ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YRAR 1870 BY STREET & SMITH, [N THE CLERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK. Vol. XXV. AT THE S@NSET. BY DIANA MARCH. Bitterly my anguished spirit, Wrestling with impassioned pain, Gries, Alas! The days are weary, Empty of delight, and vain! Once the shining bow of promise Spanned the morning of my years, But its beauty from my heaven Faded in a mist of tears. Radiant hopes, whose fairy pinions Caught the hues of Paradise, Fanned by gales of sweetest summer, Sunned beneath my noonday skies’ But the wintry winds of sorrow, Prophesies of blight and death, Wailed around me, and my glad hopes Vanished at their bitter breath! All the fatare, like a garden, Smiled upon me trom afar, When athwart my lovely pathway Burned love’s newly risen star, Till the brooding wings of tempest Vailed her glory from my sight, And the rosy star of passion Sank in the abyss of night. Still some lowly buds of beauty, Nurtured by the dew of tears, Shed their holy bloom and fragrance On the twilight of my years; While my passionate lips caressed them, In remembrance of the lost, On my heart the frail buds perished, Withered by untimely frost! But one flower, of all the summers That had made my life so blest— Blooms, to hide the black wound rankling In my memory-tortured breast! Still the eyes, like violets, smiling Through a fringe of silver rain, Bring the sunshine and the glory Of lost May-times back again. Dim and chill the ghostly sunset Fades along the dreary west, Ang the silence, and the shadow Woo my tired soul to rest! And, thongh darkness gathers round me, Far-off God’s eternal dawn Smiles above the fair green pastures, With the lilies of life thereon! e F igi he 8-4 7 ¢ ‘ A WILD SYORY OF THE FAR NORTA WEST. Little Buckshot. The Whirlwind of the Prairie By Ned Buniline, (Cot. E. Z. C. Jupson,) Author of BUFFALO BILL, OUT OF THE DARK, ec. (“Little Buckshot” was commenced in No.33. Baek numbers can be had from News Agents throughout the United States. } CHAPTER VIII. “What is it, sister? Why are you so excited ? asked Oarrie, the fairest of Captain Guy’s two daughters, as she reached the spot where her sister Helen stood waving her plumed hat on the steep mountain side. “Oh, Carrie, not only a marvel of grandeur and wild beauty, but a place of safety where no storm or tempest can reach us, and in which we can house all our stock and cefend ourselves against thousands, so long as our prov isions last. Come and see, darling sister—come and see !’ And Helen turned in a narrow pathway which reached, or rather wound up the hill side from the plain below, to the spot where she stood, and darting through a clump of bushes that seemed to shoot right out from the almost perpendicular bank, she entered, standing erect, a large Cavern, which even poorly lighted, by the day- glimmer through intervening branches, shone as if its walis were crystal. A large pool of water, from which ran a stream, as clear as the outside uir, not larger than one’s arm, was near tlie entrance, and Close by it the quenched brands and ashes of a camp-fire, fiow large this cave was, it was impossible for them to conjecture, bat far above, and away back, so far as they could see, it stretched away inthe briiliance of a thonu- Sand statactiles until they Were lost in the utter dark- hess—yet in space. “It is beautiful, and has been inhabited before by some one,” said Carrie, pointing to the signs. “Yes; let us hasten now and tell father of this dis- covery. The pathway up is steep, but our stock can all be got in, and with hay for the horses, and fuel to cook by, itseems with our provisions, as if we could hold out here for months !? “Yes—yes,”’ replied the sister, as she emerged once more into the open air: ‘And look, Helen—a dreadful storm is gathering fast.. This discovery is indeed oppor- tune. By night I am sure we will be wrapped in a ter- rible tempest of wind and rain, and they are fearfrl oat on the open plains.” The girls hurried down, and reported their discovery to their father, 4 Little Buckshot heard it algo. aa Plenty of water, did you say, up there, Little Sweet- He addressed Carrie, when he spoke. ‘Yes, sit; a deep clear pool, from which a small stream runs continually,” “And wood, my blossom ??? “T only Saw where fire had been built—I saw no fuel |? “Then we must tote upsome. Cap, that must be our for; for the present. bretas in frontof us, than we can handle, but.in sucn a lace We can hold them at arm’s lenzth till heip comes. €must get theanimals up there, and feed for them, and wood for fire, and do it before niglit too, for an olu fashioned storm is brewing, aud it'll howl around us by and by. Don’t waste a minute in getting the most heip- less Oes up there—may be Little Sweetness there wiil show em the way.” Carrie laughed, and said and children up. ‘But Our wagons and goods cannot be drawn up that reap Said Captain Guy, ‘We cannot afforu to lose lem. ‘Better lose them than life,’ said the scout quietly, “Bul we will try to save them. We willhave them under the closest rapge from above, and keep them so under our fire, that the Reds will have hard work to destroy them. If they gspould ve burned you need not fret, there are more atthe Fort, and Uncle Sam will not let you Suffer for Want of ’em.’’ A very busy two hours followed, for whilea part of the Men cut hay and woud and transported it to the cave, others moved the wagons toa new and better position, and then the stock was driven up to the cavern, whicn, lighted by a@ fire, proved to be of great extent, indeed they could not Say how far it did extend, since the ciambers stretched away into the interior of the moun- tain beyond the reach of their eyes, It was nearly night before the Indians seemed to com- prehend what the whites were doing, and wuen they did, they made no active demonstrations, but moved their lodges and drew their camp lines yet closer, taking a lipe from the river to the hills to the right of the new position, thus completely fronting the pale faces. Whemnight came, and with the first breath of the ris- ing storm, the whole party of Captain Guy, with the ex- ception of a line of watchful sentinels outside, was housed inside the great cavern, which glittering in the fire-light, looked as if it was walled in with jewels, she would guide the women There are more Revs and. half- } An \ SIM TW \ FRANCIS S. STREET, : FRANCIS S. SULTH, »} Proprietors. NEW YORK, JULY 7, 1870. . Y y { = NS SS a <4 THEY ENTERED A LARGE CAVERN, WHICH, THOUGH POORLY LIGHTED BY THE DAY:GLIMMER, ITS. WALLS SHONE LIKE CRYSTAL. Captain Guy and the scoul remained jat the entrance, anxiously watching the appearance of things outside, for soon after dark the storm came fairly on, and by the prolonged lightning flashes their eyes could sweep wide- ly over the plains below. “The cusses até upto mischief,” said Little Buckshot, after one of the prolonged flashes had pussed away. “They are creeping toward the wagons. We must heave a little lead down there pretty soon—or better yet, while it is dark Vll- creep down @ ways with a half dozen of your men, and laying still when the flash comes, get ’em in range before they know it, and give ’em some of our sort of thunder and liglitnin’ by way of change.” “The idea is excellent. But be careful of exposure,” said Captain Guy. “We cannot afford to lose a man now,”’ “Til be careful—it’s my nature,’ said the’scout. “Keep a good look out for the reds above and below. They’re black death on creepin’ and crawlin’ in—so be careful while im gone,” CHAPTER IX. When the party under the guidance of Big Beaver, the Delaware, came to that sudden halt on the prairie, seeing that strange figare: before them—evidently a@ man who had been wounded and mutilated by savage hands—the first thoughts of the young men, Wood and Champlain, 08 to the friends whom they were so desirous to over- take, Was not this one ef them—perhaps the last survivor? “Speak—who are you??? cried Harvey Wood, quickly. “Perdida! Perdida!’? That word repeated in a wild, moaning tone—‘ost! lost!” came from the lips of the stranger—nothing more. “The pale face is a Spaniard or a Mexican,”? said the Delaware, Quickly calling from the rear a pack-man in! charge of the mules, who was a Mexican, Wood directed him to quest.on the stranger, whom they now made. visible by lighting a lantern. He was without doubt a Mexican of the better class, for his blood-stained garments were rich, for now he uttered two more words, in the same wild tone—‘*Los Jn- dios! los Indios!” The Indians! the Indians!”” To ail inquiries made by the pack-man, he only an- swered: ‘ “Perdidal perdida}) “He is crazed with his wounds, or some fearful loss!” said Wvod. . “We will look to his hurts as quick as we can, and then put him on a horse and move on.”? The man, hardly seeming to realize that frienas were around him, permitted the examination of his wounds, which were hot very serious—the worst being a deep con- tusion on the head, the others, though numerous,. being fl-sh wounds—and made no resistance to their bemg dressed, a8 they were skillfully, by Wood. He had no arins, nor could any sign of an encampment, or of other parties be seen around. He appeard by the state of his feet to have been wandering a good while over the prairie, for his shoes were almost wern off, and ful of the tnorns of the cactus... . Au hour, perhaps, passed in the work thus described, andtben the party again moved on. The storm grew veo vier and heavier as they progressed, until with wind and rain they were so impeded that their gain was slight indeed, Yet to keep on was their best plan. They had no shel- voit if they haited, for tents could not be erected in such a gale. Ou—very slowiy, it seemed—yet through the long night they kept going. When day began to dawn, the face of the Delaware wore a pleused expression, for pointing in the grey of the breaking bight, toward a dark mass close before them, he saia in bis cart style: “Trees, The river just’ there. wood now !? “Bat our friends—do you see no trace of a camp?—no sign of a breil?” said Champlain, eagerly. “Trai? The 'track'.of a thousand buffalo would not show # mark after alt the rain last night. Not light enough to see hiuch yet any way. Move on fast and get cover of trees, and then look around.” There was sepse In this, and closiog up, the party were quickly among the trees—a dense growth on the banks of the river. The water was bright and clear, and almost covered with flecks of condensed foam, looking lise float- ing snow. “Big falls a little way up. That make white water so,” said the Indian guide, pointing to tne foam. “How far?” asked Harvey Wood, Plenty water—plenty , creeping cautiously toward the wagons, evidently fearing “Maybe half hour—maybe one hour ride. Not more. Camp here—make no smoke, though, and me go look around see what me can see.’? The Indian motioned to a good place for the camp, with grass, close to the water-side, for the tired animals, and then rode away. Wood and Champlain had been long enough out to fully understand how to camp and to build a fire of small twigs sufficient to heat their coffee without making a smoke. This was soon done, for the storm passed with the darkness, and soon the sun rose bright and clear. Big Beaver was gone—it séemed to the two young men —a long time. Full two hours elapsed,when he was seen riding down in the edge of the river, so that the running water would obliterate the tracks of his horse. From his face, ever serious, the young men could make out nothing, and, used to his ways, they waited until he chose to speak. He glanced around the camp, and seeing no sign of smoke, that the horses and mules were all close by the water, and that sentinels had been posted near the edge of the timber, he gave a nod of satisfaction. “My brothers got heap of sense now. Learn Indian ways fast. Heap need of ’em now—more than all the march before.”’ ‘“‘How so??? asked Champalin. or foes ??? “Big Beaver sée both. Pale Faces all hemmed in on side of mountain. Good place for fight andstay. On the plains great heap Indians, and worse, too.” “Have you seen friends ‘Worse than Indians?” asked Harvey Wood. ‘What can be worse?”? ‘Half-breed. Love blood all same as panther! Heap hungry—ali the time like wolves !”” The Mexican heard the word Half-Breed, and seemed to show attention, asif he understood its meaning, for he stood close by the speaker... Again he breathed out his mournful cry of ‘‘Perdida ! perdida !’ The young men scarcely noticed this, but eagerly ques- tioned the guide in regard to their friends, and the pos- sibility of an immediate junction with them. The last was not possible, the guide said, but if the In- dians were repulsed, as they must be from the position of the whites, théy might fall back to draw the latter out. Then they might be joined, if his party were not discoy- ered before by the Indians. “We must hide heap close here, and wait till me see what me can do.’ That is all—it be fool’s work to show ourselves till we can go through,’ said the Delaware. It was 2 hard thing to stay there, so near their beleag- ured friends, but the young men who held the joint lead- ership of the whites knew that their main safety Jay in the sagacity of the guide, and that he would do what was really best. Taking Wood with him, after he had eaten a little food, he went again to reconnoitre in front, leaving directions that no sound of firing, chopping, or evenofloud words should be made incamp. The animals were too tired and hungry’ to wander or even witn a neigh, to break the silence that reigned over the quiet camping ground CHAPTER X. When another flash of lightning came, a minute or more after Little Buckshot and his party of riflemen left the cave, Captain-Guy looked in vain tora sight of them. The scout, used to his work, had instructed ihem to lie close to the earth at the sound of a low whistle from his lips, and they were now somewhere in the narrow trail, lying so low that the captain could not see them. But he did see that the Indiansin a large- body were that they were guarded, and that a destructive fire would reach them before they could gain their objective point. Again all was darkness, and the wild sighing of the wind and the dash of the rain, was all that the anxious watcher heard. A minute—two—three, passed, and then a long, blind- ing flash of lightning showed the Indians close to the wagons, rushing forward in a wild mass. In the same instant the flash of guns met his eye, and the booming report of ‘Spitfire’ camé rolling up on the air, and again all was darkness. But now yells and screeches as the massed Indians felt the lead of their enemies, came through the darkness, and again, even nearer than before to them, boomed that terrible double-barrelled gun, while the sharp crack of the rifles followed thick and fast. Another lightning flash showed the Indians in raptd retreat, dragging off their wounded, but leaving some dead on the plains. Not a sign even now of Little Buckshot and his party, could the old captain see,so well were they. concealed from the eyes of friend as well as foe. And now all was still once more. The captain watched for at least an hour before anoth- er sound was heard. Then it was the whistle of the scout who was returning, and thus warned the sentinels on the way. Soon he was by the side of the captain. “We made ’em mighty sick, down there cap,—didn’t we ?’? he said, drily, as he stepped inside of the cave and shook the water from his drenched form. “J should think you did, and if they couldn’t get any more sight of you than I did, they must have thought you invisibles.” “T reckon Reds aren’t much given to thinking at any time, and didn’t have much time for thinking anyway, while our guns were talking,’ said the scout. ‘Is that coffee you are making there, Little Sweetness ?”’ “Yes, sir—will you have some?’ asked Carrie, with a laugh at the oddity of the name he gave her. ‘9 think it will relieve a kind of a chill I have in here,” he said so drolly, that even Frankita in ber sadness, smiled. “Would you not like a little old bourbon better ?”’ asked Captain Guy. “No, sir—thanking you all thesame,’’ said the scout, emphatically. ‘Neither old bourbon or young bourbon shall ever have a chance to get the better of me. Itis first rate to kill Reds and half-breeds with—does the work almost as well as lead or steel; but the white man that hasn’t brains enough to turn his back to it, is just fool enough to handle fire bare-handed. Coffee I like, when I’m cold or wet, but for a drink, give me what God gives free to all living creatures. There’s nothin’ like it, and the longer I live the more I feelit. I’ve seen bourbon knock down some of the best men that ever walked in leather, and I hate it worse than any other poison—not exceptin’ rattlesnake-juice.” “You are right, my friend—I only keep it for sickness,”’ said the captain. ‘I feel ever more safe with cool heads around me. And now take a bite to eat, for I suppose those fellows will let us alone for a while.” “They'll not trouble us again this side of daylight,” said the scout. ‘‘They’ll think we’re ambushed to cover the wagons, and they’ll give em a wide berth till they have daylight to see with. So all hands but the guards may as well have a sleep, for to-morrow may be a busy day, for all we know.” The old captain at once told all who desired to turn in, but even comfortable as they were in the great dry cav- ern, there were few, except the women and children, who were inclined to také advantage of the permission. Helen, Carrie, and their guest, Frankita, sat near the fire, and now, while the scout drank his coffee and ate some food, they answered an occasional question of his. When he had finished and lighted his pipe, he sat down near Frankita and said: “Now, Bud o’ Beauty, I’ve got time to ask you a ques- tion or two that I’ve had no time to ask before. You can tell me though just as much or as little as you like, for I s’pose women have secrets and cling to ’em just thesame as men.” “I have no secret from him who has saved me from a dreadful fate,’ said the girl, in a low tone. “Then tell me how that rascal, John Reshau, got hold of you?’ “T was traveling over the plains with my father, who was a trader. The balf-breed and his men came upon us in camp, and killed, lam afraid, all of ourmen. I saw him strike down my father and I fainted. The next [ knew it was daylight and we were on the march, and in the belt of that fearful man I saw a scalp which I knew was from the head of my dear father.” “Where was your mother?’ “She sleeps on the banks of the Cimmarone, where she died three summers since.”’ “And how did you learn.to speak English so well?” “My mother was an American. She was a prisoner to the Comanches. My father bought her from them and was kind to her. Sheloved him and became his wife. She always spoke to mein her native tongue, and my father talked to me in Spanish—so [ speak both.”’ ‘Poor girl—you shall be my child hereafter,’ said the scout kindly. ‘And I will revenge the death of your father. There is an old grudge betwixt me and the half- breed, and [ll throw this in to add to the debt when I pay it, He shall go under or | will,” Three Dollars Per Year. PEERS {awe Copies Five Dollars. “Frankita is grateful, and while she is awake she wil think of her friend, and when she sleeps she will dream of him.” “You mustn’t think too much of me, Bud o’ Beauty. I’m only a man, and rather a small one at that.” “Room enough in your body for a very big heart,” said ars girl, with a smile that seemed to warm her cold, sad ace. “Well, ve got some heart, I suppose,” said he quietly. ‘“Fnough to satisfy a calico-frame of mine away off where the river that runs clear here is red with mud. But go to sleep, little ones—the whole bilin’ of you go to sleep, for you'll waht clear eyes to look out of when daylight comes.”’ As the scout lay down himself, the rest followed the example. CHAPTER XI. A merry, ringing laugh rose from among a group of of- ficers who were smoking near the river bank at Fort Ben- ton. They were laughing at a story told about old Benny Haven, by Captain Bates, as gay-hearted a cavalry officer as ever rode at the head of a command, when lie chose to be, and as strict in discipline, when on duty, as he was pleasant when off. Suddenly Captain Bates sprung to his feet with an ex- clamation of surprise. “Look westward, gentlemen—look and tell me what you see !” he exclaimed, extending his hand in the direc- tion he named. “T see three very singular white clouds, looking, indeed, like great white pillars in the air,” said a fine-looking young officer, now a lietuenant in the regular service, though he had served nobly and won his way from the ranks to a lieutepant-colonelcy in the volunteers, “They are pillars, Mr. Wheelan, raised by one hand, and they mean a great dealtome! Wemust be in the saddie, sir, in twenty minutes, if the colonel commanding does not refuse a request based on the best of reasons.’ ‘Pillars of smoke—I was blind not to notice it before,” said Lieutenant Wheelan quickly. “Yes, and made by a scout whom we both value. _Lit- tle Buckshot isin trouble! That is his peculiar signal. And he-told me he would never make it except when in the most serious trouble, with death all around him,” said Captain Bates. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, I must see the colonel. Wheelan, senu the orderly to my tent to re- port at once, please.” The young captain hastened away to headquarters to hold an interview with the commanding officer. It was of brief duration, and when it ended the bugles of Com- pany B were heard sounding ‘‘Boots and saddles !’? There is no play in the regular service when orders are to be obeyed. Work means work there. In ten minutes Company B was in line, each man with three days’ for- age on his horse and three days’ rations in his haver- sack. A small field howitzer, with a four-horse team ahead and a caisson for six, and an extra ammunition wagon, were seen moving out from the stockade, while tne or- derly giving the word to mount ‘‘caHed off,’ and then, as the men were numbered, reported ‘“‘company formed” to his captain, who. with the lieutenant already alluded to, rode up. ‘Attention, men !” said the captain. ‘Yon have a long and a fast ride before you, and, most likely, will see ser- vice worth thinking of before you return. Fret your horses as little as possible, and waste neither breath in much talk, or provisions on any account. By fours—for- ward! Right turn—trot, gallop !’ And away the noble company sped at a fast lope, which carried them away from the fort at a rate which soon left it ought of sight. “Ig Wentworth alone, captain?’ asked Wheelan, now that they were en route, riding side by side in the lead with his commander, just ahead of the company buglers. “He went away alone to look after the movements of Red Cloud. But whether he is alone now is a question to me. If alone, I can hardly imagine what he would do to Keep his position, if surrounded, after making that sig- nal. Itis a mystery now, but I mean to solve it before I am through.”’ “How tar away did you estimate the smoke to be ?”! “It is impossible in such clear air to conjecture. We may reach the spot where it was made in six or eight hours—it may take us twenty. I took the course with my compass and shall follow it till I find fire, ashes, or the gallant little scout. He has done me many a good turn on the plains, and I shall not desert him now. Steauy, men, steady—walk till the horses breathe.”’ Thus, relieving the horses by a frequent change of gait and stopping to water when water was handy, tlie officer, closely followed by his teams, covered, at the very least, thirty miles before he made a halt. Then, without sound of bugle, near a grove on the river bank, the company was halted, the horses unsaddled and, rubbed down, cooled off and fed, and tnen, with a guard set for hour reliefs, the men were allowed four hours’ rest. By this time men and horses were fit for more rapid traveling, and away they went asiresh as on tne start, and ready for a charge the moment the enemy was ig sight. ‘And this is the beauty of discipline and judgment in service. CHAPTER XII. An Indian gathering, when the tribes are on a hunt, or * on friendly visits—a rather rare thing, that last, by the way—forms a strange, wiid picture, but whenthe red mer are collected for war, with trimmed scalp-locks and paint- ed faces, armed for battle, then a wilder scene—often pic- turesque in its very wildness—cannot be imagined. For one night the emigrants had been housed in their cave on the hillside, and during that night the red men and half-breeds, under the desperado Jotun Reshau, hud not gained any advantage of them, but had lost heavily during their attempt to reach the wagons. When the morning sun rose bright in the tempest-elear- ed sky, a great council was called by the half-breed leader and the chiefs of full blood, who had leagued themselves with him. The great circle was staked out by the spears of war- riors who had taken scalps, and inside this none but a great brave dared to enter. The. fire was lighted, a solemn chaunt sung by the head Medicine-man, and then they were ready for the talk. Reshau spoke first. He said: “The pale-faces have gone into a hole, like the prairie- dogs—they must be dug out. They have riches in their wagons, plenty of arms, and powder, and lead--provisions too, and a great many blankets. They have plenty of women—some young and very handsome! We want these women for siaves. We wantthe scalps of the men. Their horses and mules, their blankets and arms, must be ours, They have whisky too, to make the beart glad and the body strong! My red brothers have heard my words ! { will now s*% down and lear others talk !” A wild yell of approval rung over the circle, and the half-breed sat down in the circle. A young warrior rose. He was very young, but scalps taken by his own hand bung at his girdle. “T am Little Rattlesnake !” he said. ‘Iam the son of Red Cloud! | have been in the camp of tne pale Jaces, and have seen how riclithey are. I baveseen their arms, and their fine horses, and their handsome squaws, Bus my hands are tied by the wordof my father. I can tell you what is there, but I cannot help youtakeit! I tave spoken.”’ The young chief took his seat, and an old warrior, on whose almost naked form and bronzed face was a mup of scars, stood up. “The ears of the Black ElK were open and he bas heard what has been said. The pale-laces are hid ip the side of the mountain—but they are strowfg. Tbey are in a bole, but their teeth are sharp, and when we go to pull them out, they will bite. I was in the fight last night. Two sons went there with me. They did not come beck, They are dead. The pale-facesarerich. The Black Hik would like a blanket, and a rifle, and some whisky, and a wpite squaw for a slave. But he does not want to give his scalp away as his sons did theirs, and get nothing for it! I have spoken.” And the Black Elk sat down. A young warrior who had lately come in from the war- path with ten scalps—two the scalps of men and the rest of a woman and her children—rose. “Talk ischeap. It will not take scalps or-kill buffalo ! Talk is easy. It will not bring rain or put out fire, Talk will never drag the pale-faces from their hidivg-place in the hill. We must snow fight all the time—tire them out, Fight all day, fight all night—give them no time to eat— no time to sleep. We are many. One fight now—anoter by-and-by, then another. We never will all tire in this way. They are few—we soon wear them out, then goin and scalp the men and take the squaws, I, the Head with a Horn, bave spoken !”” Louder cries of approval than ever marked the effect of this speech. abies, ee] Now came a sudden and strange interruption. A white man—tall in form and thin as a skeleton, with haggard jace and great staring eyes, that sparkled like fire in their sunken sockets—came with a swift stride into the circle. He was naked, with the exception of a piece of a butfalo rove drawn around his waist and falling to his knees. His nead and hands, and feet were bare. In his griat horny right hand he carried a knotted staff, a part of a sappling larger than his arm—carried it, huge as it was, lightly as if it had been a straw. Twined around iis left arm, as if ins fondness, with its flat head resting up against his shoulder, was a live rat-’ tlesnake. . A warrior had risen to speak as this strange being ad- vanced, comllg, no one seemed to know whence, but the red man sat down trembling without a word, while every chief and warrior, from the half-breed leader down, seemed awe stricken, A “Ho! shouted this wild, horrible-looking man. And he shook his matted bair and beard, while the serpent on his arm raised its fierce head and shook its sharp rattle also. : “Hol! Why do-the red men build their fires in the face of the Great Wizard of the Hills? Speak, ye devils, speak before I call on the foul fiend to sink ye down, down— doWn FOREVER !”? He stamped his hard foot on the ground and again the serpent raised its vindictive head, and rung its wild warn- ing in their ears. “Do you not know me? I hold the tempest in one hand, the lightning in the other! The winds laugh in, my ears avd theraim stops when I bid it. Ho! Iam the Wizaru of the Hills! No red man can kill me. No fire will burp —no bullet destroy! The woif und the panther crouch at my feei—the sakes sieep on my bosom. Ho—devils —ho!" Not a word had left a warrior’s lips while this wild, strange man spoke. With that strange fear which all red men seem to possess—they looked upon this maniac as One whom the Great Spirit had afflicted for His own pur- pose, and no warrior would have dared to raise his hand against him. both sides were gove “IT know you will do your besr.” “Yes, my very levei be-f—bet your last red on that. Tve eusses down there are going to hold a war council. They are staking out the circ:e and piling wood for the couvcil fire.” “With your glass you will be able to judge something of their intentions.”’ “Yes, because an Indian acts as much with hisarms and. legs as he does with his tongue, a Frenchman, pui cottou in your ears, but ey: s on him, and you'll know what be says.”’ : : “Then | will (rust in your eyes fora report of their plans.’’ fy “You may cap—you may. This glass is a treasure to us just now. 1 can see the face so as to recognize nearly every cvief down there. If I could sight a good field- piece under it, l’d make such a scatterin’ down there as P your they never dreamed of, waking or sleeping.” CHAPTER XIV. ® ‘ ‘Subtle as the Delaware, Big Beaver lad been to coficeal discovering the presence of the Indians and half-breeds in front of the cavern refuge of the emigrant party, One full as cunning as he had caught sight of him, from-anol- low, where he lay by theside of his well-trained horse, watching for antelope. It was Red Cloud, who, debarred from taking any part against the whites of Captain Guy's party by his word, wuich he would not break, was only too glad to think some other party migtt be near which he might attack With impunity. His eyes followed the Delaware until the latter was out of sight. Red Cloud knew from his stealthy way that he was scouting, and that he was not one of the Prairie Indians, that he was very likely either an arniy guide, or a hunter ior some traveling party. The moment he could do it with safety, he got on the trail of Big Beaver and followed it back, instead of for- ward, Followed iton horseback until near the timber und close to the river, then leaving his horse in a hollow and going on foot until he discovered the camp, counted its Inembers and ascertained how each was armed. This took him alongtime. Then, satisfied with his infor- mation, the wily chief started back for his horse and soon reached the spot where he had ijeft it. He was, amazed 0 find that it nad left the place, and he was cbliged to blow a shrill call from a bone whistie which he carried. The horse auswered with ashrill neigh aud galloped to his side, not a little to his annoyance lest the noise should reach ears which he did not wish made aware of his vi- Cinity. In truth that neigh was heard by the quick ear of the Deleware, as lie and liarvey Wood were moving up the river, and, quick as thought, he left his horse and clam- bered to the top of the tallest tree. From his perch here he saw the Indian as his wander- ing horse galloped up to him, saw him look back as if to see whether there Was any spy on liis track, then mount and gallop away toward the Indians above. “Hal nat was a chief of the Sioux, or the Blackfeet. Ue has struck our trail, left his horse and gone to our camp, counted. ourmen, and now goes to his people to bring them here ‘to kill us,” said the Delaware, when he came down. “While heswentto our camp creeping like a snake, hishorse feed away from where ke left him. That was why he call and horse speak back.”? ; “It is Providence that has enabled you to discover him,’ said Wood, witli grateful reverence. > “Big Beaver not know what you call Providence,” said the Indian, “Great Spirit make horse talk, and give Big Beaver sharp earto hear him. Thatis what the Dela- ware thinks.”? : i Wood smiled to think that the Indian had arrived with him at the same conclusion, though by a different road, “What shall we do?” lie asked. ‘Big Beaver knows all about Indian ways. What is his advice ?”’ - “Wego back—make no nvisc—shiftcamp to other side of river. Make fort over there out of drift wood, and when they come to kill us, we kill a heap of them,” replied the Delaware, : bs aie “Can we cross the river?’ si oatas “Yes. Every horse we got can swim all same as an otter. Good place just below the camp. Indians not come on us till night. We leave camp fires all burning— put hat and blanket on sticks like guards, and pnt blank- et on logs by the fire. Indians shootat the logs, then run in to scalp, and when all close in heap we give ’em thun- der, 12) hist “Good—your plan is capital, and we will at once go back to put it in operation,” said Wood. “So faras | crossing the river, we will act at once, and in preparing defences also. But can we cross anywhere above to join “Yes—big eddy above the falls—one hour. Me swim there once whien Blackfeet chase me close, all same like — = =o a = = d He is a good deal like } WEALTH AND VIRTUE. BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE, Not from the oceans, white with commerce-wings, Not from the power, which only labor brings, The enduring grandeur of a nation springs. ass The wéaith may perish as a fleeting breath, . The bannered armament may find a death ' Deep in the hungry waters, and the crown Of empire from Hep brows topple down. But that which rains true glory o'er, The low or lofty, and @ rich or poor, Shall never die.) “7 ad "Large Virtue, towering on the throne of Will, - @, Nation, drink the heroic from her eye, And march triumphing over every ill. : i WHO DLD Lady Violet Marry ? OR, THE Mystery of the Black Diamond. By HELEN CORWIN FISHER, AUTHOR OF “THE UNLOVED WIFE,”’ THE CURSE OF Ey- ERLEIGH,”’ “WOLF OF VIGNOBLE,” ETC. (“Lady Violet’? was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers can be obtained from any News Agent in thé United States. } ‘ CHAPTER XXIV THE BALL, They were to give a ball at Eaglescliffe Park. The eari would have it so, and Beatrix Dudevant, eager to air her approaching greatness, was secretly the instigator of the whole matter. , Lady Violet made a feeble opposition at. first, but was overruled, and preparations went forward on a scale of magnificence that the county had rarely seen before. Miss Dudevant made a special trip to London, to order the most elegant and wonderful toilet her fancy could de- vise, and to stop the mouths of her most lmportunate creditors with the newsof her approaching marriage. The indelicacy of thus privately spreading an engage- ment—her own too—which it was the understanding was not yet to be made public, did not affect Beatrix, if, in- deed, it struck her at all. “Lord Eaglescliffe will find himself too much committed to retreat if ie should wish to,’? was her complaisant mental comment on her own course. It was the first time Eaglescliffe had been so fully thrown open since the accession of the present Lord, and nothing was spared that could add to the brilliancy and importance of the occasion. Standing nighasit did, and lighted through the whole agnificeut pile, the mansion looked from the distance, like a palace of fire suspended in mid-air. Within, the scene wasof indescribable gorgeousness. The rooms were one blaze of radiance, one wilderness of perfume and beauty. ; There were other very beautiful women there, other ex- quisite toilets, but the queens of the evening, each in her own way, were Lady Violet and her London friend, Miss Dadevant. Conscious that in spite of her wonderful loveliness, Lady Violet’s peauty was not of a style to dec- tract from hers, that, on the contrary, her own perfec- tious were enhanced by the contrast. Beatrix scarcely quitted her side till the evening was far advanced. Though Lady Violet had seen very little of fashionable society, this indeed being the grandest affair at which she had ever been present, she bore her- self with a grace, ease, and self-possession, that women who had reigned in the fashionable world half their lives might have envied, iy ‘ Beatrix did envy her, all, everything—her position, her beauty, the simple, yet superb, unapproachableness of her toilet. | ; Lady Violet wore a dress of almost priceless white lace, with those rare costly jewels, pale pink pearls about her snowy throat, in her hair, and on her bare, exquisitely moulded arms. ; ; Miss Dudevant wore her favorite color; clouds of azure | an eS sown with stars of broidered seed flashing azure light on her dimpled neck and arms, a in her yellow, glittering hair. ie wolves after asick buffalo. They think big ve over the falls, but he stay long way up from The two now hurried back to the alarm. To pack up and cross the river w and fortunately they struck we a neck of land, ju point around which the river, above and sharp vend, so that it had but a narrow spa to fortify by a br vork—while the front tected in the s ‘from the fire of by water. Drift- ufully along thi ks, from whieh to build s and the gruss was green aud high on the point, so tue animals could:remain some tune, if made ¢ by being besieged. = A) GA le OCaml a Long before mig the work was done, pe well done, an then Big Beaver, with consummate skill in such work, f can, whlch were Toxmanltg ia aus fing fee camp, which were to déceive foe. To some it would seem as if al this were unnecessary labor, since there appt no certainty that they would beattacked. But Big Bea Wood and Champlain oped for it, since they tl would draw at least @ part of the force from the front of their friends, and show the’ eae ts that other. white men were near, perhaps soon to join them. Se Thus matters stood when the shades of night approach- ed—the party of Big Beaver ready and anxious for the ball to open. CHAPTER XV. “My father comes like the wind. His eye is bright with news !"’ said the Little Rattlesnake, as Red Cloud pulled up his black horse, ali flecked with foam, near the now smouldering council fire. : Red Cloud made no reply to his son. “Tew dark as it settled on him. -Why does the son of Red Cloud make his father a liar??? he asked angrily. ‘The word of Red Cloud was given that neither be nor any of his tribe should make war on the pale-faces in youder camp. Yet the Little Rattlesnake is here.”’ “Not with arms in his hand. He has not fired a shot or raised a spear in this camp. The face of Red Cloud dark- ens without reason when he looks upon his son. I came to see and to talk with our friends,”? “It is well. Red Cloud is satisfied. He has found work for his son, and before another sun comes up he shall have a chance to fill his girdle with scalps fromthe heads of the pale-faces. Red Cloud has found a camp of them —young men, with uw hated Delaware fora guide. When bight comes he will sweep down ou it with his tribe, and then his son suall have a chance for vengeance. He shall see his enemies and strike biows that kill.” A wild yell of joy from the lips of the young warrior in an instant drew acrowd Ol braves and lialf-breeds around the father and son, When told that a new force of enemies—only a small band—were so close, Within an hour’s ride, John Reshau and his men wished to ride down at once and aitack them. “When Red Cloud finds game, it belongs to him,” said the great chief haughtily. “His hands are tied in this fight here, but he has a@ right to go there. He will wait till night, and then kill all.”’ “Maybe they will go before night,’’ said Reshau. “No. Their horses are ured, and they have camped to stay. They know you are here, but think your eyes are all to the front. They will stay.and think how to join the pale-faces in the hills. -To-night J think for them, and send them to the hunting-grounds above.” “Red Cloud speaks good words. The gameis his. We will not scare it, nor try to make it our own,” said Re- shau. ‘We have enough to do before us. That mad fighter, the Head with a Horn, is at work already. He has all the young braves with pim.» We must go, too, or he will act more foolish and lose many warriors. Little Buckshot is not @ warrior to be played with. | that the red-man knows, and the arts of the pale-faces, 00.° J The scattering fire of a longline of Indians in front could now be heard, but the people on the hill-side seemed very quiet, and even with their long-range guns did not reply, they either did «not care to waste any powder, or they wished to lull the Indians and half-breeds into security, and get them: massed at — range, tnat they might punisn them more effec- tua y. 1% 3 “My son will come with me!’ said Red Cloud. “I go to our band to make ready to take the scalps of our ene- mies to-night” ; as And, without a word, the chief sprung on his wild steed and bounded away in the direction where his tribe was encamped. t Little Rattlesnake exchanged a few words ina low tone with Jolin Reshau, botn often looking toward the cave in the hill-side as they talked, and then he mounted and followed his father. Reshau now called his half-breed band together by a shrill cry, and bidding a dozen of the oldest remain to watch over and care for the wild maniac, who, from former experience with him, he knew would sleep for hours, after eating and drinking—he ordered the rest to follow him and rod* toward the wagons, in front of which a lively fire was now kept up, an occasional shot being returned by the white men from tie hill above. The grass was green and high, and the Indians leaving their horses out of range, crept through it from point to point, only seen when they rose to fire and making poor targets indeed, even for such excellent marksmen as those who now and then sent a bullet down among them. (To be continued.) —_——__>@~+_+_——- NEW PUBLICATION. A MARRIAGE ry Hieu Lire. By Mrs. Grey, Publishers: TB. Peterson & Bros. An interesting tale—with a good plot and well-drawn Ccharaeters. A fitting eompanion for the many ex- ecllent stories of English life which Mrs. Grey has written. ies ie Ae His face even a@ It any of the family of Joun Prim are living they will please write me, ut Union Springs, Ala. - J. Prom. er Was sure they. would be, and | y thought it He knows. Eaglescliffe could scarcely keep his ireariee. All his graceful negate host ‘din his usual faithful, high-bred mann ing glances s} stantly | com mt ace pearance, sp : : ld but occasionally float to her ears. Captain Evelyn, iook- ing handsome and interesting enough to be the hero any romance, remained constantly beside her chair, priv ileged as he had seldom been before, to meet those bean- tiful, eloguent eyes which seemed to forget, in the anima- tion of the moment, to look coldly. In spite of her resolves, in £.the cloud upon her life—the worm at her neurt—Lay Viole, in her lovely and untried youth, found the ch of the world’s plea- sures sweet to her lips. ees he Ge on Who knows but she said to herself this evening: , “For once, these few hours [ will forget. I harm, no one but myself if I am happy this short while, certainly not the man capable of a frightful flirtation with a woman like Beatrix Dudevant.” _ . Where she leaned in her exquisite young beauty she had only to lift her white lids to look in the adoring eyes. of the man to whom she was heaven, sacrilegious as that. may seem, who was heaven to her in return, atid, for once, that lovely glance did not rebuke him. For once those perfect lips smiled for him without stint, and the musical voice sparkled ‘with rich cadence and sweet laughter. rae In the restless brown eyes of the handso guardsman a spark smoldered, as the wou as few men love women, thus shed the glory o cinations upon him. ; ‘Does she think Iam a stone? hethought. ‘Does she think she can go back to the old, cold airs after this? Has Beatrix Dudevant taught her to deny her own heart and to look lies.*’ . The far-famed Eaglescliffe conservatories were fairy land to-night. Six wide, high, glass-domed pavillions opened vista upon vista of bewildering luxuriance, per- fume and color. Fountains played in every direction, tossing their silver spray from marble basins, and snowy statues gleamed from amid tne large-leaved, dark-green foliage, and scarlet creepers of the east. By an artful contrivance they were lighted entirely from above, and this white radiance streaming down upon the scene, pro- duced an eifect indescribably lovely, — eng From the dancing room the*heated flocked hith-, er, and through the cool, perfamed aisles of these vast flower palaces the tide of beauty and fashion flowed in a. constantly changing stream. ; As Captain Evelyn, with Lady Violet upon his arm, moved slowly down the length of the seemingly inter- minable conservatories, two piercing eyes followed the movements of the pair. My lord’s man, Turner, had watched these two a great portion of the evening. » Conway had said to himself often since that bitter so- journ in Australia, that his heart could never throb quick or slow again for any woman, yet to-night, at the sight of this royally beautiful creature, who believed him her hus- band, this peerless patrician girl, who was as far above him as the stars above the earth, his veins tingled as though a tiny Current of flame ran through them. Times were wofully changed with him, he thought, clenching his teeth over a curse, as he watched Hand- some Evelyn, as the tans guardsman was sometimes named, leaning over Lady Violet’s chair, brushed by her silken perfumed hair, looking in her eyes of light. That had been his privilege once, might have been still, if. he had but played his cards differently. Once he had been an honored guest at assemblages like this, and beautiful women had blushed at his glance, and suffered him to press their white, jeweled fingers, un- rebuked. ee Involuntarily he put his hand to his scarred face. It would never charm apy woman again. Even she who had once been enough in love wit it to dare the dangers of that mysterious midnight ride to London, to become an actor in the most outrageous farce that ever took the solemn name of marriage, nated it now. » “And no wonder!” he said to himself, as the sight of her beauty smote him with a strange pang. ‘None buta ite would have met her as I did, after such a separa- tion, and such a parting. Who knows what might have been, if I had behaved differently when I met her? Curse it ail! I’m always making mistakes that an idiot would be ashamed of. But,’ lhe added, after a brief, scowling pause, ‘‘if Evelyn thinks he is going to haveit albhisown way now, he will find himself wofully mistaken.” - young e loved her fas- Captain Evelyn and Lady Violet, as they paused, at last, beside the open door of the furthest compartment of the conservatories. A flight of wide marble steps led from this door, and the two stood quite alone, within the broad doorway, with the silvery, soft light from the crystal roof raining down upon them, and the enchanted light of youth and love glowing in their eyes. They were silent—that delicious, half-conscious silence that says so much more than words—each heart throb- bing fast, Lady Violet certainly not daring to speak, lest her voice should betray the sweet tamnlt within her. From his concealment, Conway could see: the look of passionate love with which Roy Evelyn was regar,.ing her, Her downcast face was turned sligbily from m; but he could imagine how 1t was flushing, perhaps, and his heart leaped with rage—with impotent, half-mau anger. “If he speaks to her now—if she answers him now— all is lost !’ he muttered, with an oath, and glanced wild- ly in the direction of the comparatively distant prome- naders. “Why can’t a some of them, come this way, co interrupt those two fuels? hesaid to himself, say- agely. Ne A ee Then, with an exclamation, he darted noiselessly to- 1 a ward the nearest group. Hehad rec trix devant among them, and Lord Eagtes ot w her. He ached with as réspectfui an air ie cou muster, in his haste and agitation. fy uld | speak with ,? he stammered, Surprised, she t fact. ; Rie rag “I wonder if he calls it ‘betraying,’ what I s Violet,” she mused, as, With forced smiles, she st info the shadow of s tall ferns with Conway, evident reluctance. eS) He spoke with small. ony. “I want you to ‘interr that tete-a-tete yonder,’ he said, hurriedly, indicating the pair in the distance, ‘in return I will tell. you a, secret. Lady Violet is my wise. Don’t stop to wonder. Find an excuse tointerrupt them. it must be done.” r ‘I will,’? said Beatrix instantly, and turned away. She was half crazed with joy at this revelation. But she controlled herself, and taking the armof the escort she had quitted to speak to Conway, sauntered carelessly toward the lower extremity of the conservateries. The enchanted pair in the dourway turned as they ap- proached, and bent their steps in another direction. Beatrix was tear enough to see that ‘both faces wore ai expression of agitation,.and witl..a.jealous. throb,.at der own heart, for she liked Captain Evelyn as well as she was capable of liking anybody, she, followed. eee Evelyn and Lady Violet turned again present- ly. Beatrix turned also, slightly compressing her rosy lips.as she continued her rattling chat with her compen- ion, regurdless of hisevident surprise at the abruptmess of ler movements. Captain Evelyn glanced back over his shoulder. There was resolution and determination in his look, and Miss Dudevant saw it.. Perhaps she even had a faint intuition of what Conway meant when he said, ‘It must be done,” so emphatically. At any rate she moved swiftly forward, quitted Sir Lucien’s arm suddenly, and put her hand on Lady Violet‘s. j “Dear Vio,” she whispered, ‘‘won’t you come with me oat lamill. I—I feel asthough I was going to aint. ‘ I Lady Violet pe at once. She was glad of the inter- ruption. She had been upon the yery point of the most «absurd madness, she said to herself, of confessing all, cverything to the man she loved, of throwing hersell upoa his generosity, and appealing to his wisdom, con- cerning that unhappy secret which weighed down her very soul. d Gilderoy Evelyn was conscious that he had been that moment very, near the solution of the mystery of Lady Violet’s contradictory bearing toward him, and the look he gave Miss Dudevant was not by any means a friendly one. Generally speaking, it would have been the wildest of all doings, for a woman in Lady Violet’s supposed cir- cumstances, to confide such a secret as she had been about to confide to Captain Evelyn concerning Conway. ——$—<$<$<$<<< EE and her mistress told her what to write. You and I will wait, Mousie. There is time enough.” The little governess laid a small, thin hand on my la- dy’s arm. “Yes, time, time enough,” fright. “but don’t look so my iS), Tes pee way? ; a ‘I couldn't look what FT feel if 1 tried,’ flash as she quitted the room. | % me '8%, Lord Haglesclife drew Dis last breath about midnignt, / lant, ever on the watch for the main she murmured, in a half by dear; my dear, whatever it jcban nbering that tobethe ciosen iriend of her w toss of Bagh , Was an enviable posiil Qung herself ‘a Wild burst of sobs now, iolet, ¥ rr “lie was all we both hi y hysterically. The you tess h ts. She seemed turned She ca sbudderingly, at the touch o fal, ulled Sharply to Miggs,? over eh TYP + Miss Dudevaut recoiled. dh guessed that she Was suspected of any conméction with the ietier the earl had received, and the sltOck for oncédeprived her of words. She quitted the apartment her preseuce desecra- ted, in silence, Miggs conducting her. “Youll be going from the Cliffe now, very soon, I pre- sume,” Miggs ventured to cay, awkwardly, and with jnanifest hesitation. ' “Is it amy business of yours?’ demanded Miss Dude- vant. ‘Lslian’t go ill] kuow what Lady Violet meant hy sucha Speech as that.” “J think—I am sure my lady would prefer not to see you again,’’ said the litle governcss, with mingled tim. idity and stiffness. ag aarti S - “tlas she told you so?’’ snapped Miss Dudeyant. On miss 52... 2 Tai “Pll wait till she does then, if you please; and I'll trouble you toremember that 1 was !o/havé married poor Lord Eagiesciiffe ifhe had lived. I don’t know what dear Violet could mean by suying J had killed him, when Lloved him. se,??- ae anaes : saicinabe Her voice died in sobs... . Miggs made her no answer, but hurried back to Lad rs who did not seem to have stirred since she left ler, The discomfitted plotter continued her way te herjown apartments in bitterness and humiliation of spirit. Her brilliant prospects had all come to a terrible nought. She had herseif wrought their destruciion, and even Sparks had no sympathy for her. | 4 A little before noon the following day, Miggs come to her door. She brought the two notes—the one received by the earl that fatal morning, and Spa:ks’ Jove-letter, The two told the story. But there was aisv lall-a-dozen stern words from Lady Violet: k “Eaglescliffe cannot shelter another nigut my father's murderess.”! “The countess desired me to say to you that a carriage would be in waiting to take you to the train this evening at six o’ciock,?? Miggs said a little stiffly. Miss Dudevant had shed gallons of tears in the course of the morning, alternating her fits of weeping with get- ting in a passion with her maid. She had ended by aump- ing herself among the sofa cushions. dhe curved herself up from the silken pillow now, like a snake coiling itself for the fatal spring. ___, “Tell the Countess of Eagi«scliffe,” she said sharply, thrusting her tangl d hair wack trom her swollen tace, In this case, such a revelation, could Lady Violet’s proud soul have been brought to make it, would have solved every dificulty of those fatal meshes which entangieu her, and raised her to the pinnacle of a happiness un- imagined and almest sublime. r But the moment had passed. The soft emotion and agitation which had so nearly unsealed those sweet proud IDS, would never touch Lady Violet agaiii, till it was too ate. : Beatrix had drooped a moment against her friend’s shoulder, and announced herself better, but with an as- sumption of childish willfulness, clung to her still. To Lady Violet’s relief too, it must be confessed, though onemight haveimagined the contrary, from the pallor of the exquisite face whose bloom did not return Jelon husband. “that I hasten hence to London, but notat her bidding. I goto set the officers of jusiice upon the track of her She cannot hide him at the Cliffe any longer.’? . a Having delivered herself of this farewell shot, Beatrix lay down again a good deal frightened at her own temer- ity. 1f Conway heard. of it, he would think nothing of putting that horrid pistol of his to her head and blowing her brains out, she thought, and from that time till she was safe away she did nothing but quaver and turn cold at every strange sound. Conway met her at the station, just as_ she was begin- ning to recover her courage somewhat. It was with some ch eicaaiey she kept herself from scrcaming outright as sue saw him. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said roughly; “I’m not an escaped again, save in fitful flashes, that only betokened her in- ward fever and despair. Wi ty will linger no longer over the jobI come nete4o muttered Lord Eaglesclitfe’s new man, as he lurked adowy tion ofthe ground, and darkly watched the glowing mansion. Even. - air seemed to throb with music and id long shoots of golden lights traversed the From a thick screen of Oriental foliage, he watched, idiot would dally over his Jonway the convict ought not to n Conway the gentleman. was, t has come over me, unless it is my la- h’s beauty. The demon! How hana- go through me like a sweet fire.” ded arms upon the trellised back ofa opped his face upon them, and stood nts. Pere Bed pe know why Ishould 1 he sod na loves Turead n when Miss Dudevant’s marriage with ied on Lady Violet marrying first, e : ement between the belle and the ee aged her betrsyal i him of the secret he ‘so rashly intrust 1er Keeping. $ ierou bea general sifting of matters in that case,” he said to himself, ‘‘and the deuce to pay generally, and anything happening to the earlin the midst, would not increase my favorin Lady Violet’seyes. It is odd, but little as I have reason to love that old man, I can't bear tohurt him. -fmust warn Miss Dudevant, that lam nota man to be trifled with with impunity.” MERITS ‘°CHAPTER XXV.°°' ‘ niat THE ANONYMOUS ASSASSIN. Natures such as Beatrix Dudevant's, while wonderfully amenable to the influence of fear, have great confidence in the amet resources of their own ¢ ning She meant that Lord Eaglesclitfe should learn his daughter’s mar- riage at the earliest moment that, s! id» convey the knowledge to him with safety, to,herself... Her own inter- ests, she selfishly argued, demanded su¢ Doubtiess, if Conway could have things his way, her own marriage with the earl would never take place, and as for se. tlements, of course, if Conway was Lady, Violet's husband, he.would want them as small as possible. | . The third day after the ball, Beatrix’s maid, Sparks, slipped away to London, and back again, without any- body’s discovering her absence but her mistress, at whose bidding she went. The following morning, as,the five were at breakfast, cozily chatting, the letters were brought in, among them one directed, in a singularly uncouth hand, to his lord- ship, the “earl of eagilsclif.’’ Lady Violet glaticed up carelessly, little suspecting how vitaily imterezted she was in that scrawl, and Beatrix, who had: got the letter bag; as usual, danced about the room with it, coquettishly heiding it out of his lordship’s ‘Yeach, and playing off her pretty airs with as charming a gusto asif she had been in utter ignorance of the mali- feared the false valet instinctively. « © but ’m sure Turner is pot a man to be tru directly.” zy cold blood like wine. “Lam not what she thinks I am; I haye been es Lady Violet started, and into her eyes came an expres- sion of mingled horror, contempt an bitter wages inf cious contents of the vile missive. At last she gave it to him, standing archly by while he opened it, and pretending to try to peep at the contents, while the earl, as much amused as she, laughingly evaded her: ; Captain Evelyn had joined his uncle and Lady Evelyn at the Nest, the day befere. Lady Violet and Miss Miggs were the sole spectators of this interesting scene. Suddenly, the band which, in this playiul struggle, had captured both of Beatrix’s for safer keepimg, turned cold. Lord Eaglescliffe rose from his chair, staggering, his look deathly. 2 off His deughteriwes beside him in aninstant, and Beatrix would have flung herself upon him, but Lady Violet stern- ly thrust her-away. is Sinking back into his chair, the stricken earl groped feebly for his daughter's hand, gasped some incoherent words, and never spoke again. : Two physicians came as soon as it Was possible to get ther there; and his lordship continued to breathe in’a la- bored manner some hours; but long before the dawning of another day even that sign of life had ceased. {twas Miss Miggs who brought Lady Violet the letter which had fallen from tne dead-earl’s hand, in the first shock, and lain unnoticed by all save herself and Miss Dudevant. Beatrix gave the governess an angry look as she took possession of tiie mote, and ordered her to give it to her at once. Miss Miggs timidly, but firmly, refused to do so, and took the fatal missive to Lady Violet at the first opportunity. : My lady had been prevailed upon to quit the bedside of the still breathing earl with the greatest difficulty, and was nervously pacing the. drawing-room as Miggs‘enter- ed, her hands locked rigidly, her lips colorless with pain, The blow had been a terrible one to her. She received the letter Miggs brought, absently, but quickened to interest at her brief explanation, and jer slight hand shook as she read the vilely written scrawl. “Mi lord,” it said, ‘‘yure nu vally is Vain Conwa, and nobody els. hehas run awa and cam back. Lady violet and him has bin marrid. A FREND.” As she read, my lady grew cold and still.as marble. “If he dies,” she said, with icy lips, “it will be this has killed him. Did you ever see any writing like this, Miggs ?” The pale governess came. forward. “Shall I read it, my lady?’ ee not read it already ?”’ “My ] y ba “Of course not, Mousie. 1 knew that. But everybody isso black-hearted,. one never knows—never mind. Let me see some of that woman Sparks’ writing, if you can.”? “J have some now. Her young manis in London and she writes letters to him and gets meto copy them.” At any other time Lady Violet would have smiled. Now she only said: “Bring it at once. Stay—I will go with you.” Miggs stood patiently hy, while Lady Violet sternly com- pared the two specimens, and then as sternly folded them together. “It was Sparks.’? she said. sternly, ‘Sparks wrote it, convict. I was only playing offonyou. Lhave hada par- don. ; Beatrix regarded him incredulously. She had almost rather he had threatened to shoot her. “Sorry, en?’ he said, with a sneer. “You rather over- shot yourself about the old garl, didn’t you? Jt’s the luck, for me. Lady Violet and 1 will come in for everything now. There’s enough of it to make up for some things, eh, Miss Dudevant ?” : Beatrix turned her back upon him, whereupon he laugh- ed audibly. * Miggs took back Miss Dudevant’s insolent message faith- fully. She didn’t know what else to do, poor soul. e youvg countess heard her through, . ‘Will you go and send Turner to me?’ she said, with- out other remark. ph : Miggs hesitated. The faithful little v dislike “My dear,” she whispered, “it’s a.great “So am I, you silly Miggs. Now go and thinting tae eaxore OF her, the splendor of wh grief cnly vailed, of her whose near presen ‘“‘Miss Dudevant is welcome to do her wo *T see,’ she Said, “you made it up between yo It was famous, but worthy both.” ‘ Bes Et Conway’s swarthy face flushed like fire. “No, by ,? he checked tiimself on the verge of a mightfo} ‘oath, and .addea more calmly: ‘Is it jikely ? would she threatened me if we were confedérates ?”’ “Go! wered . Violet frigidly; ‘she whose death you caused between is not buried yet.” Conway. stood still. ; ‘Not till you say you believe me,” he said between sul- lenness and entreaty. My lady stood looking at him a moment. went and sat down with her back to him, » » Conway waited a little, grinding his teeth, Then, mut- Then she tering ‘she always heads me,’ Le Opened the door and departed. CHAPTER XXVI.° DEFIED. ° Lord Eaglescliffe was buried with all the honors due a nobleman of his proud house. os His daughter bore herself through all that trying time with singular fortitude and composure, declining gently but with firmness, all attempts to condole with lier. “Noone can sympathize with me, for no ore knows what I have lost,’” she said to Lady Evelyn, with respect- ful decision and in the same quiet but resolved manner, rejected her Jadyship’s offer to remain at Eaglesclifie with her a few days after all wus over. ag “{ prefer to be alone; indeed it is better that I should be alone,”? she explained to the kind and warm-hearted countess, who reiuctantly yielded the point, but went away with an old conviction strengthened, namely, that Laay Violet was a most extraordinary and eccentric girl. “She thinks badly of me now,” thought my lady, hay- ing read the countess’ thoughts in her face, but she will think worse before we meet again. I couldn’t have her and Conway here at the same time.” ; At that very moment, the ex-convict was lurking in the room he thought the youny countess was ‘most Jikely to . visit, if she entered any beside the drawing-room and her own private apartments. Lord Eaglescliffe’s library. had, been a favorite resort with himself anu his daughter, and _ it was here, half shrouded by the heavy ruby and gold draperies of ove of the tall windows, that Conway lay in wait for the haugiity girl he could not muster Courage to- summon authoritatively to an interview. Perhaps he guessed from his knowledge of her, that she would not have come at such bidding. Ft aS aia It turned, as he had been half hoping, half fearing, for no man, not even he could encounter the Sopra lightnmg of my lady's ig black eyes unScathed. The door opened noiselessly and the young countess glided. into.the room. ae me : She did not see him at first, and stood looking gravely about her some moments. 2. Spain She wore a black dress, unrelieved by the slightest or- nament, and her hair was dressed in the plainest man- ner, but nothing could impair the luster of her wonderful beauty. ‘ : at It 7a easy to guess what thoughts moved her, as her glance wandered over each familiar object, till it fell on Conway. Then it Stopped, and slie murmured, “I thought the air seemed heavy,” and advuncing liaughtily, said: “Well?” : > Conway stirred uneasily in his seat, but only bowed without speaking. es “We are well mét,” continued she. “I was about to send for you.”” f He threw up his head desperately. What aspirit the girl had, and what a cowsrd she made of him, she mo- ment shé looked at him. i “You wished to speak with me?’“he asked. harpy to be at your service.” “Tam! He spoke almost liumbly, so nearly so, that'she regard.” ed him with‘a doubtful glance. — He had doifed his servant's attire too, and wore a gen- tleman’s plain dress suif. She knitted her brow$ over the change, as she said slowly: : “4 have a proposition to make to you. We will be di- vorced, and I will cede to you the half of the fortune my uncle left me—one hundred and twelity-five thousand pounds.’? He made her no answer at once, then he’ said, forcing ~ himself to look at her: : ‘i “My lady. youand I may as well understand each other, It is my wife [ want, not her money. 1 will have nothing. less.” “J will give you the whole of my uncle’s money, a quar- ter of a million.’’ “No.?! “You might marry some gentle, sweet woman, who knew nothing of the past, and would worship you as tender wives sometimes do their husbands.” “And you might marry the gallant captain,” he an- swered with sudden passion. “It won't do, Lady Violet.’ The perfect face took a deeper palor, but she Spoke as — quietly as before. i ; “Twill pledge myself not to marry Captain Evelyn.’ “No! and he faced her with a dark and desperate look. “You persist in treating me as though I were absolutely deyoid of the commonest emotions of my kind, There | | ' j | | | } | i ) i ; i | | : } j ; i i ; } So eames “pee ne Name: Ett: iO nee nome ee PN ell tg i Pala lige 58 ae ry xy z p ) — Se me ‘ ; i } : calm voice, suddenly, cluse beside eit and at the same _ white cheek. _ moved away—in the _ himself, “and in’ case she did that before Evelyn, he across her as her glance fell on that dark, passionate face. _ you know; my dear Miss Miggs kindly remains with me.”’ - 100K she father’s, I might venture——”’ “he said, with stern humility, law, and in parting, I can only regret whatever has been a) (werd THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. PENS Miia is not aman in all England would give you up, were he in my place. Men, beside whose goodness I am black, would turn villains in my place sooner than resign you. Do you think because I have been to Australia and back again. Do you think because 1 have worked with a chain gang, and herded with thieves and murderers, that I am incapable of that soft madness with which your beauty would fire the brain of any man not a stone?” “You are as eloquent as ever,’ said my lady, coldly, but with no sarcasm either of voice or manner, ‘‘unfor- tunately, however, I am six years older than I-was when with just such talk, you lured me to that act of folly which bas darkened ali my life since, and finally sent my father to the grave before his time.” “Have 1 not suffered too? You loved me then, Lady Violet,’ he persisted, calling all those old matculess powers of pleading to Is aid. ‘And 1 do not love you now,” she answered quietly. “Some women would have loved me better for my misfortune.”’ “Yes, and some women would have loved you in spite of your guilt. Iam constituted differently. Iknow who struck down Captain Evelyn that morning in the wood. But for a miracle, as it were, you would have been a murderer.’? That was a home thrust, most cruel and unexpected, The dark face of the man turmed of an ashy palior, through which the long scar which crossed his face, shone a livid streak, “My lady,’? he stammered.and@ stopped; his voice broke on those two words. To do him justice, it was net guilt that nnsteadied his tones so muci as Stauding the etuvicted villain he was in her eyes. Unconusciensly Laty Violet was avenging some of the women whose heaiis.'his man had broken. . Tne young countess watched him with arg unchanging ace. : “T don’t think you had better try to deny it to me,” she said. “I made Captain Evelyn describe his assailant as Well as he could from the glimpse he had of him. My only wonder is. that he has not himself recognized you. Now, what is your price fur going and leaving me in peace ??” Se He made a last attempt to rally fo some of the old brutal courage. # “1 deny everything, and I won’t go. I love you, and you’re my wife, and I won't give you up.” My lady drew a deep, haif shuddering breath, but her eyes never dimmed of their scornful light. *“T deny that I am your wile by any law of God,’ she Said, in low measuredtones. “I went tothe altar to wed @ man wiose honor was above reproach, whose soul was: pure of taint. You had made me believe in my childish*# ness that you were such. You have no moje right to de- mand of me fulfilment of the obligations incurred through such deceit, than you had to exact the money on Lord Evelyn’s forged signature.” f i *“j do demand them, nevertheless,’? he cried, flinging the long black hair off his scowling brow, and Stung to madness almost by her contemptuous bitter. words, “I will surrender my mght to you When the heavens. fall, not before? . 4. ;, "ERO % “You wiil surrender it much sooner than that; or I am mistaken,” sie answered, calmly. “I advise you to con- sider well the offer I have made you, for it will not await your acceptance Jong.”’ ; ny And just bendiug her haughty head, she swept from the room, and left hin» to foam in impotent rage. Outside, Se eth ly parted her lips. ; “(As well expect th vens to fall as méto yield. He ee to know that,’’ she murmured. onway stayed. g at the door which had closed behind her. “‘] was a fool,” he muttered, ‘‘to hold my hand, when { had Evelyn here in my power. I, who believe 1m neither a God nora cv ‘e. A muliion curses on his pretty face, for that it is, which stands between me and her.” ‘The glitter ofa horrible smile broke over his face, as he stood still in the middle of the room. “I should like,’ he whispered, ‘to come upon’‘him as he lay dying, and tell in his numbing €«r, something that he. would’ be willing to sell bis soul now to hear. That q would be revenge?,.,) 4, ., His cheeks were suffused with color, his eyes glowed dangerously. « °) >= ) é io “it’s only a question of pluck after all,” he anes again, after a long pause. “She must yield in the end if lam bold enough, and lam when she taunts meso. If worse comes [0 worse———”?_ He drew from some concealment about his person, .a tiny casketiol-ebony, curiously: wrought in figures of gold. It opened with a spring. Within it was first’a’ gold, then a cryStal. flask inside the gold_one, The last contained the drug.of whicli he had tola Eleanor Lyle. Conway always carried this about him. Knowing, as he did, its: fatal! pro even he had never had the courage to use it but twice—once upon a convict gemy in Australia, (the poor wretch’s blood-curdling ravings, rang in. his ears yet, sometimes,) and, once, in a very slight degree, upon Eleanor.Lyle. He was in the library again the following day, about the same hour, when a Tootman came witha card for d'she was in here. Have you seen her, r?? he asked, Conway frowned. The man’s famillarity irritated him. “She isn’t here,’’ he answered. **Whose card is that?” “Captain Evelyn's.” — , On the foppisg of the moment he snatched 1f and wrote . hastily: ; ' “J ferbid you to see this man who would entice you from your daties and obligations to your husband.’ There were envelopes upon the. . He took one, inclosed the card, sealed, and di ed it “Give her that,’ he said, aut , handing it to the man. pat spirit The footman stared. =° | “ “What do you take me for?” he cried, tearing off the envelope again. ite ee “What have you there, Simmons?’ asked Lady Violet’s moment Sean took eu : ¥ oe Fortunately, perba er, she ha n passing that way and heare Gon A way’s rks to the man, She glanced at the words traced upon the card. Nota feature changed. Only a faint glow broke over each tions gently. Mr. Turner,” she said, and rection of the western drawing- room, as Conway saw, looking after her curiously. Once she glanced back, haughtily asa queen might, to see if he dared follow her, and the look she surprised e his wicked face, made her blood creep with a nameless ehill. ; 4 ae ‘Conway, indeed, took a forward step to follow her; but thinking better of 1t remained where he was. “She’s just in the mood to dare me out,’ he said to She checked Simmons’ “It shall be attended 1 might suspect how matters really were. Be patient, Conway, ee man, your turn shall come.” He patted his own shoulder encouragingly, and com- pressed his lips. Lady Violet passed swiftly to the apartment in which her lover waited. Yes, her lover; for he loved her as men never love but one woman, ‘and she——.A wilder than ever thrill of hate and avérsion for Conway shot It was the first time they had met since before her fath- er’s death, and the emotion which was struggling in the hearts of each could not be kept wholly from speaking in their countenances. All tue woman rose in the soul of the young countess as she stood, a mument, her hand locked m his, her own eyes downcast, to hide the tumult of her soul; her lips were trembling in spite cf all tier efforts to still them. It was he who first broke the silence, as he led her with ten- der respect to a seat. “IT come,” he said, ‘from Lady Evelyn, bearing her en- treaties that you will come to the Nest for a few weeks.”’ The tears rushed to Lady Violet’s eyes; but she forced them back.“ ~ ; ‘It is out of the question for me to leave the Cliffe at, resent,’ she said; ‘‘vut 1am none the less grateful to er ladyship for her thoughtful kindness, Will you as- sure her how thoroughly I appreciate her invitation, while it is impossible for me to accept it. Iam not alone, Captain Evelyn’s countenance showed the keenness of his disappointment, and as she met his glance of mingled sadness and reproach, that longing fur another strength than her own fo lean upon, which is so purely a feminine characteristic, almost overpowered her. “Ah Tl iflonly dared appeal to him!’ she thought. “But even to let him linger here 1s like inviting that bad. man’s malice to strike him,” ’ And then, with a sharper pang, she remembered the d last seen on Conway’s face, and felt that for Captain Evelyn’s sake, as well as her own, for every rea- son, it was best that he should not come to the Cliffe any more. it was the hardest thing she had done yet to tell him so. It was harder to meet, unmoved, his glance of min- gled anger and reproach. He rose proudly, «‘] did not mean to intrude,’ hesaid. “I knew it was very soon, but lthought as such a near friend of your She interrupted him. “Indeed, it is not that—it is no intrusion—I beg you not to think it? And the proud girl, already terribly siiaken, with difficulty repressed her tears. “Why, then—— ButI have no right to question you,” “As ever, your will is my amiss in me in the past——” ious bie _ Nothing has been amiss,” she interrupted him again, Velemently. ‘‘You have never done augiit that my heart and my conscience did not alike approve. I honor you “above all men. Once—yes, I will acknowledge it to you —once, to hiave been your wife, would have been the highest bliss earth could have offered.” She paused, her voice stifled in emotion, and he ad- vanced impesuously, lis brown eyes flashing with eager- ness, his hands extended, “Now? he questioned. She drew back a step, with a glance of unutterable melancholy and regret. _ “Oh, Violet, try me—only try me ! If man can win you, i will, be the ordeal wiatever it may.”’ “Would to Heaven you might! she said, almost with- Out volition. “But it may not be, Believe me, dear, dear Triend, it may not be. Go, and forget that one lives so unworthy the love of a noble heart as Violet of Eagles- cliffe.”’ Captain Evelyn drew his tall form erect, looking down at her in sterp perplexity. any one else had said to me what you have just said, he or she should speak no more to Gilderoy Evelyn.” My lady drew her breath sharply as she extended her 1and. ‘| beg your pardop,’’ she said. each other.”’ He left her atlast, his heart sore, his brain bewildered, Conway was waiting for him at a turnin the shrubbery, which hid them from the west drawing-room windows. ile had contrived to overhear the most of the conversa- tion between him and Lady Violet. With his hat slouched over his face, the ex-convict—the whilom valet—stepped out into the path, and asked hum- bly enough if he might have a few words with him. Evelyp paused with secret irritation, which was not lessened when he saw who it was. He had never liked his lordship’s man Turner. He concealed his annoyance, however, and waited patiently for him to speak. Turner shot,a sharp glanceabout him; then he pulled off his hat, and flung his long black hair off his face, with that defiant gesture with which the reader is already fa- miliar. “You ought to know me, Gil,’? he sald, familiarly, ad- dressing him by an abbreviation of their boyhood, and turning square to the light. Gilderoy Evelyn started violently. “Conway ?? he exclaimed, interrogatively, amazement almost depriving him of the power of utterance. The next instant his face turned of a livid whiteness. Con- way, the felon, back at Eaglescliffe in disguise? Could Lady. Violet know of his presence there? The ex-convict almost read his thoughts. “lm not an escaped man,’’ he said. “I’ve got the Queen’s pardon in my pocket. It’s worth while being on tue right side of the women, Gil. I shouldn’t be here to- day. if my wiye had not persevered and got me a pardon.” “Your wife?’ exclaimed the guardsman, like one in a dream, “My wife,’’ repeated Conway, with slow distinctness. “Violet, Countess of Eaglesclifie, has been my wife since tong before that little trip of mine across the sea.’? He could not look at the man to whom he was lying so horribly as he said the infamous words. He looked any- where but at him. Hence it was that when the impetuous guardsman clencued fist shot out straight from his shoulder in that lirst surprised moment, he was totally unprepared for the blow which feiled hir like an ox to the earth. Gilderoy Evelyn spurned him with his foot as he lay there insensible. Then casting one wild pale glance in the direction of the Cliffe, he plunged away to where a groom waited with his horse, mounted, and rode home- hWward as though a thousand furies had been on his track. + “If was some moments after he came to himself before Conway could realize where he was or what had happen- ed. Herose to his feet, his lips white, his look that of a half-maddened brute. ‘You didn’t know at whose expense you struck me, my fine captain,” he growled. “I'll have it out of her first, tien look out for yourself, sir.” He fairly foamed at the mouth as he mounted the mar- ble steps that conducted to the western terrace, and trampling rudely through a magnificent parterre, just bretght from the conservatories, entered the drawing- room where he had left Lady Violet. “She was not there; and with the same vicious look he proc to the very door of her private apartments, where he knocked loudly and with impatience. _ Fidele ned the door angrily; and when she saw his inflamed face, retreated in a fright, screaming: “v's Turner, my lady; and he’s drunk |” Lady Violet arose irom.a couch, upon which she had been lying before the open window, and stood in haughty ‘anger and amazement. Conway stoppe?, scowling darkly, but advancing no farther tad ie few steps he had already come past the threshold. |. eit ua “7 will be put off no longer,’ he said, in a sullen voice; “J will be outraged and insulted where I ought to be master, no longer.” +e) F Lady Violet’s lip curled. p s “You are: not masterin these apartments, at least,’’ she uttered, scornfully, ‘You will be good enough to re- tire from them at once.’’ i is . “Not till. we have come to an understanding,”’ he said, seating himself ona velvet-cushioned chair, with an air of dogged resolution, ‘ Lady Yiolet’s outstretched hand touched the bell rope. “If you do not. go this instant, l will summon every menial in the house to thrust you out,” lie was already cooler, and he saw the execution of the nigga in her blazing eyes. y ‘ _ ‘Uf you willlisten tome one moment—” he began more respectiully. ‘Not one word. I gave you the last and only condi- tions upon which I will treat with you, yesterday.” “You defy me then, utterly ?”? ' ‘Utterly so,’? coiling the bell rope about her white yand. ‘ “Ring that bell and. every lackey at the Cliffe shall know what are our relations,” he declared, doggedly. Lady Violet's delicate nostrils dilated in the rage and agony ofa momentary hesitation, while he added: “T have already told your handsome guardsman. I stopped him on his way out.” Before the words had well left hislips, the bell clashed such a peal as brought every man and woman withia sound ofit, to their feet. Conway heard them coming, and quitted the room igno- miniously. ¥ My lady was victor once more. ; + “What shall I tell them, my lady? questioned Fidele, as the head cook and one of the footmen presented themselves. stat : “Tell them anything you like, so you send them about their business,’ responded the countess, sharply. ot 1 order Turner driven from the Cliffe?” oe (on “J will say he was drunk then, and frightened you, but neler 2 ne his lord- 7s “We will not forget soak in consideration of his late relations with sh p———— + ‘ Rad >. . & “Goyout of the room. Iwish to be alone. Stop. I’m cross, Lacan with you, Fidele, [suppose you un tha ; ‘ tae _Fidele dropped one of her pretty ch courtesies and departed, murmuring “As if I didn’t know that,” and, she added, ‘1 can mind my own business too, and I’ll see that other people do the same.” é ‘ Lee That was the way ny lady charmed even the servants of her caprices into obedience. ‘ “Ah, ciel!” Fidele used to say sometimes, ‘such a temper. But such sweetness.’ fy if Conway could have heard the little speech Made- moiselle Fidele made to the servants concerning him, he might have been tempted more strongly than he was, to do as he had threatened Lady Violet he would. i But, in truth, he did not dare. Indeed his schemes be- gan tolook more and more difficult of accomplishment, ile knew well enough that his claims upon the proud pa- aoe girl would not stand any very sharp legal criti- cisms. He had serious thoughts of getting up his own certifi- cate of marriage. But, naturally, after going to Australia for forgery, he had an aversion to exerting his talents in that direction. He resolved to make one more effort with Lady Violet. He conveyed to her in writing his final propositions. He gave her the choice of herself avowing their relation to each other, or submitting to have him do so. My lady’s reply was as tantalizing as it was character- istic. TheCountess of Eagle-clitfe declined emphatically to concern herself with Mr, Turner’s affairs. She had no objection to his exerting his own great natural eloquence jn the establishment of his proposition, as presented to her, but she was of the opinion he would find other peo- ple, even iis fellow servants, both as skeptical and as hostile to his pretensions, as he had Captain Evelyn. Miggs had been fortunate enough to be an unseen wit- ness of that rencounter, and the allusion to it, was the last drop of gall and wormwood to Conway. “7 shail get to hate you directly, my lady,’’ he muttere! as he read her note. “I wish I could, I should work with- out any scruples to bother me then.” (To be continued.) Jehial Slab's Remarks. Watch those Christians who follow the fartherest off. They always deny the soonest. I meet men and women every day of whom I have to say: There goes asieve—mesh number so and so. Every thing given or taken there must first be strained. Make a monument out of good deeds as you go, and your dust willnot want for friends to see to the marblein after years. : You will find one peculiarity very prominent if you un- dertake to go to the devil—the path where he will lead you always points as the swine went—down hill. It is very well to let the further end of our charities look over toward the ends of the world. But the end we have in hand now we had better tie at ome. If you would be victorious over your Goliahs, choose your own weapons, and go out in yourown way, David would have fullen an easy victim’had he put on the pon- derous sword and armor of Saul. We ofien make acquaintances in our travels who are much like the bull-heads we used to catch when we were boys. It was easy enough to catch them; the trouble seemed to be to get them off the hook again without their horaing us. liow often you see’ Christians go to prayer or class- meetings, and get down on their knees, and mourn be- cause their children are unconverted. Go to the homes of these people, and silently take notes of what you see. Nine times in ten you will find their religion is made no more pleasant end attractive to those children than it looks around Pittsburgh after dark, or in a tamarack swalpp on a stormy night in November. The batue of life bas fat more sharp-shooting from ri- fle pits thanof regiment and brigade fighting init, We are constantly on the borders of tle enemy’s country, and they generally come on to us Indian fashiun, by way of a stump, tree, ora hole in the ground. Asa matter of self- preservation we are compelled to fight back in the same way, and, while the battle lasts we are usually kept very busy. For one adversary rarely goes down without dis- closing another immediately behind him. —_-—_ > 0+ NEW MUSIC. We have received from M. Gray, of San Francisco, the follow- ing songs; ‘‘Louie Lee,” words by M. B Leavitt, music by Geo, T. Evans—a pretty ballad set to appropriate music; "Silver on Her Heels,” words by E. S. Marble, music by Charles Schultz—a song hkely to be a tuvorite in consequence ofits lively air; ‘The Saturday Matinee,” words by M. B. Leavitt, music by Geo. T. Evans—the words are trash, utterly unworthy of the very pretty « “I will go,” he said, “but not to forget you. I could notifItned; and | shall not try, As to uaworthiness, if air to which they are set. dk SKY TRAVELER; OR, THE MAGICIAN OF THE LAKES. CHAPTER XXIII. It will be remembered that Lewanee had once, by ac- cident, or rather in a fit of austraction, walked a long way toward the North Pole, and was only aroused to a consciousness of this fact by the extreme coldness of the atmosphere. He had then resolved to make some explorations in that region on some leisure afternoon, and having providea himself with a couple of beor skins, as a protection against the cold; he donned his wonderful slippers, took his magic rifle, and his spy glass, and sallied forth about noon on a July day, resolving to return before dark. He crossea Lake Superior in a few minutes, and made his way due north, or at least, as nearly so as he could tell by observing the sun, and some general landmarks of the landscape with which he had become familiar. Although it was very warm weather when he set out, he had not walked the air more than ten minutes before he felt the want of one of his robes, which had been tied in a bundle, and suspended from his shoulders. He traveled at no great height from the earth, and was able, without his glass, to distinctly view the sterile and snow-covered regions over which he was soon careering. He was quickly past all signs of vegetation, excepting the evergreens of the far northern forests, and he looked down upon frozen lakes on which the prowling bears roamed in search of prey. ‘ Lewanee hastened on, and soon found himself near the Arctic circle, though he knew nothing of such imaginary lines. He knew something, however, from tradition, of the great bays, and of the great ocean on the northeastern side of the continent, and he bent his course toward them, in the hope of seeing some ship of those bold navigators, who were known to explore those forbidding regions. What they went for, he could not imagine, but he had heard that they were sometimes ice-bound @ whole winter, and sometimes a whole year, and that many perished with cold and hunger. He soon came to the ocean, and traversed the air for mahy hundreds of miles above it, now over fields cf ice, and now over open seas, but he saw no signs of human life upon if. BOs But beneath him a wearied eagle rested upon an ice- berg a hundred leagues from shore, and looked despair- ingly upon the wilderness of waters, not knowing which way the loved land lay, nor howto reach it with his chilled and spray-dampened wings. : Lewanee took pity on him, and alighted near him, re- solving to offer him assistance, jor his heart was tender and gentle ag a child’s, and it sympathised with all living creatures. re “What is the matter, brother?” he asked in the eagle’s language; ‘‘wbat are you doing here ?”’ “Oh, 1am lost,’? was the quick reply; “and my wings ache with long use. Where areyou? 1 do not see you?’’ The magician was about twenty yards distant, on the score large ice-berg, and removiag his moccasins, he said: “tam here. Do not be afraid of me, for though Lam 4 man I will not hurt you.”’ Y “That is strange,” was the quick reply. ‘Man has always been our enemy, but I cannot resist you, if you mean me harm. I dare not leave this perch, for 1 should drop into the water before I had flown a mile, I am so wearied and so faint with long fasting. Pray, take pity on me. I have a mate at home who is mourning my ab- sence, and pining for my return, and I am yet 100 young to die, for 1 am only a hundred and sixty years old.” “If you will mount on my shoulders, I will take you asliore in a few minutes.” ‘ “How can you do that? Are you a flying man? “If you cannot trust me without questioning, I will pass on, and leave you to help yourself.” » 4 “Nay; I will trust you. for I must perish if left here. Since you can talk the universal language of the eagles, there must be something wonderfal about you. I will come to you.” , ~. The bird flepped his wet wings heavily, and descended confidingly at the side of Lewanee, who patted his back and smoothed his plumage, and then lifted him to his snoulder. ; ) “Can you hold on?’ he asked. _ “Yes, master.”’ “You will need too, for we shall travel fast.” “I can hold, master.’ The igtithe Was of course quickly made, and although the bird mar' tele Bt the rapidity of their progress, and at the in a) ity of his bearer, these things excited less wonder iis mind than they would have occasioned to a human being, ‘ The brute creation see and hear so many things far he- yond their comprehension that they are not greatly moved by any new thing. : He thanked his rescuer very earnestly, and when the latter cut away the ice onthe margin of the water with his hatchet, and obtained for him some muscles for food, his gratitude knew no bounds. He ate ravenously, and as he did so, his strength increased, the light returned to, his eye, and he once mere assumed his royal bearing. _. He was anxious to do something for his benefactor, }. but finding that the latter desired nothing of him except information in regard to these northern regions, and their inhabitants, both human and brute, they conversed long - on these topics, and Lewanee derived much interesting information from his feathered friend. He had ceased to be in haste, for he had discovered that the sun, which had sank southward, ashe traveled north, did not.now descend toward the horizon, but floated above it, at a fixed elevation, tgaveling westward. “It will retu¥n alter awhile; it will hot go down,” said the eagle, to watom he had expressed his rise at this ae aie pal Sie have no night here during this half of the-year. ‘¢ t “And how id ¥t with the other half?” “That is all hight—or night and twilight.” “What do yopdo then a ve ' “We eagles go further south. quadrupeds stay here, They like it, I believe; at any 4 rate, poor creatures, they cannot get away.’’ ers “Is it very dark ?”” ‘No; the stars shine,and the snow gives some light, and there is another light that fiashes up.in the north. We do not know what it is, but it is very useful.” f “Doubtless the Great Spirit makes it on purpose to il- lumine these long nights. Do you ever go further norta tuan this?” “Oh yes, a great way, in the light season. we eagles go inside.” “Inside of what??? _ : ; “Why, of the earth, to besSure. Do not you know that the earth is hollow?” — 5 “No! Is it possible? Do you know this?” “Certainly 1 know it.” “What is in there?’ “What? Why people, towns, cities, animals, forests, rivers, everything that is outside—but very different.” After a short conversition Lewanee, who wasimpatient to see the wonders of the inside world, proposed to start and to take his guide, on his shoulders, us before. Onward sped tne Ottawa, and now in the distance, high glittering hills rise to view, reflecting the rays of the far sun, and seemingly reflecting some other light, for they shine even briguter than the pale and distant orb of day. “Jce-mountains |’? said the eagle. ‘1 remember them. They encircle the opening into the earth.” Yes—ice-mountains they were, permanent and durable as if they had been of granite. Centuries wrought no change in them, and from their jagged peaks (shaped like inverted stalactites) streamed those electrical cur- rents which streak the northern sky, and which to those who in far southern lands gaze and wonder at their shift- ing rays, are known as the aurora borealis. Strange to say the intense cold moderated as the erial travelers drew nearer to these shining hills, though the temperature was still far below the freezing point. “Must we cross these high glaciers??? Lewanee asked of his companion. “Certainly,’’ replied the bird. the other side,”’ Eager with curiosity, the magician strode forward, and was soon hovering over a vast circular area, encompassed on all sides with this icy wall, which shone on the inte- rior surface with diminished luster. There was also this difference, that on the inside, a mile or more below the white pinnacles, a sleping moun- tain of earth appeared, and vegetation in many forms was seen, which Lewanee found more abundant and lux- uriant the farther he descended. He was soon, indeed, in a climate of summer-like mildness, Having alighted on this vast, inclined plane, he used his telescope awhile to examine the wonderful region in- to which he had been introduced, The icy battlements extended in a circular form as far as he could see, even with his powerful glass, and he did not doubt that the circle was complete far beyond the reach even of telescopic vision, so that he computed the circumference of this great area to be of several hundred miles extent. As far as he could see, the land sloped (without any abrupt or steep descent,) from every side toward a com- mon center, and sloped, indeed, so gradually, that there were many seemingly level plains or plateaus of great ex- tent. On these, to his great amazement, he saw numer- ous towns and cities, while across the country were ruads leading in every direction, and on.some of those nearest to him he could plainly see vehicles of some kind moving with great rapidity. But he was still more astonished to see a vast number of balloons, of all sizes, nayigating the air, at different hights, but all steadily sailing along, like vessels at sea, each on its own rse. Lewanee’s companion could give him but little informa- tion in regard to the inhabirants of this beautiful region, because it had been debarred from any communication with them by the want of a common language. Tueir general appearance, the eagle said, was similar to that of men and women in the outer worid, oud the only mate- rial difference that he had noticed, was that that they never attempted in any way to molest him or his feath- ered companions, on their former visit, but only looked at them admiringly, and tried to coax them, with food, to approach them. “But surely we are not yet inside of the earth?” said the Ottawa. “No; the entrance is many leagues further on, toward the center of this plain; but you will find it very different from what you probably expect. The opening is many leagues wide; there is no darkness, nothing that you would calla hole; and as you enter, you do not seem fo Sometimes “The opening is far on go downatall, In fact, ‘up’ and ‘down’ change places; 4 The bears and en, : or, rather, they are neither of thern where you would _ex- pect to findthnem. I reaily cannot explain it,’ added the puzzled bird; -‘but you will soon see for yourself. And now, if you will excuse me, I will return home.” “Certainly. Have you no fear?” “Not any. Iam yet strong, and a few hours’ flight will bring me to a country where I can get food. The rest of the way will be easy.” _ Lewanee partea with his friend with regret, and prom- ised to look him up, eitheron his return or at some future time; and, when he had gone, he donned his stippers and proceeded on his aerifi journey a few minutes longer, re- solving to stop near one of the cities. _He was very anxious to know whether his art would give him the power to converse with the inhabitants of this strange country, and he was also somewhat solici- tous as to the nature of the reception which they wouid give him. He thought it possible that they might prove hostile, and he resolved to be on his guard, though he felt nearly oa that there could be no reasonable cause for alarm. He soon overtook a balloon with a small car or boat (half fall of people,) attached to it, and he at once checked his own speed in order to obtain a good view of these tray- elers, and of the vehicle which conveyed them. He was gratified to see that the people were, in all re- spects, like human beings, in what are called the civilized parts of the world; and that they were clad in garments of manufactured stuff, which, if not cotton, and woolen, and silks, Was something resembling those fabrics. All wore robes or gowns, those of the men being either blue or yellow, and extending only to the Knees. Wide and white indispensables, and a sort of sandals complet- ed the visible part of their apparel, for they wore only nature’s covering on their heads. - The females were robed in white, red and green, and some of them in all these colors.combined; and they also wore sandals tied over bare and veiy white little feet. The balloon, which was very large, was not made of silk like ours, but of a material that resembled canvas, and it was oblong in shape, somewhat like a locomotive boiler, only that it was much the largest at the forward part whence it tapered gradually to the opposite end. ‘The boat beneath it was very much larger than was needed for the passengers it contained, and was partly filled with a variety olrigging by which the air-sailors vuided the balloon, retaining itin a horizontal position, and keeping it headed in the direction in which they wanted to go. It seemed very easily managed by two men, and the gaiety and merriment of the occupants, as they glided swiftly forward on their erial highway, showed that they were entirely free from fear. Lewanee was delighted to find, when he drew near this happy party, that he could understand their language, though it was different from any that he had ever heard, and there was a musical cadence toitwhich was pecu- liarly pleasant to the ear. They spoke on various subjects, including the weather and tue scenery, and he inferred from what he heard, that the dozen or so of people which tie boat contained, were passengers who had casually met in this public conveyance, but few of them being bound on the same errand or ned to the same place. Three of the ladies, he found, were going to visit a friend in the city which they pointed out, about twenty icagues off, but which from tlieir elevation was plainly visible through the clear atmosphere. While they spoke they drew near another and much smaller town, and Lewanee heard one ef the males (or gentlemen, we may as well say) of the party announce it as his stopping-place, and saw him making some polite adieus to his companions, When th@y were nearly over the town he picked upa pair of wings which had lain beside him, and slipped his as those ofthe mest gorgeous birds of the trepical world. A marked deference was shown to these lair creatures, and front places were given to them, which courtesies they acknowledged with smiles and nods, a pleasant custom wiich we regret to say has not yet reached the outside world. _ They did not talk orlangh loudly, but gratified their innocent curiosity by means of whispered questions and answers, and by gazing at the stranger—the central ob- ject of interest, who stood upon the ground, with one nand on his rifle, surveying the spectators on the earth and in the air, with an interest quite equal to their own. _ When Lewanee had signified his acceptance of Isor’sf invitation to accompany him home, several of the peeple who stood neare-t to him instantly proffered the use 0 their wings, which the Ottawa declined, saying that he did not know how to use them. “There is no difficulty,” replied Isor. ‘The mechanism is so perfeci. that they may be almost said to go of them- selves. Try them for a short distance.” Lewanee laughed and consented, but without mucli hope of success. He had, 2f wourse, a much easier mode of travel; but this ne was not Wiliing at present to dis- close to his new friends. But what should he do with his rifle and his telescope? Several kindly offered to carry them; but ne never suf- fered the former to go owt of his possession, as there conld be no remedy for its loss, and, besides, 1t might do harm in strange hands. The spy-glass was less valuable, and could-be replaced if lost or damaged. So he un- strapped that from his back, handed it to one of the peo- ple, and put the ges in its place, resclving to fly with it, or not at all. There was no difficnlty. The wings went on easily, and fitted closely; and on the first trial he found, to his de- light, that he could traverse the air as safely and com- fortably with tkem asifhe had been accustomed from childhood to that kind of locomotion. No teaching was needed. The wings would only work in the right way, and all the imagined difficulty of the back stroke was provided for and avoided by the con- struction of these neost ingenious machines. After an easy circular fight of a few dozen rods, Lew- anee returned, laughing, and quite in ecsiasies, which seemed to be shared by the spectators, who sympathized with his astonishment and delight. After receiving many congratulations, he started with Isor for the city, followed by the whole winged crowd. CHAPTER XXV. The city covered considerable territory; but the houses were all isolated, many of them standing in the midst of extensive and highly ornameated grounds. None of them was more than a single story in hight, but some were very spacious, and ali displayed more or less of the ele- gant devices of architecture. Isor’s house proved tobe one of the finest of these dwellings, and when he and Lewanee had alighted in the court, he dismissed the crowd of followers, with a few courteous words, promising to give them another oppor- tunity to see the stranger. Then he entered the house with his guest, and intro- daced him, as well as he could, to his wife and two daugh- ters, who constituted all of his family. They were all handsome women, slight in figure and of about what would be called medium hight in the outer world, and, strange to say, the mother was not distin- gnishable from her daugliters by any signs of age. They were all dressed alike, in red robes or gowns, fas- tened with a belt or clasp at the waist; their hair was partly confined by a golden-colored cincture, which pass- ed around the head, but it fowed freely down the neck and shoulders in curls, or undulating lines. Their feet and ancles, white as the suow, were not hid- den by the hose or sandals which were fastened to them arms into grooves or circlets of some kind on the under side of them, so that when pushed up totheir place they fitted as snugly against his shoulders asif they had grown there. All this was done in a matter-of-course way, and with very much the air with which a gentleman in our world would put on a pair of gloves. Then once more waving a parting salute to his com- panions, he spread his broad pinions, rose a little above the boat, and floated off, descending in a diagonal direc- tion to the earth. Lewanee had been so much interested in watching his movements, that he did not at first observe what he now saw with amazement, that there were two more passen- gers coming up, and that they also were flying leisurely und easily while the course of the air-ship was slightly changed for their benefit. One of the new-comers was a lady whose wings were white, tipped with vermillion, and otherwise fancifully ormamented, while those of her companion and of the man who had descended were of a more somber color, and seemed to have been made only with reference to utility. They chatted pleasantly together, as they flew along side-by-side, and when they reached. the car of the bal- toon, and alighted in it, they took off their wings, folded them and laid them aside, as if they found them too cum- bersome for ordinary wear. Lewanee could not help thinking that it would be safer for them to keep their flying appendages on, to provide against accidents, but they seemed unconcerned on this point, and subsequent observation convinced him that their confidence was well grounded. | Having sufficiently examined the travelers and their conveyance, he now left them and descended to the earth in. the suburbs of the town over which he had been for some minutes hovering, and on. his way he discovered and passed mavpy flying people, most of whom did not soar high, but merely cleared the tops of the houses and trees, seeming only intent on progress by what to them was an ordinary means of locomotion. He wondered that his guide had not prepared him for this extraerdinary sight. 7 But the eagle had told him of many wonderful things which he was to see, and perbaps omitted this uncon- sciously, or becutuse to himself flight was a@ normal con- dition, and it dis not seem to him particularly wonderful to find even mat endowed with it. ree men CHAPTER XXIV. > > * When the Ottawa had alighted in a highway near the town, and had made himself visible by removing his magic slippers, he found himself at once an object of ob- servation from the air, where a flock of people soon con- gregated over his head to view him. Then they began cautiously to descend and alight at a little distance from him, and when they found that they could safely do so, they approached nearer, accosting him, meanwhile, withentire civility. i “Who are you?” ‘“Whatare you?’ “Where.did you come froim?’? ‘Where are your wings?’ were among the questions which reached his ears, and while he hesi- tated in what manner to answer these inquiries, otber people, attracted by the sight of the crowd, came flying irom all directions, following each other like predatory birds hurrying to a newly disvovered feast. Yet their disposition was entirely pacific, and indeed entie. . “Do you understand? Can you talk?’ asked two or three who were nearest to him, while others more distant continued to put other questions, and to make signs to him, *T understand you, and can talk, buf I cannot answer so many questions at once,”’ replied the Ottawa, gravely. A great commotion was caused by this reply, and after some consultation, one, who had a look of wisdom, and an air of dignity, came to the front, and said: “You are welcome, strauger—for stranger you seem to be in these parts, althougn youspeak our Janguage. Does it suit your pleasure to tell us what part of the world you live, aud when and how you came out??? “Out !' repeated Lewanee, in surprise. “Yes. We know that there are no such people as you in the ‘Circular Valley,’ and although I have traveled over most parts of the interior world, (we all live there in the winter,) I have never seen or heard of any such in- habitants there. Still the earth is very large, and there are some regions of which we know but little.” ‘Do you speak of the inner world?” said Lewanee, turning questioner, and pointing down the gentle and nearly imperceptible declivity. “Yes, of course. Of what else could I speak ?”’ “What, then, is this ‘Circular Valley?” “Really, you have much to learn,’ replied the winged man, “if you do not understand that you: are now upon the edge of the shell or crust of tie great globe—the re- gion Which lies between the inner or inhabited part of the earth, and the outer or uninhabited part.” “What is this edge of which you speak? 1 see nothing here that looks like an edge, -1 see vast plains stretching away as faras the eye can reach.”’ “Very true, The earth’s crust is several hundred miles thick, and this northern edge of it has even a greater ex- tent, because it slopes gently from the outer to the inner surface. Do you see those distant ice-hills ?” “IT see them.” “They extend all around the ‘Circular Valley;’ and be- yond them, although you may not credit it, is the outside surface of the globe—so our philosophers teach,—a vast, sterile, chaotic region; but from which, if there were in- habitants to see, tenfold more of other worlds would be visible than from here.” “and are you sure it is not inhabited ?” “Some of our wise men think it possible that it may be peopled, but this is not the general opinion, nor is it in- deed probable, because the earth revolves at so rapid a rate that it would have a constant tendency to throw them off. All their time and strength would have to be given to holding on. Do you understand ?”? “Yes,” replied Lewanee. “But 1 willtake another time to instruct you more fully,’? said the other, ‘Doubtless you require rest and fuod. Come home with me, and after you are refrestied, you shall tell ime of yourself and your country, and how you have traveled so far without wings and without & balloon, for we know that you must belong to some very distant land.” “1 will go with you,’ replied Lewanee, “By what name shall I address you, my triend ¢” “Jam Isor the Tenth,” replied the strange man; and Lewanee wondered, but did nct ask why le was thus pumpered, or why he bore an appellation that sounded like a royal title, No one else had questioned, or sddressed the Ottawa, since they had selected their spokesman, though all had crowded near to the speakers, some on the ground and some in the air, listening attentively to all that was said. Of course the crowd had continued to increase, until it pumbered several hundreds, and it was still momentarily growing, So that the air was fairly Garkened in the direc- tion of the city, by clouds of new-comers on the wing. There were not a few ladies among these latter visitors, by tasseled cords, and their wings, of varicus bright col- ors, were Suspended from loops on the wall, ready for in- stant use when required. The Jadies were greatly astonished at the appearance of Lewanee, whom they mistook at first for some tamed ani- mal, but when IJIsor had introduced him as a stranger seeking shelter and rest, and when the Ottawa spoke some words of salutation to them in their own language, they atonce became exceedingly courteous toward him, although their amazement was in no degree lessened. They hastened to prepare a meal for him, which con- sisted, in great part, of ripe fruits, with a kind of bread, not unlike our wheaten loaf in appearance. There was milk, 65nd cream, and butter, and sugar, very similar to that of the outer world, and a hot aromatic beverage, re- resembling but far surpassing the most fragrant coffee. It filled the room witha grateful odor whenit was poured out, and when enriched with cream and sugar, seemed as if it well might serve the purpose of both tood and drink. ‘There was no animal food upon the table, and only one cooked dish of vegetables, which was of a kind unknown to the guest, but very palatable. He learned however, aiterward, that they had very many varieties of food, but that his repast was regarded rather as a lunch than a regular meal, and had been pre- pared hastily to meet his exigencies; for Lewanee, with the frankness of his race, had not hesitated to avow that he was very hungry. He saw no servants, and he learned from Isor that they knew nothing of such a vless of people. Work was extremely easy in the Circular Valley, all process of labor having been brought by science to the highest State of perfection; and no family, however large or small, required any other than mechanical aid. “Household duties,” [sor said, ‘‘were @ mere pastime, of which there was not enough for recreation, and which ali were emulous to pcrform. But when the Ottawa had finished his meal and was about to resume inquiries in regard to the wonderful things that he bad seen and heard, he found that his host was disposed to turn questioner, and he was again asked, though In the politest way, what part of the world ue had come from, and when he came out, “My home is very far from here,’’ replied Lewanee, “butit is not inside of the earth.” “But svrely itis notin the Circular Valley,” said Isor, interrupung him. “This Great Bowl, as wesometires call it, is onlya few hundred miles in circumference, and we know every square rod of its surface.” “Nay—it is not here.” “Excuse me. We must misunderstand each other,’’ replied theother, politely. “You must live either here or inside. n : “Nay—neither. My home is on the outside of the world, beyond those ice-mountains, hundreds of leagues away.’? ) lsor now looked offended. “Iam not a child,’ hegaid. a tale as this?” “I have but one tongue, and it is not forked,” replied Lewanee, gravely. “If my brother does not believe me, let us speak of other things.” ‘Can it be possible that this is true?’ asked Jsor, closely watching the countenance of his guest and seeing there no signs of duplie.ty or jest. “Itis true. That region which you suppose to be un- inhabited, teems with a population of hundreds of mil- hons. It has many thousands of towns and cities far larger than this. It has rivers and lakes, and great oceans , : “Hold there! Do we not know that the globe spins around on ils axis, at a rate which, near its equator, is equal to over a thousand miles an iour—or sixteen and a half miles a mivute ?” “It may be so,’’ replied Lewanee. “It is so,’ returned Isor; ‘‘our great astronomers liave demonstrated it, and scientific men who live three thous- and miles from bere, inside of the earth, and who have never been out in the Circular Valley, have arrived at the sume conclusion.’ “Well, Lewanee does rot dispute your wise men.*? “Well then, how can there be lakes and oceans on the outside of such a rapidly revolving, ball? I do not wish to dispute you. You may lave keen told this.’ “Nay, | have seen them.” “But they must be in constant and violent agitation. Their waters must be thrown into the air and far off upon lvetand. They must be terrible to behold, and dangerous to approach.” “Nay—tiey are often calm and tranquil as yonder gar- den pond. Only the winds agitate them, not the motion of the earth. The largest ships and the smallest boats sail upon them with equal safety.” “You tell me strange things. them.” ‘All the world is strange and wonderful.”’ “Very true. But you men who live on this great roll- ing bail; you have to be very watchful, 1 suppose ?”? “For what ??? “To keep on. Your feet are uppermost. Your heads hang down into space, and the globe is whirling with great rapidity. What kind of a life is that?” Lewanee knew too little of ihe laws of gravitation to “define his position’ on the globe, but he laughed and said there was some mistake. The people outside, he said, held their heads up. “What—against the earth ?? “Nay—'up’ is the other way there.’’ Isor pondered this awhile, and said that it might be so. Ile would talk with the philosophers about it. “But how,” he asked, “did you gethere? How did you pass the ice-mountains, and that region of cold so extreme that no inhabitant of the Velley or of the inner world @an live there for even a few minutes? You ha¥e no wings; you have no balloon—or have you lost your air- siiip since you crossed? Pray explain to me tis great mystery, that I may tell our wise men, who will be anx- ieus to hear your story.” Lewanee replied by asking to be exeused from this nar- ration at present. Sone other time he might gratify bis friend, Let it suffice that he had crossed the great moun- tains ana the frozen zone which separated the two worlds, (the outer and the imner,) and that he had the means to retura as he came. At present he sought information himself. If his bro- ther would give it—well. If not, they would part in peace, and he would go down into the earth aud see what he could for himself. Isor smiled at this expression, and told him that what now seemed to him down, would not prove so when he had progressed a iew leagues. But he did not propose to part with his guest nor to press him with distasteful questions. If he would honor him by remaining in his house, his will should be a law to them all. Lewanee accepted this invitation for a@ a@ay, at which his host seemed a itthe surprised; and perhaps thought he was about to get too much of a good thing. He was, however, too polite to receive the announce- ment with anything bat seeming pleasure, and Lewanee, jon his part, had quite forgotten that the Pokar days were six months long, “Why do you tell me such I cannot comprehend gayly attired, and with pinious as bright aud variegated (To be continued.) wine sneer 4 o ~ New York, July 7, 1870. PDP OOOO IO eae ‘The Terms to Subscribers: One Year—single copy .............. Ne ile oat Three Dollars. 4 ‘* Four copies ($2 50 each)............. -Ten Dollars. # “Hight cong ois a Peis Twenty Dollars. Those sending $20 for a club of Eight, all sent at one time, willbe entitled to acopy FREE. Getters-up of clubs can after- ward add singie copies at $2 50 each. Ali Letters must be directed to STREET & SMITH, Box 4896, N.Y. The NEw YORK WEEKLY is Printed at PRESTON’S ‘Great Press Room, 27 Rose street. ‘Office 55 Fulton Street. Liberty. Menof broad and expanded intellect, taking the worid’s history through, have ever been the advocates of human liberty. And, wherever education, productive of en- larged intelligence, either gains a foothold, or is to any ‘degree encouraged, be it in an empire or ina limited monarchy, the freedom of the people becomes literally ‘but a: matter of time. The education which a people dependent to a great de- gree on self-support and self-rule in a new land, gave to their sons here, produced the Revolution which made America free. For a people educated to think and act for themselves, felt keenly how wrong taxation without representation must be, and that it was not for them to labor here to support a tyrannous aristocracy three thous- and miles away. This preamble points to something of course. And that “something”? is a topic which, while it is discussed by every paperin the land, is awakening deep and earn- est sympathy among the people. Before we enter upon it, fully, we will say that in the colleges and schools of the United States, originated the moving principle which set the Revolution moving, to which we shall now allude. For at least fifty years the wealthy inhabitants of the island of Cuba have almost universally sent their sons here to gain an education. We say their sons, 1or male education és ever looked to as a necessity among Spaniards | and their descendants, while the female who can dance and sing, and flirt a fan, prettily, has about all they think she needs. These sons of Cuban sires, educated on free- dom/’s soil, have gone back to their homes to be trampled upon by theiren foot of tyranny; to support, literally, a foreign army and a foreign government by home means. Their-education has taught them that it is cowardly to bear this, and, as our fathers did, they rise against it! They have fought long, bravely, steadily, unaided ex- ‘cept by private sympathy, unrecognized by the freest government in all the world, but not without the sympa- thy of the people of thiscountry. And if our government would but do,. as we feel it szould do, say as France said to usin #ewr Revolution, if we do not aid with men and arms at once, we will with, recognition of your rights, and, in due and proper time, add to the volunteer Lafay- ette the open service of a Rochambeau, a De Villiers, ‘goon would the Gem of the Antilles rise a Venus of Lib- erty from the Southern Sea—a republic near at hand, ‘blessed with freedom’s holy light—a rampart on our own borders, instead of a nest wherein the serpents of tyranny may hatch or nest in the dark security of wrong un- heeced. There is much in Cuban history, now, to remind us of ourown past. General Jordan, like Lafayette, young, ‘brave and ardent, is a trusted and a faithful worker for a struggling nation in its darkest hour—now, after many a hard-fought battie for his adopted leve, he comes to plead her cause in high Official ears. That he may not plead in vain, we hope most earnestly. That our coun- try may, atleast, say to Cuba, ‘‘you have rights, and we can see them with official eyes,’ is our earnest prayer. When that occurs, the struggle will not for an instant rest.on doubtful grounds. Thousands, who, loyal to the core, will not step beyond the recognition of the nation’s law, will shout a cheering cry—men, arms, money, wil! rise on every side, and while tyranny mourns 0’er shackles riven, Freedom will rejoice over one more child born to bless her name. —_--— >- 6-4 “An Every-Day Man.” ‘BY REY. A. M’ELROY WYLIE. it struck me asa most telling phrase—a marvelously short history—a wonderful illustration of ‘‘multum in parvo.”? It may not thus seem toyou, kind reader, but te one who had moved muchin the world at large fora score of years, and has just heard it for the first time, it rung @nd rebounded along the avenues of memory as the seven echoes in the White Mountains. It was a simpleincident. I had left my basket in charge of a plain, farmer-like marketman, of calm, kindly face, purposing tohavehim fill it with apples as I returned homeward bound. Hurrying by at the evening hour, I missed him from his stall, and turned to his nearest neighbor, who, I learned, was directed to give me what I wanted. Upon referring to the good impression the honest-loOk- ing man had made uponme, he replied: “Yes, he has been here in this market for over thirty years, ana I know him well. He is an every-day man’’—“an every-day man.” This set me to thinking. What an amount of meaning does the solid, sensible ob- servation of the world condense into one short expression. It is the “Caiifornia baskets’ put up for travelers at Chicago. You open and finda marvelous variety in the utmost economy of space. Not only all the instruments and paraphernalia necessary for spreading a table, but a variety of provisions for the six traveling days of the week. What better description of a wearing character than this? You may besure that such a man is not a gushing individual. A gushing man’s heart is usually a wet weather spring—soon runs out, or runs only while cir- cumstances pour in their temporary excitements. He acts only ashe 1s acted upon. You may be sure he is not a great talker. “If words are silver, silence 1s gold.” Much talk wears out. Good listening wears better, and greatly helps on the every-day man. People soon notice that a great talker has usually little respect for the feelings and opinions of others. His Niagara of words is intended to turn the machinery of his own mill; so he can hardly be an every-day man. Nor is ‘‘an every-day man” quick at pledges. You see men whose pledges are hot, and their performances cold. They are quick on the trigger of promise, and bring down nothing, because they fail in steadiness of aim. Tney put down large subscriptions, raise high hopes and flat- teries, and then you are put under the shower-bath of procrastination or refusal, every time you knock for the pay. You may be sure he 1s not one who promises twelve, and performs six; whose ready offers start out like the hare, and whose deeds crawl like the turtle. And you may be sure he is not a nervous, restless, changeable character, trying, to-day, this position, and to-morrew, that. The hen that means to lay’an egg every day sticks to the same old nest. Biddy, that tries a new place in the hay-mow, moves now to one side, then tothe other, scratehes a little, sits down, gets up, faces, in turn, all points of the compass, and then, jagged by sharp points of the stiff projecting straw or stubble, darts off, and so never stays in one nest long enough to make it smooth and comfortable. He is not the maa to put off his honest behavior with his Sunday suit; who carries one face to church, and an- other during the remaining six days; he does not “pray on his knees on Sunday, and prey on his neighbors dur- ing the week,”* But positively, the every-day man is a great deal more. He is the reverse of all these negatives. His conduct is in fast colors. It stands the every-day wash and rub of this work-day world. His seemings-to-be are not prints on the mere surface of the wool, but hues and tints iz the substance and pody of the web. He seems what he is, and what he is, is the right and the true. He wears well, because there is no gilding of the rotten post, but the grain of the solid oak. He never tries to warp the judgment of a purchaser, or persuade him to take what he does not really need. Wherever he is, you may build upon him and his prin- ciples as with square-cut cubes of stone—he is con- sistent and truthful, and not as the hard-polished balls, which build nothing and sprain the foot that steps upon their plausible, slippery rotundities. Wherever he 1s, he is a man of allegiance to truth, to duty, and to the interests of his neighbor. He does not forestall the future, and seek to outwit principle by the discounts of policy. He is a straightforward man everywhere—in pulpit, pew, office, market, on ’change, behind the counter, in press, or on the farm, or away from home—a reliable man. Such a man you find here to-day, and you will know where to find him thirty years, or 3,000 years hence. —__>-_+____ God Speed the Temperance Cause. The careful and anxious observer of the signs of the times cannot have failed to perceive that, during the past year, a vast amount of good has been accomplished in behalf of the temperance cause; and its iriends and ad- vocates have reason to congratulate themselves that their united labors have been brought to bear so effectually against the stronghold of King Alcohol. It is indeed a pleasant and goodly sight to see so many individuals of influence and acknowledged ability labor- ing so zealously in this best of all causes. But what hun- dreds and thousands should there be where now one is found! How many there are who waste their precious | time in sighing for something to do, who do not see—or will not do even the little work that actually lies in their path of every-day life! May all such soon be awakened toa true sense of the duties which they owe to them- selves and to their fellow-men; for the great evil of in- temperance, which has hitherto presented a front so for- midable, should have all the strong hands and willing hearts available to combat it successfully. Perhaps one of the most fatal hindrances to success in this or apy other good cause is that feeling of discouragement which occasionally steals over us, leading us to think that we ean accomplish so litle, it is hardly worth while to con- tinue the attempt. But, dear reader, do not be overcome by any such delusion; do all and the best you can, leay- ing the rest to Providence; with results we have little to do. And though our most earnest efforts may be pro- nounced a failure by those who know not how to estimate them, yet, in the summing up and ingatherings of all things, our obscure and unappreciated work will be seen to have been the means of the greatest blessings and the grandest results to mankind; in lifting the trembling feet of our unfortunate fellow-creatures from the miry pit to a safer and asurer foundation—to the enjoyment of a higher and nobler humanity. Would that every thinking man and woman in the land would give this important subject their deepest considera- tion; and at once determine to enroll themselves under the banner of those who are earnestly striving to advance this glorious cause some steps farther into the surround- ing darkness of a world blighted by the sin and curse of intemperance. Mrs. C. A. HORNIDGE. ———_>-9-+____—_—__ Recreation, No one more than the mind-laborer knows the value of rest and recreation; few can feel more vividly its neces- sity. The body may tire—sleep and rest from labor res- tores it—but the overtaxed mind is but too often denied even that luxury, and wild, feverish dreams occupy it in the hours of slumber. That there is no work so hard as brain-work those who are experienced in all kinds of labor will teil you, In acchoice of recreation, tastes vary, even more than one would imagine. Some delight in equestrian exer- cises; others prefer to skim the bright waters; others Still, to roam amid the leafy woodlands or in the grand old mountains. : eS Some revel in the -thrilling horrors of dark tragegies; others love to laugh at mimic life in comedies; some revel in sweet harmonies; others care nought for any of these}. mental pleasures, but at a jovial banquet are all at home. These last we do not envy, for pleasures of the intellect belong to men and women, while appetite is purely ani- mal. There is one comfort. To all who have leisure, recrea- tion, of some kind or other, is plentiful and cheap, and it rejoices us to think that the columns of the New YORK WEEKLY afford remunerative recreation to many a mind, which, overtasked with toil or heavier thought, comes here'to rest, even as the tired, dust-choked citizen rushes out into the balmy atmosphere of the country for health and for happiness. be —____>-®<_______ Items of Interest. ka= A correspondent sends us the following: “Among the extraordinary stories which gain a certain credence in this age of wonders is one concerning a Mrs. Birney, who recently died near Deersville, O. At the time of her death she was over sixty years of age, and for the last twenty-five years has preached, every two weeks, while in an unconscious state! She did not take the trouble to write a sermon, or even to study her subject, as less gift- ed preachers find it necessary to do; but every alternate Sunday, about ten o’clock in the morning, after sundry strange and painful sensations, she passed into an un- conscious state, and delivered a discourse of an hour or more in length. These discourses resembled in style and matter the old orthodox sermons of half a century ago. Science has failed to fathom the mystery surrounding this wonderful case. The subject declared, herself, that she was wholly unconscious of what transpired during the “spells,” but she believed they were caused by a stroke of lightning which she received when about eighteen years old, and which for the time paralyzed the right half of her body.” ka= It is said that on the shores of the Adriatic Sea, the wives of the fishermen are in the habit at eventide, of going down to the sea-shore and singing the first stanza of a hymn, after they have sung it they will listen tiil they hear, borne by the wind across the sea, the eecond stanza sung by their husbands. 4G> In London it is proposed to paint the cabs of differ- ent colors. Cabs at sixpence per mile, are to be painted yellow, those at ninepence scarlet, and those at a shilling blue. They are also to have colored lamps. 4a=> The horse railroad which has been opened in Lon- don proves very successful. Itis an exact imitation of the American style, and is fitted upin the same way. One of the directors of the road drove the first car. 4 Co-operation has so raised the condition of the la- borers of Birmingham, England, that they have built and now Own 20,000 more cottages than they otherwise would. Ba The Ecumenical Council assembles in the Cathedral of St. Peter, at Rome, itis more lofty than St. Paul’s in London, the one being 464 feet, and the other 404 feet high. aa New York does one-eighth of the whole soda-water business of the United States. , 4a Daniel Webster’s carriage, presented to him twen- ty years ago, was recently sold at auction for $86. ; 4a The British Parliament has turned its broad back upon Woman Suffrage. j 4as- There are some twelve thousand American vessels, - and steam, engaged in the navigation of the northern akes. 4@- The Cincinnati Presbytery has resolved that no rains teacher shall be admitted to its church member- ship. 4a A Putnam, Conn., clergyman recently married a couple in the cars, without the knowledge of the other passengers, 4as- A baroness has died in Paris, a perfect miser, in whose hut were found a million francs. 4a- A pair of runaway horses overturned seven hives in Illinois, and the bees stung them to death. — aa Bennington, Vt., is importing colored girls from Virginia for house servants. aay The average price of meat in Russia is about five cents per pound. 4a The King of Sweden intends to make a journey round the world. si << English steam plows are now, in use in the outh. ka Bangor, Me., has a mud turtle weighing one hun- dred pounds. - ‘thun SUMMER HAS COME, BY MRS. D. W. MITCHELL. Ah! summer has come in her glory, Her ensigns of beauty I see, Rich garlands, of sweet blushing roses, Decking cottage, and arbor, and tree. O, queen of the seasons, we hail thee, Thy crown \s the richest in bloom, Thy robes of deep green are the purest, Thy fragrance the richest perfume. The forests are decked in proud beauty, The trees, with their mantles of green, Wave their scepters in grand adoration, Like visions of seraphs unseen. All nature awakes at thy coming, The woods and the meadows rejoice, The flelds and the flowers sigh a welcome, In concert with nature's glad voice. The sun mounts his chariot in splendor, As he opens the gates of the morn, Decking earth with a vision of glory, Brushing dew drops from forest and lawn. The bland summer sky’s smiling o’er us, Draped in curtains of purple and gold, Emblematic of a summer eernal, Where Christ shall his glories unfold. 3 Snare Impressions of European Travel. AVENUE D’ANTIN, ROND-POINT DES CHAMPS-ELYSEES, PARIS, May 25th, 1870. MESSRS. STREET & SMITH:— | Great indeed should be the pleasure and profit of trav- eling in foreign parts “strange countries for to see,’’ since the trials and tribulations are so many, even to one who escapes the initial agony of sea-sickness imposed by Fath- er Neptune on so many of our brave countrymen and lair countrywomen, who are just now pouring across the ocean, crowding every trans-Atlantic steamship. To leave a comfortable New York home, a good bed, and all the appliances of modern civilization, to be *‘cabbined, cribbed, confined,’’ for ten or a dozen days, to see noth- ing but the great, gray, wrinkled sea, and a gray sky, and to crawl at night into a narrow, damp reeess for sleeping quarters, is far from being either romantic or agreeable. Yet the experience of our thirty cabin passengers on board the good ship, Pripoli, Captain Haines, was unusu- ally favorable. Welhadnostorm; we were a band of brothers; we sat down to a well-furnished table: and we entered the Liverpool docks in a little more thau twelve days after leaving New York. But for many days there was a heavy ocean swell, and a constant roll of the ves- sel; as Hood says: ‘‘A dismal sort of morning roll That was not to be eaten.” But afew of us, including your correspondent, who rates as an ancient mariner, put ina regular appearance at table, and even your correspondent was glad enough when the cry of ‘‘land, ho!’ signaled the appearance of the lrish coast—a very bold coast, deeply indented, sin- gularly picturesque, but terribly dangerous. Three rock- ets and a blue-light, near midnight, on the 16th, brought off the pilot from Queenstown, and thelittle lighter which deprived us of the company of some of our liveliest lady- passengers. We gave them nine rousing cheers as they swung Clear of the ship’s side, and put off into the dark bay; then up steam again, and away across the rough, angry Irish Sea for Li 1. It was near midnight on the next day that our rockets and blue-lights again came into play, and a government lighter ran alongside and gave us permission to run into the Canada dock. These docks are the glory of Liverpool. Without them the great rise and fall of the tide (from 18 to 25 ft.) would be ruinous to commerce. As it is, vessels can en- ter and depart with the top of every tide, and when the ponderous gates are nineod! ride even with the pier, and discharge and receive cargo. They extend over six miles, are built of hammered Scotch granite, and cost $100,000- 000. The moment you land in Liverpool, you are con- scious of being in England. Everything is ponderous and solid, even ifitis smoky. The huge drays are drawn by animals more like elephants than horses; the build- ings are cumbrous and substantial; the railroad bridges eee, fabrics of masonry, that the heaviest trains er over without shaking, Yet there is elegance in some of the buildings. St. George’s Hall, a fine building in the center of the city, is a truly noble edifice of the Corinthian order of architecture. It cost nearly $2,000,000. The Free Public Library, the gift of Sir William Brown, one of the merchant princes of Liverpool, to his native city, is a noble institution. To it the Earl of Derby con- tributed his priceless collection of natural history speci- mens, and Joseph Mayer, a goldsmith, his museum of objects of ancient and medieval art valued at $375,000. Liverpool is Dy no means an ancient city. A century and ahalf ago it was nothing but a fishing village of about 4000 inhabitants; its population is now estimated at 600,000. Some idea of its activity may be formea from the fact that 1600 tons of goods pass daily between Liver- pool and Manchester, and that its yearly imports amount to 150,000,000 of dollars. In 1764 one half thslave trade was carried on by Liverpool merchants. Ithas now one- tenth of the shipping of England, and one-third part of ae Jf Until with t sunshine, through ch ode Of Mj : Far.as the eye could reach were gently undulatim and green vales, unbroken by any of the unsig and rail fences which mar the face of nature in America. Countless flocks of sheep and herds of cattle were brows- ing in the most verdurous of pastures; pleasant villages alternated with grimy manufacturing towns, until at last our train rattled into London, mighty London—not moist and repellant with fogs as it often is, but smiling under asky of American geniality and purity. How lovely the parks looked as I drove past them—how unfamiliar the old familiar streets looked, Regent street, the Strand, Fleet street. Cannon, in the Italian atmosphere ! oy J was in Fieet street the next morning when the news- | paper offices were besieged by the carts of the newsdeal- ers receiving their piles of papers. But lam off again early in the train for New Haven, passing through the ‘same kind of scenery lit up with as gay a sunlight as the day before. The passage from New Haven to Dieppe ‘across the channel was a pleasure trip, so smooth was the sea. Few even had the audacity to get up an attempt at Sea-sickness. : ‘La Belle France never looked pleasanter or more in- viting than-it did on that summer afternoon, when we were borne swiftly by rail through Normandy to Rouen. One after-recurring feature of the landscape was the rows of tall poplar trees lining the roads, canals, and s' reams —sometames appearing as masses of verdure, and again ag tall lances feathered at the top. Quéer, little, old, gray villages and churches dotted the hills here and there, but almost all we saw on the road was forgotten when we entcred glorious old Rouen. All travelers hasten to see the Cathedral, that grand old monument of Gothic art, the work of several cen- turies, so aged and venerable in appearance that it seems as if a fragment of its masonry could be crumbled by the hand, and yet, in its sturdy age, able to defy, probably, the tooth of time for several centuries to come. Its arched portals and rose windows, its many pinnacles and spires, elaborately ornamented, all speak of an age of in- spired workmanship that has passed away forever. The interior is singularly striking. It contains twenty-five chapels. In this sacred edifice were buried Rollo, first duke of Normandy, his son, William Longsword, and it was also the burial-place of Richard of the Lion Heart, King of England. It would require too long a space to describe all the objects of interest in this wondrous Ca- thedral. - : The Church of St. Owen is perhaps more beautiful ifnot so strikingly grand. Itis exquisitely harmonious through- out—fairy-like, and graceful. As you gaze on it, you un- derstand why architecture has been styled ‘frozen music.” The Palace of Justice is another fine and quaint old building. But, indeed, at every step you take in Rouen you meet with some striking building—some shrine, some statue, some crumbling relic of the past. A fountain surmounted by a statue of Joan of Arc poor- ly commemorates the fate of that noblest of French hero- ines, the Maid of Orleans. The place where she was burned alive, May 30, 1431, is still called the Maiden’s Square, It is proposed to erect, by means of a national subscription, a fitting memorial monument. : But with all respect to the memory of dead and gone heroines, one cannot close his eyes to the beauty of the living specimens of womanhood in Rouen. What lovely Norman faces! you are constantly exclaiming.. The dark- haired, dark-eyed maidens, with their quaint white Nor- man caps, form a peculiar feature of Rouen. One could linger weeks in this grand old city but for its proximity to Paris. Yielding to the attraction, I tore myself away from Normandy, and, at the close of a burn- ing day, once more found myself within the walls of Paris the elegant new opera house which has already cost six millions of dollars, and up the line of the boulevards. lam now in the pleasantest quarter of the city fora summer residence; within a stone’s throw of the Palace of Industry, and next door, as it were, to the avenue des Champs Elysees, the grand drive and promenade of gay Paris every afternoon; probably the first avenue in the world. Not far hence, is the great Arch of Triumph, and many residences of the noble, wealthy and fashionable, are in the immediate vicinity. Itis a beautiful quarter, as beautiful as pure air, rides, drives, walks, trees, flowers and fountains can make it. Here I shall pitch my tent for awhile, and if I can pick up anything in the life of the great city, to interest your readers, my pen will not be idle. Very trnly yours, =F. A, DURIVAGE. a kas- While the body of John C. Calnoun was lying in state in Charleston S. C., Col. Sloan took upa white rose from among the flowers upon the bier. The rose was taken to Anderson, and planted. It grew and bloomed. Since then it has been transplanted four times, and to- ‘day is blooming in the garden of tlie colonel, ‘ » v DOESTICKS’ LETTERS. THE GRAND BROOKLYN TOURNAMENT, We've hada Tournament. A Tournament, I tell you—a genuine, full-grown, large-sized, jolly old Tournament, freshly imported, (tax-paid, with all the Revenue stamps on,) from Kentucky Maryland, Tennessee, Delaware, the District of Columbia, and even from aristocratic Old Virginia herself, which, in this in- stance at least, showed her traditional determination to “never tire.”’ Not exactly one of the old-fashioned: Tournaments we read of, wherein certain Gentlemen, for the love of certain La- dies, smashed the skulls and caved in the ribs of certain other Gentlemen, which certain other Gentlemen in their turn did honor to their Ladies by punching out the brains, and tearing out the hearts of the first-named Gentlemen aforesaid. No! our Tournament warn’t exactly of thissort. In fact, I don’t believe the well-educated, Sunday-school taught, delicate, and-so-dain- ty-as-to-faint-away-at-the - sight of-a - drop-of-blood-drawn-by-a- musquito, young Boarding Seminary Bellesof our degenerate days, would exactly care to look on and see their lovers either smash, or be smashed, asto their skulls; either rip, or be ripped, as to the bowels necessary for the proper digestion of their reg: ular hash; either cut, or be cut, as to their throats so symme- trical and so nice to fit No. 15 paper collars on; either that, or be stabbed, as to the trembling hearts in their manly bosoins; either bleed other folks, or be bled themselves, to the extent of more than half a teaspoonful at most. Well, our dainty ladies were gratified, and they had their fun. It was announced sir knights would be present from allthe far distant southern States, where “tournamenting” is acemmon sport. So folks thought they would come in knight- ly dress, themselves and steeds in full glistening silver armor, with mace,.and lance, and battle-ax, and spear, and sword, and dagger, accompanied by squires, and heralds, and all the rest of it; in short, the romanticest and sentimentalest of the romantic and sentimental, of both sexes, expected to see the field of the Cloth of Gold reproduced; or, at least, they looked for a later scene, and reckoned surely on Ivanhoe, and Brian de Bois Guilbert, and Front de Beef again to be resurrected for their es- pecial benefits. Well, the day came—big crowd collected on Fair Grounds— women chattering like. monkeys—men growling like bears at delay—programmes cost a dollar apiece—soda water half a dollar—lemonade ditto—gingerbread five dollarsa yard—a glass of water, warm and full of mud, ten cents—nothing gratis; the dust, Was the only thing to be had without pay. We knew the knights were not to fight in earnest with real swords and lances, but we supposed that at least they were to ride at and tilt against each other, so that we might see an oc- casional rider toppled over in the dust, but no—even this smal pleasure was denied us. The renowned, brave, doughty knights were only to be armed with lopg poles, which they were to push through a ring, which was to be hung up on acord, and to carry said ring away on the end of thelong pole. Nochance of anybody tumbling, no chance of accident, no chance of ex- citement, no chance of anything. Indignantly, Q. K. Parianprer Dogsticxs, P. B. ———___—__»>-@<--—_____———- To Correspondents. Gossip wiItH RrsaprErRs AND CONTRIBUTORS. — School Girl.—The reason why the President is inaugurated on the 4th of March is because the Constitution of the. United States specifies that bis term of office shall begin on that day......... L. F. F. L. —We do not think you would be benefited in the least. Go toa physician that you know to be a good one....... Howard, R. I.—There would be nothing improper in a gentle- man’s asking a lady, with whom he has become acquainted, for permission to call upon her. If such permission be given, it 1s not necessary that the lady should set a particular time for the WEES oats Grace Austin.—Your love for the soune gentleman cannot be so great as you pretend, or you would not have treat- ed him as contemptuously as you did. It was bad enough to have dismissed him once and immediately after take up with another gentleman; but to take him back to favor and agai dismiss him without cause, was adding insult to injustice. You and your mother appear to us very fickle-minded women, and you would be justly punished did the young gentleman treat your overtures for his return’ with the same contempt that he has received from your:hands, If he returns to you, be true to him, for the best-natured man in the world will become disgust- ed with. chronic porleper: nieve .—Ist. There is such a thing as constitutional Gehing, and it cannot be cured save by mingling in society. 21. Quacks. 3d. Run daily the blade of a pen-knite around where the flesh and nail connect, and by so doing you willsoon get rid of hang nails .....Stupid.—A quack. Arabella.—i he fare from Philadelphia to Detroit is about $16.... Sea tae James S. Smith will please accept our thanks for his kind- ness in forwarding the long list of names of persons for us to send specimen copies of the New York WrEEKLy to. All who will forward us names of their acquaintances that do not take the NEw YorK WEEKLY will confer a favor on us...... A. L. S.— HACK. 545.50 J. R. 7. C.—We have neither time nor space to ive to the elucidation of mathematical conundrums..... She Philip Overton.—ist. It is not impossible for any one who has the least musical taste to learn to play the piano at the age of 25; but it is iikely that the same person would have become a much better player had he commenced the study of the iostrument at an early age. We do not think you could learn to play on the piano without the assistanee of a teacher....... . California Ist. We have never heard of the doctor or his book before, am therefore, can give you no opinion as to his ability or the book’s merit. 2d. No cure hasever yet been discovered for enlarge ment of the heart, although it is not uncommon for those who are afflicted with the disease to live many years and enjoy good health most of the time....../. { —Excessive exer- cise is exceedingly hurtful, and from it results many evils, such as premature old age, consumption, para! SIS ORG. caine S00 School Girl.—Ist. The story has not been published in book form. 2d. If you practice ane or a while each evening you will soon write a very good hand.... Mary and Lou write: ‘‘We write to con-- atulate you on your good fortune in having engaged Mrs. M. Victor to write for the New YorK WEEKLY. e have read several stories from her pen, and think they are really splendid. We think, as you do, that she will at once become a favorite with your readers, and we cr you will publish her new story as soon as possible. ‘We have read the NEw YorK WEEKLY ever since we could read at all, and have gained some very useful information from its columns. It seems like an old friend, and we would hardly know how to get along without it. However, we do not mean fo try, for we would as soon do with- out our breakfast (and that, we assure you, would be gerent trial) as'to do without the mk. orw, - ard the MSS. and we willexamine...... H, C. D.—A gentleman who solicited. per- mission to see a lady to : — her home thevevening he was intro- duced to her would not be guilty of any breach of otinmeste- tHe Monmouth.—ist. We do not know the firm. 2d. Your pen- manship is excellent.....-........Al H. © Worthington.—lf you read the story of “Squirrel Cap” with the least attention, you must have discovered that “the Cap- tain” was a woman in. disguise, that she was the wile dé the m ter of Allie, the « waif., This of Major Warfield z i ‘ in” was so anxious about the ly explains why “ihe Cap irl .... .Curiosity.- it f our space * aie ; ‘ . give th snification of a few of the different roses: © al, ifies ppy love; Burgundy, “unconscious beauty;”? Cabbage, 7 sador of love;” Campion, “only deservemy love,” Cary na, ‘love is dangerous;’? China, per daily, ‘‘toat smile spire to;’? damask, ‘‘freshness;” dog, ‘pleasure. and ping. oss r is hundred-leaved, “pride;? moss, ‘superior merit;’? m bud, “confession of love; musk ¢ r, “charming;” sweet- brler, “sympathy” tea, ' Lys lovely; white, ‘I am wo: : of you;” wild, “simplicity; and yellow, ‘decrease of love.” Remember, all the above are roses. 2d. Js would be an imper- tinence to ask to see the private diary of either a lady or gentle- man. 8d. Your handwriting would good did you not make those letters which go below the line:so long that t oe Shae obliverate the writing on the line below......S. Booth—tist. If the white spot on your eye to which you refer be cataract, it can be removed. Before having aught done to youreye you should have it thoroughly examined by the physicians of the Eye and Ear Infirmary, No. 216 Second avenue.. The cians attendant at this I ary are as skilledin the treatment of the eye and ear as any aoe in the world. 2d. The New York Ophthalmic Hospit is situated at No. 387 Fourth av-. enue......Jud, Oakland.—Wedo not know the ph. ‘ you refer, consequently Cnet er eae he is oris nota good, skillful doctor.. .... Sister et A woman should permit no gentleman not nearly related to her to Kiss her. We never knew of a man who liked to have the woman he wanted to make his wife, kissed and by other men. is —once more drove through its crowded streets, passing perfectly proper for a lady to a gentleman who has been spending the evening with her to stay a little soon again. It is, also, flattering to the gentleman’s feelings, as he imagines that the lady does not wish him to go because he has made the evening pass pleasantly by his* conversation. 3d. Your handwriting is very good ..... Di cannot get the New YORK WEEKLY bound at the office of pub lication, but can have it bound by any book-binder, 2d. Differ- ent poisons require different antidotes, and without a knowl- edge of the poison by which you have been affected it would be foliy for us to prescribe. You should go to a doctor...... : Legal ion —It is not too late for you to commence ‘suit against the sheriff for false imprisonment; but we think it would be unwise for you to do so, asajury would not: be like- ly, under the circumstances, to give you a verdict sufiicient to ay the expenses of the litigation...... P. S. Woods.—I\st, Your handwrituis is poor. 24. by desisting entirely from the bad ractice the trouble of which you complain will disappear...... ank Verne.—Forward, and when we have examined it we will be able to give an opinion as to your chances for success. pLndek so ‘ulcan.—We know nothing of him beyond vertisements inform. us, and on ready to recommend him........ Knight of the Gotden Spurs.—1st. We Know of no way in which you can recover the money. By addressing the post master he might be able to tell whether the letter had been sent tothe ‘dead letter office.”? 2d. No recipe ean be given that will force the growth of the beard. 3d. The weight can be lessened by avoiding food which contains much farina, sugar, oil, or tat.. 4th, In the ‘Knowledge Box,” No. 29, you will find directions for making pea-nut candy. 5th. Your penmanship is good. 6th. When a-lady and gentleman acquaintance meet in the street, the gentleman bows first Newton H. : X commonplace, and_the lines are destitute of melody Semper Idem.—ist. Yes. 2d. It is probable that the mother has the idea that were you to marry her daughter, the offspring would not be healthy. The idea that the o: to the offspring of other marriages, has been pretty well ex- ploded. ections to your mar andsome ha 4th. The only way in which your hair can tongs are exceedingly injurious. to the hair, ad unlake,— arrant humbugs. 5th. We do not know.........8. 6. D ist. Ollendorf's system of French edged to be the best. . 2d, ft l years, to become an expert phonographist. ‘‘Munson’s System of Phonography,” is one of the best works of the kind pub- lished. 3d. “Were you in town,’ is the proper phrase. A verb must agree with its subject in person and number. ‘You? isa plural pronoun, and its accompanying verb must agree with it, Holapigeon.—ist. Your handwriting isgeod. 2d. We knowof no reparation that will promote the growth of hair on the face. i “Squirrel Cap” ran through ten numbers of the New York WEEKLY, which will cost you 60 cents...... .. Harry Johns.—\st. The individual was guilty of a breach of good manners, and no excuse whatever—without reply or notice. 2d. You should merely say, “Will you honor me with you company in the nex ‘dance ?” 4 Yeung Machinist.—lst. Inform the lady’s father and mother of her expressed determination, and leave them to act for her best good. Your plan would sound well in a romance, but in real life it is simply ails: and might subject you to the contempt spies receive. 2d. If you have occasion to make any more inquiries, be brief, as we have not time_to read three pages of closely written foolscap on a matter which might be stated in a dozen lines..... . Bowguet.—We think the father and very wise in objecting to their daughter marrying a The association named js a notorious quack affair. he in- dividual is a quack....... A, J. Longs ist The word “boudoir” fs pronounced ‘boo-dwor.” 2d. The New York WEErKLy is in its twenty-fifth year. Previous to 1858 it was published under the name of the NV. ¥. Weekly Dispatvh. 3d. Your penmanship is not up to the bookKeeper’s standa think you can be entirely cured if you goto a good physician, one educated for a physician. If you goto the quacks who res to have specifics for every kind of disease, you will on!y ure your health......... 0. C.S., New Albany.—lst. Every one of the individuals named isa quack. 2d. We decline positivel, answerlng inquirers by mail.....Fast.—lst. A power o ‘attorney isa written authority given to a person to act for another. | 2d. We know of no evening law school. 3d. You are none too old to commence study. Some men who reached great eminence in were twenty years of age. 4th. Your penmanship would not be a bar to sou obtaining a bookkeeper’s situation.......... E Gray.—The fellow is a quack........ Si us sufficient to induce us to publish an Oacentat ane of the longer, or to cali ht.—ist. You what his ad- their statements we are not 7.—The poem is without merit. The sentiment is pring of marriages | pea between cousins are likely to be mentally or physically inferior ere you to show the lady’s mother that she hoids erroneous opinions on this snbiethe she. may withdraw her ob- ge. You write a good, but not a be curled, without injury, is- by putting it in ee Curling | “I wonder ifthare iz enn. and curliques are udy, is generally acknowl. |, l take you from 18 months to 2 you should have received what he gave as an excuse—it being | m man unable to support her.......... A Voice from ae at j OEE Prince Edcard.—We learning and in science, did not know their alphabet when they ; gene ‘ateen.—You ould not pay THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3 kind you forward. We regard the advertisements calling upon men and women to correspond with vuknown rascals as the most pernicious, which find admission to the columns of a paper...... Francis Aurelia.—Ist. There are spectacles by means of which near-sighted persons are enabled to distinguish ob. jects at almost a great distance, and as distinctly as do those who are not near-sighted. 2d. Atter using these glasses fora time, the person who uses them cannot see so well without them as before using them at all. 3d. The glasses will cost, in iron or horn frames, from $1 to $2 a pair. Gold and silver frames cost more, of course, although the glasses are no better, 4th. Your writing is good, and your spelling correct............ A Sufferer.—Your father or guardian can have the man arrested and punished.,........ tomeo and Juliet.—Ist. “Komeo and Ju- liet’’ is the title of one of Shakespeare’s plays. 2d. We should say thata sewing society would hardly be the proper place for @ MRM; cases Spanish Cuban.—ist. We have no space for the ublication of such nonsense as the handkerchief flirtation, We doubt if any one has ever been silly enough to use it, or if so, it is unlikely that any one could be found sufticiently insane to understand the signs. Tron is sold by the pound, not by the BOK... > neni Chifi.—1st. If you do not stop the ractice you will soon find yourself the inmate of a lunatic asylum, or a candi- date for a Goffin. 2d. The encyclopedia is a very good one.... ..,..-The Marine—A marine is an enlisted man, and 18 asea soldier. His pay is about the same as that of other soldiers. For further particulars apply at any navy-yard......... ., Georgi Ashley.—st. One.ofthe locks of hair is dark chestnut in color, and the other is black. 2d. There is not the least truth in the statement that man and wife of the same complexion never live happily together. If they have good sense, their complex- ions will not make much difference. 3d. Your handwriting 1s BOO ee ioe 55.58 Seipio.—The English, from whom we take our system of numeration, define a billion to be “a million umes a million” (1,000,000,000,000). The French, and we are gradually falling into their definition of the word, define it as ‘‘athousand | millions’ (,000,000,000). We do not know of any law of the kind. 8d. Were you to read the New Testament you would not ask so foolish a question..........Whamati.—Take lessons in dancing and mix in the company of intelligent men and wo men...... ++....S. Rodd.—\st. You cannot do better than go out west, if you have the disposition to do any kind of work which offers. ymen and do-nothings are not welcomed by the brawny sons of toil who are tilling the soil, and building roads and cities, tunneling mountains, is the same word _as the English “bulwark,” and or nally nt the r art of a fortification or fortified town. As the old ificati Paris were leveled and walks and streets took their pla people continued to term them “boulevards,” and now come to have much the same meaning as the give tothe word “avenue’’—“a- wide street.” ’ know what ‘‘ramie roots” are, but think the name ape of the nonsensical combinations common among rage The word “ramie” is evidentiy trom the Latin “ram s Braschi” athe } ater. “ See “Knowledge Box’ for recipe for ma 5th. Ned Buntline does intend writing a sequel: p Bill.” The pee aoe time + pebuests . oe oat will “yay nounced. he proper time. . Wes pu stories from the pen oft ‘Edward S. Ellis. 7th. ‘of the persons named write exclusively for the New York WEFELY.........Videx—A quack........Zom Hall.—1st. The Princess Beatrice Mary Vic- toria Feodore, daughter of Queen Victoria; was born on the 15th of April, 1857, and 1s now a little over thirteen years of age. e A voy good trade indeed...,....Are You Bee,—Ist. You should say “You are welcome,” or “It was a pleasure, not a trouble.” 2d. Certainly you should thank him. 3d. It would be proper fo raise your hat, bow, and bid the lady “good day.” 4th. The — guest should be the first to say “good evening,” as otherwise he ht think his entertainer ina hurry to get rid of him. 5th. A degree, in geomeiry, is the 360th part of the acircle. 6th. A geographical line 1s a circle of latit gitude, asr na map. 7th, What you wrote on second page should have been written on the third Ms of the paper........ Boy .—list. The effect of tobacco is to injure the nerves of sensation. to disturb. the action of the organs of the stomach, and to thin the blood. Its use is, therefore, hurt- ful to all, butit is especially injurious to the live, or nerveus. 2d. Your pea. is poor......-. D. F. Gordon.—A quack...... ient Servant.—You should apply to the ca bad of some ship......:..#rou Frou.—ist, It is usual, oer a courteous, to address a young man of 19 or 20 as ‘Mr. Boys from ten to fifteen are ust : ‘ er.” 2d. “See “Knowledge Box,” No. 29, for recipe for hardening the’ hands. pee yx Jacobena.—In the human male puberty is established be- tween the 14th and 16th years, and in the female between the 13th and 16th years in temperate climates, and somew#fat ear- lier.in the tropics and in the midst of the luxuries and excite- ments of city life:...........Jonas st. If there is any- thing the matter with your eyes, go to a skillful oculist at onee. We will not undertake ive advice for the treatment of so delicate an organ as the eye. 2d. Nitrous oxide gas should not be given to those who have lungs, nor to those Lelie tos rush of blood to the , aS ete o @ serious results, © Like all other things which sti te greatly He frequent use _ : POEL marina Peps, Bigane wack! Be tnftore were ] dal : should ete or exercise......... Mr. Policeman Brown. ou —Ist. The system recommended is a very good one. 2d. B. ractice, cop er @ good y carefu copying , you can become an excellent penal serseres R. We wae ails ea question in No. 31............Alice.-—Divorces can be easily and cheaply procured. in the State of Indiana. strength. There is nothing better for strengthen! ae organs of the body than cold baths. You should tak them ¢ rally. 2d. Have no fear whatever of marrying, as instead of - F ing injured in health thereby, it is likely that you row in arensth SAE ree tr 3 avae tet Better,—1t is not neeessary that a- foreign vessel should hoist the American flag before Anteringian: Fare age ore If rae —— — fave eer flag on entering one of our por: is an act of cou not of. co! ering One Of Mie folowing MES. Bae bdeu an Soe aaa be published in the New York Weexty: “The Law i’d Make,” “Jamie,” “Summer,” “A Ballad,” fhe Summe: der a Roof of Te “The Sparrow’s Chirrup,”” DCAM. (00.255 ¢¢ +s e following are declined: *‘ Lifetime,” ‘Constant Love,” “The B Median Maid,’’ ‘I Think of Thee,” ‘Poets,’ “Childhood's 3,” “June - a “The Tear which Glistens,” “Sold,” a ‘To Every - in. Particular and Mothers in General.” ¥, uit The Josh Billings Papers. Once on a previous time, about four hundred thousand years ago, in the old ov the moon, during a verry dry spell oy weather, just after a hard frost, when grass butter waz sk whilevenus © was an evening star. An old ant; who had lost awlov her front — A YARN.—THE AUNT, AND ‘THE GRASSHOPPER. | teeth, and waz twisted with the rhumatiz, a pollypuise in her noze, sot in aneazy chuir, near the front door ov an aunt hill, superintendin a phatt _kurnell ov wheat, which the yung aunts weer trieing tew git down cellar, into their house. Jisst then along cum a loafing ¢: , Smoking a pipe, and singing, ‘“‘Begone dull care, i pray thee ue on from me.”— and spieing the old ant, giving orders tew the yung aunts, he stopt tew hav a talk with her. Lees i “Good morning, old mother Industry, good morning !’’ sed the grassbug. “A fine cernal ov wheat that, yu are rooling in!” “Hav yu herd the grate news? ey rediull sharp fros ht! “Winter willsoon set in, i reckon! “I herd the owls hute last nite! : : “Terribel bad acksident on the Harlem road yestergay ! “When dew yu think specie ments Will be took up? “Thare! mi pipe haz gone ont, Kant yu lend me a maich? “How menny aunts hav yu got in yure village? — mS “Epny si¢kness amungst them ¢ Ru i et “J wonder if thare iz enny truth in the déspatch, that the piss- — mires, down on Sandy Creek, hay all siruek for higher wages? “Who do yu think yure ants will vote for’ for justiss ov the ce? : ; eer ‘ “What iz yure solid opinyun oy the new license law, will it niake rum enny skarser? 1 es eer . “ctr “Do yu buy enny grocerys ov old Ferguson, i hope not, he iza mean old skinfiinter, he sold me, only last week, a peace ov bar for sum beeswax? et} i ‘tit truth in what j Z about old Square Benson, that he Kant pay, only now and then, sum ov hizdets! — mee ive APSuuia really like few kno how they age a gitting’ along “IT shou y like tew kno, how they are a si zaher tat times for them i guess, yn don’t think they will win- ter, do yu ; “When duz the moon change now days? © nd - got enny onion seed tew spare, that yu Kan rec: komer . : “Dew yuthink England will ever pay the AlNabarmer klaims? “J kant see what makes the cockroaches so stuck up,i met one this morning, and before i could put two civil questions at him, he was out oy sight! ey “Sum folks are alwus in sich a swetting hurry! ee ‘aint thare sum good law agin the spiders ng their webs the grass? ; ¢ ¢ “How mutch wheat haz yure aunts got laid up; yu must hay sum tew spare? k \ “T wonder if it wont up and rain, before tommorow? “They tell me that maple sugar iz a drug in the market, owing to its peculiar mutchness; yu kant te, kan yu, whether thisiz so or not, i wish yu could! ; 2 “Mi opinyun now iz, that he who livs to see next year, will see buckwheat a bigg ere ‘ “J overheard the older hens say, azicum past nabor Sher. man’s lower barn this morning, that eggs waz gitting a good deal on plenty, and they must git tew work agin! ec “Well! iaminanawiul hurry,iam gomg down tew tenda jumping match between Springsteel, and Steelspring, two yung grasshoppers; this iz tew be the last hop ov the seazon. | “T must be a going! at “Tam — sorry i kant stay longer, and make yu a visit j ee “By the way! ©ld mother Industry, i hav got a profound sekret, thati want to tell yu, but i wouldn't hav it known bi ennyboddy, for awl the World, if it should git out once, it would ruin me! ‘ pied s ad - “Phen keep the sekret t ynreselt.) spoke the ant, “itiz worth” more to yu than ennyboddy else.” This iz every word the bizzy old ant sed, but ea eye all the time on the phatt keernel ov wheat, and the. loafing grass- hopper moved eff, whistling “Sally cum up.” 3 ¥ REMARKS. ; This iz the way with all loafers, if they kant steal ynre time with idle questions, their last dodge iz to steal yure credulity with an idle sekret. } in * oy e world iz gitting more full oy wussness ey: ry day! sf "a . Nery Deddy sez, SPLEEN AME TAR, TON G6 AEN IRON ON iP a. 5 hE MINN AIN FT DORE RRM OE NI LC eee ety anneal: Stale A icine hetiiaatensigeentaparasnon THE CHILDREN IN THE COUNTRY. BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. Let them frolic, let them play In the woods the live-long day; Youth will soon enough be over, With its summer joys, Let them romp among the clover, Happy girls and boys. Running barefoot in the san— Disappearing, one by one, Up the trees to pick the cherries Bending with their weight— Creeping through the hedge for berries Swinging on the gate. Plucking buttercups so gay— Hunting hens’ nests in the hay; Merry little sons and daughters, Full of fun and glee! Wading through the shining waters, Innocent and free! Free from Fashion’s tyrant rule— Free from lessons—free from school, With its busy tasks and duties; In some cozy nook Let them learn of nature’s beauties From her open book. A OHARMING STORY OF ENGLISH SOUIETY. ELLA ST. MAUR; THE HATE OF A LIFE-TIME, By Wirs. Jennie Scott. CHAPTER TI. Seventeen years ago, when the remote partsof England Were not easily accessible by road er rail, the journey from London to Dartmoor was a long and tedious one. The service were few and far between; the trains only stopped at rare intervals, and the advent of a stranger was an event in that out-lying spot, where every resident Knew his meighbor,no matter how distant that neighbor might be. There waS'an express train on Saturdays, when the representatives of the agricultural community returned from their visit to the metropolitan market, and this ex- press bad an addition to its usual complement of travel- ers in the person of a gentleman, who arrived one Satur- day afternoon, in June, eighteen hundred and fifty-three. lie was a handsome man, of distinguished bearing, slen- der and powerful in build, and somewhat military in the grace of his carriage. His age was apparently thirty years orso, though it was difficult to tell at first sight, for he looked younger; closer inspection revealed the work of time and worldly care: is brown hair was slightly streaked with gray, and there were some deeply-printed lines about the mouth, and on the massive brow. He wore & magnificent mustache, that covered his upper lip and hung several inches below his lower. jaw; his teeth weresSingularly white and even, and he showed them when he smiled; he often smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile to 100K at. ° He left the Dartmoor station, and, carrying a valise in his hand, he made his way through the village to a stately house that stood high above him, and before, on a hill. it did not seem far distant, not a mile as a bird would fly, but the winding of the road multiplied that mile by sev- eral, and the stranger aid not like the prospect of his walk. : “} wonder if this fellow would give me a lift,” he mut- tered, pausing as he heard the light rattle of wheels behind him ; “some village doctor, | should say, by the look of the herse.” The approaching vehicle was an old-fashioned gig, very wide from wheel-to wheel, and with plenty of seat-room for two in the clumsy square body. The driver was a-tall old man im black—very rusty black. The stranger, with a keen eye for the ludicrous, perceived a painful likeness between the heads of the horse and the driver. The stranger waiting for him stood in the centre of the road, as the proprietor of the gig would have gone on. The stranger had a very decisive way of doing things, and not expecting too much courtesy from the tall old man in black, determined to exact all he wanted. Nites “My friend,” he said, and said it-with the polislied accent of a gentleman, ‘‘can you direct me to Luxbridge Park? I am sorry to troubie you, but I~ahem !|—am almost a stranger here.”’ : The tall old man in black started at the first sound of the voice, started visibly, and the stranger, looking at him more keenly, Seemed to recognize him at last. “That is Luxbridge House,” said the owner of the gig, pointing with his whip to the house on the hill. “Thanks; you are going that way?” The tall old man in black hesitated. There was clearly a seat vacant by his side, and he could not in common courtesy, or in common hospitality, refuse it to a traveler who was evidently very tired. “Partly,” he replied, after.a pause. “Partly? Well, a mile or so will be a help; for the day is hot !? and without waiting for an invitation, the pedes- trian threw in his valise and mounted after it. “Thanks,” he said, taking his seat and a cigar from his pocket at the same time. ‘You can drive on, Mr. Ray- ner, formerly of Lincoln’s Inn, attorney-at-law. I have just remembered your name, you see—Luke Rayner, guide, counsellor, and friend to gentlemen in difficul- ties.” Mr. Rayner looked at him uneasily. The gentleman by his side was twirling his magnificent mustache, and smiling his unpleasant smile, and there was a lurking devil in the beam of his dark eyes. His rich red lips were parted slightly, and his teeth displayed in athin, glitter- ing line. “You have the advantage,”’ the tall old man in rusty black said. “Have I?” the stranger laughed as he spoke, and the laugh jarred disagreeably on the attorney’s ungainly ears. “How you must have changed—grown ingenious and simple in the innocent air of Dartmoor! Tlie man who can take advantage of Mr. Luke Rayner must be gifted with more than an ordinary share of talent.” “The advantage is in knowing me,” said Rayner. “Rather a questionable advantage, I should say,” and the stranger laughed again. “Here, however, is my card.” The card was inscribed, “Gustave de Traville,” and Mr. Rayner, reading it aloud, added that he did not know the name. “should wonder if you did,” and there was something behind the smile this time that made the old man in black grow instantly interested in the stranger. “The voice and manner are familiar,” thought Rayner. “T feel that we have met before; I should like to remem- ber when and where.” They were near Luxbridge House now, and De Traville, regarding it silently, seemed to have a gloom come over him that saddened his handsome face, though the sad- enss did not mar its aristocratic beauty. ‘Fate wills strange things,”’ De Traville said suddenly, and with an inward sigh. ‘I should think that nothing was so unexpected as seeing William Luxbridge come in- to the whole of these estates, and the guardianship of the , old baronet’s young charge—I forget the name—Ella— ’ “Ella St. Maur,” put in the tall old man, astonished more than ever with the stranger. “Thanks, Yes; lremember now. But I thought, from what I knew of the family history, that Colonel Carlton was to be old Sir George’s successor, and have charge’ of Miss St. Maur.” “It-was supposed it would be so,” fuuke Rayner said; and he averted his face from the stranger’ssteady gaze, “The baronet, old Sir George, died very suddenly, aid he not?” ~ The tall old man’s face was stillaverted. A reply came slowly, reluctantly: “Yeg,?? Luke Rayner was not communicative purposelegsly, less so On this occasion. De Travilie thought so, but he only smiled, and he went on: “Colonel Carlton was not present during the last few Lours of Sir George’s life?—did not see lim alive, m fact ?? *“No,”? Every word seemed dragged out of the rusty-coated at- torney, Perhaps he would not have answered had he been able to keep silent; but he was leit no chance; and El took the insinuative cross-questioning of the stranger with a@ very bad grace. “The colonel came too late,’ he added, and the sallow face grew sallower. “Are the cousias, Sir William and the colonel, friends now??? De Traville asked, and he watched the old man’s face keenly. “I don’t kKnow,’? Rayner answered, after 2 long pause. “Yet you are well acquainted with Sir William, You know the family well—do you not?” “Very; and their history too.’ There was more distinct purpose in those words than in any Mr. Luke Rayner had previously uttered, and De Traville made a mental note of it. “Indeed. I see now that you are the legal gentleman (there was alittle emphasis on the word ‘gentleman’) that Storry spoke of—Walter Storry, of the Temple. He has for many years had the Luxbridge affairs 1n hand, until, in fact, Sir William was made baronet; then But no matter, my friend; here’ is Luxbridge House. I am sorry you came out of your way te oblige me. Itis an instance of inborn chivalry that I. appreciate. Few men would inconvenience themselves so much.as you have to oblige a tired traveler.” There was a tinge of sarcasm in the voice; there was a sneer on his proudly-eurled lip. He had alighted, but paused, with his hand on his valise. “Thanks,” he continued. ‘I enjoyed the drive, and : your company. again,” and lifting his hat ina half sort of real earnest, he strode gracefully up the carriage drive. Mr. Rayner shifted round uneasily in his seat, and watched the stranger, whose stately tread echoed along the gravel path. Neither the stranger’s form nor voice had faded from the old man’s mind yet, and he echoed, yj as he drove on: ““¢We shall meet again.’ Most likely we shall; Mr. De Traville. Ishouldn’tlke to swear we hayen’t met be- fore.” Gustave De Traville, almost somber in his grave quiet- ness, walked slowly up.the carriage drive—walked slow- ‘ly, for the sun was setting in dusky splendor, and he, with an eye that loved to dwell upon the picturesque beauties of fair nature, was charmed with the woodland scenery that spread away to the right and leit of him. Carried away by bis undirected thoughts, he diverged from the gravel path, and wandered among thickly- studded trees until he was suddenly brought to a stand- still by the trunk of a large oak that lay across his path. \ m=, ‘ 3 \ a ANS, Ky SS An old.man, with white hair, and time-furrowed face, sat upon the fallen body of the tree. His head was bent down, his hands lay on his knees. He seemed lost in reverie—a painful reverie, De Traville thought, for there was unmistakable sadness on the old man’s face. He rose to his feet when he saw De Traviile, and touched his cap respectiully. He would have walked away had not De Traville, with a softer smile on his face than had yet been there since his arrival at Dartmoor, kindly bade the old man stay. “You belong to this estate?” Gustave asked. ‘Aye, sir. Ibe the oldesthand here. Ive been stud- groom for nigh forty years.” There was a touch of sadnessin the old man’s voice, a sadness De Trayille noticed; and, wondering at the cause, he Hevenpd to the groom’s talk with a slight degree of in- terest. ‘Are you Still in that capacity?” he asked. ‘Noa, sir. Ibe no favorite wi’ the baronet, and should ha’ gone long afore, but they don’t loike to kick the old man quite out, sir; and more nor that, when I wor robbed o’ my rightful berth, sir, Miss Ella made me her groom. She be a sweet critter, sir, she be, God bless her.”” “Poor old Joseph Sadler,” De Traville thought, ‘he does not seem to remember me... All. the better, perhaps. So you area favorite with Miss St. Maur, are you?’ he added, aloud. “Well, sir, she be a feeling critter, sir, and didn’t maybe loike to see I turned off like a dog when age comes on. nies they ain’t kicked old Joseph ont yet; noa, not quite, : ‘Do you have many visitors now? I suppose thelbai~ onet’s ward is an attraction?” ‘ De Traville spoke hesitatingly—spoke as though the thought made him uneasy. . ‘Noa, sir. sive, loike—too much §0, and only sees-a few lady friends now and then, Ah, she was old Sir George’s pet, and th Colonel’s pet—Colonel Carlton; and I don’t think Sir George be far out when he says she wor a angel. But [ should like to see that melancholy leave her pooty face, h should. It would. do old Joseph good, it would.” A slight tinge of color stole into the stranger’s hand- some face, and a bright light shone in his fine eyes. “You may have that pleasureyyet,” she, said, smiling. “And so Miss St. Maur keeps herself from society, does she?, Well, there is not much to be gained by going into it. Well, good day, Sadler, I shall not leave here yet, arid a see you agains’’ € strode on then; and the old man, touching tis cap, took his former seat and former, attitude; and Wegan to brood strangely over things that troubled him—troubled him so much that he.felt he would haye»to put-his thoughts-into™ words, and tell them—to. whom? He wanted “a friend, a friend le could trust. Where was one? And his eyes followed the stranger’s form. De Traville went straight to the house. He was evi- room, and informed him Sir William would be with him immediately. : CHAPTER II. The baronet did not keep De Traville waiting. He came into the room with a quiet, stealthy tread, and only paused, when his gaze fell upon the distinguished form of his visitor, and the greeting was one of cold formality. Sir William Luxbridge, who would have been ordinari- ly termed a handsome, easy gentleman, unaffected and with a tolerable share of natural grace, did not show to. advantage before such a man as Gustave De Traville. _ Sir William lacked the lithe, powerful grace of his vis- itor; he was shorter by two inches, and his hair 1n direct contrast; was black, his eyes were small and restless, and with a hard glare in them, his mouth was straight-cut, his lips thin and pallid, and when closed seemed immova- bly locked. The sides of his face were adorned with short, crimp black whiskers. “I expected you would have arrived eatlier,.and waited dinner,” the baronet said. ‘Your letter, Gustave, in- forming me you were in England, surprised me slightly.” De Travillessmiled his unpleasant-smile. death than’ my appearance here,” he said. “But, how- ever, dinner is waiting, and I have had a long and dusty journey.” “lhave had aroom prepared for you,’ the baronet said, with a well-affected consideration; and ringing a bell ordered the servant wlio answered it to conduet De Traville to his room. Gustave was glad of the opportunity to wash the dust off his hands and face. He was not many minutes, how- ever, before he appeared in the dining-roomy and the covers were lifted, De Traville looked round the room, a little surprised to see the baronet alone. “My ward, Miss St. Maur,’’ Sir Williamsaid with much dignity, ‘cannot join us, Travillé. ‘She has a few young lady friends in her own apartments, and, I believe, a din- ner more suitable has been prepared for her.” Traville bowed, and took his seat in silence, Few words were spoken on either side during dinner; but when the cloth was cleared, and the dessert put on the table, the butler retired, and the gentlemen were alone.’ “Have you seen Colonel Carlton 2’. the baronet asked. “I saw him before any one else. He does not seem happy,’’? De Traville answered. “Does his unhappiness arise from his disappointment?” asked Sir William. . “I should think not. Colonél.Cariton would “not efivy you your riches,’”’ De Traville said. “If he feels any re- gretit may be at having been quite ignored in the will and testament of the late Sir George. ~ De Traville looked straight at Sir William as he spoke, and the baronet kept his eyes fixed on his wine. “I thought,” said Luxbridge, “that you had intended to remain in France until you grewrich. Have you done so ?? “No, or I should not have sought you. It is best to be plain. I, like you, would give much’ to forget the past. Neither of us can while we. meet, and, therefore, had I succeeded in my earlier dreams and grown rich, I should have kept strictly from old friends and old associations.” A slight tinge of color came into the baronet’s face. Traville noticed it, and went-on: “Pardon me, but I mean no offence, ‘We have never /quarreled, but I am sure you do not like me, because 7 know too much of your past, Luxbridgée. Bat what of that? I have been no better; I hope, though, no worse.” De Traville lighted a large cigar, and leaned carelessly back in his chair. “Ido not see the necessity nor the reason of this re- capitulation,’ the baronet said, quiely. ‘You do me injustice.” “Do I? Weill, I wit make amends. But here’s the simple case: Five years ago, or nearer six, we parted. I, who had no family, no relatives, no anything, had lived Poor thing, she seems to be quiet and pen- - dently expected, for the.servant led him.to-the reception “You would have much rather expected to here of my |. THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. aslong asI could upon society and my friends. You— who had married thirteen years before, squandered the best part of the fortune you had with your wife, and broken her heart—soon spent the rest, but for the little you put by to educate your son—lived like an adventurer then, as such men usually do, got into trouble, and I too. No matter. I went abroad to live by my talents, such as they are, leaving you with the promise that should I ever want help, and it was in your pewer to give it, I was to apply to you, and vice versa; though the debt was on your side. You had once or twice been kind to me; I committed a felonious act to serve you “4 “But why not let this rest??? said Sir William, inter- rupting the other. “I never forget; I never break my word.” “Aly, well, cher ami?!” said De Traville, falling instant- ly into his old careless strain; ‘‘we will forget the past. However, you see, I went abroad, got on very well, ren- dered the government of France a signal favor, for which Iwas made the Chevalier De Traville, and received a slight annuity, which, I may mention in parenthesis, as the writers say, is a very smali annuity indeed. 1 grew restless—returned to England, and having learned of your unexampled food fortune, sought you out—because I want help.”’ The baronet mused while he listened, and De Traville, becoming suddenly grave.again, went on: “I am sick of the life I have been us @—~<- BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR. Scheming Wadelon: THE SECRET DOOR. By the Author of ‘‘ Peerless Cathleen,’’ ‘‘Lady of Grand Court,’’ and *‘ Rose of Kendale.’? “Sche ming Madelon” was commenced in No. 31. Back num- bers can be had from News Agents throughout the country.}) CHAPTER, VII. Matthew Gould walked stealthily across the carpet, and paused before the panelled picture of his great aunt, Miss Susannan Gould. He set down the lamp: upon the man- tel-shelf, and then he touched the spring in the golden frame of the picture, and Miss Susannah’s saucy face and light blue dress slid out of sight. The horror which Madelon experienced lying hidden under her black cloak passes all power of description. Detection, shame, expulsion from her uncle's house, all stared her in theface. She dared not rise to her feet, and attempt to escape to her room; the door was fastened, and the key was in her pocket, and she feared that the noise she should be compelled: to make in turning the lock would be heard by Matthew Gould should he come out through the secret door rapidly, which he might do, if he encountered Castle; therefore she lay still and trembled. Meanwhile Matthew Gould had unlocked the secret door, which lay behind the panel, and descended the steps, and was now threading the downward passage, for this passage was an artificial hall leading from the draw- ing-room floor to the first floor—a strange old monkish corridor, built in the days when the house was first con- structed: and soon Matthew Gould stood before the door which led into his library. He turned the key in the lock—this key was always left in the keyhole, for he believed that he alone in all the town of Marsden knew of, this secret entrance—and then the panel was before him. He touched the spring; down slid the picture, and three bread, shallow steps led him into his library. Horror and disbelief of his senses held him speechless. Seated at the-table, on which a lamp was burning, was Robert Castle, articled clerk to Mr. Grimm, solicitor. A pen was in his hand, a parchment was before him, and the will—the actual will wherein the wealth of Madelon’s uncle was bequeathed to the British Museum and other institutions, was before his eyes! What passed through the soul of Castle it was impossible to divine, but asud- den resolve possessed him. Everything that made hfe valuable to him was at stake, and he acted with a wisdom and courage worthy of a better cause. He returned the uncle’s stare of amazed wrath with .a cold, abstracted gaze, as though unconscious of his presence. Then dip- ping his pen in the ink, he went on writing with the ut- most coo]ness. The effect upon Matthew Gould was first to amaze, and then to infuriate him. “What are you doing here, you rascal?? cried Matthew Gould, Castle continued to write with the same imperturbable calm. Then. Matthew Gould made a step toward him. But he was a man on the verge of seventy, and the strong, red- haired youth bad not yet entered his twenty-fourth year. He felt instinctively that in a physical contest with Mr. Robert Castle, the elder man was nearly certain tobe worsted. While hehesitated the room suddenly became much darker, the only light being a feeble glimmer from the lamp carried by Matthew Gould; and then Matthew Gould felt something rush past him... The lamp he carried was flung to the ground, and he was teft in utter dark- ness. The whole had passed so quickly, the shock had been so great, that the old man tottered feebly; he felt giddy, sick, ill; he groped his way to a sofa, and lay down on it, trembling in every limb; and then the thought dawned upon him—a terrible thought for one stricken in years—that the whole had but been a phantasmagoria of a sickly brain; the first prelude to severe illness; the first clutch of that cruel toe, paralysis. The conduct of Castle, if it had been Castle in the flesh, was unnaturally calm, self-possessed, insolent in its se- curity; he could see yet the gray eyes raised coldly to his as though he saw him not. The red young hand clutch- ing the pen as he dipped it into the ink, and again he heard a scratching of some parchment. “No living man,’’ urged the unhappy uncle to himself, “could have behaved in that cold, unconscious manner. I must get alight and search, and see whether my will is really in its drawer. A light, alight.” His trembling hand sought and found 2small box of lucifer matches in the pocket of his dressing robe. Then he tottered to his feet ana groped his way to the mantel- piece, where there was a large wax Candle in a sconce; he struck a light upon the box, and then lighted the can- dle; for a moment it burnt dimly with that weird un- earthly luster which only seemed to throw the gloom into stronger reiief, but then it; blazed up brightly and Mat- thew Gould. stared about him eagerly and anxiously. Everything appeared in perfect order.: That terrible will which consigned Madelon to poverty, or Mr. Grimm, was no longer .on the table. the ink was kept, the chair in which Castle appeared to have been seated was placed far back against the wall; the whole aspect of the room was that of perfect repose. Only on the floorlay the broken lamp, and a dark stain of oil marked the bright green Brusseis carpet. Had a sudden seizure caused him to lose his hold of the lamp, and was not all the rest the effect-of his disordered brain ?. First, he must search in his drawer for his wilh He had never kept that drawer locked’ because the key of the outer door was always in lispossession,. and as for the secret passage he had not the remotest idea that any one save himself knew of its’ existence.’ He opened the drawer—there lay the will coiled up and tied with string, neat as when he had last placed it there. Then he walked to the door which led mto the hall, that door was firmly locked, and evidently had not been tam- pered with, the key of that was safely in his own poeKet. One conclusion alone could the poor old man arrive at: he wasill, he was about to be paralyzed, he must get back to his bed-rcom, he must send for a: doctor in the morning. He found his way back to his room; closing the panels and the secret door behind him, he undressed, went to bed, and his sleep was disturbed with uneasy dreams of Castle. In the morning Madelon took ‘her usual walk in the garden before breakfast. At the end of the garden was a very high moss-growu wall, a few stones had been re- moved from itin.one place so as to forma rough and un- safe staircase. Close by this part of the wall grew a large lime tree, whose rustling branches obstructed the view of that portion of the garden from the windows of the canon’s house. Madelon mounted the rough stair- case and sat on the soft moss at the summit of the wall; her pretty feet dangled down on the side nearest her un- cle’s garden, but her pretty head was turned toward the garden of the Dean of Marsden. It was a delicious garden, this garden of the dean’s. A smooth lawn came right up to the spot where Madelon had placed herself. A belt of laburnums shut her off on that side from the view of the dean’s windows; so she sat on the wall, sheltered by the trees from nearly all the prying eyes of the neighbors, from nearly all—but not from all. “There was a certain copy- ing clerk of Mr. Grimm’s called Peter Ribston—a small, flerce, dark-eyed man of French origin on his mother’s side. For some reason or other, some carelessness reported to Mr. Grimm by Robert Castle, or some slight that that young gentleman had unthinkingly.put on the paid de- pendent, Peter Ribston hated the articied clerk with the undying hate of the,Southern nature. He watched all his actions stealthily, He had said to more than ‘one per- son that Castle should not go to his grave without making acquaintance with the inside of a prison. | People laughed at this threat, but Ribston repeated it, On the morning when: Madelon, in her white dress sprigged with pink roses; her, dark hair tastefully ar- ranged and uncovered, sat on the moss-grown wal) like a model for one of Mr. Millias’ paintings, Ribston was watching her through a tiny window ef a back stairease of Mr. Grimms house, and then he saw Castle stealing alo. a bush-skirted path in the dean’sgarden. | Present- ly Castle emerged by the laburnum trees, and anon he was under the wall talking to Madelon.» All this Ribston could see from his perch on the back staircase of Mr. Grimm’s house. But he could not hear the conversation that ensued between the unprincipled young pair. “What a fright 1 was in,’ said Madelon, laughing, for it was her policy to make as light ofthe affair as she could to Castle, and to undevalue the great and perilous service which he was rendering her. ‘You never half explained to me last night how it was you escaped and dodged my uncle so nicely. Only to: think of his going to bed and saying nothing about it to anybowy, and this morning he has sent for the doctor, and leeches have been ordered to his temples; he is ina feyer, and Dolly heard him tell the doctor that he had been into his li- brary late, (he kept. ali that about the secret door, quiet, of course,) and had seen one of his friend Grimm’s clerks writing at his table as calmly as if he had been writing down evidence at the assizes, and then his lamp fel! out of his hand, and he. became very ill. ‘You must take light claret instead ofheavy port,’ said the doctor, ‘and you must not drink strong tea, and you must walk half an hour before meals.’ Ha, ha, ha,; what fup. “We shall have him taking gruel, and going to bed early all the week; all the better for us. {+ suppose you turned down your own lamp, and knocked his out of his hana. You did it very well but Il was fearfully frightened. I have got the will safely in my box locked up; in a few days it shall be witnessed. Whatdo you think of Dame Washington’s fete? Of course you will be there.’’ Her face was radiant as the summer morning which bloomed around her, but there were dark circles under Castle’s eyes, and he was paler. than was‘his wont. “You treat it very lightly, Madelon,’’ he said, “but un less I had the presence of mind to act as though I were a ghost last night, [should have been detected, disgraced, The desk was locked in which * ccvmrtasensineastan Ug "aller wie ee ee == — —_ + — —-+---- --- * Na > Ls (Qo y 6 N OR 2 >2sXo YY) 0) 0: C/A 2 Tee a . = ee — . cmerecmvenncn are 2 SRSA ERS FEN AER ES a RSE EET A A eS TO Se ema SSS Se and ruined for life. You should think a jittie of what I] skirt fell tastefully upen alower skirt of white embroid- “It would be awkward,” replied Madelon coolly. | ened under the influence of sparkling wine. Mr. Grimm For Wioth Patches, Freckles & Tan. risk for your sake.” ered cambric. A large white hat shaded her face, not | *Someb.dy would be certain to see you, you would be | was positively, jovial. Madelon ‘heard their voices, but The Wy pen sie . entrance of the castle. “And pray, What do you expect me to do?’ asked Madelon, mockingly. ‘So throw my arms round your neck and kiss you? J am peiched up here tvo high for that, and besides, I hate kissipg.” te “You have got the will now,’ said Castle, viciously, “and you think you may mock me as niucii as you lke, but I would have you remember, Madelon, that I have only to go to your uncle, and contess what I have been foolisn enough to do for the love of you, and you would be turned out of the house, and lose all chance of ever inheriting one farthing of the’ money you are so greedy after.” “J care nothing for threats,’’ cried Madelon, flippantly. “J shall put the will out of the way, where they will never be able to find it, if they bring this accusation against me, and then J can declare it is all your spite, your unmanty spite, because 1 won’t marry you.’? “Good Heaven,’ cried Castle, and his lace grew livid with the intensity of his emotion, ‘then do you mean tu cheat me after all~—you won’t marry me?”? “Had you not better go. and buy tue ring at once,’ re- torted Madelon. ‘And then, perlaps, you will take me home to your mamma, who, since she las five daughters already, might possibly think me a little in the way; or, will you éake rooms for me over the draper’s shop down Monk's Hill, and will you support me on the fifty pounds a year your papa allows you? You ought to know that as long as my uucle lives, I must keep friendly with him. True, we have forged a will, but he can yef make another, and outwit us most completely."? “T wish your uncle was dead,’’ said Castle, gloomily, “‘} should not ery very much,’’ retorted Madelon. “But you know we can’t kill him—we must wait, my good Robert—we must wait. AS long as he makes no other will than the one which old Grimm has finished for him, our will will carry the day. Butif he makes another, it may cause unpleasant complications. I tell youl have made up my mind firmly not to offend him: “You are a deceitful, heartless creature,” cried Castle, passionately. ‘Loving you as I do, risking all for you, as Lhave done, and now fo be told this socoolly. Why, only last week you said that we should be married as soon as ever the will was made.”! “You were @ simpleton’ to believe me,’ scoffed Made- lon. ‘i don’t want to marry any body.”? “An outrageous falsehood | cried Castle, in his excited anger. ‘I know—I feel by a sort of instinct—that you will do all you can to marry Jervis Wilmot. Then you will let the willgo. Lady Wilmot and fifteen thousand a year will suit you admirably, will or no will. If so, be- ware.’? He elenched his fist and smiled bitterly. “What a generous, self-sacrificing lover you are!” sneered Madelon. Her face had flushed crimson when she discovered that the secrets of her heart were read by Castle. Madelon paused for a@ moment; her subtle brain was busy in the difficult problem she had to solve—how she was to become the wife of Jervis Wilmot, and yet keep Castle quiet and tame. Her head was jowered,.and from her splendid gray eyes . oe gleam shot out in the direction of the articled clerk. “How dreadfully in my way, is this vulgar-looking creature,” She said to herself. “I have got the will, and armed with that I could gain the hand of Jervis Wilmot; and after all L believe I could inherit the hundred thou- sand pounds, if only that creature could be kept quiet. Just now he wished my uncle was dead. It would be very convenient, perhaps, if my uncle paid the debt of nature; but [ had far rather that Mr. Gastle were drowned in the river, or would succumb to the cholera. He is terribly in my way.” And a frown knit her fair brow—so frowning—and with a light clear as the light of stars in her wonderful gray eyes. i She turned her head toward Castle; amd the infatuated young man—watching the pink, fluctuating color on the damask cheek, and the quick beating of the restless heart under the cool, bright morning-robe—felt himself intoxicated, delirious, at the mere sight of her beauty. It was an unequal compact between these two. One gave all he possessed: his love, his time, his tooughts, his character, his future, his honor—everything that he had hitherto held precious—for the mere privilege of holding the hand, and gazing into the eyes of that disdainful beauty; and Madelon meanwhile gave nothing. She ex- acted all. She was not even grateful. Intensely selfish, the beautiful girl, who had been ill brought up, and taught nothing noble, saw in her fellow-creatures simply tools to be used in the building up of her fortunes. When these tools had done their work (and Castle, wretchedest of tools, had assuredly done his,) Madelon desired nothing more than to trample them out of sight and hearing for- ever. “T wish he would go away,” she thought; ‘ugly, red- haired simpleton—how I detest his face. Ii heonly knew; but I must try and conciiiate him. He could be danger- ous; he could be very dangerous. Robert Castle,’ she said, trying fo speak calmly and amicably, “won’t you wait a little while? My uncleis an old’ man; he cannot liveforever. After he is dead we can produce the will. Wecan be married. Until then we are engaged. Ought not that to satisfy anybody ?? ; ; “It would satisfy me,’’ he answered, drawing closer to the wall, and looking into her face with an impassioned gaze. “It would satisfy me, only you do not behave as though you considered yourself engaged to me. You do not seem to love me.’! ‘ i She burrowed deep with a small pencil-case she held in her hand into the soft, green moss which grew thickly on the top of the wajl before she replied to this charge. Her eyes were hidden now from Castle, but at last she looked up, and a bright, cold, crael flash electrified the unhappy young man. “To tell you the truth,’’ she said, measuring each word coldly, for she hated Castle, and she took a malicious pleasure in wounding him, ‘I don’t love you; nor admire’ youin the least, for you are not my style.” 0 7 She watched his ruddy face grow white with mortifica-+ tion under this iusult; and then a look, a ferocious look, which she read in the eyes and in. the close-shut ips or’ Castle, arrested her speech, and made her half repent of her merciless words. > L dA 8 Bia & “I am not a spaniel,’ he panted forth, “to be trampled on, kicked, and abused, and still to come whining to your feet. | You may torture me, but 1can be avenged on you. ; Eo “ «There is no need for torture or revenge," she saitl, speaking with a quiet, hard sniile. “I have promised to be your wife when the old man dies, if that will satisfy you. A pretty wife whom you love, and whio Will have a large lortune, ought to satisfy you, Mr. Castle. If you want the love as well, you are rather exacting, and it strikes me that you do not set about the right way to gain it.. Who knows but that I might love you very much at the end of six months, 1f you were always quiet, patient, and amiable?! “} would obey your lightest wish if I could trust you,” said Castle, nearly sobbing; ‘but I cannot trust. you.’ “Thatis a pity,’ she replied coldly. ‘‘Presently Mrs. Dean will ring the beil for breakfast, so I must wish you good morning. 1 am too far out of your reach here to give you my hand to bid you adieu.”’ “Stop—say when | shalb see you again,” cried Castle eagerly. She shrugged her shoulders. “Who can say??? she answered. prisoner I am."! “But now the old man is ill," urged Castle. “Can you not come out to-night aud take a walk by tlie river?” ; “No,’? she answered, frowning. | “Mr. Grimin comes here to-night to pursue his courtship, and Miss Marttia accompanies him to play propriety since my uncle is ill.’ Mrs. Dean told me that already this morning, conse- quently 1 can’t see you again to-day, bat chance will throw us in each other’s way soon.’ Tnen she turned away her head and descended the rougi, uneven staircase formed in the wall. +? “She is gone,”’ said Castle to himself; ‘gone, and with- out thanking me—eyen thanking me.” Then he tarned lis face toward that part of the dean's” garden whence he had made his secret entry, and from the window of Mr. Grimm’‘s house Peter Ribston watched his departure. Tnen he took out a smail pocket-book, and wrote down in it the date, the Gay, the hour, the fact of the conversation with Madelon. “And he seemed to threaten her,’ muttered Ribston to himself. “He certainly seemed to threaten her.” 31 CHAPTER VIL. It was theiday of Mrs. Gandy Dashington's /ete, a lovely afternoon in the beginning of August. The band of the Ninth was playing a delightful waltz, but dancing was not to begin until much later. A gay Crowd was assem- bled already upon the smooth flower-bordered lawn that sloped down to the park, carriages kept driving up to the gates, and the crowd increased every moment, It was as fanciful and pretty ascene as ever tempted the pencil of Watteau. First of all the landscape was a superb specimen of the sylvan, home-like beauties of English midland orsouthern scenery. The park was rich in wood and lawny slopes, and opening glades of emerald verdure. Beyond were hills clothed nearly to their sum- mits with trees; here and there sheets of water, the far- famed fish-ponds of Castle Yanworth glittered like molten Silver in the sun’s rays. ; The lawn on which the company were assembled was ~ “You know what a ' fianked by a noble terrace of stone, whose wide step3 led to a flowered parterre which extended before the front On the lawn was a tent of white and crimson cloth. Inside this tent was laid out a splen- ' did cold collation for those who did not choose to expose themselves to the heat of the sun. About fifteen little boys from the village had teen . dressed by Mrs, Gandy Dushington in fanciful pages’ cos- tume of the middle ages. Tnese pretty boys, clad ii doublet and hose of scarlet and blue rose color, green, and violet, carried about chumpagne, pasties, chicken, tongue, delicious fruit cakes, allthe delicacies imuagin- able, on dishes of silver or the finest porcelain. The company itself was a study fora painter. Every- botly wore a fancy dress and mask. There was Queen _ Elizabeth, in stiff vrocade, diamond stomacher, and enor- mous ruff. There was Mary Queen of Scots, dressed in black velvet as for her execution. Sir Walter Rateigh wus there,and Amy Robsart and the Earl of Essex. There were flower-giris and fairies, saifors and shepherd- esses. The glitter of the gay clothing. the merry sound of young voices, the sweet and spirited strains of the band, ‘ormed altogether a joyous and brilliant picture, where sound and color blended together in one harmony. Ttieve Was one mask dressed as a squire in helmet and armor; his figure was splendidly knit, he held himself erect and walked with a certain air of @gnity and grace. Upon his arm leaned ashepherdess, whose short blue silk upper ‘| Madelon Gould,”’ that she stood in need of a shade, for she wore a demi- no; ber figure was slight and beuutiiully proportioned, her slender throat and white hands were exquisitely mo- delled, The squire in armor, and the shepherdess in blue, wan- dered away from the laughing crowd and entered a small thicket of lime trees and sycamores. As soon as they were out of sight and hearing of the others, the squire cast himself down without ceremony upon the grass; he took off his helmet and mask, and disclosed a dark, hand- some, thougutéul face, with which the reader is already acquainted. “Take off your mask, Maud, and sit upon the grass, for it is so hot.” The shepherdess unfastened her domino, and the face which was disclosed looked anxiously into that of Arthur Melrose. Maud Howard was not so beautiful at first sight as Madelon Gould. It was a small, fair, rosy face, with large, bright, trustful blue eyes, and a sweet, tender mouth, sensitive and feminine in its every curve, her abundant hair was of a brilliant chesnut color. Miss Howard was considered a beauty in the county. She, like Madelon, was ap orphan, and resided witli an uncle, but she inherited anindepencent fortune of twenty thousand pounds, and her uncle, though an.old fox-hunt- ing squire, was affectionately attached to her, and she ruled completely in his household, Thus the conditions of her life were far happier than those of poor Madelon Gould. She had been reared in an atmosphere of love, and her naturally flne and generous nature had been highly cultivated. She was, indeed, a pure and perfect type of exalted womanhood. She and. Arthur Melrose had been companions fronr childhood:, Arthur’s father was‘a gentleman with a large family and poor estate, but: he was.reepected'in the coun- ty; his grounds and those of Squire Howard’s met, and the families were intimate at one another’s houses. Miss Howard had come to the fete with a Jady who acted as her chaperone, She and Arthur Melrose ‘had recognized each other by a sort of mutual instinet, and without any pre-arrangement had paired off in the manner we have described. “You do not look well, Atthur,’? said Maud, and her voice was tremulous as she spoke. . : ‘“T am very anxious, Maud,’ he replied. “Anxious,’? she repeated, ina voice which she strove to render gay and careless.: “Why, you have notbegun the cares of business yet.*) ._ i “Tt has nothing to do with business, Maud,’’ he: said, hastily. ; ; “Ol, then it is more serious,’ she/cried. “A lady in the case, Isuppose, Arthur.” Her bright face looked anx> ious in spite of its brightness, as she put the question. Arthur saw nothing ofthis, he thought of Maud only as a pretty girl who had been his. playmate in childhood, and friend and confidante in maturer years, ; “Yes, Maud, there is a lady in the case,” he said, slow- = | The color had faded out of Maud’s face. ing of the changes which passed tempestuously over the smooth, rounded cheek. “T am in love,*? said Melrose. : A slight shiver thrilled through the frame of Maud for aninstant, but she gathered up her courage as witha great effort. : wld franld like to. know the lady’s name,” exclaimed aud. ; ‘It is a beautiful name,’ replied Arthur; ‘a sort of poem in itself—Madelon.”” Mails a4 “Madelon Gould #) inquired Maud. ; sc¥es,7? iva ; “Then where did you fall in love with her??? “T saw her throughour office window,’ said’ Melrose, “walking in the garden, and then I mether at Flam- borough Court, at the fete.” “Then why are.you so sad,” asked Maud, still striving r speak cheerfully. ‘Does not Miss Gould return your ove??? i Fay" “Yes, and—No,’! cried: Melrose: ‘You ‘know I have Seven brothers, Mand, but no sister; you. liave always been aS a sister to me, Now 1 want your advice. -I can’ trust youso completely, Maud.?? ‘ vit Thereupon Melrose told Maud: Howard ail the story of Madelon’s difficulty regarding her uncle’s will, and Mr.’ Grimm, Solicitor, “She isengaged to him in the eyes of the world, and ofher, uncle,’ continued Melrose, bitterly. “She hates him in her heart; but what is she to do? Then there is the will. I am sadly afraid she may do something wrong about that will.” . HIS : “What would she do??? asked Maud, quickly. . Melrose felt confused. He hardly knew what an- swer to give. The question of Maud showed, him how completely infatuated he had become with Madelon Gould, when he hadtearnt,to contemplate the possibility of her. committing a forgery as a,mere weakness or imprudence, for which she deserved compassion, he saw at once that Maud Howard, honorable,;pure, and( high souledias she’ Was, would be desperately shocked at the idea of a girl, whom he loved, making herself amenable to the laws of her.country; and yet. how was he to solicit her to give kindly advice and sympathy to Madelon, unless ‘she un- derstood, not only her trials, but hertemptations. There- upon he drew closerto Maud, and told ‘her all; he spoke in a quick whisper, and Maud; listened, growing pale: and paler, 4 i uid aici wudnt 3 1 109 “She does notloye, you said -Mandy;in \an indignant tone. “Do you tell me that she Will not wait for you, al- though you have offered her faithful, devoted, passionate luve, she will not be content to give up the prospect of this miserable wealti, even in return for an affection like the excuse of filial affection to ngaged to Mr. Grimm, horrible ! An odious kind of mairhe is, I have always heard, and she is here at the fete.ut iS C ‘is quite determined. hiiim also. Arthut Something like. garb of an angel of light. You love she has eee S: aud raven hai : eyes have lo:t | their brightnes gray, What sort of an old\ or ren hearthstone? A le old wo- man; she will W and talk scandal; she W euver to “marry her daugh , wiil bring up her children, Arth vic! vA implore you, taink no more of Pe Ba ‘Arthur's face flushed Hot, and then, became pale as ashes. jee LL amet “I was stupid and weak,”’ he said, ‘to. expect that one woman could be charitable toward another. I am very sorry, Miss Howard, that 1 have intruded ‘my anxieties and eee upon your notice. Now, if you will allow me, I will conduct you back again to the ¢ ny where numbers are regretting your absence. [need not add, that all. I have told you has been confided Rese: the seal of secrecy, and that although I may have nh Mistaken in attributing to you a kindness and warmth of heart ing com- which you do not possess, I am still right in plas plete donadenice inthe high-souled honor. of Maud Howard.” i ra Se She bowed haughtily, as he spoke thus. “Thank you,’ she said, bitterly. ‘But high-souled honor can hardly rank_among the first female virtues in your estimation, since Miss, Madelon Gould represents for you the purest type of womanly excellence. As for her. kindness and warmth of heart, qualities, in which it ap- pears I am so deficient, I trust that they may come up to, your expectations in every respect. need not tell you, that your secret is perfectly safe with me} re-assure your- self on that point if you have any.doubts.”’” E fyoghe # And Maud walked proudly away: an “How indignant she is. Pretty little Maud, I neyer saw her angry in all my lifé before. Is she envious of Made: | lon’s beauty. I have always thought her too generous fur envy. Cuan it be, can it possibly be?” he bit his lip and flushed as a certain thought presented itself to his mind. “But no, I should be a yain fool to entertain such an idea for a moment. €1641 1 “Two. years ago I was inclined to fall. desperately in love with Maud Howard, but my father crushed tuat. in- cipient affection in the bud. . ‘Any of you boys,’ he said, ‘who will be foolish enough to break your,heart about Maud Howard, will deserve disappoiutment for your pains. She is an heiress, and a beauty, and of course must ary rank and.wealth. You have all first to learn your pro it would be fifteen years before even the younger of you could marry, and by that time Maud’s-children would be growing up.’ ; } “Those few plain words of my father’s brought down a splendid castle which 1 was building in the air, and J have never attempted to build it up again. Strange how. the old memories surge over my soul to-day.” iy Then Arthur Melrose rose to his fect and walked in the direction of the company. Once amidst the crowd he scanned it eagerly in the hopes of discovering Madelon Gould. He had again put on his domino, and walked amoung the maskers as squire-at-arms, i : Presently he detected the form of Madelon; it was not to be mistaken, : Madelon had no gay clothing of her own, but kind Mrs. Gandy Dashington had dressed her in a splendid robe of rose-colored brocade, The bodice was open in front, displaying « rich white worked chemisette. She wore rose-colored Silk stockings, and black satin slippers, with high heels and silver buckles, upon her dainty feet. A black lace Spanish mantilia and a kigh comb in her raven hair, gave her. the appearance of a superb Donna Inez, or Spanish belle, which was the character she per- sonated. She wore a black domino, but Melrose recognized at once her exquisite figure and air of queenly grace. She leaned upon the arm of a tall, stout, stalwart masker, who represented Henry the Eighth. MMe worea suit of rich green satin, slashed with gold. Under & large willow sat Mr. Grimm and_ his, sister Martha. They were eating chicken and drinking chan pagne, but Mr. Grimm’s eyes followed everywhere that splendid Spanish donna and the stalwart English king. “You don't mean to say that you are engaged to him?” said the king to Donna Inez, ‘It is something monstrous and horrible, something that I will not bear. Look at him watching us now,” “What am I to do?’ inquired Madelon, plaintively. “My uncle has said that he will*turn me out. of his house if I do not receive the attentions of Mr. Grimm.”’ “I wish I could say, iet him turn you out,’ responded the king, who was none other than Jervis Wilmot. ‘I would bring you home at once to Flamborough Court, and old Sir Jervis would receive, you too, only he would not like you to come without some fortune, and if Il mar- ried you without his consent it might be awfully awk- ward for us as long as the old boy lived. Your old uncle is a perfect brute, a bear, an insulting rascal, whom I ‘} and I will stand outside, and you shall give it me over the Melrose was looking down atthe grass; he saw noth-) essions, and then to gain your bread, | sure to be found out, Let us sit here,’* said Madelon, in- dicating a pretty garden seat placed with its back against a thicket of trees in the park. The King and the donna seated themselves. “My uncle has made a will,” said Madelon, softy, “a very nice will, leaving all his property ‘0 me; 1 have managed to get a sight of this will, auu I can manage to show iv to you.. If recs you c»uld see it and could tell your father about it, don’t you think he would be con- tented if you married me ?’’ “But he would alter the will,’ cried Jervis. *“O no, be would not; he might rave and storm, because he has passed his word to Mr. Grimm, but after ull he would be very much pleased at my marrying the son of a baronet. Now what would you say, if I were to show you the will; 1 have it in my pocket at this mo- ment ?”? She drew forth the roll of parchment as she spoke and handed it to Jervis Wilmot. Eagerly his eyes seanned it througit. “This is glorious, capital!’ he said, in a tone of tri- umph, “Only, clever little girlas you are, you cannot quite outwit me, because I am accustomed to wills, you See, and this One is not witnessed, and is newly written, It is right, all except the witnessing, but he would never have Made such a will as that. just after such a conversa- tion.as he had with me tie other day. Still it will serve our purpose; we will get it witnessed and show it tomy father, Sir Jervis, I havetold him nothing of your uncle's rudeness the other diy. We will get this witnessed, we will show it to the old gentleman at Flamborough, and then you and I will get married quietly some morning. “Leave it to me to make my tale good fo Sir Jervis. “Butit onglit to be witnessed at once; it ought to be witnessed this very day, and I ought to take it nome this very night to show it to my father., I would tell him that you had abstracted this will, for the purpose of proving ia ne that in marrying youl should be, marrying an 1eiress, . “Sir Jervis isa gentleman and a baronet, but he is aw- fully fond of money; it is a common fault now-a-days; he will give his consent to our wedding at once, if it be duly witnessed. 1 shall tell him your uucle isso odd that he won't give his consent to your marrving anybody, and that we must do it quietly, All will turn out right, you will see, “Of course I care nothing for the money, I only care for you, butif the baronet once gave his consent, let your uncle alter his will if .he chooses, my fatter can’t disin- herit me after that. . 1 } “But get that will witnessed this very day; persuade Dolley and the butler to witness it- when you get home, railings.” es A compact was sealed by the clasping of hands; there Was no one in sight, and Jervis Wilmot, suddenly encir- cling Madelon in his arms, embraced her with a fervor wan attested the violence if not to the durability of his ve. : z “Madelon’s heart felt right. She had gained her object, at least she was on the verge of gaining it. She would be ‘in the end a baronet’s wife with sifteen thousand a year She liked Jervis Wilmot well enough; ie stood next in her regards to Melrose. - ; It was best that he had detected her scheme and was willing to help her in carrying out her plan. She believed he cared nothing for her uncle's wealth. The pair rose to their feet and walked away. Crouched down among the trees in the thicket, at the back of the garden seat, was aman dressed in the costume of the court of Charles the Second. A curled wig of black hair descended to his shoulders; his suit was of rich black. velvet, and he carried a rapier at his side, on the hilt of which flashed many diamonc true or false one could not say—they reflected the sun’s rays brilliantly. Like the rest of the maskers, this man wore a black domino, a plumed hat lay on the grass ai his feet. Every ,word of the conversation which had passed between Jervis Wilmot and Madelon Gould had been distinctly understood by the man ia the black velvet ‘suit, He was agitated, too, by what he had overheard. y Violently agitated, he buried his face in his hands and: ‘strong sobs convulsed his chest. He became suddenly ‘calm, and then he, muttered to himself, in the tones of one. who smilés bitterly: ea botquit “It is a fair world,’ he said; ‘‘a green, and glorious, and beautiful earth, ‘and the inhabitants thereof say, as Some: of the blasphemers of old said, that they walk as gods, and not as men. Oh, revenge, longed for with a sick longing, art thou, then, within my grasp?) . Gi id He drew his sword from its sheath, . The bright after- noon’s sunbeams denting In shafts of light throug tue summer’s bough’s, made the bare, cruel, blade flash in ‘blinding brightness, rey, Then the hand of the masker was passed lightly along the sharp edge of the weapon. | “nate “ y han “Tt is sharp,’ he said, drawing away his hand quickly, “sharp as the sting of faisehoodsand the barb of cruelty. Now let me,go and join the dancers, let me be the gayest of the gay,” and he sallied forth whistling an opera air. | “The sete proceeded brilliantly, gaily, and joyously. Maud ‘Howard amused. herself with her own set. She Kept sed~ uiously out of the way of Madelon, though she watched her furtiyely Irom a distance. , Madelon was in the high- est spirirs. She was cautious with it all, not flirting so much with Jervis Wilmot.as to excite the anger or sus:) ‘picion of Jonathan Grimm... Dancing one dance, and speaking yery tu disguise himself, ; ie 1. Of ‘Castle she never saw. She had had a bitter altercation. with him’ the night before at the end of, her uncle’s gar- den, and he had parted from her boiling with rage and breathing out threats, He had said that he should not be at the ete of Mrs, Dashington. f _ He gave two reasons lor abse: . One was hisrage. ing himself from the t coiled like a snake about her throat. tiered ‘ner. eats, but she wore no! oH OT ars, bare ss 4ady.Maud enjoyed. h {, or appeared to enjoy her- self, Shev i's complete, ase the » i sembled her pilin oe ab bile im ked, and. wi , ate par -pie, or sippe re. ed on fiohhruatess fipteione with the officers of the Ninth,or joined the large party which played Wie lawn, shé furtively watched Jer- 4 ‘ RT| : His ft yaabed [h atch on whieh her mother had set her heart; tch Which the old baronet.as ardently d 4] Which all the county expected; and while ed, and, the crowd chattered; the heart of Way of Elmswood burnt hot with indignationy a heavy ‘aad rna! at "atid rest, for Janvia Waltons Regione her utterly. He followed about pate ee of Madelon Gould, even while Madelon leaned upon the arm, or entered into conversation with dal leasantiy to Melrose, who took no pains | _ lon, ani t he dn e her 1 with others; a second rea-* SOM, tat he poor to purehase, or even hire, a cy aness, gay ed by any oie Soca in wate bY the co ny, Lady atau Stu ae present, . he a tall pro bru- nette of es enty, with sparkling black eyes, and. ack was d simply in white, with } Ked as Volubly and laughed as merrily as the }. was utterly unc. nscious of the purport of their worus, her thoughts were busy with Jervis anid the will; her fancy Sketchead out for her a brilliant future in which she figured as “My Lady Wilmot,’ Flamborough Court, in imagination, opened its grand old doors to receive her; she saw marble s'eps carpeted with velvet, rows of bowing footmen, rcoms furvished in ebony and guid, blue satin and silver. Gorgeous dining saloons, ali crimson and velvet and carved oak. Gold piate and the Wilmot diamonds glittered before her eyes. Charlot and horses, and opera boxes seemed waiting for uer to.inherit them, and then the whole brilliant picture was dimmed by a dark figure Which came between her and the sun of prosperity, like a somber cloud shadowing the Jandscape—it was the figure of Robert Castle. “He will Liuwaremy scheme,’ she said to herself, They had entered the town, anon the carriage rattled under the archway leading into the close, and Madelon was set down opposite her uncle’s house. She rang the door bell, Dean appeared, then she waved her hand to the two Grimms, and their carriage rolled off. “Mrs. Dean,” said Madelon, “is my uncle asleep ?” “Ble-s you, yes, Miss Madelon; he had his feet in hot water, and took a basin of gruel at er eae nine.” Madelon thought: profoundly for an instant, then she said to Dean: f “I want you andthe butler to signa paper for me,” and she drew the will from her pocket. “It is not much,’’ she continued, walking straigit into the dining-room, and laying the will on the table where a lamp was burning; “it only concerns Mr. Jervis Wilmot and myself.” “A promise to marry each other?’ inquired credulous Mrs. Dean, opening her eyes very widely. “Yes,’”? answered Madelon, quickly; “in case anything happened to prevent my marrying Mr. Grimm.” “T always said,” cried Dean, “that it was asin and a Shame of master to ask such a thing,’ then slie signed her name without further ado. The butler, a deaf and stupid old man, was also called in, and he signed liis name in very uncouth characters. After that Madelon wished the servants good night and retired to her room, but it was only to wait until the house was perfectly quiet. She wore along black cloak over the rich fancy dress in which she had figured at the Jete, and if there were anybody watching about the house and grounds that night, that person would have had great difficulty in identifying the slight dark form with the brilliant, graceful Madelon. She stole out to the conservatory, and so round to the railiogs, and there met Jervis. “Here is the will,” she said; “it is signed by the ser- vants; it is all right.” He held her hand, and strove to detain her with a tew loving, passionate words. “Nay,’’ she said; “I am cold and tired—oh, so weary,”’ sheshuddered. “I want to go back; I want to go to bed. { feel as if’ something dreadful was going to happen.” She broke away from him with a nervous laugh. “T will meet you to-morrow by the river,’’ she said. The yellow moon shone over the cathedral towers—the solemn summer night shed an influence, half poetical, half haba wholly somber over tiie trees, and house, and gar- den. j Madelon came up breathless to the conservatory door, hurrying, Nasting, eager to place herself safely within the house, _As she pushed to the glass door, a figure came from be- tind a green African. shrub. The moonbeams fell upon the ghastly, passion-distorted face of Castle ! “Always you !” she said, bitterly. “Traitress !’’ he answered, and he seized her wrist, and clenched it fiercely. “1 have-watched you. I know every- thing. ‘To-morrow I will go to your uncle, and tell him He will disinherit you, and he will tell the truth to sir Jervis Wilmot!” i Madelon’s head swam; her biood surged. “Give me time,’ she gaid; ‘ta day—a week !” “And meanwhile you marry Jervis Wilmot! he cried, with an oath. If she could have killed him with a wish, Madelon ‘would have laid him dead at her feet. “Let me pass ! let me pass !’? she said, vehemently. “And I too,’ he replied. ‘“Itis my whim to pass the ‘nightin your uncle’s house. I shall enter the dining- ‘room and. sleep, on the sofa,; You dare not rouse the HOUSE): po 4 ; ; “Madelon’s eyes glittered. thus tne two entered the hall together. “You can leave that key in the conservatory door,’’ he said. “I willlet myself out before it is light.” They parted in silence, those two, between whom raged such a. tempest of hate and jealousy, and love turned to thoughts of vengeance. Tien silence and darkness fell upon the house. Tue sun got up red in the east, and glorified the gray cathedral towers, and the sounds of life woke up in the } dvelling of Matthew Gould. ' Suddenly a cry resounded from basement to roof. There was the noise of huryiug feotsteps, and of many voices speaking together in the confusion of a great hor- ror! : t _ Adeadly crime had been done during the night; and on the wide staircase, and in the corridor, was an ugly stain, Which all the seas could never wash away, nay, nor the tears of bitterest. repentance blot. out—the stain of mur- ‘uer! #18.” ga Ot _ (To be continued.) i “THE NEW ARTICLE OF FOOD. For. twenty-five cents ‘you | cam buy of your Druggist or | | Grocer a package of Sea Moss Farine, manufactured from | ,;}\3 pure Irish Moss or Carrageen, | which will make 16 quarts of Blanc Mange, and alike quan- tity of Puddings, Custards, e,| Creams, Charlotte Russe, &c. &c, Ht is by far the cheapest, healthiest. and most delicious | food im the world... » Rand Sea Moss Farine Cc., juveaae 53. “PLANTATION BITTERS. Mr. Jonath Grimm. g Sh pepe sity. (i) ; ' The two Mauds found themselves standing a little apart from the others and wate! ladeion, Gould. . Suddenly Lady Maud'spoke to Maud Howard. » “Tnat Spanish, .denna,”. she,.said, contemptuously, “seems to attract as me cavaliers as Cleopatra of old, Siow, you the honor of that syren’s acquaintance, Miss oward?’? .. yi ; ii , “No, Lady Maud, I have not,” replied Maud Howard, BALCUY.. So ye r : «t “They, say she is very beautiful, do they not ?’* inquired; Lady Maud, with an alfectation.of, carelessness. .; “She is beautiful,’ answered Maud Howard, _. “Pray, who is that cavalier in black Velvet, with whom She appears so enchanted?? demanded. the. titled lady, tapping lier exquisito little boot with ker croquet mallet. “J think he is a stranger,’ responded Maud Howard. “At least twenty people have asked me that question re- specting that gentleman. Nobody has.seen his face.) oi “A mystery, an incognito, a prince in disguise,’ laughed Lady Maud. ‘He is tall, and of goodly presence. One would judge him young by his air and bearing. I shall go and ask our worthy Mrs. Dashington the name of her mysterious guest.’’ i Mrs. Dashington Knew no more than Lady Maud re- specting the stranger in black velvet. “He might be a friend of one of the officers,” she said, “as s of the officers were invited to bring their fri % “ab inthe curiosity of Madelon Gould was much excited re- garding this mysterious stranger, Her mind was busy to ; othe! Ts; she was pl and scheming how ; the wil witnessed; she was ing ardently, and witha wicked intensity that incidence or ace, how- ever terrible, might remove Castle from nee orever, for she feared his wrath, and a sickly dr her that he would yet frustrate her 7 a baronet’s wile; and yet with all this she strange, wild talk of the personage in black Velvet with a sort of fascinating and extraordinary interest. — “This is a gay s:ene,”’ eried the Sr csiaieates sup- pose that everybody here considers h f or herself happy. I awonder if tere are any present who have a debt to pay, an enemy to remove, an insult to wipe out?” Madelon started violently. 5s : “Have you?” she a denly and sharply. “Ah,” he replied, “fair lady, your question i sah as.a two-edged sword, hg as a surgeon's knife, but I might turn to you, and demand tne same inform@tion, only I am not curious abe particular individual’s affairs, or interests. Thi interests me as a whole; Lb. Jam a student of hu ty, and the more I study the more disheartened and disappointed I feel with my fel- lew creatures.” oy ; & Then the stranger ed--to.tell Madelomof ¢ lands,-and kindred, and customs, and tongues, and peo- ple. ‘ as {5 The sun sank in the west,/the moon rode slowly up in her silver tar; music, and mirth, and merriment, still re- sounded ‘throughout the groves/and gardens, and then came the hour for departure. : Madelon, bade Melrose adieu} but the last object. she saw when she entered, the carriage, and was packed closely between Jonathan Grimm and his sister, was the mysterious stranger in black velvet standing bare-headed in the road, his swart locks thrown up into dark reliet, the moonbeam's glitter on the hilt of his sword, the do- mino always before bis face. AE Jonathan Grimm and his sister conversed gayly enough. Penurious as was this worthy couple whenever the econ- omy of the house in the cathedral close was concerned, they were not slow to partake of the lavish hospitality of such generons people as the Dashingtons. { Both Miss Martha and her brotber had drunk freely of aeidnay 2 like to pitch into the river, and make him stop there.’ : champagne. Miss Martha's morose temper had bright- he a er OU rey ‘ This wonderful vegetable restorative ‘is the sheet-anchor of the feeble and de- bilitated.. As a tonicand cordial for the agéd and languid it has no. equal among .stomachics. As a remedy for the nervous weakness to which women are especially stimulant. In‘all climates, tropical, tem- perate or frigid, it acts as a specific in every species of disorder which under- taines the bodily strength and breaks Gown the animal spirits. Sold by ail w28-7t ‘One Million Borex Choice Iowa. Lands oo BOR SALE, | At $3 per acre and upward, for cash, or on credit, by the IOWA RAILROAD LAND CO. Railroads. Aireaty edit ig the 10 the Lands, and on all sides of them. Great inducements to settlers. . send tor, our free Pamphlet. It gives prices, terms, location; tells who should come West, what they. should bring, what ti! will cost; gives plans and elevations 18 different. styles of ready-made houses, which the Company furnish at fromy $250 to $4,000, ready to set up. Maps sent if desired. Address - « W. W. WALKER, Vice-President, Cedar Rapids, Iowa. w28-4t (Gonn Cere~t ee 4 EASILY —— \99 ~~ MADE With our Stencilland Key Check Outfit. Circulars Free. STAF , Peep MaNcespr TRE CO., 66 Fulton street, New York. Ww YMAN’S FLORAL GUIDE FOR 1870.—100 pages, 70 beauti- ful Engrpsides 1 Colored Plate, and deseription of 1,800 varieties o Seeds, Bulbs and Plants, sent to any address on re- ceipt of 5 cents, toe return postage. W. Wf, LYMAN, Seediman, Box 3,960 Amherst, Mass. IVORCES LEGALLY OBTAINED FROM THE Courts of different States. No publicity. Advice free. w30-13t. FRED’K I. KING, Counselor-at-Law, 363 Broadway o> ~~ re) A MONTH with Stencil and Key Check ~eey Dies. Don't. fail to secure Circular and Sam- ples, free. Address S. M. SPENCER, Brattleboro, Vt. |< 3-13t VOR DEAFNESS —THE PATENT ORGANIC VIBRATOR. ‘It-fits into the Ear, is not percestible, removes Singing Noises in the head, and enanles Deaf Persons to hear distinetly ateharch or Public Asseinblies. Treatise on Deafness and Ca- tarrh, with Means of Cure, sent free. a Dr. T. HUNT STILWELL, W31-2t : 762 ‘Broadway, N. Y. 17 “PERRY’S MOTH AND FRECKLE LOTION.” only Reliable and Harmless Remedy known to Science for removing brown discolorations from the Face. Prepared onl by Dr. B. C. PERRY, 49 Bond St., N. Y. Sold by Drugg every where. w22-13t ENOCH MORGAN'S SONS’ S AP. O L I O —“i ! 1e we ' Bs al at 7 i ri Met: SAPOLIO—"uaei2an sien ayer ork, &c., &c., &e, SA POLIO ion tees ana ail Mera Suriuces” ts | 7} 4 gett SAPOLIO—"senernares sanzets ee SAPOLIO Will remove Stains from Marble, and ———__ for house cleaning and general uses 5 Try itand you’ll e it. Depot, 211 Washington St., New York. Everybody uses it. Sold Everywhere. w22-eow-tf , : Great Chance for Agents! $75 to $200 per month. We want to employ a good Agentin every County in the U. S., on commission or sal- ary to introduce our World Renowned_ Patent White Wire Clothes Lines; will last a hundred years. If you want profit- able and pleasant employment, address Hupson River Wire Co., 75 William’St., N. ¥., or 16 Dearborn St., Chicago, W51-2t-eoWw 1 00 + io 50 per Month guaranteed. Sure pay. $ 0 Wagespaid weekly to Agents evety- where selling our Patent Silver Mould White Wire Clothes Lines, Business permanent, For fuil particulars, address GirarD WIkE Mutts, Philadelphia, Pa. \ , ~ w3l-4t-cow IVORCES LEG sLLY OBPAIN Eb IN ERENT Srates.— D Desertions, ctc., sufficient cause. }o publicity. No charge until obtained. Address M. HOUSE,-78-Nassau st. [w30-13teow AGIC PHOVOGRAPHS, WONDERFUL AND AMUSING.— JVi25 cents a package. Library of Love, 50 cents. Send to W. CG. WEMYSS, 3 ASTOR PLACE, New York. {w30-4teow Use none but . SOUPS AND BEEF, TEA’ FOR THE MiLLION. .- Strengthening Nourishment! | Economy in houseke: t LIE- BIG’S COMPANY'S -EXTRACT OF MEAT, the same that re- ceived the highest prizes. at Parity Ha: rofl jangietiam. and that issupplied to the British, ranch, us Prussian, and. other Governments. None genuine with ignatures 0’ Baron Liebig, the inventor, and of Dr. Max ¥. Pettenkofer, de- legate, on every jar. ; + {50 OAT OBDE Git Ae 3 _J. MILHAUS? 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It isan External and paternal eae, ‘For Summer Com- plaint, or any other form of bowel disease,in children or adults. it is an almost a certaia cure, and has, Wwiilout doubt, been more. successful in curing the various kinds of CHOLERA then any other known remedy, or the Atul physician, In India, Africa, and China, where th : prevalent, the n Killer as European residents in th ost efficient ren 1n unskillful h 2 T4870, while it is a medicine, ev. w30-2t.eow. One quire best Not witha utiful & Perey at only F ase Alsé eC Par two best Foum ens. The cheapest wa. eet your Fiting Paper.’ Try one fipz: 4 Money will be re n edie all who are not perfectly : c _ Torn ya if genuine and not more than one-tentirgoné, in paymen ress, re : Waist C. D. Coteman, Lock Box 26, Ypsilanti, Mich ‘TIME IS MONEY.’?—Watches superseded—The Dollar Time eeper—A. Pxrrect Guu.—Elegantly cased aoia.s re ei tg athe Sin re old, Super Om mer name al, Silver an: Brass Works Glas Crystal ize ‘of ladies’ watch. Will denote correct time, warranted rb and showy case, entirely of ts are , iso eave > © ‘subject, it is superseding every other | metal. This ompass. Is entirely new—patented. 10, id. weeks. Only $1 each, three for $2, in neat ‘ease, mailed free; Send for circulars. the sule manu- facturersy 5 4 5 MAGNETIC Ware Qj : w25-13t * qt insdaie, N. H. < TO $20.—IMIT ATION GOLD WATCHES.—JOIN FOGGAN, oO. crete 79 Nassau street, N. Y. Send tor circular. w24-13t > ui ; : 3 MENG i Yu ROYAL HAVANA LOTTERY. $390,000 in Gold dfawn very 17 days. Prizes cashed and infor- mation furnished. Highest rates paid for doubloons aid all kinds w7-tf. WM. KNABE & COS _ (BALTIMORE) WORLD-RENOWNED __ Grand, Square, and Upright PIANOS — Used at the Academieswf Music of ‘New York and Brooktfyn by the Italian Opera, Richings’ Opera, Ole Bull's Concerts, and the leading Entertainments in the United States. _ ; ; These Pianos are betore the Publi years, and upon THEIR EXCELLENCE ALONE have attained al RCHASED Reece that pronounces them unfivaled” Every Piano is fully war- ranted for Five Years. 6:1 > SUSIUSHE VE ES Pe eal PIANOS RENTED AND SOLD ON INSTALL- J. BAUER & CO., Gene ral Agents, ae - of oe Washin on St., Chi Til. 650 Broadway, New York. tas? Ber 7825-108 St qvaese Sth ee eee >: * $20 A DAY toMALE & FEMALE Agents to introduce the BUCKEYE $20 SHUTTLE SEWING MACHINES. Stitch alike on both sides, and is the only LI- CENSED SHUTTLE MACHINE sold in the United States for less than $40. All others are infringements, and the seller and the user are liable to prosecution and ieee Outrit FREE. we-lyr Address W. A. HENDERSON & CO., Cleveland, 0. © oY 5 A DAYi—40 new articles for Avents, - Samples sent free. a ’ HH. B. SHAW, Alfred, Me. W22-13t NE W BOOK.—Agents sell 100 per week. Price $5. Ad- dress L. STEBBINS, Hartford, Conn. w28-4t All women know that it is beauty ather \than genius which all generations of men have worshiped in the sex. Ladies desiring beauty, a soft, smooth, and beautiful com- plexion and skin, should use Geo. W. Laird’s “BLOOM OF YOUTH.” This delightful toil- ist to the Metropolitan Board of Health. The “Bloom of Youth” is pronounced harmless, aud free from any ingredient injurious to health. Sold at all Druggists’ and tores. by Depot 74 Fulton street, N.Y. _wR8-4t Beautiful Woman. ‘ ; of gold and silver. TAYLOR & CO., Bankers, 16 Wall St., N.Y. | et preparation has recently been chemically — analyzed by Prof. C. F. Chandler, the chem- _ Fancy Goods — es 5055 aE FE NNT, Tale eon callie ities ull. us ————— Le * a a7 Ge orm = . fuceas a convict, who is roaming the world at large, is a ll Sea D > ase shall “4 of police has ordered me to make this reparation. «<< THE NEW YOR nee ne AEA oo 8 re Si dill wow THE CHI-DREN OF THE STREET. BY UNCLE CHARLIE. AgI walk throngl ‘lie busy street, How many little ones I meet, With wretched looks and naked feet! It moves my heart to pity. There’s some with great, wild, hungry eyes, Of tender years, and tiny size, r And yet with looks so worldly wise, - And words so very witty. There’s one Isaw as home I went, In voice though sad, with sweetness blent, ’ Says, “Please, kind sir, give me a cent _ For sweeping off the crossing.” Her eyes they were so brightly blue, And seemed to pierce me through and through, As if my very thoughts she knew, While L the coin was tossing: How many more with homes unblest, That wander here and there half dress’d, : And never yet have been caress’d By hand of loving mother; But curs’d, and driven out from horhe To beg, or steal, or aimless roam Aworld so cold, till death shall come “And take them to another. Great Father, hear our earnest pray’r ... To have them in Thy special care, » And help them all that cross to bear Which to each one is giver. , May He who seesthe sparrow fall, _ * |) List to their weak, despairing eall— © Be father, mother, friendand all, And take them home to Heaven. Saree ae — sponded to the pronipt éordiality of his American friends. “Uve got another apology to make,” said the detective, “and I want Mr. Warder for one moment, and then I’ll give him back to you.” Derville and Vivian sought out the Hon. Augustus Cra- ven, and explained the mistake to him. [fie “An rignt;? said Mr. Craven. ‘But do me the justice to believe that J never suspected you. What our friend, the detective, here said to your detriment went in at one ear and out of the other. I Anew that you could not be Conrad, the convict."? ‘ “Sir,” said Vivian, shaking hands with him, ‘lam very grateful for your good opinion, and shall be proud to connt you among my friends. I hope we shall see much of each other. Suppose you spend the evening with me in the “Vane’s apartment. _I can assure you a hearty wel- come.”? 255 | é d “J shall be delighted,” answered the convict. “By, by, Derville. Look sharp for.Conrad, If you arrest him out letting me know of it, I must Know the reason You can’t tell. how much interested [ am in his For my part, I think you are all a set of blundere that the real culprit looks’ no more like our friend here thar I do. : ite exaned With these words he went up stairs with Vivian. and the little party of four got along very pleasantly toget ler; although the Hon. Augustus Craven proved soJascinating’ a companion that once or twice Vivian felt alittle twinge of jealousy. i hised “When shall she have it??? : “Not yet awiile.” _ “I should be happy to see you our way,” said the bri- ganda, “May I bring a friend with with marked emphasis. ‘ “Your iriend shall be more welcome than yourself,’ replied the brigand, “Then' perliaps you may expect us within a week. I know your haunts,” ~ oa : “ZT shall’ be on the lookout for you myself,” said the i d. . Pr n*t be surprised,’ said the convict, “if my friend and T salute you with a discharge of firearms.” i '‘Diavolo !* cried the bandit, ‘Then we sall reply in, the Same language.” : “Yes, with blank cartridges,” said the convict. © Wits “Aha! I begin to see your rift. . But if you, haye sol- dierstwith you??? " alaia “You may shoot them and welcome. Bunt be carefni how you throw your lead in our direction,” “Never fear me.” ae : “When you have captured ‘us after a desperate resist- ance,” said the convict, smiling, “I’ll let you more fully into my plans, and you shall have no reason to regre aiding them. I have come a long way to secure your co- operation. And now, Count Fialto, let us return to the ladies,”? a8 ‘With all my heart, i. Craven,” replied the bandit. The two gentlemen returned to the drawing-room. As they went hence.to, the hotel, Vivian said:.. . ‘Do you know that I am delighted with that Count Fi- alto, Uraven ?? , ao “He's the finest fellow in the world,” said Craven, with ‘enthusiasm. me?’ asked the convict, _ (To be continued.) Leighton Homestead: less bay, with | | phe Leighton Homestead” is and spies in | EDNA’S DEBT, — D HOW SHE PAID IT. shits eee a : u BY MRS, MARY J. HOLMES, hor of "Marian Grey,” “Hugh Worthington,” “Rose Ma- her,” “Darkness and Daylight,” “Lena Rivers,’? “Home- Maude,” “Ethelyn's Mistake,” “Cameron Pride,” “Meadow Brook,” “English Orphans,” “Dora Deane,” ete., ete. was commenced in No. 17. Batk numbers may be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. - ohne CHAPTER XXKIX, | GEORGIE’S SECRET. Maude Sommerton had thrown her hat down in one place, her gloves and shawlin another, and donning her dressing gown, stood by the.open window of her room at Oakwood, looking out upon the beauty of the night, but thinking more of Jack and the words he said to her’ during their walk from Leighton, than of the silvery moonlignt which lay so calmly upon the lawn below, and streaming through the window, fell upon the floor in a broad sheet of light. They had walked slowly, linger- ingly behind the others, and taking more time’by half an hour to reach Oakwood, than the rest of the party had done, Jack nad felt the influence of the lovely night, and ‘the witching spell.of the sunny blue eyes, whose brightness he could see even through the moonlignt whenever they were turned to meet his, And Maude was very quiet and gentle, and walked demurely at his side with her litle hand resting confidingly upon his arm while he told her first all the story of His love for Edna Churchill, and how he liad outlived thatsiove as had been proven to him that night, when he could meet her face to face, and listen to her voice without a single heart throb or regret for the decision she had madea year ago. She would always seem very near to him, he said, always more like a sister than a stranger, but he had ceased to think of her as one who might some day be his. Then he told her of his comparative poverty, and of the littie crippled Annie, who could only walk with crutches, and who must be his care so long as she should live. ‘The Heyford name was a good and honorable one, he said, and never had been tarnished to his knowledge, and. still there was in the family a shadow of disgrace, the nature of which he could not now explain to her; he could onty~ say that we had had no part init, and it could by no means affect him or his future. And then he asked her, if knowing what she did, she could consent to share his fortune with him, to be lis wife, and a sister to little Annie, who suffered so much for want of other cum- panionship than that of old Luna, the colored woman, who kept his house for him. There was a spice of coquetry about Maude Sommer- ton; it was as natural for her to flirt as it was to breathe, but there was something in honest Jack Heyford’s manner which warned her that he was not the man to be trifled with. She could play with silly Ned Bannister and drive him nearly wild, and make even poor Uncle Pnil Over- ton’s heart beat so fast with her trim ancles and pretty feet, that the old man, who was mortally afraid of heart disease, had applied a sticking plaster to the region of in- quietude, but she must be candid with Jack, She must tell him yes or no, without qualification of any kind, and So at last she answered ‘Yes, and Jack, as he stooped to kiss her upturned face, on which the moonlight was shining, felt asif Heaven had suddenly opened to his sight, and let the glory through, And thus they were betrothed, Jack Heyford and Maude; and they lingered*for a few moments under the shadow of oa; piazza at Oakwood, and whispered anew their vows of love, and when Jack asked it of her, Maude put up her'lips and kissed his handsome face, and let her arm linger about his neck, and then started back like a guilty thing, ag the door came together with a bang, and she heard the click of the key turning in the lock. It was Georgie fastening up, but she opened the door again at Jack’s call; looking sharply into their faces as they passed her, but saying nothing except, ‘I supposed every body was in. : “Tell her, Maude," Jack said, as he ran up the stairs to his room, while Maude walked leisurely to her own cham- ber, is which there was a door communicating with Georgie’s apartment. : ‘The two girls never slept together, but frequently, when Maude was ina very irrepressible mood, or Georgie un- usually amiable and patronizing, they visited each other and talked together while disrobing for the night, Now, however, Maude ‘felt more like communing with the moonlight and whispering ber happiness to the soft Sep- tember wind, which just lifted her bright hair as she leaned from the window, than talking with her future sister-in-law, and she feigtiéd not to hear the knock upon the door and Georgie’s voice asking if she might come in. But when the knock was repeated, and the voice had in it a note of impatience, she opened the door and Georgie came in, brush and comb in hand, and her long black wavy hair rippling over her crimson dressing-gown with its facings of rich satin, Everything Georgie wore was of the most becoming as well as expensive kind, and she made a very beautiful picture as she sat combing out and arranging her glossy curls under a silken net. But there was a stormy look in her black eyes as they watched Mande, who was also arranging her hair, comb- ing it out in long combfulls and then letting it fall in shining masses across the sleeve of her white dressing- gown. There was a strange disquiet about Georgie to- night, a feeling of unrest and vain longings for the years gone forever, the time when she was as young, and fresh, and pure as Maude Sommerton standing there before. her, or the girl at Leighton Place, who had so disturbed her Sah and of whom she had come to speak to aude. oS ke She found it hard, iowever, to begin, but at last made stead on the Hillside,” Tempest and Sunshine,” “Cousin | the plunge by saying: “T say, Maude, what’about that young lady at Leigh- ton? Whois she; that is; what is her real name %? “Her real pame?? . a a sameness A NE Nt ee SY RN a RE a on _ aS MARAH.—TO EH. M. P, lived, is said to have declared that much of his primary | before nine o’clock this evening. What a wretch I have My aunt fainted and was borne fo her room. fell. She looked a little confused, but : | success was due to the vociferous encouragement of these | been,” and the dear man almost danced as he made pre-| Aunt Mollie and old John were particularly well pleased | “Over astone pile.” It. wasnow the preasore Promptly, : wl , pitites, parations for his journey. with the turn affairs had taken, and my studies were re- | 2bashed but he proceeded with another quest). Wu ,10 100k Even now, I frequently hear a boot-black rehearsing | The town clock was just tolling out the hour of nine, as | sumed, and I was allowed to wear my Hair in ringlets. : = a Under uns bed ”” the wife answered ing tee aca some part which he has heard the night previous; and | he walked up the gravel walk leading to his wife’s home. | _ Thirty years have winged their flight to eternity since adam te oreechiniiiies ba ay tas ¥-ilcome out, frequently with an unction and power which make up for | The air was full of fragrance, the moon shown down | that day. A beautiful girl, another Vivian, my all, has : about your doing: ss : the absence of genius, from a clear sky, and tne anxious husband thought of the | just entered with a fresh nosegay of my favorite flowers,| ‘ider B——came to the en of Re Tony Pastor’s, the Theatre Comique, and a few other | happy, happy time when he vowed his love just beyond | plucked from ihe same little bed which long years ago] tain Sunday. After reading th . Tine soamenc? he BY GRACE VENNER. A moaning in the wind, A chilling in the air, A parting from the kind, The true, the good, the fair A mem’ry in the heart, An impress on the soul, Each little in its part, Tremendous in the whole. A yearning in the life, A blank that naught can fll, An inward, restless strife, E’er uncontrolled by will. An impulse to the good, A trying none can see, Astepping up to God, Temptations strong to flee. A struggling for the truth, A failure here and there, A hopeless, reckless youth, A Saviour in the fair. A faith pure and unshaken, A loving strong and deep, To heav’nly bliss awakened, Another’s life to keep. A moaning in the wind, A chilling in the air, A parting from the kind, The true, the good, the fair, Metropolitan Pen Pictures. THE BOOT-BLACK BRIGADE. BY NATHAN D. URNER. They certainly appear to be numerous enough to form a “Brigade,” as the body corporate of boot-blacks was styled by some one a number of years ago. One meets them at every turn. Park Row, City Hall Park, Broad street, and the up-town and intervening thoroughfares fairly swarm with the ragged champions of the blackening box and polishing brush. They are of all sizes and many degrees. A dollar and a half will purchase the necessary wooden box, blackening and brush, and set up any boy in the trade, wherein his success will depend altogether upon his stock of pluck, nerve and industry. You now and then see a pale, timid little fellow, with garments soiled and mended, but speaking of better days, trying to compete with the young rowdies among whom destiny has cast his lot; but he quickly fades from the rude arena, or becomes as rough, noisy and wicked as the rest. The common boot-black of the Park or streét-corners will accept a ‘“‘choker’’ (five cents) for his services, but will invariably insist upon ten cents as the legitimate price to the last instant. Those who do business on a more pretentious scale—most of them are grown men— wiih an arm-chair for their patrons to occupy, while hav- ing their pedal extremities put into a radiant state, inva- riably charge ten cents,and will not listen to a reduction. Some of the latter make more money than the majority of the laboring classes. The one who has his chair in Park Row, in front of Lovejoy’s Hotel, assured me that, an anything like decent weather, his average earnings per day were over three dollars; and the bright, good- looking lad, who owns one of the chairs in Broad street, in front of the Stock Exchange, has been known to clear twelve dollars in as many hours. But the bona-fide boot-blacks—the little vagabonds whom we usually identify with the name—lead a varied and checkered existence. The most courageous and im- pudent usually make the most money in this, as well as in every other, vocation. Courage is an indispensable re- quirement, for there are hundreds ready aud eager to dispute a favorite beat or lucrative corner, and he must fight his way, or retire to a second place. Among the crew of boot-blacks who haunt the Park Row block, between Beekman street and the Zimes cor- ner, there used to be two rivals, who were cocks of the walk. One was called “‘Gawk,’’ and the other rejoiced in the significant, 1f inelegant, soubriquet of ‘““Hunchy.”’ They were about the same age. Gawk was the tallest. His distinguishing articies of wardrobe were an old dirty dilapidated swallow-tail coat—the tails of which reached to his heels, after the manner of the Artful Dodger—and a pair of huge, shambling, run-down boots, large enough to have been made for the Cardiff Giant. Hunchy was very round-shouldered, as his 1 indi- cated, and was likewise Esopian of disposition. Lough pale and sharp-featured, and apparently devoid of physi- cal strength, he possessed indomitable grit, and never quailed in the presence of Gawk, whom he regarded as his legitimate foe. OND a Bat Hunchy’s sarcastic tongue often’ got him into trouble, and procured for him many a cuff and curse from those who might have beén his patrons. Sho “Blag yer boods, sit; blag yer boods! Shine ‘em up !"” Hunchy would ery tosome gentleman, = + lf the gentleman chanced to choose another boot- black, the disappointed Hunchy would indulge liberally in satirical remarks. “Glad Lain’t got the job, any way !’’ he would remark to his more lucky companion, as though utterly uncon- scious of the gentleman’s presence; “for who’d go over such Gveat| Easterns as them ere clod-lioppers for a cho- ‘ker! I only got two boxes of blacking, and I wants a leetle bit to spare for other customers |” Tne result would be that Hunchy would usually feel the toe -of the gentleman’s boot, or receive a sound box on the ear; but he was never cured of his Esopian propen- sity. : He and Gawk had the lion’s share of the trade on Park Row, and bullied ‘the other little fellows into constant fear and trembling, while many encounters occurred be- tween the two, Boot-blacks are as inveterate gamesters as news-boys; penny-buck being the favorite game. 5 4 i One day Gawk was very sulky, on account of having jost twenty centsin playing this game with, Hunchy. Shortly afterward two gentlemen stopped, and each boot- black got a customer, side by side. “Bet you the twenty cents I beat you through, Hun- ehy ?’ cried Gawk, settling to his work. “Done !? cried Hunchy; and the two—encouraged by she gentlemen, who were greatly amused—set to work avith all their strength and skill. The blackening was laid on, and then the polishing brushes—four, one in each hand, flew with astonished ra- pidity. They puffed and blew, moistened the boots with their breaths, and then dove the bristles again with re- newed energy. At length Hunchy’s customer announced himself satis- fieu, and Hanchy received his ‘‘choker,” and east a look of sneering triumph at his adversary, who was only a few secouds behind him. fo be beaten in gambling and in his legitimate vocation at the same time, was about all the gallant Gawk could bear: but there would probably have been no hostile de- monstration if Hunchy’s evil tongue had not hung so loosely in his head; but he could not restrain his propen- sity te say something malicious. “Gawky, yerin the wrong biz. Yer orter be a mud- Jark, as yer is smart at blacking boots, but yer ain’t worth a cent at polishin’.” 7 This was adding insult to injury, and Gawk hurled his box at Hunchy’s head. Hunchy responded in the same manner, and then the two sprang together, and were im- mediately surrounded by a noisy crowd of their respec- tive admirers. Not only those whom Clio writes Upon her radiant scroll— . Statesman and warrior, bard and knight, Of peace and war the soul! Not only those deserve her pen, Her free, historic hand; Others there are, though less then men, Of deeds as bright and grand. So, the poor boot-black, when in strife For fame he madly yearns, And in his breast of throbbing life The rage heroic burns. As on his prey the circling hawk Darts from the crystal sky, So upon Hunchy swooped proud Gawk, With a wild, exultant cry. But, as the heron oft-times turns To pierce the falcon’s breast, So Hunchy tight-clenched mawley burns Upon his foeman’s crest. A blacking-brush his poignard good, Gawk stabs him inthe back, But Hunchy’s great heart never fails, courage never lac Hotter and hot the tourney grows, When side by side they tall, While round, their several followers Rejoice, and dancing, bawl! Oh, wo for honor’s plighted faith— An officer OPE . And to the neighboring station-house The bleeding heroes bears! Ten days upon the ‘‘Island’’ each | Oh, is their bonor left, 7 When Park Row by this edict is Of chivalry bereft! The Boot-blacks Lodging House, as the similar institu- tion for the protection of news-boys, has effected great good. It not only affords the little fellows much health- ful comfort, but has greatly improved their morals; but still their passion for theatrical performances has. never been broken. The Old Bowery used to be their only favorite. Its pit was always crowded with bcoot-blacks, news-boys, and other street-boys of the metropolis. They were willing enough claquers, without receiving money for their ser- vices; and their enthusiastic ‘‘Hi! hi’s !’" often cheered the heart of many a trembling novice of the histrionic art. The heroes of the rolling R, were the idols of the boot- blacks. Jack Scott, of old, who was said to have got a little more roil out of that consonant than any actor who ever - places, now divide with the Old Bowery the honor and emolument of boot-black patronage. A new institution, or rather two or three of them, have been established in New York within the past three or four months, which threaten to make an inroad into the business of the roving boot-blacks, I allude to several rooms that have been opened, where a number of boot-blacks are employed. he customer takes his seat in one of a number of chairs, and, after having his boots polished, receives a check, which he pays at a counter. The largest place of this kind, on Broadway, combines the conveniences for boot-blacking with a barber-shop, a bar, and a cigar-shop, but Ido not think the proprietors have succeeded very well thus far. It is the beginning, though in a humble field, of a strife which always comes in every business—that between cap- ital and labor. Who knows but that we may yet be fa- vored with the ludicrous spectacle of a strike on the part of the “‘Boot-Black Brigade.” THE SHADOW OF DISTRUST. BY HANNAH HOPPER. They were married—Earl Steinburg and Julia Burt; and there was apparently nothing to cloud their future. Their courtship had been assmooth and tranquilas a lake onacalm summer day. There had been no mistakes no misunderstandings, no quarrels, but they had floated through the happy days of the six months preceeding their marriage, with the sunshine about them never clouded or dimmed; with that perfect trust in each other which scorned questionings in regard to their past lives, and fears for their future peace. They were past the impul- sive days of youth; a man and woman who had been gay and festive once, but who, on their marriage day, cared for nothing so much as a quiet home and domestic peace. Julia Burt was almost thirty years of age, and_ her hus- band was older. She was still fresh and fair, and had that quiet, womanly grace about her, which reminded one continually of family. joys. She had had. beaux in her teens, and afterward, and once she had been engaged for a few short months, but the engagement was broken, partly by herself and partly by her lover—they were not made foreach other. The great fountain of her true and real woman’s love was not opened until she met Earl Steinburg, and theloye affairs of her youth sunk into in- significance, andshe smiled back upon them as she felt her love growing stronger and stronger for her last lover, and thought how wonderful ani beautiful is true love. Sne had not been.a flirt. Spe had never trified with the affections, but in spite of this, hearts had ached for her, and hopes had been blasted by her refusals to marry those who sued for her hand. She weptover their dis- appointments, but their proposals were always unex- pected—she never dreamed of coquetry. These experien- ces of her life her husband knew nothing of. He knew she. was his very own, and was selfish in the possession; and when a week after marriage they sat in their own bright parlor, and looked off over the riverto the June sunset, sty ORE themselves the most blessed of all the world, : A few weeks filled with harmony and sweetness passed away, and then came a change. One glorious, golden twilight the happy wife left the cottage, and ran, down the flower-bordered walks to meet her husband. She saw him walking slowly, and his step did not quicken when he observed her gliding along, her face radiant with happiness. A great fear foran instant stopped her heart from beating. Sheran to him expecting a kiss, but she received none. The face of her husband looked pale, gloomy, and hard, “Oh! Earl, what is the matter? What has happened ?”’ rE asked, catching his hand, and growing very pale her- self. : “Nothing,’? he said, shortly, while he drew her hand under his arm and walked on. They entered the cottage, bat there was a shadow be- tween them; a grim, spectral shadow, which banished the olden familiarity and trust which had made them so happy in the past. A reserveso cold had fallen upon her husband, that Julia could not approach him. They ate their supper in silence, and when it was over, instead of oe peacefih happy evening spent together, Julia was | eft alone. : poet be FR She listened to her husband’s steps until they died away in the distance. She felt bewildered. She tried to believe herself ina strange, unhappy dream, but reality forbadeit. She did not weep; there was something more important tobe done, There was a mystery to be solved, and peace to be restored between herself and her hus- | band., She tried to conjecture what had happened, but could not. That he was displeased with her, she was sure, but for what? She had done nothing to displease him. Her oneaim inlife had been to make him happy. In vain she tried to think of something in which she had displeased him. . The evening passed away, and still it was amystery. “Maybe he will feel better when he returns,” she thought, ‘‘and I will be the same as I always am. I will not seem to notice that anything is wrong, and we shall -soon be happy again.” . He came-home late, and, though he seemed less moody | and silent, and treated her with his usual politeness, yet ‘the old tenderness was gone—the shadow still was be- tween them. Morning dawned, but it brought not a reconciliation, and Julia’s fear and pain increased. As her husband started for his business, she stood in the door-way and placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Tell me, Harl,’’ she said, ‘‘what has come between us; r why are you so changed ?”’ He turned his face away from hers, and said formally: “I have been deceived. I thought you a good, true wo- man until last night. Ithought my wife gaye me the freshness of her heart, but deceit often lurks where we least expect it.’’ He shook her hand from his arm, and turned suddenly to walk away, but his wife’s hand had caught his arm firmly, and she said imperatively: “Barl Steinburg, explain your meaning. I do not un- derstand you. What have I.done, or what have you heard that [have done?” ‘f will leave that for your memory to explain to you,” he said, and the clinging hand was forced to let go its hold, and he was gone, The unhappy wife wss now angry. She understood it all. He had heard, for the first time, of her youthful en- gagement, and of the few whom she had rejected. She smiled sarcastically, as she thought of his words—*l thought you a good, true woman until last night.”?), How very uncharitable and selfish he was! Had he never been impulsive in his youth? Did he think a woman must be as pure as an angel, and a man flirt and play with hearts as much he chose? Was he free from emotions of love in his youth? These thoughts passed through her mind as she stood in the vine-wreathed door-way, with the morn- ing sunbeams sifting through the leaves and falling upon her. “J cannot live in this cold, dreadful way,’ she said to herself at last, aS she entered the parlor and sat down alone. ‘I have done nothing, but words will not satisfy him. I never inquired about his youth, but I did not expect put that he hau had perhaps avout a dozen love-afiairs. I will inquire now, though,’ she continued, as though a new idea had come to help her out of her trouble. ‘1 will run over this very evening to his cousin Sue’s, who knows all about him, and find if he isn’t as bad as I.” She found Sue en disabille in her own room. “Good morning, Julia, { am glad you have called. I am not feeling, well this morning; take that chair by the window,” said Sue, in a joyful tone, as she arose te receive her early caller. : Julia sat Gown and looked out over the blue river, which was covered over by countless white sails, and un- consciously she sighed. “You don’t look as happy as usual,’ said she. ‘That sigh does not seem like the happiest woman in the land, as all the neighbors call you?” “Jama little tired with my walk,’ said Julia. ‘Do you know how beautiful the morning is, Sue?—it reminds parties. What delightful times 1 used to have!’ “Not sighing for joys past, I hope,’ said Sue. ‘I thought the joys of the present overshadowed them, but 1 think of my girlhood often. I shall never be so merry and Care- free as then. The summer Ispent at my aunt’s in Canton, where [ first met Henry, was the happiest season of my life. Earl was there three months, and he was the life of the house. You did not know him then, and so you can hardly imagine your grave, steady husband the joyous, lively fellow he was in those days—and wnat a, favorite ‘he was among the girls. Iused sometimes to call’ him a flirt, but he meant no harm,”’ . “T wonder if he was ever engaged before I met him,” said Julia, in a careless tone, as she dropped her eyes to hide the gleam of satisfaction in them. “Yes, once,’’ said Sue, ‘buat it never amounted to any- thing. I suppose it has almost past from his memory, the reason he never told you of it., I don’t suppose you care in the least.’’ “QO, no,” said Julia. “By the way, Sue, I’m going home this afternoon to stay a few days,’’ : . “That is pleasant,’? said Sue. “I should think you would be a little home sick by this time.” After conversing a few minutes more, Julia S'einburg went back to her beautiful coltage among the vines. Her husband did not come home at noon. She would teach him a lesson, she thought, that he would not soon forget. She had not, till now, believed him so selfish, and she wrote a little note, packed a few articles which she should need, and started early in the afternoon for her father’s. The note ran thus: “My DEAR HvSBAND-—I thought until this morning that you were a true and good man, but your cousin Sue, has told me that you were once engaged, and bad many love affairs before I met you. As deceit is often found where least expected, and you are proved to be so un- worthy, l leave you this afternoon and go to my father’s, where I can trust and be trusted. Your mee Un soe wife. ULIA.”’ “The deuce,’’ said Mr. Steinburg, as he read the little note that night in the dying rays of the setting sun. Aiter he had read it over the sixth time, he gave a pro- longed whistle. ‘She has out-witted me,’ he said, “what a fool I have been, and what a witty way she has taken to remind me of it. O, I wouldn't take the world in exchange for my shrewd little wife. I'll be with ner me of my young days, when I went to picnics and sailing |: him at the garden gate. ing white pickets of the fence. “Did in return.” with joy. ‘They think their wives must be like get the past, and strive to helping each other, patient, gentle and forgiving.” ©. happy years that follow yine-wreathed doorway. ieee G3) CRIME AND REPENTANCE. The Story of a Private Mad House. BY JANE GRAY SEAVER. buried. The steady rain drops pattered -against the dow panes, and the wind moan long gallery where hung the an Arneaux family. Beneath the windows, hung with rich damask, openin upon the wide marble hall, stood the silver piteously through stillness. The friends had not begun to assemble, @ crept stealthily in to take a tong and loving farewe my much-beloved uncle. Flowers were scattere fusion upon the costly casket. Uncle John was ft flowers, and had given me a little bed in one ¢ the extensive flower garden at Linwood that I m tivate his favorites as well as my own. ing, when my violets and forget-me-nots were in bloom, stud his cold, white brow; “poor Uncle John, they have} you costly exotics and other fragrant flowers, but ne violets nor forget-me-nots.’? And Iran out into th ping rain and plucked a handful of his favorites, an back and laid them upon his breast. ‘‘Poor uncl again whispered, ‘have you forgotten your poor Vivian, whom nobody loyed but you?’? A hurried step upon the marble floor admonished methat I had already lingered too long in that sacred spot, and before I. had time to secrete myself beneath the heavy hangings of the windows, my aunt seized me by the shoulder, shaking me severely, saying: “You naughty little creature, what are you doing here, desecrating the dead with these wet, dirty flowers?’ and snatching them rudely from their resting place and stamping them upon the cold, hard marble, which was neither so cold or hard as her own heart. ‘Go, child, in- stantiy to the kitchen, and let me not see you here again or | will chastise you severely.’ ‘ sages ms kiss my poor, dear uncle once more ?”’ I begged, piteously. . : “No, you shall not, you miserable little pauper,’ she hissed, with suppressed rage, in my ear. I turned to leave the hall, when my attention was attracted by the quick movement of alinden bush against the window, and & woman’s face was pressed close against the panes. I had nearly shrieked, when sie placed her finger warn- ingly upon her lip, and beckoned me to her. . My aunt, so intent upon erasing all signs of my love- tokens, had not noticed this side scene, so 1 crept out of the back door into the garden,and stood face to face with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. richly clad in heavy black silk, a mautle of the same ma- terial, was thrown carelessly over her shoulders, her head was ent free from covering, save the luxuriant mass of purple black hair, which hung in wavy tresses over her finely ped neck; her eyes were large, dark, : A to my infancy; something in that voice awakened spate tome gone; andsomething in that gentle touch, as she laid her hand caressingly upon my head, and said: ; God bless you, Vivian darling !’’ carried me back to a time when a beautiful lady used to take me upon her lap, and tell me fairy tales. - 13} “Vivian, darling, he is dead!’ she exclaimed, as she laid her soft, hand upgn my head, and pointed in the di- rection where the corpse was lyi “He is dead—may. Heaven have mercy on his soul ! as not, as you supp love you, and will see you righ lone will you be forced to bear the scorn and contume- y and w i that time comes you will see me well, precious one! #arewelf, | - time !? 4nd kissing me overand over again, me wariniy to her besom, the beautital lady disap; as suddenly as she had come. : Fas After my imcle’s death I was handed over. entirely! the housekeeper’s tender mercies, who said the. had told herto bring me up to be a good servant, as that would be the position in life that 1 would fill when I was alittle older... x er I was no longer allowed to share with my consin the care and instruction of our governess, but was sent to the parish school. Girt featt ij My aunt would no longer call me Vivian; she said it was not an eopropriate name for a servant to bear, and that hereafter I would be known by the euphonious:ap- pellation of “Hannah.” _ ‘ On the morning of my twelfth birth-day, my aunt. sent for me to come to her room . “Close the door, Hannah,’ she said, asJ timidly en- tered her boudoir. ‘Now, come here,’ andas I ap- proached, she grasped my arm harshly. ‘Look at Miss Eva,’ she said, pointing to my cousin, who was seated in a litle velvet easy-clhlair at her mother’s side. ‘Well, Hannah, you are hereafter to act as her servant. I can no longer keep you in idleness, Do you hear, Hannah?” she added, giving my armapinch. ‘You are to come to her room every. morning at eight—mind you come just on the strike—give her a bath, and dress her, and see that you kéep her hair curled nicely, and—here, what are you doing with this mess of stringy red hair hanging down your back ?”’ she asked, catching my long, golden ring- lets in her hand, ana pulling them till I cried out wita pain. ‘Twist it up ina knot, this instant, or I will cut it close to your head.”’ : “Oh, mamma,” chimed in Miss Eva, ‘‘make her cut. it off; it would be so nice to dress my dolly’s head with.” “Yes; Miss Eva is right; that is the best use it can be put to,’ said my aunt; ‘so, bring my scissors, Hannah.” But before I had succeeded in my search forthe obnox- ious instruments, old John, the footman, came up to an- nounce the arrival of two gentlemen, who desired .an in- terview with my aunt—an interview at which, so the gen- tlemen said, I was to be present. A moment later and my aunt was seated in tne centre of the long room below, With meat her side. A deathly pallor had usurped her natural florid complexion, her head was supported upon her right hand, whilst, withthe left, she applied vigorously, her smelling salts to her nose. : Directly in front of her were seated two gentlemen. One, an elderly man, held a small roli of paper, and seemed to be leadmg the conversation, The other, a tall, fine looking man, with a light bear@. and a pleasant hazel eye, arose as I entered, and eel me, taking my hand, and led me up in front of my aunt, saying:’ “This, tlten, is my niece, Miss Viviai Arneaux.” “She is the child that my husband brought-home soon after he brought me here, saying it was his sister’s, whose parents had died, leaying her destitute,’ faltered my aunt. i ps “Well, madame,” said the gentleman, who had $re- mained seated, “I am a m trate, and can only act toward you as the law requires; and to begin, allow me to introduce to you Dr. Campbell, the head physician of a private insane asylum, who has something of interest to communicate. ow, docter,”? he continued, “we will here your testimony if you please.” ‘Dr. Campbell testified to the fact, that nearly eleven years previous to date, John Arneaux, Esq., had brought to his asylum, a Jady of great personal attractions, whom he called his wife, and whose mental faculties, so he said, had been seriously impaired since the pirth of her child, a daughter, nearly one yearof age. And he now deemed it wiser to separate her from the child, who would remain under the care of the mother’s nurse, an old trustworthy family servant. Also, that at the end of the second year, the Said John Arneanx came to him and announced his intention of marrying again, as there was no probability of the future recovery of nis wife. He also stated that his first marriage nad been a private one, and therefore he was considered a single mau; and that the recent death: of his father had placed pim in pos- session of Linwood Hali, where he shoula immediately take his bride. Dr, Campbell concluded his evidence by remain qviet, and not interfere in this unholy business, namely, that he, John Arneaux, should take his child readily assented. ; Dr. Campbell then went on to say: rightful inheritance!” and catching me to ier bosom covered me with kisses. of John Armeaux, Esq., (deceased).”’ He lingered a moment beneath the blossomed trees, to take in a full draught of the beauty around him, and looking toward the little white gate, he saw his wife standing there, her head bowed upon her hands, which were clasped and resting on the gleam- you think you had rid yourself of me, my true, sweet wife?’’ he suid, as he raised her face and kissed her. “Come, we will settle the affair now, and call our account equally balanced if you are willing, except that 1 must pay for demanding of you, what I could not give “O,that is like men,” said Julia, her eyes sparkling angels, but they can be what they peo ey ne coor ‘for- So at the gate they renewed their vows, and in the create amusement, minor defects will be remedied.1 though trials came, and they were sometimes perplexed with cares, they were all in all to each other, and distrust never again darkened their It was a dark and gloomy day that my Uncle John mi | tral portraits of ‘the -mounted casket which contained the mortal remains of my only friend. There reigned in that high-arched hall eee ight And every morn- my first care was to pluck a nice bouquet of them for his “Poor, dear uncle,’ I whispered, touching my lips to She was | from a-tin-kittle i and expressive of much sorrow; whilst her face was mar- | sh ble white.’ Something in that face carried me back Y he was , your only friend. “There “Are those living? who-}.with a ten-*oot But a little while | J spen those who hate you, and then justice will be done, } jp; ae alone bat not a long? U home as an adopted one, and immediately make a will by which she should be recognizeu as ‘his own, to which he _ {lt was supposed’ that Mrs. Arneaux died in a state of lunacy, in the. asylum in which she had been placed, but | drunken. husband, when she laid him stiff at her feet by a such was not the case. She still lives, and is as sane this | well-directeu blow on his head with an iron poker. moment as myself. Ii fact She never was otherwise. She ts was placed in durance by her husband, who kad_ bribed me—God forgive me !|—he having conceived an unholy passion for another woman, Come forth, Mrs. Arneaux !” | unul ic assomed ar I ne he exclaimed aloud, and elaim both your child and your | i»s.incident occurred, his wife was preparing to join the church The door of an adjoining room opened, and the beauti- ful lady who had accosted me in the garden, came forth, “Now, madame,’’ said the magistrate, addressing my aunt, “it is patent to all present that this young lady, Miss Vivian Arneaux, is the only legal heir to the estate my Uncle John (as I always call him) dedicated to me. awaiting my pen to be laid aside. “Come, come, Vivian,” says a pleasant voice, ‘‘that will do for to-day.’’ And a pair of warm lips touch lov- ingly my forehead, and I lay aside my pen. Pleasant Paragraphs. [Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing tow: making this column an attractive feature of the New York WErk-y, and they will oblige us by sending for publica- tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for general perusal. It is not necessary that the articles should be penned in scholarly style; so long as they are pithy and likely to —In the estimation of most of our readers, Liitle'Buckshot is already a “big gun,’? and one destined to ‘go off” rapidly and produce the most favorable reports. The public have fre- quently heard, through the daily press, of his many daring conflicts with Red Cloud and his savage horde; but the only au- thentic and connected account of his adventures was com- menced in the last issue of the New York WEEKLY. Read what one of our versifiers says of this invincible hero: LITTLE BUCKSHOT. Airn—"The Year of Jubilee.” Far away on the sweeping prairie, Where the red-men prowl away, _ Little Buckshot is the famous hunter Whom in yain they seek to slay. The White Whirlwind is the name of terror _ They give to his fearless life, As he sweeps them down, a Nemesis Of pistol, gun, and knife. he red fiends sing ‘“‘Ha! ha!” Little Buckshot growls ‘Ho! ho!” It must be that the pen of BuNTLINE Will make this romance go! There’s John Reshau, the dark half-breed, Red Cloud, the Indian chief, Little Rattlesnake, a painted brave, A thers who “come to grief.” » \ Bud of Beauty is a heroine To gild the darkest hour, And little Frankita is a Mexican girl, _As fair as a cactus flower. - The red-men sing “Ha! ha!” « Little Buckshot shouts **Ho! ho!” fis er be hg ag fire of BUNTLINE 1 Will make the reader glow! Truth a charm to this wild romance, For Rg has “‘been there,” And mixed with the thrilling, desperate scenes, He describes so free and fair. Hurrah for the White Whirlwind of the Prairie, and ford, seen from the bleeding earth dian horde. al hal” shot sings “Ho! ho!” in the WEEKLy’s peerless columns How he makes their fierce blood flow! ELDER PLUM'S IDEAS. . Hevin found time durin a lull in the weeryan routeen ov biz- ness tu rake together in my head a few stra idees for the gentile ton I hev seized my guse quill, and, settin on the glistnin oils ov a butiful anakonda, will now pore forth my hevenly sole tu the enchantin strains ov wa A harp, which haz long hung ontu the *‘weepin willow,’’ 1ts mildew strings tuched only by sum ragin zeffer in a discordant yet melancolick melerdy. Yung man, phling down that blasted kup raised tu yur lips! It may cost yu ten cents; but better so than drink deth enuff for tew dosen. If yer must drink pisen, buy the pure artikle; buy it by the galon; it wont cost yu haf az much; it wiliend yur misery quicker, and Satan will be just az sure ov yu. Menny oy our susceptible yuth think there can be no harm in a giass ov wine kissed by the lips ov a hansum gurl and held tu there noses by her perly fingers. So, with an elastick idee that she iz an suse they heve asie, open their hatches, and down oes ole Beelzebub, huffs, horns and all. fter he wunce gits xed intu their stumachs there aint no use in tryin tu heve him up, all the ’arb doctors in krisendum culdn’t start him a hare. It iz a big temptashun, I kno, tu hey a purty gurl ask yntu drink her helth—the color oy the wine iz so near that oy her lips, yu kno, while its sparkle seems only the reflecshan oy her ‘| eie—but resist it, my yung friend; flea from it aza dorg flies: isreer. Dont be a phool yurself because sum larf, for yu’ll find in the kourse oy time that it iz only phools who larf. siJid b A larf.iz, wun ov Satan’s best disguises, . Yu. may see the ole kuss in the eie oy a snarlin, spitin, wild-cat, orin the grin ov a ‘| Rocky Mountain bar. I hev seen it mm the silvery snicker ov a i And a tall manly form now stands at my elbow anxiously e hymn he sat dow K- choir arose to sing. The leader tried hard to me ee xan bik i not succeeding, each singer took his own key, andeach sung an independent part for about two lines when th ceased, leaving the leader to brave it out alone. He himself deserted by all the singers, quavered along for a few words and then ended in a most heart-rending and eatsplitting noise. When the echoesof his voice had died away, Blder B said to the leader: ‘Try it again, »rother, try it again: don’t be discouraged. I have heard more worse than that.” Nep. FOR CROOKED-EYED POLICEMEN. An Irishman, aiter boring a hole in aniron shutter, was asked by his employer why he bored crooked. After scratching his nead for a while, he said, “Begob, sir, a erooked-eyed police man might be wanting to look through it.” Z RN BIG AND LE DRAMS. A schoolboy was asked by the teacher how many drachms there werein an ounce. Ashe wasunable to answer, the teach- er told him to learn before he againcame toschool. His father it should here be stated, keeps a tavern; and as the boy, on his return home, was about to ask the important question, he no- ticed a customer taking a stiff horn at the bar. “Papa » said the boy, “how many drachmsare therein an ounce?” “Usu- ally sixteen,” answered the father; “but if you mean drams such as Mr. Andrews takes, there ain’t but two.” JIMuy ; THE PATIENT'S ANSWER, Aristocratic Déctor to Poor Patient—* ou expectorate much my good woman?” “Och! now, docthur, Qon’t be afther tazin me,’ answered the patient, “How could th loikes 0’ me expect toate much? Me, that hasn’t touched a morsel these two days.” ’ BULuIinG, AN EXCITEMENT AMONG LITERARY OELEBRITIZS. : I found on opening the Nkw York WEEKLY, that the greatest consternation prevailed on theinside. There stood the “ of Kendale,” frightered out of her wits, by the “Witch of the Ocean,” while the sereck aan of Lyons,”’grasping the “False Heir” tightly by the tiroat, demanded that he pay “Edna’s Debt,” which according to ‘Uncle Phil” was alr “Squirrel Cap” was pasty engaged shackling “Conrad the— Convict,’ who was accused of knowing all aboutthe ‘‘Mystery - of the Black Diamond,” which was stolen from - “Leigh Homestead”’ during the “Weaver’s War” through the agenc “a the ‘Magician of the Lakes.”? On look’ round I saw “Ned buntline” sitting on the “Knowledge Box,” smoking the “‘calu- met of peace,’’ and poising in his hand the rifle of the “Rar ot Raccoon Ridge”’ chara with ‘‘Little B t.”? Just then the “Lady of the Silver Spray” bolted in, in her hand a bundle of ‘‘Doesticks’ Letters,” tied up with a coil of “Atlan Cable,” and called out in her silvery voice, “Poor old Mike,” “Meet me in the Lane Love,” “My sweet Evangeline.” A loud crash, and all eyes are turned to behold the “Sky Trayeler’’. rush ‘‘Out of the Dark,’”’ through the ‘‘ Secret | ,”’ situated behind the “Shadowed Altar,” take ‘‘Lady Violet” in bis arms and lead her tothe vessel of the “Boy Whaler,” thathe may get “$15,000 Reward, Dead or Alive.” ‘Ned in his excitement, dis- charged *‘Buckshot” in every direction, which ca an ecle- vation of ‘‘Red Cloud's” scalp, which, as a trophy, at some future time; he will ang tp circumstances permi g, to the readers of the New YorK WrEKLY. P. C. McCormack. ; RAN AWAY. ; j Nineveh ran off with the chariot with the golden wheels, - spilling ‘Faithful Margaret,” who upset the ““Boy Whaler,” he falling into the arms of. the “Locksmith of Lyons,” who was watching ‘Buffalo Bill’ playing. euchre wi nBohemeal ing Madelon,” while ‘‘Lady Violet,” under the shade of the “Shadowed Altar” was piaying marbles with the ‘‘False Heir,’ for a pint of whisky, which the ‘Ranger of ‘‘“Raccoon Ridge" stole from the trunk of the ‘Rose of Kendale,’”’ while the “Sleuth Hound of Castle Brand’? was howlwg for a dozen o fried oysters to be served at the “Leighton Homestead.” cooked by the ‘Witch of the Ocean,” who came up “Out of the Dark,’ to read the NEw YorK WEEKLY. Wititow Hi. A SHREWD SWELL. AS The following incident was really witnessed at one of our first-class restaurants: A perfumed swell having entered and taken his seat, said to the attendant, ‘‘Waitaw, have you any roast chicken?” ‘Yes, sir.” “Then bring me a_half one.” The waiter soon after places on the table a small pat a2. chicken, and, as the swell views it, beesks, “Do youcall that half a chicken?” ‘‘Certainly itis.’ “Yhen take this half away and get me the other halt.” . This was an impossibility, as the — other half had been served to two guests an hour porgre, gy b UPITER. “CROWNER’S QUEST LAW." iv The other day, in a rural town, an inquest was held over the ody of aman who was killed by a horse. Afler hearing the testimony of several witnesses, the jury retired and soon re turned with the following verdict: “That the deceased came to_ his death from the effects of a wound in the head, caused by a horse-shoe in the hands ot a horse.” Cc. ‘A VERBAL BLUNDER. A stump orator of the Hoosier State, delivering an address to his friends, had occasion to refer to negro suffrage. Conclud- ing his remarks on the subject, he exclaimed, with _stento: emphasis: ‘Persons wishing to marry negroes can do so, but myself intend marrying one of my own sex.”’ FRANK. A SOCKDOLAGER. ’ ¢ E ; At a prayer meeting, the other evening, the younger persons were ne at the prolonged session, and were eager to leave. hen the congregation began to sing the “Doxology,” id to a companion: woman inishiatin sum verdant yuth mtu the misteries ov flirta- |. Adorable yuth, on whose soft cheeks the down ov manhood just glimmers in the munelite, dont believe every woman iz an L because she is purty, or yu’ll stan a chance ov a mity dis- ee aa ere the chee ov matrimuney hey lost their fust shine! Iuse tu think psy about az near an angil az they make ’em, but I’ll be derned if I didn’t gita glimpse ov the * . uit in some them een, oar SI — and in ten Cc. me clean out ov , (these remarks on Hepsy are pat tu he epee ere wun who haze _tor the kontin elth ov hiz body, or buty, | ) 4 fust thing for a yun omempiatin marrage tu du, it arn the mo is in his bussum companion’s acte 5 fhe snn’s r 4 pee en Din] az me e > re) ty oe ae eee labor on Hepsy before I wuz pea t.betore Me twence 6th we ended. hed ninent than mat a eat and. it haz ince. Whenever Hepsy sed ‘‘if yu du’. to enny there waz allus sumt aes ee rin , ‘me ‘to let her the de n.. 1 solved they proble howe wever,and here iz the solu- 5 z rr cay oped pes ona 303 i gy Pigs e ¢ e, sim. . Yeers ago, just az the balmy. ber eeccien: the landscape et re, FE proposed tuhum and watch the pece- ful slaumbers : fant soles inthe wust stages ov the mee- ‘sels, while, i : iow Geetin hours baskin in’ the lavender , 2 :w ringlets oy our nabor, Pleats ‘Ann. ‘ : aif yi »” Were the last. wurds I herd az ‘the doré yhappy hum, That nite I drempt oy a horde ov Arrapahoo savages aitackin the sleepin inhabitants ov my nativ hamlet; carryin me serena. and consignin me tu the burnin stake az an offerin tu the departed sole ov sum red kuss ov the forest. Bi the dim lite ov an erly dawn I real- ized the reality; the painted injuns wuz Hepsy ‘‘in dishabile,”’ minus hur ivory teeth, havin in her bans the vehicles oy tor- ture, a kowhide wip. 4tyteu howlin aborigines, each with a blazin pie splinter, ticklin mi ribs three dais in. suckceshun, culdnt hey tortured me warser than did the tinglin ov that whip. I heynt seen *Lecta since, nor hev Ienny desire tu. Sum may wonder why J, a man—wun ov the lord's ov krea- shun, sole rope ov the best. Menagerum in existence— shuld: allow myself tu becum the victim ov so much kruelty. /The facts are these: Hepsy knu mi weekest pint and prepared torit. She met me at the dore with’a fond karess, led me intu her boréor, where a bountiful feast wuz spread; proposed mi helth in the brimin beeker till I wur overcum. with her, then guidin me tu mi couch with luvin hans, she laid me down help- less az aintant, and then—I hev menshuned the sequel. | ger’ now.”’ | Sic ubee vie seeee” Mary F. Asepes her hands joyfully, and sa “Church will soon be-out, for they are s the ‘Sockdola- HARLIE ALTON, To P. P. Contrisutors.—G. S.—In next number of the oe ‘ Phellow....... . Thalsheimer.—1f received, they have been notic as accepted or declined. Send on your annecdotes..... fe following MSS. are accepted: ‘Life Insurance Agent Sold;’ ‘Old Lady’s Doubts Removed;’ ‘Useless Serenade: ‘Speechless Irish- man;* ‘Presence of Mind; ‘Bully Celebration; ‘Too Late,’ “An- ecdote of Dr. Young;’ ‘To Oblige Benson;’ ‘Caution;’ ‘Rather Rough; ‘Contest between Bootblacks;’ ‘Three Big Wishes;’ ‘Cow- catcher and Calf;’ ‘Movements of Fietion;’ ‘Taking a Calf). wees. The following are respectfully declined: ‘The Yankee and his Knife,’ ‘Irishman’s Chest;’ ‘Struck One;’ “Let- er from Luna; ‘Sleepy Bey of Chenango;’ ‘Too Bad,’ ‘Muster- apis <“e at ‘Broadsides: *W hat Does S 1 Cs. CV. asses lms Tor the Notes;’ ‘Sensational;’ ‘Letter trom an Editor im Prospective,’ ‘fwo. Anecdotes,” by J. L. S.; ‘Sam and the Shower Bath;’ ‘Fotched the Watch; ‘An Evasive Answer;’ ‘A Fragment,’ ‘Cat Seog AG a incoaeh eons incent e a Gopher; 8 pj biterary 7? ‘A Literary Que- 7 Titles, by Glarenoes:* tA Theit; De ow Fodder,’ ‘Awful a Man for ad Eyes; ‘Hungry Joke, ‘Woodpile Ser nocent ‘Children;’ ‘Minnie and Charlie) ‘Gannon; ‘£15,0007 ‘A Slite Difference; ‘Woman's Ingenuity; ‘Paragraphs,” oM. : Tail in the by sean: ‘Blundering Peter; ‘Diana Short’s Troubies;’ ‘Slightly Mixed;' ‘Eating the Cat,’ ‘A Grand ~ sion;’ ‘Pat Dooie. 1 ‘Pat and Tim;’*Would Rather Sleep Below;” ‘Boys’ Rien ‘Baid Faced Turkey; ‘Panther S24 eet hy He Was not Good;’ ‘Bay Rum;’ ‘ChicKens;’ ‘Skip- jac Py. a oe oe Our Knowledge Box. A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING, QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED., Buckeye Reader—To MAKE STRAWBERRY SHORT Caxe.—Sift a i of flour into a pan, and cut up in it halfa pound of butter. ub with your hands the butter into the flour, until the whole is crumbled fine. Beat one egg, and mix with it two table spoonstul of powdered white sugar. Wet the flour and butter with the beaten egg and sugar so asto forma dough. K i the dough till it quits your hands. Then roil into rather a thick sheet, and bake a light brown in a brickoven. Have ready a sufficient quantity of ripe strawberries mashed and made very sweet with powdered sugar. When the cake is cooi, split if, and Suin weeks ago [told you *bout my menajerie, cr “‘beestly show,” as Hepsy calls it. Iam 4cibly reminaed ov it just now, tor the bell baz just rang; the curtin 1z about tu rise; peeple are anxshus for the shuw tu begin; the anakonda haz awoke and iz begioin tu sqairm under the pressure ov so much knowledge ontu hiz stummock, so I will Klose this epissle with the overture tu a sweet salm which I have patented: “How menny minds thar be In this brite wurld below! = Sum in gold thar god they see, While others delite in beestly show. : ELDER PLUM. A HINT TO ‘LOVERS OF FRENCH WINE. : A good story is told of an American traveling in Paris. Hav- ing oceasion to take a bath, his physician recominended a wine path. In the employ of the establishment there was a colored man whom he had known in America, and of him he inquired bow they could give a wine bath for 75 cents. “‘Why, massa,” said the negro, “that wine has been in the bath-room for one week,and you is the thirty-eight person that batied in it!” “Well, I suppose they throw it away when they are done with it.’ “Oh, no, master; they send it down stairs for the poor people, who bathe for twenty-five cents.” ‘‘And then what do they do with it?” “Bottle it up and send it to America, where they sell it for French wine.” H.C. C. THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED. cover the bottom thickly with the berries. Then another layer of the cake and another of the berries. Cover the whole with cream, and serve........... S. D.—We cannot inform you........ J. L. N.—Orows. The properties of this alloy are as fol- lows: Pure copper, one handred parts by weight; zinc, seven- teen, maguesa, six; sal ammoniac, 3.6; quicklime, 1.80; tartar of commerce, 9...... ¢. £. D.—\..To Make Goup INK. Mosaic gold, two parts, gum arabic, one part; rub up with water until reduced to a proper condition. 2. To MAKE SILvER 1nK.—Tritu- rate in amortar equal parts of silver foil and sulphur of po'as- sia, until reduced to a fine powder; then wash out the salt, and © rinse the residue witha mucilage of equal parts of gum arab‘c and water. 3. We are unable to tell you: -.... Handsome Robest. 1. Try this recipe: Cutone pound of rubber hito: thin, small sli¢es; heat them in a suitable vessel over a moderate Coal fir until the rubber becomes fluid; then add _ one-ha pound. of powdered rosin and melt both materiais at a moderate heat. When these materials are per- fectly fluid, then gradually add three or ‘four pounds of spirits of turpentine in small potions. and stir well. 2. Itis pronounced as if written conceréena. 3. Read. some work on steam engines: Our space will not admit of a full description... J. B. Halten.—Avoid exposure to the sun............. N.E. C.—1L See No. 22. 2. You write a tair hand. 3. Put the question in these words: ‘‘Shail I have the pleasure of escorting you home when the ball isover?”....... ..-- Uncle Snow.—BROKEN-WINDED Horses.—Broken winds said to be an incurable disease; ali tnat A party of éxhumers engaged inremoving a cemetery came to tite grave of a mau who, 1n life, had exhibited such anin- ordinate appetite for tobacco, that he came to known as Spitting Jimmy. What was their ast t on op g the coffin, to find the body lying on its face, having been turned completely round. Various were the causes assigned for the strange cenduct of: the deceased, but none of them proved sat- isfactory, and the true cause seemed likely to remain a mystery, when an Irishman, who happened to be present, said: “Be jabers, there’s none o’ ye right. Faith, what would the man be layin’ this way for, if he hadn’t turned over to spit?” ; Gu. Bras. , BROAD STREET. “Ho ! Guardian of the Peace,’ 1 cried, “Heed ye not yonder strife, Where violence reigns, where homicide Now seeks a brother’s life? “Heed ye not yonder surging crowd, Those wild, appalling shrieks; As terror-stricken, frantic, loud, Each dreadful outcry speaks! “Come, hie thee fo their quick relief; Or else—if you retreat, ; Ill take your number, to your grief, And take you off your beat. . “My friend,”—the M. P., laughing, said, n tones that seemed so strange: “That ain’t no muss, you kin bet yer head, That's the New York Stock Exchange.” Corny BLAKE. : | INK BLOTS. c Why is an umbrella like a pretentious friend ? Because there is no knowing when it will turn on you, Money is said to be the root of all evil, yet how many spend their lives rooting for that which is only an evil when in other’s hands, but a blessing when you grasp it, It you desire to be continually in hot water, tell everything you know. What have many of our maimed soldiers been doingsince the stating, that upon one condition only had he agreed tO | war. Re-member-ing. What a pieneent entertainment it would be for some deaf P rsons to hear the back-handed compliments they receive from heir smiling friends, ¢ ; A reyolyer—A man on the fly ing trapeze. Coming throuch the rye—A man just recovering from an at- tack of the delirium tremens, “With all thy faults, I love thee still,” as a wife said to her ADAM'S TEMPTATION AND FALL. ; Adam &. loyed intoxicating beverages; in truth he indulged so frequently that he seemed determined to color his nasal organ d-heat hue. Atthbe time when the follow- and the clergyman sometimes visited her to impart instract- ions. She one day sent Adam to town for a jag ot vinegar, and warned him not to getdrunk but to hurry back, as the preach- er was expected. When Adam arrived at the grocery he could not resist the temptation to indulge; on his route homeward he stumbled over a pile of stones, broke his jug, and spilled his vinegar. He reached home just a little betore the preacher, who came so soon that the wife had not time to hide the in- ebriate any where, except under tne bed. The minister, ali un- suspicious, began his catechising by asking Mrs. 8. where Adam can be done is to relieve the animal for a time soas to enable ‘him to perform a day’s work. To do this, use the followirg re- cipe: Assafoetida, two ounces; powdered squills, two drachms, li d powder, one ounce; honey, as much as will make the mass. Divide it into four balls, and give one morning and even- an ~ The food should be carrots or turnips. The hay, oats, or whatever is given, should be in small quantities at a time, and always sprinkled with clean, soft water. Blceding is sometimes resorted to at an early period of the complaint..........Zouts Napoleon. Se Geo a Ike —Not in our memory....... Button-Hole.—Fuires ON Horses—To save horses from b teased with flies, take two or three small handfuls of > leaves, upon which pour two or three quarts of cold water ; let it infuse one night, and pcur the whole next morning into a kettle, and let it boil fora quarter of an hour. When cold it will be fit for: use. No more is required than to moisten a sponge, and before the horse goes out of the stable, let those arts which are most irritable be smeared over with the iquor, viz.: between and upon the ears, the neck, the. fla i: efc........2. J, D. I. FFENSIVE BREATH 1s sometimes ¢ by foulness of the stomach, a remedy for which is the concen- trated solution of chloride of soda. Poura few drops into a wineglass of water, and drink it in the morning, or at any — time during theaay. The frequent use of pulverized charcoal (swallowing a tabiespoonful in a tumbler of water) will also prove beneficial. hen the breath is tainted by decayed teeth, the only remedy. is to remove the affected teeth. Over eating is apt to produce somnolence. You mustcurb your appetite, e you may have an attack of apoplexy ...-. .... Sweetness. receding answer......... Hope.—See answer to “Sadness,” in No.29 gt Unhappy Youth. psulf a physician, D. D.—See No. 28..... Kentuckiun.—Wash your hands and teet in alcohol...... Brooklyn Boy.—You probelty partake of foo much sait or greasy food. Pay more attention to your eating and avoid rich gravies. If the blotches continue to ap Pr. try. sarsaparilla. It is a blood purifier......Hard Hands,—l, No. 2— No. 3. Several weeks...... Elie M.—Consult a physician...... Sui scriber.—CURE FOR SEA Sickn«ss.—Take five drops of chioro- form in a little water.as soon asyou feel the firstsymptoms.... Foster.—1. Horace W. B. furnished two recipes jor making po-— made in last week’s paper. 2. Soon...... . Black.—TO MAKE. THE COMPOUND DrcocTION OF SARSAPARILLA.—Take of sarsapar- illa rootsliced, four eunces; boiling water four pints. Macerate_ for four hours in a vessel lightly covered, and placed near the fire; then take out the sarsaparilia and bruise it. Return it again to the liquor and macerate in a similar manner for four hours 1 ore first adding of raspings of guaincum wood, of sassatras root, licorice root, bruised, of each one ounce; bark of mezereon root, three drachms. Finaliy strain. The dose is a quarter of a pint, repeated three or four timesa day, or halfa pint'twice:a day...... B. H.—CHEAP AND FINE VARNISH FoR Woop.—This is made by, mixing twe pounds of copal varn- ish with half an ounce of linseed oil varnish, The mixture is shaken often to mix it well, and is then placed on a Warm spot The wood to be varnished is prepared with a thin coat, of glue- water, dried slowly, and rubbed down with fine pumice-stone or something equivalent. In light-colored wood, ° light pig- ment. such as chaik, is added to the giue-water; in dark wood, an equally dark pizmentis added. When ready, the articles are varnished with the above mixture, and, set OOD. oa oy with a solution of wax in ether, thereby acquiring a, high pole it... 5 James Augustus.—TO RESTORE FLowERS.—Place the flow; ers in scalding hot water, deep enough to cover about one-third of the length of the stem; by the time the water has become cold the flowers will have become erect and fresh; then cot off the coddled ends of the stems and put them intocold water BY se pint Kilgor.—See answer to “Sadness” in. Neue? s. <3. 2. Darby.—l. Beef marrow two pounds, essence of be ot 1 12 draciims, ¢ssence of cloves 1 drachm; color with alkanet or carmine lake. 2. Try bay rum......Sam.—Many think so, At rch eet — eos