘‘substitute broker,” a few days since pre-
sented at the general recruiting oflice, in Concord, N.
H, three rryaaers from Manchester, between the
2ges of eight and twelve years, whom he desired to sell
for two hundred dollars apiecs, “ Not being able to
make a bargaln with Col. Carr, he toki the boys he
should take them to Boston, where hs could do better.
The circumstance was so amusing that a photograph
cat procured of the four boys--all in arow on one
phie.

ag Durin® one of the performances lately, in
the theatre at Rouen, a note was thrown on the stage
The director was called upon to read it. He refused,
and immediately two young men sprang upon the stage
com the parquetts, seized the director, and compelled
him to dogo. It was a request to the management to
discharge an actress who, ior fifty years, had played
the role of young women and lovers. The reading
caused great laughter,

nw The police in Rochester, N. Y., it is alleged,
have been engaged for~a year past in the crime of
“‘scalping”’—thatis, rushing boys under age into the
ariny without.consent of parents or guardian ; getting
sots, and pauper, and many other improper persons to
enlist, and inducing soldiers to desert, with the view
of having them xe-enlist--all of which is done for the
purpose of lining their pockets with a nice little share
of the bouaty.

 

 

the receipt of $l......Orville S. Belisle.—The story is a
good one, but we cannot add to our list of paid con-
tributors......Anna Clifferd.—A_ beautifully written
story, but it might have been told in much less sp.
and been all the better forit......2. S. C—Itis not
often that we are called upon to find fault with -yeu,
but we mist say in all candor that your last did not
exactly please us. Should you visit New York, call
upon us by all means......HM. Edessa Wynne.—-We are
rejoiced to hear from you once more.
der what had become of you, and trust that we shall not
seon lose sight of you again for so longa season......

W. West.—vY¥ last sketch isa good one. In pre-
paring MS. for the press, let each sketch be complete
in itself and separate from any other matter. Do not
paste the pages together, and do not rolithe paper.
Avy note addressed te the editor should be written on
a separate slip of paper...... Frank M. Coz .—We have
turned your coutributions over to the editor of the
‘‘Pleasant Paragraphs.”’ If accepted you wili find
them in that department......Minnie.—You have many
faults as a writer to correct before you can hope to
makeaname as & poetess...... Claude.—The Indian
sketch yousend usis an excellent one. Letus hear

and accepted: ‘‘A Waif;’’ “Let the Old Maple Sway;”
“7 Want to Go Home;” “The Wife’s Return;” ‘Kind
Words; ‘‘IThe Memory of the Dead;’’ ‘“‘Iconoclastic;’’
“Charity;” “Sad Tidings;” “‘No Tears in Heaven;’’
“The Confederate and His Little Nurse;” ‘‘Faithfal
Forever; ‘Life’s Darker Hours;’’ “My. Philosophic
Friend; “Toa Lady Dying of Consumption, ‘Prairie
Blossoms,” three numbers; ‘The Drummer Boy;”
“The Married Fiirt;’ “My Darling; ‘Aunt Orpha‘s
Niece;” ‘April First;’’ “She does not wish youdesda;”
‘* (oo Hasty;” ““Appearances are often deoeitiul;” ‘‘How
she took Him allaback;” ‘‘No Name;” “Brave Boys;”
“The Red Vision;’’ ‘Old Fort Point.’’...... The follow-
ing are respectfully declined; ‘‘The Present War;”’
“Faithful and Fearless;’’ “The Dying Magdajen;’ “A
Prayer for our Soldiers; “H. Lewis E. Parker;’’
“Phil,” “To Nora;”’ “Come in;’’ “‘The Dying Soidier;”’
“The Battle;”’ ‘‘The Soldier of Gettysburg;” ‘*Lowly
by the Shore;’’ ‘“‘Hail tothe Union;” “Ella is Dead;’’
*Venarra;’”’ “You remember;” ‘Saw you my Jessie;”
“My Two Lovers;” “My choice;’ ‘Sleighing;” ‘The
Sisters;’’ ‘fo Anna;” ‘The Lover’s Lament;” “Why
Sleep Ye ;”*. ‘Think of mekindly;” ‘“Deimsive Hopes;’’
‘The Grocery Man’s Needles;’”? ‘Lines, by J. W.S.;’’
“Ths Duty of Women;” “The Windy Night;” “Infi-
delity,’’ ;

—___—__—___- --- -

(= Look out for our great story, entitled

Adeline, the Tempted;
oR,
THE SUDDEN MARRIAGE

Itisone ofgthe most exciting stories ever pub-
lished, and Wl create a sensation enly equal-
led by that of “Lady Audley’s Secret.”

 

 

 

gs A Philadelphia paper has discovered
that Gottschalk, the pianist, is to be married
shortly to a Fifth Avenue heixess in this city.

We did won- |

4a~ In Iestown, opposite St. Louis, which was
built on the frozen river during the “‘coid spell,” a bar«

ace | keeper builta fireinhis tent and sat before it ona

three-legged stool, his shins, when the fire
thrawed a hole in the ice aud the man fell in and has
not re-appeared. His assistant, a verdant Irish boy
was asked whore the proprietor was, and replied,
‘Faith he’s gone into the cellar.”

sar A miller of Westbrook, Mass., named Wells,
one morning recently, found that his dog had treed a
wild animal near his mill, Getting his gun, he took a
shot at it from the window of tha mill, and killed it.
It was a small wild-cat, measuring twenty-nind inches
from tip to tip, dnd weighing eight pounds,
ag A wonderful freak of naiure is recorded in
the Indiana papers. A female child was born, last week
at Terre Haute, with no sign ofan armorofaleg. This
child is perfectly healthy, and seems to be poseessed of
the usual affections of the sex—though she can ‘give
her hand” to no one,

aa@- Wo find in list of centenarians in England
that two-thirds of the whole number are women, at-
tributed to their quistude and temperate habits, Very
few bachelors or o}d maids live to be a hundred years
oid, and a centenarian is rarely, if ever, a rich man.

sar Lord Brougham is eighty years of age, yet
he supports fatigue as if he werea youth. After hay-
ing passedali the day on horseback, he will read two
volumes, write twenty ietiers, aud drink two bottles of
Bordeaux. Pg
Sx Professor Agassiz says that a grasshopper’s
organs of hearing are his legs. Of course, when in
doubt as to the threatening danger, he is enabied te
jump toa eonclusion and a safe position at the same
time,

xa Eight tums of greenbacks were carried
over the New Jerssy Railroad to Washington one day
not long since. The money is said to be the collee-
tions ot different internal revenue officers.

wee In the year 1661 the importation of tea into
England was two pounds two ounces, for the nse of
the king. Two hundred years later (1862) the imports
into that eountry were 109,000,000 pounds.

aa- A young lady, nineteen years of age, named

scilla May, died in London recently from the effect

fa shock she received by another young women |

dressing up as a ghost. ; .

na It may be interesting to our lady readers to
know, that the Paris fashion now prescribes crinviime
small on the front and sides, but prodigiously stuck
out behind. /

ea Revivals ofreligion arein progress at De-
trot, Jackson, ana several other places in Michigan.
An extensive revival at Woolwich, Maine, is aiso re-
ported.

aa Ina recent burglary at Petersburg, Va.,
one of the articles stolen was a lady’s velvet cluak, ivr
which $3,000 were offered the day before.

sa- A woman lately applied fora fres ride on
the railroad near Troy, New York, on the ground that
she had three husbands ln the army.

ag It is stated that the late Mr. Thackeray
sent in two comedies to Londen managers, and never
heard anything more of them.

sar A districthas been discovered in Russia
of similar formation to that of the oil producing region
of Pennsyls ania and otherparis of Amarica,

ear One hundred and fitty thousand women,
the relatives of dead soldiers, claim pensions from the
United States.

 

He was fortuaate in striking the key-note to

 

turn, can be taken as evidence: ‘Married, by the

the lady’s heart. F

Bar The widow of President Harrison died cn
the 26th ult. ~

 

   

  

~

 

   
   
  
    

 

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