eet wf Ne FRANCIS Vol. XXYV. SONG: LOVE’S CONSUMMATION, BY WILLIAM R°SS WALLACE. Now they are not where breezes sing, Nor where the rill may dance, Nor where the moon-!it roses make Wreaths for the tryst’s romance. But yet there is a beauty round, The beauty that’s divine, Breathed on their twining hearts and hands Beside the wedding shrine. O, there is consummation now, The crowning Eden made, For which this universe itself By central Love was made! Livs truly in the Paradise, O, wectded ones, and soon May babes make music d: arer far That rilis beneath the mocn. eet SKY TRAVELER; OR, THE MAGICIAN OF THE 1L AK ES. By P. HAMILTON MYERS, CHAPTER fF ; It was midsummer, nd the lodges of the Ottawas were dotting the shores of Lake Supetior; whither they had,come from their more eastern winter home to take the salmon, and to chase the red deer. Lewance was the.son of a brave.. He had bimseif passed the first ordeal for that rank, though scarce eighteen years old, and his virtue and valor were already recited in im- provised song by mothers to listening cildren, who were taught te become emulous of his early manliness, his strength, and speed, and daring, lus filial loye, his réver- ence for the Great Spirit. This guileless son of nature, after a prolonged chase Which had taken him far from his comrades, had slain an antiered buck beside a beetling ciff, which threw its giant shadow far over lake and land, anu against which, wlea the storm-spirit was abroad, the dark billows bea’ witb ceaseless but unavailing fury. But all was tranguil now; the waters lay like a mirror before the young hunter's eye, and the blue sky, and the fleecy clouds, and the jutting crag were ali reflected im their calm depths with wonder- ful and beautiful accuracy. Lewanee, overcome by fatigue, sat down on the grass to rest and toadmire. The heat was excessive, but the shadow of the great rock protected him from its intensity, and he fell asleep upon the flowery mead. He slept long—strange visions crossed his mind; and when he awoke the descending sun was casting his level beams across the lake, and Lewanee became conscious that he was not alone. Sitting near the cliff, and leaning against its rocky sides, Was an old man, whose thick, white huirlay upon his head like a crown of snow upon the peaks of Cuimboraza. | His skin wes olive-hae@, but bis Teutares were ike ttrose * of the Indians who imhabit the Pacific shores ana the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. His forehead was high and expansive; a benevolent look irradiated his whole face, and a calm, soft light shone in his eyes, which were black as night. " Yet the stranger’s attitude and motions betokened in- firmity almost to decrepitude. His age seemed so ex- treme that Lewanee wondered how he could have traveled alone so far from any habitation, and a look of most evi- dent pain, which, at frequent intervals, passed across his face, alarmed the young Ottawa, and aroused his sym- athy. . After having gazed at him some minutes, apparently unobserved, Lewanee approached the venerable man to offer his aid, “My father seems weak and tired,” he said. “Is he hungry also ?? “Yes, Ogil is hungry,’’ was the short reply. Lewanee was surprised and pleased to be answered in his own language; but without comment he hastened to supply the wants of the stranger. With his hanting knife be quickly removed the skin from one of the haunches of his slain deer, and cut out some tender steaks, which he laid apon the carcass, while he hastily gathered materials for a fire. There was woodland ata little distance, which yielded an abundance of dry boughs and leaves, and disposing these upon & shelf of the rock, he struck fire with the flint of his gun, and soon had a blaze curling up the sides of the cliff ample for his culinary purposes. One of the steaks was then broiled upon the pointof nis hunting Knife, and was taken hot and savory to the old man, who had in the meantime prepared for himself a smooth, flat stone for a plate, which he had carefully washed in the lake, tottering to and from its margin with seeming difficulty. Ogil ate sparingly, yet with seeming relish; and when he had finished his meal, Lewanee, whose sympathies were not yet exhausted, and who did not like to leave him alone in such a wild spot, and night so near, said to him: “Where is my father’s lodge ?”” “Herel” answered Ogil, tapping the rock behind him with Lewanee’s knife. The Ottawa smiled, “T do not see it,” he said. “The young man’s eyes are dim,’’ replied Ogil. ‘When he has seen a thousand moons they will be stronger. Look again.’’ "hs he spoke he struck the rock a second time, and mut- tered some words in a language unkno.\n to the Ottawa, when suddenly a fissure appeared in tne solid wall, which gradually opened to a@ little more than the width of a man’s body. “The moccasin of the stranger has never crossed it yet,” said the old man; “but the young hunter may enter. Follow me.” Lewanee knew now that he was in the presence of a magician, and he reflected thatit would ve as easy for him to close the massive portals behind them as 1t had been to open them. But he did not hesitate. He was strong in Virtue, and first looking serenely upward, he fol- lowed the old man into the cave, and heard the moving rock close, With a dull clangor, behind him. Tne room ia which he found himself was large and dimly lighted—he did not see how—and the airseemed as fresh and pleasant as it had been in the shade without. There was a bed of many skins, hbigh-piled in a corner; there was @ gun;a bow and arrow, and some fishing- tackle im other parts of the cavern; and there were orna- ments of deers’, and antlers’, and butfaloes’ horns, stuck into the crevices of the rocks, while the heads of a jaguar and a grizzly bear grinned horribly at each other frum op- posite sides of a wall, When Lewanee liad gazed about him for a few minutes Ogil lea the Way into another apartment, larger and lighter than the first, where silver lamps, hung b¥silver chains from the rocky ceiling, and cast at once @ light anda grateful odor through the room. The floor of this division of the cavern was covered, apparently to the depth of several feet, with beautiful Skins Of beasts of prey only, as the panther, the leopard, and the polar bear, while here again weapons of various patterns were scattered about, which looked as if they might have been trophies taken from vanquished foes. Ogil spake not, but passed on through an open archway to still another room, which Lewanee had no sooner en- tered than he stepped back in evident alarm, and drew his hunting-Knife trom his belt. Direcily in front of him was a large grizzly bear, of fe- rocious aspect, and on a shelf of a rock, not twenty feet distant, @ yellow panther was croucliing as if for a spring, with fierce eyes fixed upon him. But, at a word from Ogil, the beasts both crouched at his feet, submissive as kittens. “These are Ogil’s friends,’ said the ola man, patting them on the necks, and then whispering to each of them. “They are impatientto go out. Come !” Heled the way back to the first cave, and stopping near the fissure which had opened and closed at his command, he Said to the grizzly bear: “Remember to return at daylight, and bring me a part of your prey.” The bear growled something which was unintelligible S. FRANCIS SS. S G RY arene NEW YORK, #0NE 9, 1870. STREET, MITH, ; Proprietors, to Lewanee, but he nodded his huge head in evident token of assent. The panther was addressed in the same words, and made a similar reply, and then Ogil added: “There is a carcase of a deer on the rock in front of the cave. Do not touch it.” There was a response as before, the wall slid open, and the animais passed out. When the opening was closed Lewanee said: ‘How is it that the beasts understand my father? “Ogil talks the language of all animals,’ was the reply; “but to these, my hunters, and to some of my birds yon- der, I have taught something of our language, which they both understand and speak. Lewanee did not hear the per Aad the bear and the panther ?”” 4“ 0.’ “The grizzly said, ‘If I find no prey, we will eat the rea man in the morning! Sosaid the panther. But they shall not harm you,” “Will you teach Lewanee to talk to the beasts and birds ?” “There is but one Magician of the Lakes—but he is mortal, and he draws near to the fianting grounds of the blest. When Ogil goes, he can transmit his powers to another, and for this he has sought the young Ottawa.” “Did the great Medicine man seek me then ?"? “Was Ogil hungry? Could he nct enter his cave and eat? Was he weary? Are there no soft skins here for old limbs to rest upon??? sy 3ee,”? “But he must die. It is more than a thousand moons since he first went forth, like Lewanee, strong and active, to the chase—and though he talks to all living things, and takes their shape at will—though he has enchanted moc- aT enchanted weapons—he must die. And ue is ready, ‘‘And does my father take other forms? Is he ever any thing but man?”? ‘Ia spirit—no, In appearance he becomes what he will, though compelled at each rising sun to resume his proper shape. “It igs wonderful. Would that I could see such a ehange.”’ “What would Lewanee have me become? He has only to speak.”’ “An eagle, like him I saw soaring inthe sky as I sank to sleep oa the green earth.” “It was Ogil that my son saw,’ replied the magician, calmly. “He had been watching and following you long, Scout the young hunter slept, he alighted at his side. ee | The Ottawa saw no process of change but where the old man had stood, there was now a vacancy, and now a white-headed eagle with huge talons and broad wings, acd with sharp, blinking eyes which looked meaningly into his; then, spreading his great pinions, the bird flew to the high ceiling, and, having made the circuit of the room, returned and alighted at the Ottawa’s feet. “This is fearful. Lewanee is dreaming,” said the young man, ‘“‘Lewanee is awake,”’ said Ogil, again his proper self. ‘Do not be afraid. The old man, who seems so powerfui, is still feeble and needs help. Stay with him for the short time that is his—give him the burial which belongs toa brave, and a great medicine man, and his gifts, such as they are, shall be yours,” “Lewanee will stay.” “The son of the Ottawa brave is worthy to be the suc- cessor of the Magician of the Lakes,’’ continued Ogil, in asort of chant. ‘His hand has never been stained with blood; his tongue is not forked; his eye looks at the sun; his heart is warm as a woman’s, but bold as that of the great white bear. Ogil has looked for him Oh He has traveled a thousand leagues to find him, and he’ is happy.” CHAPTER II. When the old man had ceased his chant he led the way back to that division of the cavern where the wild ani- mals had been found, and which the Ottawa now ex- plored more fally. It was very large, and its rocky ceiling seemed to Lewanee nearly as high as the cliff, as viewed from the outside. The floor was of earth, a velvety sod covering nearly the wholeinterior, except where a large circular fountain cast up seven sparkling jets, which fell back into the basin With a murmaring sound like sum- mer rain, “WE HEAR HIS VOICE, BUT WE DO NOT SEE HIM!” Numberless gold-fish flashed and glided through the pellucid water; and around its margin were tall, gracefel trees whose branches were filled with birds of many countries. ; Daylight, struggling down from some high but unseen window, irradiated the scene, and gentle breezes at times swept by, seeming to make the circuit of the three cav- erns and to find entrance and egress at some yet undis- covered points. In a corner were ornamented baskets of willow, high- piled with luscious fruits; and beside them lay the slain body of a buck, larger and fatter than that which Le- waaee hae left upon the rock, In its torn neck were the marks of the panther’s fangs, who had slain it, and the teeth-traces of the grizzly, who had dragged it home on the preceding night. Tie magician and his guest supped on fruit only, and slept on soft couches of skins in the central cave, being lulied into quiet slumbers by the sound of rippling water, ever murmuring as it fell back into the fouatain, and by the voice of a nightingale, which poured forth its liquid melody from a branch of a tree. An owl, emulous of the gushing music of its tiny neigh- bor, tried its solemn “tu-whit’ for awhile, but was si- lenced by the command of Ogil. Very early in the morniug Ogil and his companion were awakened by a loud roaring on tle outside of the rock. “It is the grizzly,” said the oldman. ‘I must let him in.”? He rose, uftered some words which the Ottawa vainly tried to understand, and the rock slid apart as before. The bear and the panther were there, and beside them was the carcass of an antelope. “A herd came down to drink,” said the grizzly; “we each seized one, and we have brought the best to our master.’? “You have done well. Bring it in and lay it beside the fountain. We have abundance now for many days.’’ The animals entered, dragging their game, and Ogil reclosed the door, returned to his couch and sat down upon it. “We will have breakfast,” he said. “Here, Snow- white—here.”” The owl fluttered quickly to him. “What will master have ?’’ it asked. “What says my son? Will heeat the flesh of the deer —or fish from the fountain—or fruit from the gardens of the pale faces ?”? “Fruit only for me,’ answered Lewanee; “it ig rich and luscious—like the spice-apples of the happy hventing grounds. Fruit for me.? “Bring it to him.” The owl flew quickly and returned, bringing a large apple in one claw and a pear im the other, wiich it laid upon Lewanee’s bed. “Now tell grizzly to cut me asiice from the haunch of the Oo tane you, Snow-White, see that you broil it well.”? Beast and bird obeyed: the meat was cooked at a little fire which flickered in the far end of the third cave, and which seemed never togo out. Snow White holding one wing before his face to shield it from the blaze, while he held the steak on a fork in his right claw. Ogil ate both of meat and fruit, and when his meal was finished, he said: “Where is Big Wing?” “In the top ofthe elm, He is not yet awake,” “He is lazy. Send him to me,’ A large gray eagle fluttered heavily down, and alight- ed.at Ogil’s feet. t “Rouse up,’ said the magician, ‘I have work for you. You must fiy to my lodge in the Rocky Mountains and back before night.” “It is along way, master.’ “No; you are lazy. It is nothing. Hasten—get your breakfast and be ready. Grizzly will give you your fill of meat. The lodge does not want to-day.” The eagle swallowed two pounds of raw, fat venison, which grizzly gave him: he drank from the fountain, and then he came to his master, “Big-Wing is strong now,” he said. ‘He laughs at the little journey. He will go to the great sea and back.” “No, goto my lodge only. Tell your brother there, and the gray wolf, and the big white bear that in three days they will havea new master; that they will know him by his power to close and open their cave: that he is young, vars: xm 1ERMS, { Three Dollars Per Year. Iwo Copies Five Dollars, only a boy, but very terrible: that if they. obey him all will be well, if not, he will shut them up in the rock for- ever.’? “TI will tell it all to my brother, and to the wolf, and the great bear.”’ “And bid them proclaim it to all the rest. Go!” The door was opened, and the eagle spread his broad wings and soared aloft, and soon he was but a speck in the sky. Ogiland Lewanee now went out upon the rock; the magician taking with him a pair of deer skin moceasins, ornamented with beads, wrought in the shape of a winged man. “I will show my son the use of these,” he said. “How far is it to the lodges of the Ottawas?” “Half a. day’s journey; and the mother of Lewanee is weeping for her son.’ ‘Put these on your feet; quick—go to her and return while Ogil fills and lights his pipe.” The young man took off his own richly embroidered moccasins and put on those of the magician; but he no sooner attempted to step forward, than he found that he was ascending in the air, and was walking far above the tops of the tallest trees. Every step was a league, and at the sixth step he was over the Ottawa camp, into which he descended with such difficulty as usually accompanies the attempt to climb a steep hill. He climbed down, pant- ing with the effort to overcome his buoyancy. He natur- ally expected that his arrival in so strange a manner would excite the greatest surprise among his people; nay, he even feared that in their consternation they might shoot at him before they discovered who or what he was. But his wonder increased when he perceived that al- though he descended in the midst of the encampment no one took the least notice of him. The men were saunter- ing about their lodges, some in. idleness, some engaged in cleaning their weapons, while the women were busy dressing the game and the fish which had been taken on the preceding day. Almost everbody was outside the wigwams; and the children, who were playing and shouting, would have run against him had he not taken pains to keep out of their way. He approached his father’s lodge, sure at last of recog- nition and welcome, but although Great Elk, (such was his honored sire’s name,) reclined on the grass near his door, smoking his pipe, and although Lewanee’s mother and sister were close at hand, none of them looked ‘up as he drew near to them, nor gave him any Salutation. “They are busy; they do not see me,” he said to him- self, and he walked past them into the tent, thinking he would surprise them soon by issuing from it. He walked about the lodge, and came back and now stood in the doorway, where heard his mother (the Red Doe) say: “Lewanee stays long; yet he knows that we look for him. I fear that he has met the Black Feet of the perai- ries.’ “Lewanee is fleet of foot and strong of arm,” said the father. ‘His eye is like the lynx’s. He is safe.” “Lewanee is here,” replied the young man in a soft and musical voice. All looked eagerly up—and Great Elk, despite his as- sumed ease,sprang to his feet and gazed earnestly around. “It was Wisha, the Singing Wren that spoke,” said the mother. “Nay, Wisha did not speak, but she heard the Spotted Leopard. He is hiding vebind the lodge.” —. ‘“‘Lewanee is here,’ repeated the young man, a little impatiently. He stepped forward in front of his mother as he spoke, “We hear his voice, but we do not see him. Surely he is hiding,’’ she said; and she began to look for him behind the wigwam, and behind the trees, while Wisha entered the lodge and searched for him there. But the Great Elk laughed, and lay down again upon the grass, smoking his reed pipe, and lazily watching the curling smoke. Lewanee’s sister passed so close to him that he could have laid his hand upon her shoulder; nay, her face was turned toward him, but she gave no signs of seeing him. He stepped backward lest she should tread upon his borrowed mocassins, and, as he did so, the thought occur- red to him that the magic with which they were indued might have rendered him invisible. He was standing under the branches of a large oak, } the Lakes.” deen pet B= 3 _—_—__—_—_—__—______~ which overshadowed the lodge, and as he had with dif- ficulty kept his foothold upon the ground, be now permit- ted himself to ascend into the tree, where he took off his moccasins, and concealed them among the leaves. Then lowering himself from a bough, and banging an tn- stant by one hand, (for he felt the powercf gravitation once more.) he dropped ligntly to the ground. Shouts welcomed his arrival now, and not only lis re- latives, but half the tribe, were in a few moments gathered around him questioning him about his absence and his return. He replied to them laughingly, taunted them with the want of eyes, and told them thatone of the Black Feet might steal into their camp and carry off half their game without being seen. He did not disclose the secret of his magic slippers, and no one doubted: that he had returned slyly, and had climbed the tree unperceived. Great Elk chuckled over this new evidence of his son’s skill and agility,and laughed with him at the young men whose vigilance had been so much at fault and who looked thoroughly ashamed of their remissness, Lewanee now asked and obtained his parents leave of absence for several days without being required to give any reasons for his request. Their confidence in him was unbounded, and they wonld notdeny him a petition which he assured them he had good reasons for making. “But where are my son’s mecessins,” asked the Red Doe, “which Wisha worked with many-colored beads ?”? “The heat is great, and the swift runner leaps best along the cool shore of the lake, like the light-fcoted deer, unshod.. But I will bring them when I come again.” So saying, he again climbed the tree, and baving re- gained his magic moceasings, concealed them under his kirtle, and descended, glad to find that in that position they did not make him invisible. Then, bidding his triends farewell, ,jhe ran along the lake-shore until he was cut of view from the camp, when he sat down, and having washed his feet in the limpid water at his side, he gladly encased them once more in their magic covering. Quickly be was again above the tree-tops, and though he seemed to step, he seemed also to fly, and he looked, half-expecting to find wings upon his shoulders, Ere he could count ten, be was above the big ciiff, and was climbing down to thespot where the Magician sat upon the rock, yet smoking his unexpired pipe. ‘My son has tarried long,” said Ogil. “Yes. There were no eyes in the Great Elk’s lodge, They could not see Lewanee, though they heard his voice. My father did not tell me of this.” “Ogil did not remember. He is getting old. Sitdown, my son, and take yet another lesson from the Magician of = CHAPTER III. _ The magician proceeded to warn his pupil against any improper exercise of his art. If the enchanted moccasins were ever used to wrong man or beast, he said, they would lese their power, which could never be restored. But jor all useful and innocent purposes, for defense against an enemy, and even for amusement alone, they might always be confidently relied upon. He then brought out from his cave a rifle, which he in- verted, in order to permit a bullet to roll out into his hand. The weapon and the ball, he said, were both enchanted, and would do execution. at any distance within the com- pass of -Vision;* but \they must be usea under the condi- tions already imposed. “Not even beast or bird was to be slain by them in mere wantonness or sport—nay, the could not be, for if the bullet was thus fired, it would fail ofits mark. and wpuld return no more. “What d0es my iather mean?” asked Lewanee, in gur- prise. ‘“Snrely the lead does not come back to the hunter {?? “There is but one ball to the magie rifle,” was the re- ply; ‘and if it is ever lost, your weapon will become use- eB8. “Must Lewanee search for it, then, amid the leaves of the forest, or the water of the lake??? “Nay; it will find its way back without your aid. Try it on yon Wolf that watches us from the eige of the woods, He will be food for my friends inside, and it will save the lives of some gentle deer.” Ogil charged the gun with powder in the ordinary way, then put in the ball, and told Lewanee to fire at the ani- mal’s eye, if he could see it, sie Lewanee obeyed. There was a flash and report. The wolf tell, and at the next instant a clicking noise was heard at the muzzle of the gun, Where the Sal, slightly reddened, was found suspended, as if by magnetic at- traction. The young man ran to examine the slain animal, which = aaa periorated through the right eye, and quite ead. The magician next brought out a fishing-red and line, at the end of which, on a hook of silver, a silver minnow wriggled, so life-like in appearance as to deceive, at first, the sharp eyes of the Ottawa. “Come with me,” said Ogil, advancing to the lake, where a bark canoe lay, drawn partly up on the beach. They stepped mto it, and afew dextrous strokes of the paddle sent it far from shore, where, in the deep water, the magician threw his line, but drew it instantly up again, before it could be grasped by either of several large fish which followed it to the sarface, and snapped eagerly at the retreating bait. Again and again he repeated this operation until the surface of the water was alive with fish of every cescrip- tien, all ravenously searching for the magic minnow, which flashed and glittered before their eyes and yet eluded their grasp. Perch and sunfish, the voracious pike, the long-nosed pickerel, catfish and bass, and the beautiful salmon—they were all there crowding and pushing each other and try- ing to make their way to the silver bait, which Ogil, after throwing it a few times, had hung over the stem of the boat, in :ull view of the finny competitors. As he rowed the canoe slowly shoreward he drew the vast and increasing throng after him, as if they had been inclosed in a net, and then pulling in the minnow and concealing it from sight its pursuers instantly disap- peared, some cf the smaller ones falling victims to their hungry neighbors as soon as the greater attraction was withdrawn, “We will not harm them now,” the magician said, ‘‘as we have no need of them.” A few other lessons were imparted by Ogil to his eager pupil, and then the latter said: “Will my father. teach: his son how to become an eagie or a bear??? “Yes, but not now. It will be the last thing taught, nor can Lewanee change his form while Ogii lives,’ In reply to his inquiries on this point the magician in- formed the young man that the power which he sought was not unaccompanied with danger. In assuming the form of‘another animal, while he would acquire all its faculties, he would also incur all its risk of mortality. “If Lewanee is shot as an eagle,” he said, “there will be mourning in the lodge of the Great Eik, for the Spot- ted Leopard will return to it no more.’? The young man seemed a little startled by this idea, and when Ogil warned him to use this strange power only on urgent occasions, he resolved to heed his injunc- tion. In another particular also his own judgment fully seconded the magician's advice. He was told not to pub- lish his wonderful gifts in his tribe, but as far as possible to conceal them, as the Knowledge of his power would make him an object of awe and dread rather than of affection. He was advised also to visit each of the caves during the first two days of the new moon; and to leave them open in his absence under the guardianship of their grim tenants, who were well able to protect themselves and their home. He might go oftener, of course, if he chose, or he had power to dispense with these resorts entirely, and to dis- miss their brute occupants to their native wilds, but Ogil advised a contrary course. “They speak our language,”’ he said, “and they are at- tached to me, and will be to you; and you will learn much from them.?? “But my father talks with all living things.” “Yes, Yet it is well to have a few faithful friends among them, whom you can at all times consult. The eagle and the owl among birds, and the grizzly bear and the panther among beasts have been my choice. The tamer animals are always within our reach.”’ “Might Lewanee hear the Great Bear speak ?”” “Nay—he sleeps now, after a night of toil. Hereafter you shall converse with him at wiil.”’ “When will my father teach me to talk with the birds ?” “When Ogil is gone, his son will have this power; not before. It is a gift, and cannot be learned. But 1 have other things to teach you.” “Lewanee’s ears are open,’ tex : “My son knows the iow earth which the “ie theta ‘love, and for which they Sell all that they have, even {oud, and drink, and biankets,” ‘| “Lewanee knows there is a little in the land of the Ot- tawas; but it is scarce and hard to get.” “Oeil will show Lewanee how to find a cavern in the Great Mountains, where the rocks are yellow, and where there is a stream which runs for miles over gojJden sands. This may sefve Diy son sometimes even better than magic. Bat, though you may dispense these treas- ures w here y ou will, no oné Must share the secret of their hiding-place, *Lewanee Haat, and will obey.’ “The golden cave is inree hunured Ieagues from here, and my son must make the journey alone.” “Why will not my father accompany me?” “There it but one winged man.” “TI know—but as an eagle, Ogi! could fly at iny side.” “Nay: you shall go there while the eagle would plume his pinions for theflight. Can Ogi) Spare a day for such a journey now??? + CHAPTER IY. The magician then proceeded to give his pupil direc- tions for finding the cave. He was to follow the course of the great lake to its source, and thence lie was to travel a hundred leagues toward the setting Sun, until he cross- ed a great river flowing southward; this river he was to follow north and west, until he came to its source in the mountains, near to a vast gorge, orravine. Certain land- marks in the ravine were next described, by which he should find, in the very bowels of the mountain, an open- ing not larger than the mouth of a bear’s den, but which le was boldly to enter, and which he would find to widen as he advanced, until it brought him into a large amphi- theater, dimly lighted from crevices in the top. “Go, my son,” added the old man. “If you find it not, hasten back for further directions. Ogil will smoke an- other pipe while he waits for you.” Lewanee laughed at the idea of journeying nine hun- dred miles and back while his companion smoked a sin- gie pipe; but he prepared to obey. He donned his magic slippers; he moved forward, and was again rapidly cleaving the yielding air. He saw the waters of the Great Lake flying eastward; he saw its dis- tant source approach and pass beneath him; and. press- ing onward, a hundred steps more have. brought him above the wide and silvery Missouri. To follow its crock- ed course must add several hundred miles to hisjourney; but what is thatto him? He speeds now northward, now westward, ever keeping the line of light beneath him in view, until, in ten minutes from the time of leaving Ogil, he alights at the base of the R ocky Mountains. Now floating, and now walking, he found and explored the gorge; but it was with great difficulty that he could decide upon some of the smaller landmarks which had been described to him. ffe spent more time, indeed, in looking for the mouth of ihe eave than it had taken to perform his journey; and when, at last, he found what he believed must be ile en- trance, lie saw numerous tracks of the grizzly bear near it, while the rocks around echoed with the roar of these terrible animals. Should he enter, nearly unarmed as he was, &@ cave which Was their evident resort, and into which they might speedily follow him, if he did not find some of the monsters inside? He hesitated long; but remenibering that he was invis- ible to human beings as long as he retained his mocca- sins, he hoped that the brutes also might be unable to see him. Iie resolved, however, to try the experiment be- fore entering the cave; and, floating up the mountain, guided by the sound of the bellowing, which came at fre- quent intervals to his ears, he soon came within view of a grizzly, growling over a lost rabbit, which had vanished into a hole at its feet. Lewanee descended in front of the enraged animal, at only a few yards distance, confident in his ability to spring upward if attacked, But the beast took no notice ot him. He approached closer, until within a few feet of bruin, witha Similar result, except that the brute sniifed the air, and looked around, as if perceiving his presence by some other faculty than thatof sight. Closer still the daring Ottawa approached the bew ildered beast, until, at last, fully assured that he was not seen, he playfully hit the ‘animal arap over his upraised snout, and theu sprang into the air. He then returned to the cave, resoived to enter and ex- plore it, The aperture was so small that he was obliged to pass through it on his hands and feet, and although he fonnd the traces of bears on all sides, fortanately he encount- ered none of those animals in the narrow gangway. His greatest fear was that one might follow him in and over- take him in the passage, Where there was not room enovgii to slink aside out of the way, and where he could not face him and give battle with lis hunting-knife, the only weapon which he possessed. But he had a bold heart, and he pressed rapidly forward, uhtilhe came to a place where the subterranean road “forked,” the new route yelag a little broader and higher than the other. He listened here, and was certain that he heard the growling and snarling of cubs ahead on the direct route, and he quickly took the diverging one in. which, after a few rods further progress, he found that he could stand erect. He pressed on now—he saw glimmerings of light ahead; _ THE NEW Y oe of RK. WEEKLY. ing (aul | ran hither ‘end thither vate Bal ae for him. The space narrowed as he drew nearer, and some of the bears darted across it, but the Ottawa, watching his chance as he hung over the coveted treasure, darted upon it at last, and sprang upward, triumphant, with the bead- ed banner streaming far behind him, though now par- taking of his invisibility. He leaped up with such impe- tus that he found himself almost instantly several hun- dred feet above his enemies, and very near to the rocky roof of the cayern. It was Nghter - ere than below, and the happy thought now occurred to him that some of the apertures through which the light entered might prove large enough for his egress. He noated around the Jofty ceiling for mahy minutes, examining and passing not a few narrow crevices, which afforded him a tantalizing view Of the blue sky and the white clouds, but which oifeved no chanee of escape. Yethefound a lar ger open- ing at last, wlth was partly filled by the roots ofa tree, and pb) arth, through, the interstices of which he could see. aes he worked diligently with his hunting-knife until he had cut away the soil and a part of one of the roots, when to his great joy, he found that he could squeeze through. With what ecstasy he stood once more in the open air and sunshine, far up the mountain’s side, yet very far below its lofty summit. Here he impressed the landmarks carefully upon bis memory, in order that he might be able on his return to tne caveof gold, to enter it from the roof, instead of creeping through the den of bears. And now he once more stepped forth into the air, and sped rapidly homeward, having already been absent a little more than an hour, and being certain that bis friend would be impatient by reason of his delay. But the Magician was satisfied with his excuses, com- mended his sagacity and courage, and rejoiced that the wealth of the great cavern was at his command. “The bears,’ he said, ‘“‘will be guardians of your trea- sure; and when you have acquired your new power, they can easily be controlled. You have only to take your ma- gic rifle and kill oneof them, to show them your power, and then order them off until you have gathered your gold, and have given them permission to return, Itis not ‘permitted even to kill grizzly bears unnecessarily. The Great Spirit made them and gave them a home by themselves, where they have a right to live.”’ MY father is wise and good,” said Lewanee. ‘His son will remember his words.”? Lewanee now set about “repairing damages,” and from as well as he could, a substitute for his lost leggin. Butit was not sewed; its par ts were only tied together with little leathern strings; ; it was without ornament, and in its general clumsiness of appearance it contrasted widely with its fellow—the handiwork of the gentle Wisha. CHAPTER V. Two days longer Ogil bestowed his council and instruc- tions on his attentive pupil, aud then his predicted end came. His tribe, he said, who many yeats : Wefore had hunted on the borders of the beautiful lake, now lived beyond the great mountains, but he was certain that his bones would notrest in peace so far away from the home of his youth. He had resolved to be buried near the graves of his fathers, and for this purpose he hadlong ago established his lodge under the cliff, and had now come hither to die. liis art did not enable him to avert death, nor even to foretell it, other than by natural signs; but he felt that his end was at hand, and perhaps he had hoped to add to his posthumous reputation among lus people by closing his lire away from them. At night he took Lewanee to some old mounds in the neighborhood of the cliff, and said: “Let Ogil rest here, and let my son’s hands raise a little pile of earth, and stones, and green soa above him. It cannot be high like this of my father, which was built when my people were many; but my son will do what he can, and the bear and the panther will help him.” “Nay, the Ottawa warriors shall come to the work, my father, ‘and the mound shall be as high as the cliff.” ‘““My son is good, but the Ottawa braves must not know where the Magician of the Lakes sleeps. No, Let Lewa- nee and my friends in the cave do what they can.,., Ogil shall sleep sweetly beneath only a handful of earth, since it is the same eurth that covers his father’s bones.”? On the next morning the old man was found dead on his bed of skins, though Lewanee, whose couch was near him, and who was a light sleeper, had heard no call or groan from himin the night. His face was placid and almost smiling, and it was long before the Ottawa could convince himself that he did not sleep. To bury him according to his injunctions was no light task, for the body was too’ Neavy for the young man to carry, and there was, of course, no vehicle about the cave. But Lewanee resolved to take the animals into con- suitation, and he was‘ delighted to find that his first ef- forts to converse with them in their own language was entirely successful. The two beasts expressed great grief for the death of their master, and said that they would be his bearers. “Here is a beautiful skin,’? said the grizzly, pulling one out from the second cave, ‘fit to carry a king upon. Spread it across our backs while we stand side by side, and tie it under our bodies. Then lay our master upon it, and we will carry him very gently.” This advice Lewanee resolved to follow. But how was the grave to be dug, in the absence of all implements for such a purpose ? Here again the faithful animals yolun- the space widened as he advanced and in aed minutes he stepped forth into a broad, ¢ , the rocky sof which stretched away fa dim Pays which came.d high and irregular roo He\hastened to exa convinced that he was ° seams Of the precious every direction, ands side seemed to be with which he knock metal, and tying the where he heard the ti fis- tance. F : 5 He soon came to the 8 stream which Ouil had deser ined, and he now concluded that there must be-some other ex: it from the cavern through which the waters found their way, and by which he also might go out if any obstacle should prevent his returning by the way hecame. The creek or river was about four rods wide at the point where Lewanee approached it, and was so shallow and so smooth at the bottom that he easily forded it without wading quite knee'deep. He might, easily have leaped across; but he waded through it, both for the purpose of ascertaining its depth and of laving his limbs in the cool water. Ofcourse he 100k off his moccasins before going into the stream, and when he sat down on the opposite side tor the purpose of putting them on again he was surprised to find that his feet aud ankles were encrusted with goiden sand. Lewanee now resoived, before resuming his slippers, to gather and take with him afew pounds of the gold-dust which formed the bed of the creek, but he was tor a long time at a joss for the means of catrying it. He decided at last to take eff one of his deerskin leggins—tie up the jower end of it and fill it with the gold, and then suspend it by his belt across his shoulders. What he thus resolved upon he was not slow to exe- cute, for he knew that Ogil was already impatiently look- ing for his return. It was the work of afew minutes to scrape up the precious sand, but he had barely secured it ia his leatherna recepticle before his ears were stunned by a most terrific roar, whicii reverberated through the cavern, and was echoed back seemingly from a hundred nooks and angles. ; HeJooked up in terror, and saw a huge grizzly bound- ing toward him, while behind it another, and yet another, were emerging from the shadows of the vast apartment. Hedid net wait tosee how many more were coming, but remembering that his feet were bare, and that he had thus imprudently exposed himself to the view of the monsters, he seized his moccasins and slipped them on just as the hot breath of the foremost bear was upon him, and as his huge mouth was expanded to grasp him. * He grazed the muzzle of the beast as he sprang up- ward, and the discomfitted animal looked and sniffed in every-direction after his expected prey, and then seized furiously upon the bag of gold, which he quickly tere to pieces, scattering its contents m all directions. Lewanee eared little for this, but there laid his rich wampum belt, which had been given him asa token of having success- fully passed the first ordeal of a brave, and with which he was about tosecure the gold to his person when he was sorudeiy interrupted. 1t would be a lasting disgrace to lose. it, and he resolved not to surrender it without an effort at its recovery, although the bear was’ now stand- ing upon it and now walking over it, unconscious that he Was ‘trampling pearls.” These were the t2oughts of a moment, but ere that moment was fast the young Ottowa saw that he had graver cause for grief. The place which he had left was now filled with bears, which were running to it from all directions, attracted by the noise, and (more alarming still) many were coming in at. the opening by which Lewanee had entered the cave, and by which he had hoped to return. How should he ever again get through that long nar- row passage, where his buoyancy would avail him no- thing ?. How he regretted that he had not Ogil’s power to talk with these wild animals, whom he did not doubt he could coax and frighten into permitting him to pass. Or, better still, he wished that he could transform him- self into their ‘shape and go out in the midst of them un- challenged.. But Lewanee had a stout heart, and he did not quite despair. He would even have given battle to two or three of his enemies, but to descend amidst sneh a vast snarl- ing crowd, some of whose snapping jaws might have seized him at random while he was putting his knife (his only weapon) into the necks of others, this he knew would be hardilood, not bravery. Even the loss of his magic slippers in such a struggle would be instantly ratal to him, for then he must descend like an ordinary mortal, by gravitation, into the very midst of his enemies. Hopeless of escape by the way he had entered, he fol- lowed the course of the stream for a mile or more until it disappeared under @ sort of natural tunnel through the rocks, nearly filling its channel and leaving no hope of his own egress in that direction. Indeed he thought it uncertain whether this mystic stream ever emerged into daylight, or whether it did not wander on underground oar &ea, or empty itself into some Vast subterranean ake, Returning, disheartened, to find his foes undiminished in number, Lewanee was yet glad to see that their shift- ing movements had left a clear space of several square yards, in which lay his valued belt, soiled but untorn, and possibly within his power to recover. teered thelr services, and nearly all day they worked j “ange task, nder the directions and , f yas soft and as sole mourner, he was surprised to see that the eagle aid the owl, and troops of the smaller birds crowded to the door of the cave, Which they might not pass without permission, and seemed to crave leave to join the proces- sion. He called to them to follow, and they rushed quickly forth—the two larger birds walking soberly behind Le- wanee, while many scores of the smailer ones, vainly seeking to imitate their gravity, hopped, and skipped, and fluttered along in pairs, restraining with difficulty their propensity to soar’aloft in the air. Arrived at the mounds, Lewanee carefully enveloped the body in its furry shroud, tying it up with strips of other skins, and lowered it gently into the: ground. The animals could only be spectaters of this scene, and they looked mournfully on—the birds fiyipg into the adjacent trees, and hopping trom branch to branch to get a better view. There was: do. twittering or chirping; only the meadow lark and the robin and the oriole, by Lew anee’s speciai permission, sang on a bough, which overhung the gravye—and the owl also, with leave, added his solemn notes, turning: their melody into a requiem. The funeral was nearly a whole day’s work—for the young Ottawa (the young magician how) was unwilling to quit the spot until a considerable mound was raised above:the resting spot of his friend. The procession then returned to the cave, where Lewanee remained for that night, and the next morning he prepared to return to his people. He concealed his magic rifie and fishing rod, a skin furnished him by his friend, he cut out and made, | | very spot, but who was not there when they came up to jumped into the creek and swam away under the rocks.” Weenie 4 will go > back? to ‘the golaén cave to-morrow With a bag,” he said to himself, ‘‘and he will bring enough of the yellow earth to make’ great eardrops for all the Ottawas; and Wisha shall have wristlets of gold. These will buy beads and blankets, and colored thread; knives, pipes; and tobacco, and corn and meal, when my people go back to their winter home near the villages of the pale aces.’ When the Great Elk came home with his fellow braves at eve, he looked disappointed to learn that his son had returned empty-handed, after sp long an absence; but he said nothing, for he saw thas he Spotted Leopard was ashamed. sat the young men whom cuwanee had ridiculed for their want of vigilance on his first return, were less for- bearing, and they now) improved their opportunity for retaliation. “Tne Leopard's eves are dim,” they said. “He sleeps while the red-deer rum past him. The rabbits play at his feet, and the foxes bark at litm, but he has not brought home their skins. His mower must give him corn and fish, for he has come back hungry.’? Lewanee took their tannts in good part, for they were rather playful than ill-nature@, amd he knew they would praise him more lavishly th now censured, when 4 gave tiem cause, and t solved very goon to do ™ He might easily hav b ‘Ou ensure ail the eclat “a citement, he had g me forge of him. “Yes, laugh at Lewanee. to- -day——to- morrow he will This was all the friends, but they kney became silent. Then he went intom which br been we e trophies enough to but in his great ex- { would be expected d. “THe is a pappoose "3 clisafed to his quizzing aning in it, aad they nd taking a deer-skin cured, he cut out two long and afoot wide, Visna to make into a ne sewed it close and and gave them to the bag, watching her to. strong. a, When it was compl the mouth, anda b pended from his bos No one qnestione though he preter cast not a few sly its Meaning. t it, but the Great Elk, ce Weat was going on, work, and wondered at CHAPTER. VI. At daylight the next morning Lewanee was off, staying only for a hasty meal, and taking @ little food with him in his bag. He stopped at the cliff to get his magic rifie, and thus armed, he sprang into the air, and af.er skim- ming leisurely ‘along for a quarter of an hour, he de- scended on @ ledge of the Rocky Mountains not far dis- tant, he was certain, from the Golden Cave. The sun was fast rising, and he laughed to think that some of his comrades were yet sleeping while-he had journeyed so far. “Let us see who will laugh to-night,” he said, ashe looked at his empty bag, and thought ofthe tredSures with which it was to be filfed. nae Lewanee had never heard of the fable of the milkmaid, (that warning to vaunters, the world over,) andif he had, perhaps he would not have counted ius unhatched chick- ens less confidently. “Tt shall go home full of "gold,? ” he said, casins are strong enough to carry it.” Yet he was a litle puzzied aiter finding the cave, (which was the work of a few minutes,) how to open negotia- tions with the bears—whom he had been warned not to slaughter unnecessarily. Nay, his own feelings revolted at any waste of even brute lite. Helooked in from the opening in the roof of the caveyand saw a full score ef the monsters inside, some sleeping, some going out, and some coming in. He did not enter, but gliding down the mountain, he went around near the entrance of the cave, and having concealed his rifie and his slippers, he proceeded, by a mental process, to transform Iimself intoa grizzly bear. How strange, how aimost territied he felt, as he now stood in the ravine, a huge, heavy iraped, with all the strength apd pae-gaptincos Of-theuaimal whose shape he had taken, yet'mingled with nis own consciousness and reason as @ man. He felt no fear, and he rushed forward to join a number of large bears who were ap- proaching the cave, and when he came up with them he said quickly: “Brothers—if you are going in there, you must come guickly out again. ~ There is a great magician coming into the cave; who will bring the lightning and the ‘angst with him, and he will kill us all.”? But the animals laughed and passed on. “What is a magician?’ they said. ‘Our brother is making fan.” Tnen Lewaneeran up to another and larger grizzly, who was approaching the entrance, and told him the same story. But he laughed till the forest echoed with the sound, which could not have been distinguished, by human ears, from a growl. “It’s a good joke,’ said the mgnster; ‘I should like to see him,” And he passed in. Lewanee tried his warning apob several others with a similar Tesuit. But he knew that they would at. least side, and lie heped it migl not be “af oe moc- ineyued ail seen n what seemed to b seize him, though none of them saw him move away. “Nonsense,” said the great grizzly which Lewanee saw on the outside, who seemed to be the leader and was larger than any of his fellows, ‘Nonsense; the red-man “Yes, he swam away as hecame,’’ said another. Tusk is right.”? And they ail laughed at the speech-maker, and told him he was a coward. Lewanee looked on in sorrow, “J shall have to kill a few of the stupid fellows,” he Said, to convince the rest; ‘‘1 am sorry, for they do not know any better.” Then he called out to the assembly in their own lan- guage, and he was conscious that his voice was hke the roaring of a bear, and that it had articulations and mod- ulations which they understood. “Big Tusk is wrong,’ he said,, “The magician is here, and will certainly kil! you if yon do not go out. Go, my brothers; E do net wish to harmiyon. You may return as soon as the sun stands over the mountains.” The beasts looked about with an uncertain air, and some looked to their leader for their cue. But Big Tusk laughed again, louder than before. “Jus the fellow that spoke tous outside, % he said. “Be is hid away, and is trying to frighten us. * Lewanee now descended to a ledge of the rock near to, and only about fifty feet above, the animals, where he took off his moccasins and again Called out to them. “Big with some otlier implements of his art, in the cavern, which he left under the guardianship of the bear and the panther, with an opening atthe base of the rock, barely large enough for their passage. They agreed that they would never be both absent from it at the same time, and that they would protect it from all intruders. Ogil- had taught them how to ciose it from the inside in his absence by rolling a large stone into the opening, and thus relieving them from the necessity of constant vigi- lance. When Lewanee had bade them all good-by, he put on his traveling slippers, and taking hus ordinary rifle and ac- coutrements, started homeward; but the morning was so fine, and it was so delightful to: sail through the coo), fresh air, that he could not bear to descend after taking the very few steps which were required to bring him over the camp of the Ottawas. Ile passed on to the foot of the lake, and thence down the river St. Mary,until he saw the blue waters of the Hu- ron spread out beneath him. Ashe speeds still onward, the long Jake seems to glide northward, followed by the St. Clair, (lake and river,) and he hangs in delight over the ancient city of Detroit, near which in olden times the council fires of his tribe have blazed. Onward, still onward, down the broad and beautiful Erie aud its outlet, to the great cataract, which he pauses long to view, but from which nosound comes up to bis far height, Next he crosses a broad region of country, whichhe knows as the home of the pale-faces—for itis dotted everywhere with their white and glistening towns and villages, while many @ beautitul river crosses it, and many a silvery little lake reflects the sky and the clouds, and almost tempts him down to bathe inits lucid depths. Still onward leapt Lewance through the yielding air, past all these, till the waters of the great ocean came in view, and a city far larger and more beautiful than any which he had before seen, lay extended beneath him. Countless streets, thronged with tiny people, hundreds of steeples and domes, looking like arrows and acorn- tops at his great hight; a forest of little masts lining the shores of two shining rivers, between which the city lay, abroad bay beyond, dotted with green islands—such were the memories which Lewanee bore away with him, as he turned and retraced his aerial pathway, resolving to come again and take a better view at a more leisure hour. He had only been about ten minutes on his waik, but he had not designed to go far,and as he had been several days absent from home, he was anxious.to rejoin his people. He took a shorter route back, and landed half a mile or so outside of the Ottawa encampment, where he changed his magic moccasins for his ordinary pair, which he had brought with him, and then he walked home, The warriors and young men of the tribe were mostly absent, hunting or fishing; only a lew old or disabled men were lingering, about the lodges assisting the women at their work or joining the children in some martial sport. 7 ewanee was quietly welcomed by his mother and sis- ter, who did not question him as to the cause of his ab- sence, though they were much surprised both at his changed leggin, and because he had brought no game. The young man indeed was not a little ashamed at his entire want of trophies. Even the lumps of gold which “Do you see me now, Big Tusk,” he asked, “and will you obey ?? “Oh, yes, I see you now,”’ replied the bear; “it is one of those two- -legged animals who seem to have learned our language. You had better come down here,” he added, jeeringly, “if you want to talk with us.” Then all the bears laughed uproarously, except the speech-maker, who shook his head ominously, and walked off to the door, where he Jooked back and listened. But if Big Task continued his vaunts it was not with- out some slight misgivings, which were increased when he saw Lewanee’s rifle leaning against the ledge behina him. Not that he was much afraid of that either, for he had been frequently pricked by bullets of the hunters, and he knew an old grizzly who carried several aozen of these pieces of lead in different parts of his body without serious inconvenience. So he laughed on, and finally led @ combined attack on the ledge, though it was far above their reach, hoping to frighten Lewanee into tumbling down into their jaws. Their roaring now became “terrible, as, standing on their hind legs and seeming about to climb the solid per- pendicular wall, they snapped their great teeth at Le- wance, and seemed to flash fire from their eyes. “He brings it on himself!”? said Lewanee, reaching for his gun. ‘I must make an example of him.” So saying, he took aim at one of the eyes of Big Tusk, the ringleader, and fired. ‘The great animal gave only the beginning of a howl as he tumbled over and expired, for the ball had gone right through his brain, whence, at the next instant, it returned with a clicking noise to the muzzle of the gun. When the other bears saw that their boastful leader had fallen, and saw Lewanee reloading his terrible rifle, they ran away as fast as they could go, toward the en- trance of the cave, each trying to be first to get out. But, of course, they blocked up the opening; and while some were wedged in it, biting and snapping at each other, those who were in the rear, and were most exposed to danger, called out to Lewanee, begging him not to shoot them. “We will get away as fastas we can, and will never come in the cave again,’ they said, “if you will only let us off. “Nay—come back—corae back, all of you,’’ said the young magician, laying down liis gun, “i will not harm one of you, and I would not hurt that foolish old Big Tusk, if he had Kept a civil tonguein his head, and had listened to reason. Come—come back!’ Lewanee spoke so mildly, and walked so far away from his dreaded weapon, that the animals took courage and came back, cautiously at first, and some lingering near the door, ready for @ rush outward at the first sign of danger. He commenced haranguing them now, and he soon had a very large and attentive audience on the shore of the creek looking earnestly up at him, and oceasionally replying with nods and words to his questions. He told them his power, and what he wanted of them, and that they might continue at all times in quie: pos- session of the cave, excepting on the few occasions when he should want it for a short time, and then he must have it alone. “Would they consent to this?) he asked. And the bears all answered ‘‘yes,’? and nodded, and Hie descended cautiously toward it, while the beasts, With snouts uplifted, like swine who scent their approach. he had knocked off the rocks, in the great cave, had been shaken out of his belt by the angry bears, laughed, and stamped with their feet in token of ap- oes “T will a your friend,” said the Ottawa; ‘‘and as to Big Tusk, I am only sorry that he would not listen to rea- son so that he might have lived too.” “Never mind Big Tusk,’ said several who had been first to echo his words of defiance, “when he was alive, he was an old tyruntany bow. Nevermind hin.” So the bears went off, fairly dancing for joy, and Le- wanee, taking with him his slippers os bie re pancan) EASILY es OTT © FON Koo ee MADE With our Stencil ah Key Check Outfit. Circulars Free. 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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 PO ee and imprisonment. Ovutrit FREE. ws-lyr Address W. HENDERSON & CO., Cleveland, 0. WALTHAM WATCHKS, | 2 0Z, CASES, ‘ For sng Cc ‘lerks, and Professional Men. WALTHAM WATCHES, § 3-OZ. CASES For Farmers, es, and other Mechanics, WALTHAM WATCHKS,. IN 4-0Z, CASES Yor Mariners, Soldiers, and Expressmen. WALTHAM WATCHES, IN 5-0Z. CASES, . For Conductors, Engineers, ant Baggagemen. WALTHAM WATCHES, IN 6-0Z. CASES, For Miners, Lumbermen, and Stage Drivers, WALTHAM WATCHES, N 8.0% CASES : For all who wit something VERY substantial. 4 an the above are described in our Price List. Write for it as ollows Messrs. HOWARD & CO., No. 785 Broadw ay, N. Se send me your iljustrated Price List of WALTHAM W ARCHES, as per advertisement in Tae Ey ange ist. ‘S1GN Name AND ADDRESS IN FULt. And you will receive it, post-paid, by return mail. It gives all the information you desire, and explains ow plan of ‘sending Watehes by Express without any risk to the purcliaser. HOWARD & CO., 785 Broadway, New York, (Formerly of No. 619 Broadway.) D IVORCES LEGALLY OBTAINED FROM THE | #F Courts of different States. No publicity. Advice free. w wee) 13t FRE D’kK I. KING, Counselor-at- aw, 363 Proms way 5D, 50: A MONTH with Sieneii and Key y Cheek I Yiesi Don't failfo secure Circular and Sam- Addr lress | 8. M. SPENCER, Brattleboro, Yt. {Be 13th THE NEW ARTICLE OF FOOD, For twenty-five cents you can buy of your Drugegist. Grocer a package of Sea Moss Farine, manufactured from pure Irish Mess or Carrageen, which will make 16 quarts of Blane Mange, and 2 like quan- tity of Puddings, Custards, ples, tre ree. wee. and oes goes cunts ; Bere AR A DAY!—40 new articies for Agents. Y ote Charlotte Russe, &c. it is by far the cheapest, nana and mest delicious food in the werld. Rand Sea Moss Faring Co.. 53"Park Place, N.Y. PLANTATION BITTERS. | ST 1860i-X This wonderful ve vegetable testorative is the sheet-anchor of the feeble and de- bilitated. Asa tonic and cordial for the aged and languid it has no equal among stomachics. Asa remedy for the nervous weakness to which women are especially hac it is superseding every other stimulant. In all climates, tropical, tem- perate or frigid, it acts as a specific in every species of disorder which under- iuines the bodily strength and breaks Cown the animal spirits. Sold by all Druggists. w28-Tt + fences AGENTS, READ THIS! We will pay agents a salar y of $30 per week and expenses, or allow a large coimmission, to sellour new w Snes inventions. Address M,. W. AGNER & ¢ w12-13t Marshit, Michigan, Samples sent sree. ue H. B. SHAW, Alfred, Me. w22- Lit NE y T BOOK. —Agents sell 100 per week. Price 3 a dress L. STEBBINS, Hartford, Conn. fa PLOYMENT. —S200 a month with Stencil Dies. Sie free. S. M. SPENCER & CO., Brattleboro, Vt. wi3-13t Beautiful Woman. All women know that it is beauty rather 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 us2 Geo. W. Laird's “BLOOM OF YOUTH.” This delightful toil- et preparation has recently been chemically analyzed by Prof. C. F. Chandler, the chem- istto the Metropolitan Board of Health. The “Bloom of Youth” is pronounced harmless, and free rom any ingredient Paes to health. Sold at all Druggists’ and Pancy Goods tores. Depot 74 Fulton street, N. Y. W28-4t Bl ee etrelars on a new Illustrated Book. Send w28-tt . BURR & CO., Hartford, Conn. HINELEY KNITTING MACHINE, The wonder of the Age—with single, eye pointed Necdie. Sim- ple, Cheap, Reliable—for Family Use. Agents wanted eyery- where to introduce them. Address ‘a ad HINKLEY KNITTING MACHINE CO., Bath, Me, wl2- t Or 176 Broadway, New York. AIG@GR BAT OFFER!" Horace Waters, 481 Broadway, will dispose of ONE HUNDRED PIANOS, MELODEONS, and Oxeans of six first-class makers, AT EXTREMELY LOW PRICES, FOR CASH, DURING THIS MONTH, or Will take from $5 to $25 monthly until paid; the same to let, and rent money ‘applied if purchased. wi-l7 PIMPLES ON THE FACK, Comedones, Black-Heais, Flesh Worms or Grubs, Pimply Eruptions and Blotched disfigurations cn the Fa oe originate from a L Seperenet Secretion, a are posieycly cured by _ RY’S COMEDONE AND PIMPLE REMEDY. It tones the Skin, opens the pores, exudes morbid Secretions and contains es Lea ee repared only by PERRY 49 Bond street, New York. Sold by all irecariiahs Send. for cirevlar, wl&Sl3t Sa penny nN tte esac Ny, eileen at a. nisi — a ne Sate —aiapemeennentione: nents eel tn att —— pie wit piel € a ry 1 | | e © “ ol} Nem tu tiiie, —-—-epapenealiipindittemcstemeiae ew selene acetate nant te waft ta ttenntetiein pri tsetse nent othr enn Sich oer enero etert IDOLS. BY J. WARREN WATSON. Does this world appear an Eden? Can you hear the seraph’s lute? Does this seem a boundless vineyard Filled with sweet, delicious fruit? _Wheresoe’er your footsteps lead you, Kindly words your presence greet; All earth’s sens appear like brothers, Everywhere with emiles you meet. You may know a joy as boundless As the skies you see above, Have a heart as pure and noble As a maiden’s dream of love! _ Butto-morrow o'er your life-path, Disappointment casts her pall, And you feel the good within you Turn to bitterness and gall. You see friendships, wealth aud honors, Like air-castles fade away, In the biazing heat of noon-tide See your dew-gems all decay. Why not learn this golden lesson In the morning of life’s day: Whosoever worship idols They shall find their idols clay ? Witeh of the Ocean: The Lady of the Silver Spray. By EDWARD MINTURN. L“Witch of the Ocean” was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers can be bad fron: News Agents throughout the United States. J CHAPTER XVI. It was but a little after dark, when the small party of soidiers, with Martin the Dwarf, accompanied by poor old Hans Vanderbilt, were reinforced by thirty men from the camp of General Washington. These men, though under the command of a young lieutenant, were ordered to act under the directions given by Martin. Tne first party had been concealed in a dense pine grove, ' about two miles from the quarry-rendezyous of the tories, from the time of their arrival, but Martin, by a route Known only to himself, had crept near enough to the quarry to become satisfied that the band of Jolin Ferris was at home, and he had no thought but that the leader was, us usual, there with them in person. Hidden from view by the densiiy of the thick-spread _ trees and underbrush, Martin had no fear that the light of a bivouac fire lighted fur his men to sup by, would be seen by those whom he meant to surprise. And he needed the light to see his men and to have them in view while he laid out his plans for the operations of the party. } After supper, he assembled the party in a circle and told them what they had to do. _ “We now humber near fifty men, all told—gooa and true,” said he. “And I doubt if the buzzards, who call hemselyes Hawks, number much over haif our force. But no matter for their numbers. They are at their cen, for their horses are stabled close by, and not an hour ago I heard them at their revels, singing and carousing. We must seize them and rescue this poor old man’s daughter from a fate far worse than death “We will—we will! cried the young lieutenant, and several of his men. “No noise—no noise, men, for we must creep in upon ‘them and take them unawares. If we do no: they can barricade the way which leads into their hiding-place, and wecould do nothing then without a hard fight, and se- rious loss, I know their signal and word, and with it I will get the door opened. That done, you must do the rest. If they offer resistance, cut them down without mercy. Butspare two forthe death they deserve. Let John Ferris aud his lieutenant be secured, for the rope must be their doom. General Washington has said they must hang. And what he says, is law and gospel too for me !"? “Aye, and for all of us !*? said the young officer. ‘And shall I see mine Katrina?” asked poor old Hans, Who had not tasted food nor drink since the terrible events of the morning. “f hope so !’’ said the dwarf. Then turning to the offi- cer, he continued: ‘Lieutenant, pick out six good men, used to horses, to go to the stable and take care of the animals there, while we are getting into the den of the tories. Should any of the men get away from us, their first rush would be for the horses.” cant so!” And the officer detailed the men re- uired. ? “Now we are ready for a start,’’ said the dwarf. ‘As our horses might make a noise and betray us, we had bet- ter leave them here. Itis but ashort march and we have plenty oftime. The drunker they get the more easy will be our work.”? . Warning all’fo follow him silently and to do nothing un- til ordered, the dwarf now led the way on foot along a matrow, bit apparentiy well-trodden path, each man {fol- lowing his leader closely by sound and touch, for as soon as they left the fire they were enveloped in darkness. After getting out of the grove, however, in the star- light they could see a short distance ahead, and avoid any palpable obstacles in their way. After a brisk walk of nearly an hour's time, they found themselves close on the brink of the river. Herethe dwarf paused and pointed out to the detail, the spot where they would find the horses of the tories. Then, again whispering a caution to be Silent, ne crept carefully on toward the repaired hut, which was described in a for- mer chapter. As the party came near, they heard a stentorian voice singing a bacchanalian song, in which many voices joiued in chorus. The party, guided now by signs made by the dwarf, crept closer and closer until they were all formed within touching distance of the building, but hidden in the deep stiadow so well that one could not see the other. Tne dwarf now retreated noiselessly a little distance, and then, with a heavy step, came m a hurried manner toward the door, and knocked loudly with the butt ofa pistol upon it. In-a second all was silence within; then the voice of the old negress was heard. “Who's dar? Who's dat a knockin’ at dedoor? What you want ob a lone ole woman dis time a night ?? “A red coat for the great Hawk of Hawk Hollow, from General Clinton, on important business,’’ said the dwarf, in a hoarse, well-disguised voice. “He has the word, Let him in, old gal! cried ‘a voice, which the dwarf instantly recognized as that of Dunning. The door was quickly unbolted and thrown open, re- vealing the long table, and the gang of Villains ranged beside it; but, at the same instant, the soldiers, headeu by the dwarf, pistol in hand, rushed in, filling toe hut so quickly that the astonished and terrified tories had no chance to rush into their usual hiding-piace, or even to seize arms for resistance. “Oid Nick has got us !? growled Dunning, as he looked at the dwarf, fiercely. “Not yet, Alva Dunning; brt he soon willi—he has a mortgage on you, and will foreclose by-and-by. The hemp is growh, and the rope twisted for your neck.” “And the lead is run which’ll settle your cofiee, you cussed imp!” said the desperado, raising a pistol quickly. But before he could level it, as intended, a soldier had reached his side, and his arm was stricken helplessly down. «Surrender, or die like dogs, as ye are. The man who resists will be shot dead on the spot |’? shouted the dwarf, in his shrill, unearthly veice. } ‘Tne tories saw the utter uselessness of offering resist- ance, and sunk back into their seats, in silence. “Where is Jolin Perris, and this olu man’s daughter?’ continued the dwarf, seeing no sign of the tory leader abont there. “Hold your tongues, boys—not a word to put these etigses on liis track |”? shouted Dunning. And no one an- éwered the inquiry of the dwarf. “Your tongue shall tell the tale, Alva,’’ said the dwarf, with a mocking smile. | ; “Never, you crooked’imp, never !"? cried Alva. “We'll see,’’ said the dwarf, Looking up ata piece of scantling which stretched from side to side of the roof, overhead, on which hung several smoked hams, he re- sumed: “That joist has strength enough to hold dog- '* meat as well as hog. Give mea rope here, boys, and throw one end up over there, while a dozen of you take the other-end.”” In afew seconds the order was obeyed. Quickly the dwarf formed a slipping noose, and bidding a couple of soldiers bind the hands of Dunning, he at the same time threw the rope over his head. Drawing it snugly around around his neck, yet leaving him a chance to breathe, he said: “Now, villain, tell me where your master is, or you'll swing ! Be ready there, boys, at the other end of the rope ! bat ‘SAll ready !’? was the quick reply. - “Will you tell?” again asked the dwarf. “No; Cll be cussed if do !? cried the tory, spitefully, ‘Swing him up, boys—swing him up!’ cried the dwarf, with his wild, shrill intonation. “In an instant, the form of the wretch was hoisted up to the beam, his struggling limbs and distorted face beto- kKening his agony. . ; “Let him down, and see what he’ll do now,’? said the dwarf, a minute or so, afterward; when strangulation seemed pretty near to doing the work of death, The order was obeyed, and Denning lowered to the floor, where he was unable to stand without support. Dashing some water in his face, and thus restoring him to consciousness, the dwarf again addressed Dunning. Will ton tellnow, Alva, or shall I swing you up for good? For, so sure as I live, if you are raised again, I'll Jet you hang till you rot.” i “Hang away—l’ll never teli!’?. growled the obstinate _ Man, scowling his hate on all around him, “Well we'll hang you first, and then we'll try the same game with your fellows here. We’ll choke his where- , abouts out of some of ’em!, Ready again, boys—ready!” Dunning saw stern meaning in the eyes of the dwarf, Z | Ee ponay Yop had no time to lose. ‘if 1 teli you will yon let me 0? ‘“No—I will make no terms beyond sparing your life !"’ cried the dwarf. “Then tell ’em to loose up on that rope!’’ said Dunning. “Not before you tell me where John Ferris and that poor girl is!’ said the dwart, sternly. “He took her to his mother’s house over on the Whip- porwill road !? said the tory. “Do you tell the truth?” keeuly. “Yes—it isn’t often I do tell it, but you miay hang me if yon don’t find him there.”’ “1 will, ifyou lie!’ said the dwarf. .*‘Lieutenant Haviland, IT will take ten men and that wretch for a guide. You can guard the rest of these fellows to camp with what men I leave you, can you not?”? “Kasily, for 1 shall tie every mother’s son of them,” said the officer. “Then detail four men beside my first squad, and I will be off,” replied the dwarf. This was done, and the horses having been sent for, Martin, with Dunning tied on his herse, mounted his party, and then they rode off lively. it was now getting well along toward midnight, but the sky was clear, and the stars shone out brilliantly. Know- ing from his low-toned word that the dwarf would surely shoot him if he deceived the party in his guidance, Dun- ning pointed out the read over which John Ferris and poor Katrina had indeed traveled earlier in the day, and there was no time lost now in going oyer it. : CHAPTER XVII. Cruel as was her detention in that hated house, full of misery every minute, yet the time seemed to fly to poor Katrina on that first day ofher captivity. For she dread- ed, she scarcely knew why, but she did dread the ap- proach of night in thatlonely, awful place, for she felt that there was a dreadful peril impending. Yes, night came on all too swiftly, and the old hag, who seemed to gloat over the wretchedness of the poor girl, prepared sup- per. Katrina was made tosit down at the fable, but she could not eat, though Ferris and his mother both seemed to have most voracious appetices. “1 s*pose our feed isn’t good enough for you, you stuck- up hussy!’* said the woman, maliciously, as she paused at And the dwarf eyed him last from very plentitude oi eating. : “Oh, yes it is, but, imdeed, I am not hungry!” said poor Katrina, anXlous now tat night had come on not to give any offence which might lead to worse treatment. _ “You'll come to your appetite by-and-by, Vl bet!” said Ferris, as his eyes rested on her pale face, with a proad, careless look of triumph. ‘But you ougnt to eat now, for three or four reasons, Mother Meg, in the first place, has laid herself out to get a tirst-rate supper. The chicken is tender, the bread is sweet, and the butter fresh. The rest it did her. ofthe things are good, too. But that isn’tall. This is your wedding supper; a’ye hear that ?*? “My wedding supper?’ Katrina turned whiter yet, and shivered us she echoed his words. “Yes, your wedding supper! You’ve heard of Quaker marriages haven’t you, where no clergyman is required for the ceremony?’ A sarcastic grin, actually demoniac, in its gleeful malice, lighted up the speaker’s face. i Katrina shuddered, but. she dared not trust herself to reply. Mentally she breathed a prayer tothe Aimighty for help, but speak tothe wretch before her for mercy, she could not, for she knew it would only add to his ma- lignant joy to hear her vain entreaties, After he had finished his supper, the old hag cleared up the table and washed the dishes, telling Katrina that in future that would be her duty, After this was done, she set out a huge square bottle of rum on the table, witn glasses and sugar, and now the agony of the wretched captive was increased a thousand fold. For she knew but: too well the madness produced by intoxicating drink, and the wild excesses of those who are under its power. She had but one hope now, and that was that one or both of her tormentors would drink themselves into a state of helpless drunkenness. Then she might escape, or at the worst, resist any open wrong which might be attempted. “Sha’n’t 1 mix you up a nice teddy, gal, make it sweet and not too strong?’ asked the old woman, trying to look pleasant for once, an effort which only made her look more disgusting than ever. “No—I will not drink the poison !"! said Katrina. “If it would Kill me instantly, 1 would drink it. ButIam near enough mad without it.”’ “Prison, eh? Well, it’s jest the blessedest p’ison I ever heerd on, for I’ve been nussed on ii for nigh on to fifty yee This. stuff wouldn’t sicken a bird; would it, ack? : “T reckon not !’? said theson, as he poured cut a giass of the raw sphits and drank it om. : “See that!’ said the old hag. ‘Does he act asif he was 2 drinkin’ p’ison? You didn’t see im even wink, when he swallowed it. ButI have to water mine and put sugar in it to make if taste good to me!’ : he old woman mixed herself a tumbler full of drink, watering it very feebly, in spite of her assertion that she couldn’t take it strong. ‘ ; Katrina now sat in silence, listening with a frequent shudder to their'coarse slang, while her hopes increased as glass after glass was filled and emptied between them. For if they would only drink enough to make them stu- pid, as she had seen people do, then she felt that escape jrom her terrible peril would yet be possible. The old woman soon began to show the effect of her potations. Her eyes flashed, she laughed wilaly, told funny stories, and droned outsome old ballads in a voice ) which had strength, even if it lacked sweetness, But the strong liquor seemed to have very little etfect on Jolin Ferris. He scemed to wish to get. his mother drunk, for he often replenished her glass, but though ‘he drank quite as frequently, the stuif did pot affect him as So when she became 3ess noisy and began to fall into a. drowsy stupor, he had every faculty about him apparent- ly. Perhaps his eyes gleamed a little more wildly, and the hot flush on his dissipated face was stronger than usual, but ag yet ne exhibited none of the other effects of intoxication. / é At last the old woman fell helplessly from the ebair upon the floor, and then Ferris raised ber in his arms, and carrying her limp form into the next room tossed her ona bed. Then be returned to Katrina, and now she saw from the flery glances of his eyes, and the savage intensity of his gaze, that the effect of liquor in its worst phase was be- yinning to befelt by him. : “Mother Meg is Qisposed of !? he said, with a coarse laugh, “and now a little huggin’ and kissin’ will come nat’ral, won’tit!’? As he spoke he approached her with a look which filled her soul with terror. “Stand off you wretch—do not come near me!’ she screamed, wildly, as she sprung irom her chair and rusned to the other side of the room. “Ho—ho! You're goin’ to be ugly, are you?” he cried. “T']] teach you betterthanthat. You may scream all you like, the louder you scream the rougher I’ll treat you! You're mine, Katrina Vanderbilt, mine in my own way !’? With a savage bound the miscreant gained her sideand grasped her in his powerful arms. One wild, agonised cry for mercy broke from fier lips, a horrible laugh of triumph from fis, and—Heayen was merciful ! ; For when her dreadful fate seemed inevitable, while her shriek of terror seemed yet to ring through the old house, there was a wild shout heard in reply; then the sound of galloping horses, and whilé Ferris paused to listen, yet holding her in his brutal grasp, the door was dashed in, and Martin the Dwart, followed by hali-a-score of men, rushed into the room. Ferris saw his peril at a glance, and flinging the girl with fearful force against the dwarf as he rushed forward, he knocked the lamp from the table, extinguishing the light by the act, and shrouding the room in instant dark- ness. ; “Watch, men, watch, don't let him escape!” cried the dwarfl, as he recovered from the shock which had pros- trated him to the fluor. ‘“‘A light, hurry and strike a light!” ) It was two or three minutes before, with the rude ap- pliances of that day, the lamp could be relighted. When it was done, Katrina was found unconscious, in a swoon on the floor, and the old hag dead drunk on a bed in the nextroom. ButJokn Ferris had disappeared. iow, or whither could not be told at first, but a door leading into the cellar was found open, and, upon searching there, an outside celiar door was also found open. Leaving her father to restore Katrina to life and con- sciousness, Martin led on the search for Ferris, but the wretch knew the secret ways of the place too well, and while they were yet groping around the walls of the house, they heard his wild shout of defiance, followed by the ringing clatter of steel-shod hoofs dashing over the rocky road. “Look to our prisoner—quick, some of you, I believe two horses are on that road!” cried the dwarf. A hurried inspection made that fact but too evident. Alva Dunning had been Icft tied on his horse at the door when the soldiers followed the dwarf into the house, Now he and his horse were gone. In the stable near by was found the horse and side-saddle on which Katrina had been brought from home. The saddle and bridle be- longing to Jolin Ferris was there also, but his horse was gone, the halter strap cut in two with a knife, showing how hastily he had been taken from the stall. “He has beaten us this time, the tory scoundrel!” cried the dwarf, angrily. “But we’llhavehimyet. His intend- ed victim is saved!” { “Let's destroy the crib, burn out the inside, even if we can’t the walls,’’ cried one of the soldiers. “No,” said Martin. “Touch nothing here, for he may come back some time, and we may trap him.’? The dwarf now re-entered the house. The first sight he saw was Katrina, sobbing convulsively, with her arms about the neck of her father. As her eyes fell on his form, she left her father, and, throwing herself on her knees before the dwarf, ex- claimed, a8 She clasped his hand: “Saved—saved for the second time by you! Heaven bless and reward you)?’ Tears started in the eyes of the dwarf, as he said, in a soft and gentle tone, almost womanly in its tenderness: “To have saved you once were worth dying for—twice only adds to the happiness. _ Katrina arose and, bending forward as if by an incon- oo influence, she kissed him on his high, white fore- ead, ' “Oh more than a brother shall you ever be to me. There is but one, beside my father, on the broad earth, who shall share my thoughts, waking or sleeping, through life.?? “But one?” said the dwarf, with a low, sad voice. . “But one? Ah, were I tall and shapely as he. But this is madness—this is madness!’’ ia He dashed the tears from his eyes and went into the Oh, may “Fold on!’? he gasped, as the tightning rope told him piwarf, after.an instang ee ORK WEEKLY. o Shaking her rudely, he failed to awaken her. ; “All the better,» he said, as he turned away. ‘She will Know nothing of our visit until she sees her son again. We will leave at once, so when she comes to her- self she will find no one in the house. For the road must be guarded, and if he attempts to come hack here, he will be either shot or taken. He will know from Dunning what has become of his band, Mount, men, and bring out the horse from the stabie for the lady. The sooner we are away from here the better!’ Before the gray of the coming dawn bad become rosy with increasing light, the party were far away from the uld stone house of Meg Ferris. The sun was just rising, when, as the dwarf, at the head of the little column, turned a sharp corner in the road, he reined in his horse, with an exclammation of sarprise, a8 a horseman directly in front of kim did the same, e : CHAPTER XVIII. “I'm afraid we'll never see old Jerusalem again, cap- tain,”’ said Mr. Crouthers, as the Sea Witch filled away, and stood down the sound, after Zenos Bangs had been landed. : “Not a very respectinl appellation for our purser, lieu- tenant,” said the eaptain, with a quaintsmile. “But why do you think we'll never see him again?” “He is so proud of his new uniform that he will forget prudence, and carelessly expose himself to some of the desperate gangs of toriés and land pirates in his route.’ “I hope not. He has eonrage, is well armed, and with all his drollery, has plenty of sound practical sense. Time willimprove him. He nas not the worldly education ofa gentleman, but he is apt to receive impressions, and will learn rapidly.” “You are right there, captain. When are we to take him on beard again 2” ‘ “On our return; which, unless something happens to prevent it, should be the day after to-morrow. 1 only wish to run down to the narrow part of the sound, near New York, to see if any royal cruisers are loitering in the nooks or bays thereaway, and perhaps to cut off some of their boat foraging expeditions.” : “Of which, there goes ome, or 1’ll lose my supper,” cried the second officer, who had been reconnoitering the shore through a glass for several minutes, and had come to re- port something, when he overneard the words of the cap- tain, The latter hurriedly took the apy-glass from the hands of the officer, and leveled it in the direction indicated by the hand of the Officer. : : “Seven—yes, nine large barges, full manned, pulling twelve or sixteen Oars eaci,’’ he-said. “They do not seem to heed,or notice us. Tliey are running up an inlet there, and are undoubtedly on a plundering expedition.” “What colors do they show ?”? asked Crouthers. “English, of course. Our side has not yet learned the art of robbery,” said St. John. “Can't we circumvent them in some way, sir?'? asked the other lieutenant. ; “I think wecan. Run up the English ensign and pen- nant, and the Arethusa’s humber, forward. I shall stand in and anchor. When those bouts come out, if they do not fall into the net, and come alongside o1 their own ac- cord, we will treat them freely to grape.” “Good, sir. The idea #$ capital, I'll stake my ilfe, We'll take them without losing a man.” “I hope so,”? replied the captain. ‘‘And now turn up all hands, and work lively. We will anchor under this Pe a not found out, will easily have them, plunder and all.’ 4 ; “Might we not follow them, and take them in the act, or protect our friends by preventing the object of the ex- pedition?”? asked, Crouthers. “It would scarcely be prudent to show our-hand too soon,’? replied the captain, ‘Were they now to know who we are, or to even suspect i thouga they lost their boats by peaaig | ere, they could easily escape overland to the British lines, For that reason, nothing must be done, beyond coming to an anchor, beforenight. Just as soon as darkness vails our movements, I will permit a strong boat expedition from the ship to go into the mouth of the inlet, to cut olf their retreat, if they do not come out before.” > CHAPTER XIX. i “Halt! Who are yousfriend or foe? Speak quiekly, or my pistol will ask the next question !"" This was the cry of Martin the Dwarf, in his shrill, un- earthly tone, as seeing astranger suddenly in front, he oe in his horse and drew one of his large holster pis- tols. ‘ : “Jerusalem |’ cried the person hailed, his horse having stopped so suddenly that he came near going over its head. ‘Ufyou’re not first cousin to Sazan, I'd like to know who else you be!” . & ; : “Oh, I know that voice well—he is a friend, a ¢-we friend ?”? cried Katrina Vanderbilt, riding hastily forward, “Lower your pistol, please, good Martin, Le is an officer in the Navy of the New Republic.” _ “That's so, Katrina—that’s so! Den’t you see my new uniform? isn’tbit dandy ? And J]’ve gota letter for you from vim. That's what I’m away ftrom,the ship for. We’ve had a battle and took a ship bigger than ours, And I fit—oh Jerusalem, Katrina, how I fit! And he fit, and we all fit, and the enemy wasn’t a shadder to us— hot even a sickly shadder |” . “Ive seen himbefure. He was a schoolmaster !’’ said the dwarf, lowering his yoice. ‘Where are you going to? ; “I was goin’ over to Hans Vandeyrbilt’s, but seein’ of her—Katrina, 1 mean—has ended my journey in that di- rection, l’ve a letter for her, and here it is !’ said Zenos, producing the document and handing it to Katrina. “ITere ig a good place t@halt fora brief rest,” said the fleciion. ‘We-will dismount | ud wait, and the lady camread her letter and see if 1b requires any answer, The men can get a bite of break- ast while we tarry.?? The soldsers instantly dds unted, and Katrina was also helped froyn ber saddle, = | }. re x -| While she stood near her forse, reading the letter sent by her lever, Zenos Bangs watched the play of feeling in the alternate flushing and paiing of her sweet face. “Jerusalem |?) he muttered in alowtone, “If she feit that way for me, I'd be as happy as the boss of all crea- tion! Butit’s no use, I’m jest a leetle less than nothin’ to her. My mutton is cooked, and growlin’ will never make it a live sheep agin. But 1 wonder what she 1s a doin’ here with that crooked leetle eretur, and all these sogers. I don’t believe she’s a prisoner, but it looks like it. When she’s done readin’ her letter l’ll ask her.” By this time the soldiers, used to bivouac, had lighted a fire, and were already engaged in making coffee and toasting siices of salt pork for breakfast; others had mixed meal into doughy consistency and were preparing ash-cake to bake in the embers, Katrina having read and refolded the letter, placed it where ladies usually depesit precious missives, and then looked at Zenos with an air of perplexity. “IT should like to answer the letter of Captain St. John,” she said, “but [have no material here for writing.” “Why don’t you go hum to do it, Katrina?’ asked Zenos. “] have no home to go to now,” Sle replied, sadly. “The infamous tories, under that wretch, John Terrts, yesterday burned down ny father’s house. lwas made a captive by lim, but was rescued by these noble men.” “Your house burned down?. if swearin’ was ever excusable, I think I'd like t0 swear just a leetle, for con- science sake, this minute |’? cried Zenos, “But swearm?’ won’t build houses. Where be you goin’ to now?” “I don’t know. My generous friend and preseryer there, will guide me to some place of safety, { know. Situated as lam, I know not where to go.”! “{ know just te place,” said Zenos, as he thought of his recently-Tound vousiv.*‘A place where you can see the Cap’n of the Sea-Witch every little while, too, ihe very place where | landed from her. And you can stop with just as nice a Woman, too, as ever stepped in a caliker gownd, 1f she is my own cousin.” “A place of safety, where all are loyal to our country ?”” asked the dwarf, Who stood near enough io hear what Zenos said. .“The piace is safe, for if a red coat come anigh my cousiu Jerushy, he‘d get s@alded if nothin’ worse hap- pened. And I recken they're all Joyal about there, fur their preacher lent me, his hoss when I asked for tt in the name of Gin’ral Washington; and what a preacher is, his congergation follers as a gin’ral thing, ’cordin’ to all I’ve seen and heard.” “J was troubled in mind about, finding a suitable place of safety for this lady and her father,’’ said the dwarf. “For the wretch, Ferris, being yet at large, will doubtless further persecnie herif hecan. Where is this place of which you speak ?”” “They call it Pair Hayen, a little port ou the Sound,” replied Zenos. “J know it well. We can reach it before night without trouble,’’ said dwarf. “If the lady ts content to abide there until sh@ finds a home that suits her better, she shall de escorted thither, Hor while John Ferris is at large, and most likely his lieutenant is with him, it will not do to let her travel a singie mile alone,’? “Tnat’s true. Andifshe’s here, my cap’n will see to her safety once ina while, and tories had better keep scarce where he visits, lorhe hag plenty of rope, and knows how to use it.” “Then it is understood. As soon as the men have eaten breakfast, a matter we had all vest have ashare tn, fora long, tiresome ride is before us, we will start for Fair Haven,’ replied Martin. “On, Jerusalem! but that is the ticket, How tickled cousin Jerushy will be. 1 think, if you know the way, V’d better ride back ahead, and let her know your're a comin’ ?* cried Zenos. The dwarf smiled as he looked at the lean and meck- dooking animal which Zenos had been riding. “You had best start now, and use whip and spurs lively,”’? said he; “or ave shall pass you Within the next mile.”? “Maybe—maybe!’ said Zenos. “This hoss isn’t much in looks, I acknowledge, and he needs urgin’ to get start- ed. But arter he’s persuaded into a run, he goes jest like & Woman’s gab, ey and sharp, and noendin’. So good-by till you get to the Spoutin’ Whale in Fair Haven, for I'll be there seein’ that dinner’s hot on the table for you all. Good-by,’ Katrina; don’t be down-hearted, for you'll see Him .afore to-morrow’s sun shines in the blue hevings—I know you will!" And Zenes mounted his horse, which at first seemed very loth to start, but after a shower of blows from the whip, and fearftl kicks from the spurred-heels of Zenos, it broke into a run, and was soon out of sight. : (To be Continuea). > O+-- gar The following is taken froma tombstone in West- ern New York: ‘In memory of Adeline Cobb who was Locksmith of Lyons. CHAPTER XXVL MAMMA GRIMO IN THE OFFICE AGAIN. “What is that?” exc'aimed Dr. Plancbe, who at the moment was regarding the wretched Husserbrek with a pitying gaze. Base and brutal as the man was, and had ever been, the heart ae Se old physician had rocm for compassion for his dreadful ate. “I said, sir,’ replied Antoine, not entering, but standing at th door, “that the old woman, who calls herself Mamma “Grliage is in your office, with the lost papers.” : “Ah, is thatso! Has the cunning old wretch really come back, and with the desired papers,’ exclaimed the doctor, moving to- ward the door. : “Do not leave me! do nst leave me! Are you about to for- sake me !—you who can give ne something to keep me alive!” ‘My friend,” replied the doctor, atthe dour, “there is nothing more for me to do for you. If youare alive when I return you may hope to live.” With these words he closed the door, and then whispered to Antoine: “T have given him that which causes him to feel no pain. I think he has suffered encugh. He will be dead in an hour. Come, let us see the old witch. Who admitted her?” “I did, sir,” “And the others?” “Oh, we were all at the hail-door, intending to go over to General La Mothier’s, whem we met Mamma Grimo hurrying up the street steps. The gentlemen are now in j our oflice.” “Tt is quite late, is it not?” “Nearly midnight, sir.’ “The woman has that deadly knife of hers?” “Oh, I never thought of that. I sappose she has.” ‘She is dangerous So Idng as she has that abominaLle weapon. At any instant she may take a notion to stab someone. A seratch might be fatal. She may have returned only for malice. ut—— By this time the hand of the doctor was upon the knob of one of the doors which opened into his office, and saying no more he threw open the door. La Mothier, Count Robert, and the young locksmith, were seated at one end of the office, while Mammu Grimo stood, or rather crouched, at the other. -Goiden Loom, “Ah,” she said, on recognizing the doctor, “I am very glad you_havye come. Iwas about to go away. I have the papers, but 1 won’tgive them up, except vou are present to promise.” “Oh, then you have great faith in me?” “Yes. More than m any one in the world; besides, I see a stranger here.” “Ab, Count de Glayline, Robert Charnois.” “Oh, [have heard of him. Exiled and outlawed, or some- thing of that kind.” “Yes, but now in high favor with the king of France, and all his estates restored to him.?’ “Oh, then he is a very rich man,’ said Mamma Grimo. we prince and general of whe Czar of all the Russias.” and father of this young gentleman, known to you as Lack- ville, the locksmith, or Herbert, the master weaver.” “Stars of Giory!” _ ‘So there is no doubt he will soon be the husband of the beau- tiful girl you so long called your mece.” “And where is she?” “With her delighted and doting mother, the Countess.D’Au- Cre. ‘ Mamma Grimo made a grimace, and said: “Well, it is all n thing to me, though the countess certainly should make me a noble present, for rearing her daughter and making her an honor tothe nobility. But let that pass; [am here to sell something. I have the papers.” “Let me examine them,” said La Mothier, extending his hand toward her. she shook her head, and made a grimace. mR shall receive them buck, woman,” said the doctor, sternly. She immediately tossed a large packet of papers and parch- ments upon the table. No sooner had La Moihier touched the packet than he drew back his hand wich a gesture ot horror and disgust, exclaiming: “There's blood upon it !** “Yes,” replied Mamma Grimo, her eyes glittering, “there is blood upon it—the blood of Barbe Rousseau.” “Of Barbe Rousseau! Then you have been forced to kill him to recover the papers?’* “Wat, Iwill tell you all about it,” said the old woman. “I have my , doctor, but don’t fear; I shall not try to hurt any one here. I didn’t come here to hurt anybody. Let me tell you how I got this packet. In the first place, some weeks ago, Barbe Kousseau and Le Scorpion played atrick on me. They robbed me and thei locked me up. got out this morning and came here, as you know. I didn’t tell youhow Igotaway,did I? No. Thewi wil, Here Mamma Grimo related all that is known to the reader of her trick upon the wretched Papa Canton, to which her au- ditors listened in horror. _ “Whata hideous old fiend!’ exclaimed Dr. Pianche several times during this recital. To which commentary Mammy Grime replied: “Yes, [ was always sharp, always sharp—the only time I wag dull was when I trusied to Barbe Rousseau and Le Scorpion. Well, aiter I left this morning and had hired a room above ‘The > IT waited impatiently for one or both of those rascals tocome to me. Igottired of waiting, and was going down the main stairway to peep about after them, when I met a crowd bringing up a senseless man—carrying him into ‘The Golden Loon tor the famous La Croix Rousse surgeon, Vitat, {oexamine. The man was Barbe Rousseau, and both bands were cut clean off at the wrists.” “Horror! and how happened that!” asked Dr. Planche, while the others exchanged glances of surprise and aoubt. “Wat, you shall learn. [aided the bearers to carry him into the saloon, and, while doing so, I felt a package of something in his bosom—in the inner pocket—of his vest. l was sure it was the packet of documents they had stolen from me. And so it was—there itis. Icontrived to get it into my hands, and this too,” said she, showing a large purse full of gold. “The biood on the packet and on the purse came from his bleeding stumps. He came to while I was securing them, and he recognized me, He knew whatI was after. He tought fu- oun ina kind of spasm to. keep me from getting them, and said: . “-Woman—demen! your accursed fish-hooks have lost me my hands, and now you are robbing me.’ Then he fainted again, or died, I do not know which;I didn‘tstay to learn; I got away with my prizes, and here Iam.” “But how did he lose his hands?” “f understood that as soon as I heard what he said. Someé- how he had got lis hands snared in the fish-hooks, and to save bis lig some one to-etity his hands off., Limiagine Le Scor- pion did't and did itgladiy. Are the papers all right?” : “Yes,” replied La Mothier. ‘The blood stains are only upon {peas per. The title-deeds are il here. Most of them belong to you, Count Robert. They are those you confided to the care of my father when you fled from France.’ “Butiny reward,” cried the old woman. “Iam to be paid. That Was the agreement “True, you are to be -paid,” replied La Mottier. ‘What sum ?”” “A hundred thousand franes in gold,” said Mamma Grimo, boldly. “You cannot carry so large a sum about you, foolish woman, nor haye we the amount in the house.”’ “IT must leave Lyons betore daylight,” replied the old woman. “T fear the knife of Le Scorpion. Ir Barbe Rousseau is not dead, T fear him also: Isaw Le Scorpion running toward the stair- way ot “The Golden Loom,’ as lslipped away. If he and I meet there’ll be an end of him or of me; or, more likely, of both of us.”? “You have some money already,’ said La Mothier. ‘Here are athousand francs more. Leave Lyonsatonce. Go straight to Marseilles. Live secluded. Write me wnen you are settled, and I pledge you ny word of honor that I will send a messenger to you with the amount you demand. Itis avery large sum, but you have risked your life to obtain'the deeds for me, and you shall be rewarded.” : ; “Ag the deeds are mainly valuable to me,” said Count Robert, tossing a bank-note to the old woman, “or rather to my son, who is to possess all my former estates, I will pay two-thirds of the amount this woman asks. Asa pledge of that I give her this note.”? “Scars of light! cried Mamma Grimo, gazing at the note. “kive thousand francs! 1t isthe Charnois who are ever as generous as princess!” % d “My father, who knows very little about you, Mamma Gri- mo,” said Robert Lacaville, smiling, “gives that to you for pro- viding so fair and virtuous a wile for his son.”’ With one of her hideous grimaces, the old woman replied: “True, [deserve much reward and praise tor that, even though it was aspeculation. But promises are all very tine, noble gen- tlemen. Perhaps after I leave Lyons I may never hear trom any of you again, except through my being cast into the hands of the police. You see Tam waiting for something.” “Waning for what?” : “For my dear doctor there to say younoblemen will keep your promises.” hea “Come you are an old fool,” said the doctor. “TI give you my word that the one hundred thousand frances shali pe paid you, it {*have to pay it ail myself—that is, if you escape trom Le Scorpion.” 2 y ; “The man is dead!” cried the footman Guillot, who just at that moment thrust a very pale face into the oitice. “Oh!? eried Mamma Grimo, clasping her hands, “Ne does not mean Le Scorpion,’ said the doctor, taking snoff. “Ah! what @ pity {°° whined the old woman. “Esark Hasserbrek.”” “Stars of Salvation! He dead! and in this house! Well, I see all the tide isin your favor. I trast you, doctor. It is very ate. In three or four hours it will be daylight. I must go. No, not by the front door—oh no! Lam sure Le Scorpion is on the watch for me.” ta “You may depart by the rear,” said the doctor. “But let me give you a piece of advice, old woman, get out of France as soon as you can. Putan ocean between youand France. If Barbe Rousseau is alrye——” ‘ ‘Tl take back something I said,” interrupted Mamma Grimo, srinning. “L said I didn’t Know whether he was dead or ina taint, when [left him in She Golden Loom.” “Yes, you said that.” f “f did not speak the truth—as I generally do.” “Very well?” [ “His hands.iung on the fish-hooks a minute too long; cntting off his arms at the shoulder would not have saved him. Barbe Rousseau is dead!” : The old woman said this with so much fiendish glee sparkling in her squinting eyes, and with her wrinkled features so dis- torted with diabolical delight, that the doctor called out to Guillot: “Here—hurry! show this woman through the yard to the alley-entrance. I’ve had enough of her.” With a farewell grimace Mamma Grimo said: j “I am very sorry ILcan’t bid my darling Blanche adieu. Tell her to cherish my memory. And now iet me give all of you a piece of advice. Leave Lyons—leave this city. Barbe Rous- seau is dead, but the ball he helped put in motion is rolling on. Leave Lyons—do you hear? Leave it to-morrow, as I do—in haste. May the arch-fiend take every one of you!” ea And with the last phrase muttered and inaudible, the vindic- tive old woman, impotent in her rage and hate, followed Guillot to the alley gate. j Just asthe servant was about to open the gate, fumbling about in the dark to find the key, she drew from a pocket that en- yenomed knife, so much feared by ail who knew her. “Do you think he is hiding tfiere in the alley?’ she whispered, “Eh? Whot Why should any one be hiding there? Eh? I think you are a fool,” snapped Guillot, in no sweet humor from being up so late. : ; “Do you? Well, perhaps I am; open the gate easy,” she said, grasping one of: his arms with a fierce clutch that startled him, “Easy, you liveried dog!” “Oh! exclaimed the servant, now wild with amazement. “You are a crazy woman!” “Hush, fool! Silence! Iam worse than a crazy woman; do you hear? Were you ever in Paris?” “T used to live there!” gasped Guillot, trembling, for he re- membered how this violent old woman, knife in hand, had forced her way into, and then along the hall. “And ever heard of The Snake-Charmers?”’ “Yes—the terrible assassins!” ; f “True, and Lam Lisette Malus, who was theirqueen. So open that gale easy, go along the alley and secif all is clear. It pass the great danger I feel clinging to my face and hair like cobwebs full of crawling spiders, Ishallescape.” “Great Heaven !”? gasped Guillot, terrified by the hissing tones and sharp clutch of the old woman. : “Yes, £ haye felt these clammy cobwebs, these crawling spi- ders, in my hair, on my. face, twice before; and, right after, have I narrowly escaped death.” res She was muttering to herself; but the amazed Guillot heard every word. 1 “Le Scorpion isnot far off—oh, no! Lam sure of that! TI feel his near presence in the air—in this vile. sensation of sticky, “Who then! —all over my flesh—ugh! How my flesh creeps on my bones ! Open the gale easy, you trembling hound!” and here she gave Guillot a cruel pinch. “If you make more noise than a nibbling mouse, I’l] murder you!” “May the saints protect me!” was the mute appeal of Guillot. “Antoine said she carried poisoned knives,” and here, with a shudder, be turned the key in the lock—oh, so very softly. _ ‘Now! now!” whispered Mamma Grimo, after peering out into the dark alley; “creep along, and explore—explore, mind, for me—see if any one is lurking in the alley, or outin the street —easy, or [M—DIl put a poisoned knite into you!” ‘Mercy on me!’ cried Guillot; but the instant she released his arm, he added: ‘Devil take you, old woman!” and with a sudden sweep of his foot across the ankles of Mamma Grimo, and a shove in the back, he hurled her headlong into the alley, and, before she could scrambie to her feet, had locked her out, and was running at full speed across the yard, back to the house, saying from his whife lips and chattering teeth: ‘* May Satan clutch thee, Mamma Grimo|!” CHAPTER XXVII. TWO POISONED DAGGERS ARE CROSSED, Mamma Grimo was taken wholly by surprise, having no sus- Picion that the terrified and trembling tootman could muster courage to attemptsuch a trick upon her. But the very terror of honest Guillot made him brave, and so the ola woman found herself on ‘all fours” before she had time to resist. “Oh, if I had a chance to give that fellow one dig—just one dig—the rascally dog!” she snarled, as she_regained her feet. “It is a mercy—a providential mercy—that I didn’t give myself a cut or a scratch with this knife! Let me listen, before I make & move further!’ She crouched down, listening. The alley-way being unlight- ed, the durkness was intense. The entrance of the alley being upon a rear street, could not be seen by Mamma Grimo, Cen- fused by her fall, she did not know whether to advance to the right or to the left, No sound came in from the street, or her ears would have told her in what directiontomove. Besides, she had never been in the alley, and all its bearings, size, shape, length, and localities were unknown to her. A fear was upon her that Le Scorpion was already upon her track. She knew the fierce malignity of the wretch well. She knew that he would have killed her, from the moment he dis- covered her in Lyons, had she not been exceedingly vigilant, and had he not feared the anger of Barbe Rousseau. j Barbe Rousseau bi ing dead, Le Scorpion would have no fear of him. If he had tracked her to the house of Dr. Planche, the house of one of the most formidable enemies of Le Scorpion in former days, he would certainly try-to kill. He would at once conclude that she had sold her information, and that she was loaced with her reward. ‘Then Le Scorpion would have two powerful motives to urge him to make an end of her—hate and avarice. Mamma Grimo had cause totear. Le Scorpion wasnear, He had been in the Golden Loom, and there seen the body.of Barbe Rousseau stretched upon a table, dead and grim.’ the ugly eyes open, but fixed and glazed; the mouth open, too, but in.a grin of that death-agony which had wrenched the soul from the body; the handless arms at the side, the wart-covered tace livid and bloating rapidly; the red hair and red beard staffened with the troth and foam that told of a virulent poison seething and work- ing in the dead blood. And a crowd of terrified weavers, of all classes, staring at dead Barbe Rousseau, and whispering to each other: ‘A bad thing tor the Weaver’s League! A great leader dead !? Le Scorpion, pushing his way into The Loom, had seen all this, and as he hurried up the great stairs before entering the saloon, he set a shuttle-boy on the path of the flYing Mamma Grimo, whom he saw in the street. “Oh, the admiral is dead!” said Dad Fanfan, as Le Scofpion gazed at the dead man. ‘Ho! why do you feel in his vest! His heart beats no more.” “He had a packet, a very valuable packet of papers.” “The old woman, that Mamma Grimo, who hired a room of me— : ree did she take the packet? Has she been in here t'* “yea? “Waien 2??? “Not ten minutes ago.” Away sprang Le Scorpion to find Mamma Grimo, to overtake ber it possible, fer he was sure she had hurried to see La Mothier. He met his spy, the shuttle-boy, inthe street, return- * Well?” i “Oh, she got into a cab, and told the driverto break hls neck in getting to somebody's house in Place Bellecour."* x “Gcneral La Mothier’s?” “No, that wasn’t the name.” “Dr. Planche’s ?” “Aye, that was it.” mie Le Scorpion, unable to find a cab, or any other vehicle’ near, sprang away, muttering: “At least, I can pay her for her trick by catching her when she comes out. She will be very tat in the pocket, too, for she doubtless got Barbe Rousseau’s purse as well as the packet, and wilt have a heavy reward trom La Mothier, or Planche, or some of them.”’ ; Thus, while Mamma Grimo was conversing in the office of Dr. Plauche, Le Scorpion arrived, panting, opposite the house,on the other side of the street, ~ “Tf she Comes out by the front entrance,’’ he reasoned, ‘she will have some one with her, or she will go away in a carriage, and Iecan do nothing. _ She caught my eye asI ran teward the stairs of The Loom, and, of course knew that I recognized her. Ho! she will be on her guard, for she knows I wiil try to ki/l her atter such treachery. With her reward she will try to escape from Lyons before daylight.. Let us see it there is not a rear entrance to the house of Dr. Planche—of course, there must be. An alley on the next street, or something. I will look.” He was looking; he was at the entrance of the alley when Guillot hurled Mamma Grimo intoit. He heard the fall, and he thrust his head into the alley to listen.. Tne alley being very narrow and a covered one, with a very low ceiling, was, in faecr, agreat tube of brick, stone and mortar, not four feet across, and seven feet from pavement to ceiling. 4 Thus, a loud breathing, in thé dead stil ness of that hour, could be heard from one end to the other. It was a blind alley, a cud- de-sac—that is, it ended abruptly, Just beyond the gate which Guillot had locked. ; This Mamma Grimo soon discoyered, as she groped about. “Ha! a blind ailey! I must move in the other direction,” she muttered, holding her right hand before her, the naked and en- venomed knife ughtly grasped at the corkscrew-like handle, the broad, stout, deadly poisoned blade invisible in that deep darkness, but terrible. ts With her left hand she felt along the damp, oozy brick wall, stepping slowly and cautiously. ; “it may be all for nothing,” she thought, “but I'll go along just as if I knew Le Scorpion was at the end Waiting for me.”’ Le Scorpion, listening, hearing with his keen ears a distant but distinct breathing, thought thus: “Something is in this alley—man, woman, child or dog—one or the other. Which? - Leaning far in, his foot slipped—scarcely the fraction of an “inch, but enough to send a slight noise into the alley. : “Hal some one in there. . It is, of course, Le Scorpion,” thought Mamma Grimo, as motionless as a stone. Hallo! there!’?? ssid Le Scorpion, aware that his presence had been betrayed. ‘Come out!”’ ‘a “ “It is Le Scorpion,” thought Mamma Grimo, shuddering, bu making no reply. ; . “Can it be Lisette,” thought Le Scorpion. “If so, she knows Tam here, and will not move. It will be daylight in less than au hour, 1 think, and then she will be safe. Or some one may epen the gate, and away she goes. Lisette!” The shrill whispered cry shot into every crevice of the alley, ang into the ears of Mamma Grimo, but she remained motion- es. j Le Scorpion moved away from the entrance of the alley. Mamma Grimo heard his retreating steps. ; “Good! he has gone !”’ Then in a moment after she: muttered: “Oh, he is coming back.” " “Come out, whoever you are,’ said Le Scorpion, ima low, but threatening tone.. ‘lam going to bombard you.” : re bombard me! What dves he mean!” thought Mamiha rrimo, \ It bounded aiony like a ten pin bull, and barely missed the shins ot Mamma Grimo, and then crashed against the wall at the end of the alley. t Another stone, not so large, whizzed by the old woman's ears. ; lt was a trying situation, but Mamma Grimo did not meye. Another stone, large, and thrown with great force. A dull, heavy sound. : The stone had struck Mamma Grimo inthe chest. She felt with a sharp cry, and then ail was still. “Good! ha! Yfhuave done for her! It is Lisette! up and coming!” Yes, the blow, exceedingly painful, had maddened the old wo- man. She sprang to her feet, and plunged along teward the en- trance of the aley, her knite ready. lf she remaimed in the alley Le Scorpion might pelt ber to death, dash her brains out before any one could stop bin. He drew his dagger, a loug, broad blade, envenomed to the very hilt. He stood in the mouth of the alley, his long arm stretched out toward the coming woman, with his dagger ad- vanced. She expected he would be crouched just at the entrance, on one side, to stab at her, as_ he should bear her dart by into the narrow street, a street as dark as the alley. At full speed she rushed straight wpon the dagger. It struek her in the bosom, but its point met the pure of Barbe Rousseau, closely packed with golden coins, and the dagger-blade glanced. In aninstant Mamma Grimo had seized, with her lett hand, Le Scorpion’s throat, ana dealt him a stab in the breast with that terrible gimiet-knile, and then ensued a horrible struggle in the mouth of the alley. It didnot last long. Yet in us fury twenty stabs were exchanged. At daylight two dead bodies lay there. The bodies of Mamma Grimo and Le Scorpion. His left hand-was inher hair. Her left hand was on his throat. His right hand grasped a dagger. Her rignt hand her knife. Their bodies were covered with wounds. They had not fought long, but they had tought des- perately, and each had slain the other. So perished the last of “The Snake-Charmers."' On the same day the great insurrection began, and for seven days Lyons was a scene of battles, of barricades, of bloody hand- to-hand struggles, in which hundreds of men, women and child- ren perished. ‘ The war of the weavers isa matter of history, and its strug- gles do not belong to this story. Had its master spirit, Barbe Rousseau, lived to take the part in it he had intended, it might have become a revolution. As it was it was simply an insur- rection, and at its close the weavers were the, vanquished. The death of Esark Hasserbrek deprived the weavers of the aid of the troops he had commanded. The death of; Barbe Rousseau deprived them of the only master spirit able to yield their strength. They had no Rienzi to lead them. -No Massaniello, as in Naples, sprang to their front. Says History: “Bafled in their efforts at revolution, disconcerted in their visionary pro- jects, impoverished and vanquished, the weavers of Lyons lay at the mercy ofthe outraged law—that is, those who survived. The appearance of the city wasa frightful memorial of all that had passed. Dwellings burnt to the ground, houses shattered and dismantled, heaps of ruins in every direction, whole streets and squares a scene of devastation. La Croix Rousse in ashes and blood.” “The Golden Loom’? was consumed by flames, and Dad Fan. fan and his wheeled chair were burnt up in its conflagration. In quelling the insurrection La Mothier, Dr- Planche, Count Robert, Robert Lackyille, and Antoine tock great part, and saved inany lives. yeot After the city became quiet, La Mothier and his friends re- moved to Paris. There Count Robert, baving regained his title and French estates, resigned all to his son, our hero the artisan, who thus became Count de Glavyline, une of the wealthiest peers of France. ity One year after, in 1835, the beautiful Blanche became his wife and is even yet living with her beloved husband, and is revered by the weavers of Lyons as the generous and charitable Count- ess Leolette de Glayline, “who was once a weaver-girl in La Croix Rousse!” But none knew that the stately Count, her husband, was once a galerien. ae fn the library of their elegant palace, near Paris, is a casket, into which the artisan-count seldom looks, nor allows any one except his most intimate and trusted friends to look, This casket contains a branding-iron, and a knife of strange shape; the knife Robert Lackville took from Mamma Grimo, the poisoned blade Blanche syn Ate. never had need to use. Its yenom has been cleaned offby Raoul Andre, who, though quite old, is still vigorous, and_is head coachman of the Count de Glavlune—who was once a Locxsmitu oF Lyons. THE END. TWO NEW STORIES will be commenced NEXT WEEK, by two splendid Authors. SCHEMING MADELON; or, THE SE- CRET DOOR, by the Author of “‘PrERLuss CATHLEEN,” “Lapr or GRAND Court,” and “Rose or Kenpare.” The other, “CON- RAD THE CONVICT, or, THE BRAND OF URIME,” by Fran- «cis A. Durivaae, Author of “Ramon tur Outiaw,”’ each k Ba focd Llu Ho! she is Le Scorpion hurled a great round paving stone into the alley. q . . : : i. ey % * 4 Ait hia he - so . oe ; ae , and he knew that unless he spoke his hour had come. next room, where Meg Fervis yet lay unconscious in her‘ struck by lightning by her friend Mary Hicks.” gummy cobwebs, and filthy, crawling spiders, all over my face | Burner's Kauiiston cures mosquito bites. rs | yee ) g aa SPL DA a—ea—e—eon—rne” The Terms to Subscribers: One Year—single copy ........--.seeeece seve Three Dollars. be Four copies ($2 50 each)...........+.- Yen Dollars. THA GORIOH Vins cs's'c Unnatce e's ee Twenty Dollars. + Those sending $2) for a ciubof Eight, all sent at one time, will be entitled to acopy Free. Getters-up of clubs can atter- ward ada singie copies at $2 50 each. All Letters must be directed to STREET & SMITH, Box 4896, N.Y. “ “ Office 55 Fulton Street. ANOTHER THRILLING STORY! In No. 810f the NEw YORE WEEKLY we will commence the publication of CONRAD THE CONVICT; bet AD) A hte THE BRAND OF CRIME. This story is from the pen of FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE, who has written many stories of great interest, but not one which equals this in THRILLING INTEREST. The story has for its hero a strange character, whose career is filled up with a series of -_DARING ADVENTURES, EXCITING INCIDENTS, BOLD EXPLOITS, which, with hisfertility of resources, his cool assumption of other men’sidentity, together with the mystery which surrounds him, make him one of the MOST INTERESTING CHARACTERS DEPICTED IN FICTION. The plot of “Conrad the Convict” is novel in concep- tion and developed with artistic skill—the scenes, inci- | Gents and situations such as to enlist the attention and excite the admiration of the reader. The story cannot fail to please all who delight in tales of Daring, Mystery, and Plotting —of Rapid Change of Scene and Incident—and of Thrilling Descriptions of Wild Deeds and Dark Crimes! Let none of our readers neglect perusing the com- mencement, in No. 31, of the great story CONRAD THE CONVICT ; THE BRAND OF CRIME. By Francis A. Durivage, AUTHOR OF RAMON THE OUTLAW,” etc., etc. A LESSON From the Late Great Tragedy. BY REV. A. M’ELROY WYLIE. When a great tragedy is enacted in the higher walks of life, it is very natural for thinking people to wish to know something about the proximate causes. We know not whether an individual has been found ec- centric enough to read the fearful accounts, and te risk his eyesight over records so fearfully long and badly print- ed,concerning the McFarland trial; but there are not a few, doubtless, who, from higher motives than those of mere curiosity, or salacious gratification, have glanced over im- portant bearings of the evidence, with a view of eliciting some explanation regarding the perpetration of such a frightful tragedy. Some side with the wife, others with the husband, and some divide the blame between the parties. But does not the whole drift of circumstantial evidence point to a general underlying cause remoter than the im- mediate provocations ? Is there not something which, fruitful in this case of in- describable evil, continues sowing the seeds that must ripen into a widespread harvest of family and social ruin ? While the war has resulted in great good, it has dragged in many attendant abuses, which have not come to an end with the struggle. Now, not the least of these evils has been the breaking up of home-life, by the enormous increase in the expense of living. ‘ It is no favorable symptom, this rapid increase of great hotels and boarding houses. Here we may lay our finger upon a fruitful cause of social distemper and family dis- order. The sanctity of the family lies at the very base of all other sanctities. Rottenness here is rottenness at the root. The moment a man goes into hotel or boarding-house to make it his home, that moment he loses all control over the front door of entrance. He ceases to be sentinel over his home. In fact he ceases to have a home at all. It took hundreds of years of advancing civilization to climb up high enough to write the aphorism— ‘Every man’s home is his castle, and the king himself may not enter it without the permission of the master of the household.” The breaking up ef purity of character 1s at the breaking up of home, “Come,” said a boy of twelve to an acquaintance newly formed at one of our large hotels—“‘come,’’ said he, while, with the air of a connoisseur, he lighted his cigar, ‘Jet us go to the theater to-night; needn’t mind about damages; I’ll pay the way; father lets me have plenty of money.” It is a simple, solemn fact, that the father of that boy, living a* the hotel, permitted his child to begin his irre- sponsible course thus early in life. Aman of family who vacates & home and lives ata hotel, deliberately walks, with wife and children, into the jaws of a terrible danger. Under the pretext of saving time and money, added to the unwise desire of protecting his wife from the annoy- ance of chaotic servants, and the thousand other cares of household service, he yields to his own preference and her importunity, and seeks the independent ease (?) of hotel or boarding-house life. He, perhaps, forgets that while it is true that to main- tain home-life there must be both calculation and care, yet these are just the conditions which develop and con- solidate character. Perhaps the greatest danger, both to happiness and to virtue, is ennui; it is the nioth in the garment of purity. And home is just the place where it is unknown, but the warm, easy, luxurious life in hotel, or fashionable board- ing-house, is just where it is nourished into life. The vital current, to be pure, must be agitated, and hotel and boarding-house homes are the stagnant ponds of family life, where reptiles hatch which prey upon un- Wwatchiul, or unguarded virtue, For a woman to sit down after a luxurious meal, which would require the fires of four hours’ energy in the pure oxygen to digest, and in a cushioned chair on velvet carpet, and breathing the overheated furnace-blast—to yawn, and stretch, and wonder what she can do to drive off the blues, is just in the state to suffer a dangerous in- vasion. ‘ Dressing, and promenading, and running the rounds of senseless Calis, discussing opera and theater, and fasbion- plates, are poor substitutes for the healthful excitements and occupations of an independent househola home. The husband, perhaps, has some fair excuse for being away eariy and late to his business; why should not the wile bear her half of the duties of life? L sO" hotel hall, against their happiness, aud the happines» and may euwrap them with a fatal energy. pledges whatever of established character. rents to bring up their children, and train them to of hotel life. ger of developing a frightfully premature prurieucy o! curiosity and imagination. Their ears are the open whispering gallery for the echio- ing of those nameless things which are detailed with than in Eden. much needed for right development,—where Is there a possibility of maintaining a regular recurring order? Each day is invaded by its own newly invented inter- ruptions. From morn till night, there is a whirling vor- conceived. Servants are subsidized as tools and aids in the schemes of designing men and women, and the family that think to find a paradise in hotel life may all too socn find them- selves precipitated into a purgatory of evil. We have need, indeed, to ask whether this whole sys- tem of hotel and boarding-house life is not rapidly grow- ing to be the very tomb of buried household innocence, and of healthful household pleasures? exemption from a little family care at too great a price? and whether we are not sacrificing the higher for the lower? It may be that others, in having their attention called to this last saddest chapter in the many Jark shadows of New York life, have been led to induige similar reflec- tions to these. At any rate the lesson will not be lost if men and wo- men, and especially young married couples, make u their minds to choose the plainest hovse, where they ma secure all the safe-guards of home with its comforts and blessings, rather than risk their best interests and happi- ness in the atmosphere of hotel and boarding-house life. ANNIE SHELDON'S PRESENT. By MAUD CARROLL. It was Christmas eve, and along the crowded thorough- fares of the great city Annie Sheldon was wending her way to her cheerless boarding-house, for no mother’s kiss or father’s greeting would be her welcome home. Annie was an orphan. Three years she had toiled alone in the world. : Through the influence of a former friend of her father’s she had obtained a situation in a store, but at a salary so small that she found it difficult to meet the expense of very moderate living. Upon reaching home she went immediately to her room and sat down to think; her worldly wealth amounted to just seven dollars—not-enough tv settle her indebtedness. ‘Yes,’ she said to herself, “I have now learned the dif- ference between assets and liabilities, as the merchants say. O, if I had some of the money that will be wasted during the holidays, I could ovtain a few comiorts, for luxuries and I parted company years ago.”” A knock at the door aroused her from her reverie. She arose and opened the door, and the servant handed her a card, and announced ‘a gentleman to see Miss Shel- don.”? “Say to the gentleman I will see him in a few mo- ments,”? Closing the door, she glanced for the first time at the card, and saw the name of Edward B. Clayton, attorney- at-law. The name was not familiar to her. “It must be some mistake,” she said. ‘However, it is such a rare thing for a gentleman to ca}l upon Miss Shel- don, I will call call him Kriss Kringle, as the children do, and go down, as usual, to meet a disappointment.” Entering the parlor, a young man avose to meet her. ‘“‘Miss Sheldon, I believe?” “Jt is, and you are Mr. Clayton? Annie replied, still holding his card in her hand. “] am the bearer of pleasant news, Miss Sheldon. Thave been seeking you for nearly six months, and until yester- day could find no trace of you. I had heard of your father’s death while in Europe with my father, Judge Clayton. You have doubtless heard your father speak of him, as they were warm, personal friends. Previous to my father’s departure for Europe, your father placed some business pore secured in bonds, in my father’s care for your benefit. My father died in Europe, and one of his last requests were, that I should pot fail to find you, and deliver these papers to you. Their value now with interest is twenty thousand dollars, and it gives me great pleasure to restore them to you, your rights, and to fulfill my father’s request.” Annie had listened with amazement. It seemed a dream, or, indeed, a tale of fairy land, and it was not un- spoke to thank him. “I cannot express to you my heart-felt gratitude for your kindness, Mr. Clayton.. I thank you most sincerely, my father’s truest friend. I nope you will allow me to repay you for your trouble, and any pecuniary outlay.’’ “Thank you; your acquaintance, Miss Sheldon, would amply repay me, as I have no relatives, and as.1 have been so long absent I find fewfriends. Should you wish any legal advice or assistance I amat your service. Have I your permission to call upon you?” ved TERE St “J shall be glad to retain you as a counsellor and venient to call.” j “Tanks, Miss Sheldon. I will now detain you no long- er. Allow me to wish that youmay have a merry Curist- mas, and good-nighit.”’ ! Six months later, Annie is much changed In appear- ance. No longer careworn; the roses have come, back to her cheeks. She is not vain that she has wealth; her struggle with the world has learned her many lessons of life, and she has learned the true and false, and she va- lues not gold for its glitter, or friends for their high posi- tion. Edward Clayton is a very frequent visitor; the bond of sympathy between them has ripened into love, and he has asked her to be his wife, and she has promised to be his if he waits until Christmas eve, for she calls him friendship on Cliristmas eve. Christmas Preseut. ———_>- 0+ “DRUNKEN BILL.” BY H. ELLIOTT M’BRIDE. the handsomest girl in the town of Westerly. Anderson were bound together in the tie of matrimony. drink in the hope of drowning his troable. dewnward road to poverty and destruction. house. would have been more appropriate. ing. and in consequence he soon found himself penniless, was known everywhere as ‘‘Drunken Bill.” ; would pay him in few days. thelandlord. ‘I don’t trust anybody,” for a drink. to-morrow.”’ already.” pulses of his heart. ed with withering scorn into the face of the landlord. shop for the last time. now! and you were glad tosee me come to your bar. I have been a fool, but by the help of the Lord I will be so no longer. ward.’ that he had taken his last drink. mer position in society. enabled to keep in the right path. and nowhe fills a drunkard’s grave. Watson. Home is sacred; but what knows husband or wife of the plots which may be darkly designed just across the purity of their children? The serpent may crawl in un- challenged, and before the man is aware, the deadly coils A man need not have experience of the world to learn that city hotels, and large boarding-houses, are too often the chosen arena of the polished plotters against human virtue, and their very atmosphere floats the infecting miasma, where multitudes come and go furnishing no We should consider it Jittle short of a miracle for Pe 1e practice of economy, industry, and virtue, amid the scenes Their young minds early become a broadway of rat- tling and showy vanities, and there is the imminent dan- bated breath. We should expect another Adam and Eve to fall, in the focus of such temptations, much sooner And look, too, on the positive side, where system is so tex which swallows every good resolution as soon as it is We have need to ask, whether we are not purchasing }. til he placed in her hand a package of papers that she+ and shall ever revere your father’s memory as that of friend, and shall be glad to see you whenever it is con- her “Kriss Kringle,’? as he brought her wealth and his Such was Annie Sheldon’s William Watson, when twenty-five years of age, married He was a carpenter, was always steady and industrious, and every- body considered it an excellent match when he and Ellen Ten years of almost perfect happiness to the young Car- penter and his wife passed away, and then sickness and sorrow came upon them, and William commenced to His wife, with tears in her eyes, besought him to give up the vile hapit, and again and again he promised to do so, but his promises were always broken, his good re- solutions forgotten, and he continued to travel in the The “Traveler’s Home” was the high-sounding name given toa little tavern ashort distance from Watson’s The “Loafer’s Home,’? or the ‘‘Gate to Ruin,” It was there Watson took his first drink of the accursed poison, and there he continued to spend the pittance he earned, while his wife and children were suffering for want of food and cloth- Watson grew worse and worse. an person, of course, would hire aman who was drunk almost all the time, > x ie a i He Bat there are some characters which can only be ex- wus jeered and scoffed at by the boys of the village, and One day he entered the ‘‘Traveler’s Home,” and called for whisky, telling the landlord he had no money, but “You can’t get. whisky here without the money,’ said “But,” pleaded the poor inebriate, “Iam almost dying Let me have one, only one, and I'll pay you “Wo, I say; don’t you hear?’ thundered the landlord. “Get out of my house. You’ve had too much whisky here All the Watson pride that had been almost drowned out by the jiquid fire was now fully aroused. The words of the landlord brought again into life all the noble im- He straightened himself up and look- “John Raymond,” he said, ‘lamin youraccursed rum- b lama degraded being, but you are one of the vilest men. You have no whisky for me’ No, but while the money lasted it flowed freely, John Raymond, lam going to show you that Ican bea man. If my life is spared I will be rich and re- spected again. Go on, if you will, 1» your infamous work; bring others down as you haye brought me, and then when their money is gone drive them from your door. Goon, John Raymond, and you will receive your re- Watson went immediately home and informed his wite He had a will now; he would show to the world that manliness was not alto- gether gone from him, and that he. would regain his for- His wife wept tears of joy when she learned of liis good resolution, and she prayed earnestly every day that he might be strengthened in his hours of temptation, and John Raymond became a tipler, then a hard drinker, The “Traveler's Home” is no longer a grog-shop, but has been transform- ed into a comfortable dwelling, and is owned by William MAY. BY ALIOS CARY. The clogging ice, the frozen rime Soft April thawed away, From the dull and droning wheel of time Has brought around the May— The fair-faced May, the flowery May— The dear, delicious May; Yet woisme! Ah, wo is me! Ah, wo and well-a-day! Within this chamber prison dim I’ve lain so long, 0 long, T scarce would know the lark’s glad hymn, ; Or blue bird’s tender song, The swallow’s pinion swift and slim, Or the robin bold and s rong, Within this chamber darkly dim, I’ve lain so long, so long. Say, do the old familiar streams’ Shine out the live-long day, The violet-edged and silver seams In the green coat of the May? Or am Ionly dreaming dreams Of the spring times fled away— Mad, mocking and deiusive dreams Of the seasons sped away? My memory fades and fails and dies, And a curdling mist of gray Crawls twixt me and the jocund skies Of the last year’s Easter day; Whose roseate birth I hailed with sighs Of ah and well-a-day! Oh, wo is me! Alyo is me! Ah, wo and well-a-day! O Lord of love and life and light, Thy grace no more delay, But grant that I across this night May sce the break of day— The rose-bright break, the glad white break Of the golden -hearted day, Being done with siglis, and done with cries Of ah and well-a-day! Metropolitan Pen Pictures. THE OLD APPLE-WOMEN. Probably there are no “refresimént” venders in New York comprising So many Members who are so long and well known as the Apple Women. They are a feature almost everywhere. They comprise old women and young women; comfortably clad women and slatterus; rosy-cheeked and rum-bleated ; fat and lean; thrifty and poor. F One of the best known in the lower part of the city is niglit among the type and press-rooms in and around Printing House Square for many years. Hardly an editor, reporter, compositor, press-man, or feed-boy who does nct know Mary well, who is not on speaking terms with her, and with whom she will not exchange a good-na- tured jest, 2 s The latter are not always good-natured—indeed, they are mostly quite the reverse; but they seldom ruffle the temper of Mary. Svould they ao so, she hath a tongue which hangetti but loosely in her head, and which wags with spirit and freedom that would do credit to a Phila- delphia fishwoman. She sells nice apples; and one day a mean feeder-boy stole one of them, and, runniog away beyond her reach, added cruelty to meanness and robbery by assailing her with epithets, Mary’s only rejoinder was a smile, and a remark: “Youre not so bad as you try tobe. You’re aswate lad, and I know Ill get my pay out of you sometime.” She got it on the following evening. She came upon the robber unawares, Seized him with her strong hands, and, after cuffing’ and beating him biack and blue, crammed.a rotten apple down his throat so effectually that it perfumed him for a twelvemonth thereafter. Mary keeps such good fruit, and is such a favorite among the printers, that many of them wouldn’t pur- chase from any one else. There are those who knew her when she pursued the same vocation in London many years ago. While there, 1am told, she had a good hus- band and plenty of pretty children. But death and suf- fering made way with them ene by one, and poor Mary, bereft of everything but a strong heart, took to the hum- e has followed ever since. So, she has a “Smo 5 This plug is rather insecurely placed in the ground, S80 that, at in- tervals, the action of the steam, belonging to the tract- establishment, directly underneath ‘the flagging, sets it bobbing up and down ata great rate. Our old friend was frequently accustomed to make this | flat-topped plug her seat, while watcning beside her fruity wealth, and was not aware of its eccentricity. But she was one day painfully made aware of its existence. It was a little after the hourof noon. The sidewalks were crowded. The usual throngs of bummers loafed about the publishing-house doors. The untrammeled feeder and press-boys were speeding the flying ball from one to another through the beamy atmospnere, And the ponderous apple-woman took her seat upon the fire-plug, serenely to mark the smiling scene. f ab Es She had no sooner got her feet well up from the ground, however, and herself firmly and equally planted upon her iron throne, when, with one cruel jog, the plug felt the steam, and commenced jumping. The old tady. first looked surprised, then alarmed, and then tried to get off, She tken called the feeder-boys to take bold of the plug,* and stop iis jumping; buttney only gathered around her, and jeered and yelled, with vociferated ‘‘hi-hi’s,”’ and clemorous applause. f The street-passengers lined the opposite curb and gazed and grinned. Every window in the opposite Tribune building contained its admiring gazer; and still the old apple-lady went jogging, trotting, hopping, jumping, hobbling up and down, at the rate of about eighty strokes to the minute. She looked like a ponderous image of putty or dough on the summit of a puffing steam-pipe, and seemed to actually settle around the top of the plug. She grew red in the face, blew like a porpoise, and per- spired like an engineer. At length, with one final, telling jog, the plug stopped, the old apple-woman reeled off into her arm-chair; and the show wasat an end. She never sat on the plug there- after, it is almost needless to say. One day, when about preparing to close up for the even- ing, the same old apple-woman had her stand upset by a passing cart. She screamed, apathamatized tne dri- ver, and threw up her hands bewilderedly, as she saw her apples go rolling into the mud of the gutter. But a good- natured policeman kept off the small boys, and advised her to set about picking up her treasures. Sue did so, but all the time exclaiming, in wailing tones: “Oh, to think of it! It’s hardly worth while carrying them home at all! Ill have to sell them to the cider- maker !” “No you won't, old gal !” cried one of the disappointed small boys. ‘You'll polish ’em, an’ have ’em on your stand aguin, bright and early.” The old lady looked daggers, but I would have wagered that the ragamufiin spoke the truth. plained in the immortalization of verse: It was a jollyold Apple-womg That sat in Printing House are, And who bore a character for selling such apples That were beyond compare— This fine old American Apple-woman That sat in Printing House Square. She’d open herstand in the morning early, And polish her truit of gold Witn toe dew of her lips and her nice apron, Till they were tempting to behold; And then she would sit on the old fire-plug, And beam serene and fair; This fine old American Apple-woman That sat in Printing House Square. One day the De’il that fire-plug in Did make his dwelling-place, Till it jumped with the old girl round on its head, And led her a high old pace. Jog, jog, trot, trot! up and down, high and low, ' Like a dancing dog at a fair, It aot e the avoirdupois of the old Apple-woman hat sat in Printing House Square. She squalled and kicked, and tried to get off, But the fire-plug wilder pranced, And the rude street-boys, with hideons noise, Around them roared and danced. Hi, hi! from the crowd; with clamors loud, They swore twas beyond compare, Tne dance of the plug with the old Apple-woman That sat in Printing House Square. She puffed and coughed, the sweat poured off Like a gentle ae rain, But the gay old plug only sank its mug To dance up quicker again; Till at last the De’il from laughing faint, Deserted his iron Jair, And the plag let dewn the old Apple-woman That sat in Printing House Square. She looked at the plug, she wagged her old mug— She weighed half-a-ton, or more— Then she raved aloud at the grinning crowd, And wept, and meekly swore. Then she looked at the apples, and found them safe, And then melted down in her chair— This fine old American Apple-woman That sat in Printing House Square. Accidents are, indeed, s0 common among the apple- Mary, who has suld apples at all hours of the Gay and ‘Malvern to himself, inclining his head shghtly backward, pleas far sighted chap, I tbe disposed g | to eon : rioved bine eyes and Sevres-cliina com- but feared the risk of falling on her head, and desisted. | _ + WE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3== wonder there are not more business-failures reported in that line than there are. ~ The chance carvet ofa truck-horse, or side-long jolt of a hard-cart, may easily enough ruin some poor old vend- er by turning her entire stock into the street, where vil- lainous gutter-snipes are always ready to pounce upon the entire crop. Indeed, all the owners of small fruit-stands continually sutler by pilfering on the part of boys and girls. The ap- ples are bought by the stand-keepers by the barrel, and, when retailed at two, three and four cents each, the per- centage upon the barrel must be very large. Some of the down-town stands, among the rich busi- ness houses of Wall, Broad, and kindrea thoroughfares, must drive a thriving trade with the sidewalk throngs; and these stands often display very tempting fruits. But the itinerant venders—those of the heavy basket and Jong trudge, trudge from store to store, from office to office, and from early morning to night—are perhaps the most interesting of their class. They include many young girls—some of them not de- void of good looks—who lead a toilsome and weary life of it. A gentieman in the lower part of the city once took a lively interest in one of these girls, who had been accus- tomed te visit his office daily. She was a pale, delicate little thing, scarcely able to carry her fruit-freighted bas- Ket up and down the numerous flights of stairs, and, upon discovering that she was also an orphan, the gen- coven made her his protege, and sent her to a boarding school. He paid the bills for her education and maintenance, without thinking much of the matter, and it was only at the termination of a number of years that he deterssined to visit tne school, and see how she was getting along. To his surprise and delight, he found the whilom ap- ple-girl developed into a charming and accomplished youte jay, with an ample possession of personal beauty as well. Happening to be already married himself—perhaps 'j something to his regret—he introduced a younger genile- man friend. Acquaintance ripened into friendship, and friendship into love, as the stereotyped phrase goes. There was a marriage, and the little apple-girl became the wife of a good and honorable man, who has never had cause to regret his choice. Bot, of course, such instances are exceedingly rare. The majority of the poor girls are exposed to unparalleled temptations, and probably ninety out of a hundred grow steadily vicious, and “go to the bad.” It is asad reflection, but none the less true, that many of the girls of tender years are influenced to their perdi- tion by the old apple women, who, of course, get their bo- nus by the transaction of infamy. There are numerous instances, however, where young girls have been rescued from the clutches of these old wretches, through the in- terference of charitable societies and the police autliori- ties; and itis to be profoundly hoped that such exam- ples will steadily increase. . stands that line the curbs of our busystreets, that it is a laugh, “and so was mine, until a year ago, when my crotchetty cousin, old Michael Thorneycroft, left me the English property, only on the condition of my assuming his family name.” _Mr. Angus Malvern’s jocund countenance had fallen, like a thermometer on a frosty day. He turned abruptly round to Frank Mayhew, wlio was quietly leaning against the pillar of the piazza. “Did you know of this? he asked, almost savagely. “He knew nothing of it,’ said Kate Ordway, with her blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. ‘No, Mr. Malvern, he loved me ior myself alone.’? And she went up to Frank, and put her little hand in his, with a shy, timid sweetness that was as unlike the demeanor of a haughty heiress as possible. While xr. Angus Malvern became aware that the result of his sum- profitable.” The heiress was engaged—but not to him! A VERY OLD STORY. BY MARGARET BLOUNT. It was her life that was at stake, as shestood there, pleadipg so earnestly with that stalwart, handsome man, whose blue eyes looked down upon her with a singular expression; half wondering at, half pitying her pain! It was her life that she was pleading for—she knew it well —but he, because he did not love her, had no power to understand this, or even to appreciate and answer her desperate appeal. And by thisI do not mean the actual life of her body. It was the life of her heart, which sne was seeking to save! For oh, though but a girl, she knew herself so well ! She had had her fancies before, like other girls, and they had died away, and done her no harm. But this waslove | Such love as only one woman out of a hundred is ever doomed to feel—a love that is a burden to its victim even in ics happiest moments, and a curse beyond the power of utterance in its hour of betrayal and despair, Why or how she had felt this love for Raymond Church, Margaret Park could never tell. It washer fate. She sometimes said, doggedly, when wounded by those who had a right to warn her, that the infatuation might cost her dear. Literally, she had no power to restrain her thoughts when they went out toward him. And at the first she had not even tried todo so. It was only when she saw, with a woman’s keen quickness, and with the keen sor- row of a womanas well, that he did not love her in re- turn;it was only then that she strove against the perilous sweetness in her life and heart, and knew thet it was ail too late. Now he was going to leave her. “It might be for years, and it might be forever,” as the old song had it. And it mattered, oh! so littletohim. She was plead- ing with him not to go! “Oh, HEIRESS HUNTING. BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES. By a translucent trovt stream, “the world forgetting, by the world forgot,” Mr. Angus Malvern was lunging away the long, golden hours of the mid-summer alter- noon, with a bovk by his side, and a fishing-pole depend- ing lazily over the murmurous waters. ‘Tne place of all places for a summer day,” said Mr. ‘to watch the sudden arrowy flight of a russet-winged bird. “If I only had money enongh, I’d like to spend my whole life in just this leisurely sort of way. Where’s the use Of bothering one’s self with business cares, and tne endless whirlpool of society. It’s nothing on earth but vauity apd vexation of spirit! I—hallo! Why, Mayhew, who would have thought of seeing you down here? Good afternoon, Miss Ordway—you brighten up the solitudes like a fair white vision !” Miss Kate Ordway looked down upon the reclining Adonis, by the stream, with a sort of blue, scornful light in her’eyes. She was very beautiful, with pink dimpled cheeks, and bright, bronze-gold hair, hanging over her shoulders in heavy, burnished masses, while her slender figure was straight and supple as a young silver-birci tree or—a still better simile—that of the huntress Diana. Her dress was quite simple—pure white, relieved here and there, by no more pretentious ornaments than the knots of pale blue ribbon, and a single gold cross, hanging from a slender chain at her throat. And Francis Mayhew, on whose arm she was light'y leaning, may be pardoned for regarding his pretty com- panion with a very apparent pride. “We are out taking a stroll,” he said, with punctilious politeness, although he dreaded the breaking up of bis pleasant tete-a-tete, ‘Will you accompany us just down through the hazel copse under the kill, and round by the road ?’ ’ ; “Thank you, no; it’s altogether too warm,’ said Mal- vern, lazily, and the two young promenaders passed on, apparently rather relieved by his refusal, while Kate’s White dress gleamed fitfully through the foliage of the | distant trees, like the snowy plumage of some fluttering dove. ; “Going for years,’’ she said, in a choking voice. what shall Z do without you. Don’t—don’t laugh at me,’ she said, in reply to some light remark of his. ‘My whole world is breaking up around me with your going. You take all with you, and1 am left desolate and alone, ina lonely and desolate world!’ Had she been beautiful, or had heloved her, whether she was beautiful or not, these would have been dangerous words for her toe utter. But he did not love her. And all the passion of her sorrow only gave rise to the theught in his mind. “How well the child likes me! this in a week from now. or I shall Jose the train.” So he pressed the hand he held to his lips. It wasa long, lingering kiss that seemed to burn invo her very heart. She feltitstouch for years! For years! Nay, even to her grave she carried the sensation of that one kiss up- on ber hand. “Margaret, good-by,” hesaid, hurriedly. “Think of me now and then. I shall always remember you—always be grateful that you have cared for me like this.” And then he was gone. and slie sat alone, facing her trouble, and studying how best she could bear ana hide it. Love makes the pieasure of every human lile, and tne life itself is little worth the living, when the love is forever gone. Stiil it can be lived, and is lived by more of the people whom we meet daily, than it would do us good to know. And so Margaret accepted her destiny without a mur- mur, and tried to make the best of what was left. You would not have thought, to look at her, that the color and beauty of existence had passed away forever, so far as she was concerned. She never spoke Raymond Church’s name—not even to his most intimate friends. She never sought for tidings ot him in his far-off home. Nay, she did not even know if he yet lived, or if he was ever to return, Yet, all the while, unconsciously to herself, she hoped! So far as he was concerned. “no news was good news,”’ and though the tortures of the rack would never have drawn the admission from her, it was, nevertheless, quite true that she yearned and longed for the day which shouid bring the wanderer to her side to hear her ‘‘wel- come heme.” What other voice could say it—what other heart could fee) it—as her’s would do? At last her life-long wish was granted in the most un- expected way. She heard of his arrival from a stran- ger, who neither knew nor guessed what his abseuce hud But she will forget all And I must make a run for if, “Not a bad-looking girl that—but_ I really must talk to Frank about the folly of taking a fancy to a woman who hasuw’tared cent wthe world! He oughtn't to—he really ovughtn’t |? soliloquized our sage hero. “Now, if I wasn’t ] 4 to lose my heart piexion! But J must marry money—there’s ho mistake avout that. I can’t afford to live on love and honey- suckles. I must confess that l’m partial to cigars and champagne 1’? __ P And Mr, Malvern, wearied by this upusual intellectual effort, turned over another page of his novel, and re- lapsed once more into dreamy eujoyment. “Mayhew !”? 3 Frank Mayhew stopped abruptly in his progress across the broad, moopb-lignted piazza, where Angus Malvern sat in a wicker chair, inclined at an angel of forty-five de- erage sae his pet meerschaum. “Well Raia % “My dear fellow,” bégan Malvern, confidentially, “I just wanted one 2 word or two of friendly advice —entirely b on. elves, you understand—about— about Kate way. She’s very pretty—she certainly is —I am willing to admit—but, you know, she is to be a governess, or something, and of course there is no money in the case.” : “None at all, I believe,’ remarked Mr. Mayhew, drily. “Frauk Mayhew,” said Malvern, impressively, ‘‘you never would be such a romantic, absurd fool, as to—”” | Frank Jaughed. : ‘Now Angns, I'll tell you plainly the state of affairs, and yoa may spare yourself any further solicitude on my ‘behalf. J love Miss Kate Ordway—I am engaged to mar- ry her—and I intend to make her my wife, just as soon as she will consent to name the day !? Malvern threw up his hands in despairing emphasis. “Then it’s too late! Well, Cupid have mercy upon you, my poor boy—it’s a clear case of infatuation—of sel!-sac- rifice !” Maykew’s clear brow grew dark—his eyes flashed ominously. “Do you mean to convey the idea, sir, that Miss Ord- way’s love is not the most precious guerdon to which man can aspire? I cannotsay that I exactly like the spirit of your remark.” Angus Maivern involuntarily shrank from the stern look and tone of the other young man. “You misunderstood me entireiy, Mayhew. I—I am sure I congratulate you most neartily. Only I shall en- deavor to dispose of myself a littie more advantageously in the matrimonial mart. Kute’s a pretty girl—a very pretty girl; bat J, for one, can’t afford any such expen- sive luxury aS a moneyless wile, were she fair as Hebe, and. bewitching as Cleopatra. Dve got the campaign al- ready planned out.” “May I ask how??? “You know old Thorneycroft—don’t you?” _ “Thorneycroft? Not personally; but I have heard of him. The Westfield millionaire—isn’t he?” “Precisely. Well, I have the honor of knowing a gen- tleman who is acquainted with him; and yesterday I re- ceived a note from my triend, inlorming me that he, Thorueycroft, and his daughter—his only child, mind you —were to be here to-morrow. Do you comprehend? I shall go in, immediately, for the divine Thorneycroft—the goddess of the golden charms !”? “Just as you please,” said Mayhew, indifferently. “You need not fear arivalin me; 1 would not exchange my true-hearted, nobie Kate, for all the petroleum businesses in Christendom !”’ “Well, tastes differ,’ said Malvern, shrugging his shoulders—and the Iriends parted. The burning noon-day sun was pouring its fervid glow down on the hotel piazza, the next day, as Angus Mal- vern, dressed in an unexceptionable suit of snow-white linen, paced up and down, awaiting the arrival of the midday train from Westfield. It came at last—trains generally do, if we wait long enough—and with the first carriage load of passengers, a stout old gentleman with a shining bald head, merry blue eyes, and a white mustache, made his appearance. “Thorneycrott himseli—the modern Midas, the Croesus of the nineteenth century !” ejaculated Malvern, to a bystander, as he rashed forward to introduce himself to the portly old personage, who was carrying his own va- lise up the steps. “Malvern, en? Angus Malvern,” said the ola gentle- man, cordially. “Ab, I’ve heard of you. How do you do, Mr. Malvern; very happy to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.”? “Thank you, sir,’? Said the flattered aspirant; ‘‘the plea- sure is mutual! And your daughter—may I have the gratification of a 9 “My daughter!” interrupted the old gentleman, with a puzzled countenance; “why, she’s here already!’ “Here ?? “At the hotel, Imean. She has been staying here this month past.’ ‘ ‘Indeed! really! it’s very singularI should not have met her.” There’ was a soft, rustling sound through the entry at this instant, and a pretty little white vision flew into the arms of the stout ‘‘modern Midas.” “Papal? “Why, Katie, my darling! there, there, don’t choke me to death. How rosy your cheeks have grown! Let me introduce you to Mr. Malvern, my pet.” “I know him already, papa.” And Miss Kate Ordway, drawing herself up in regal fashion, made a low courtesy to the astounded Angus. “But,” be said, “your name is Ordway, and’?—— “Precisely,” interrupted Mr, Tnorneycroft, with a jovial been to her, and thus no watchful eye could read the se- cret of her speaking face as that moment of supreme joy crowned and atoned for the misery of those ten long, lonely, suffering and silent years! Sné dressed herself with care and taste on that evening. She was to meet fim for the first time in public. A grand reception was to be given bim by one of their mutual friends. She found her card of invitation when she went home, after hearing the news, on that eventful day. Sne wore a dress like one that he had often admired in those early days. He had said that, in his eyes, it was the perfection of a lady’s winter evening toilet. A plain velvet robe, of a rich dark blue in color, fastened down the front with diamond buttons, and with costly frills of delicate lace at the wrists and throat. He had given her vielets once. She had them, dried and faded, now. And on this evening she wore a knot of the fresh flowers in her breast and hair. Thus attired, she approached him, leaning on the arm of their host, with pale cheeks and beating heart. Would he remember her? Would he re- member the dress? There he stood—handsome and majestic as ever—tne blue eyes calm and commanding in their glances‘as of old. Beside him, a short, stout lady— dark—swarthy—black-haired, black-eyed, and sadly over- dressed in pink satin and emelalds. ‘“Margaret!” he said, Uis face lighted UP, and their hands and eyes met. Then it fell again. e turned to the pink-satin lady, fanning herself with a sulky air, and glancing askance at Margaret’s beautiful dress. “My wife, Margaret.” He looked at the two women as they exchanged salu- tations. Riches and rank had come to him with the one —with the other he might have had love and a home. Which was hest? It was too late now to ask the question, and Margaret could not, would not, dared not answerit for him. Jehial Slab's Remarks. Words: Soldiers of Thought. _Are you after success?—A woodsaw lies nearer to it than idieness does. Salt makes us squirm just in proportion as we are sore. In these days the world seldom asks to see all the places where a man has obtained his money—more's the pity. How many men resemble lager beer.—Take off the gas and foam, and how flat they at once become. The engine of Faith will draw, but only as Prayer feeds the re. We are fond of asking advice of our friends, and equally fond of blowing them up if the advice fails to suit us. Keep cool and steady. The sudden, unguarded gusts are what pu: out the candle quickest. Jones asks what these old-fashioned, cross-road-groeery con- servatives, scattered up and down our country, are good for? Good tor?—why, bless your life, good for mile posts on the path of Progress! Strange you didn’t know that! I am still disposed to thmk that politicians can repent and be saved. But I confess I find very few as yet,who have attempt- ed it, and fewer still who are satisfied they have got far enough along to be able to indulge “ta lively hope.” There is a class of men in this world who move and are mov- ed a good deal like saw logs. First, ic takes the strength of a yoke of cattle to get_ them into position. Then, if the course happens to be aboat level, handspikes ard cant-hooks must be made to further help on their progress. But let them once get a fair start down hill, and then see. Nine timesin ten they will ride downall in the way and ge plum to the bottem before avything can stop them. Chrisuian! The world gets on a hunt and picks up a piece of scandal among your brethren. Ittests you. Your Lord means it shall test you. Soon your actions begin to show whether you like to please Him or tbe world best. Ifitis Him you will stick to the flock all the closer when the wolf getsin. If itis the world, you are iavariably seen making straight ecat-tails over back fences, your hizhest wish and aim—only to get out of the way till the trouble isover. —___>- 9+ —___——_ #a> THE Union-avenue (Greenpoint) Baptist Church, theugh erected but a few weeks, has already a fine Sun- day-school attendance, and the services haye been at- tended by large congregations. The members are work- ing with earnestness in the cause of morality and have thus far succeeded in awaking aspirit ef inquiry among those who have hitherto given but litttle heed to religious matters. The reverend gentlemen who have preached in this church have been men of earnestness and catholi- city of sympathy—men who deal more with the morality which lies at the base of all religion than with mere doc- trinal points of faith—men who think more of bringing an erring soul to the comprehension of the goodness of God and their own wickedness than in gaining a great controversial triumph over some brother who differs with them in matters of detail. We rejoice at the success which has attended the efforts of the members of the Union- Avenue Baptist Church, and would hail with exceeding joy the erection of churches on every corner where grog- geries now stand : for these are the two antagonistic forces of civilization—the one pointing the way to earth- ly happiness and future bliss, the other luring to present shame and endless misery. Members of Baptist churches moving to Green Point should connect themselves with the Union-avenue Baptist Church, and they will find them- selves surrounded with a body of earnest, energetic, and devoted Christian men and women. mer programme had been totally ‘‘stale, flat, and un- » etl - yale 2g DO memrn snag) SR 2 HORT IOS COUS I EL I 2 Ga os y i saa Violet” ie ai + 8 e———___—-——_ I KNOW I AM THE LAST. BY JENNIE STOVIN. Yd been talking. I’d been telling to my young and lovely wife All events I could remember, in my past and varied life. Twas eve, and we’d sat watching the flick’ring fire light As it cast upon the ceiling long shadows strange and bright. Sne’d been kneeling close beside me, with a childish, winning grace, And the burning embers threw a glow across her happy face. She laughed to hear me telling of the loves gone by and past; And she stroked my cheek and whispered, that she “hoped she was the last.”’ Instantly my desk unlocked, and showed some trifies there— Oid letters, faded flowers, and gloves, with divers curls of hair. I should have hurled them midst the flames, but she more kind would be, Replaced them gently in my desk, and took away the key. Then long we stood before the fire, and spoke of times flown by— How little did I dream that night that she so soon would die. Next morn, when I to breakfast came—I noticedit was late— These verses and the little key were laid upon my plate: “Speak both tenderly and gently of the beings thou hast loved; Think of joy they often gave thee, though they have so fleeting proved. Speak not now, with scorn and lightness, of that once well-cher- ished name, As it tingéd the past with brightness. oh, dearest, cease to blame. Touch with reverent, kindly feclings, tokens of a time gone by, Those flowers and silky tresses—hide from a stranger’s eye; And those scented, oft-read letlers, both with love and hepe re- plete, Which, in days betore thou knewest me, caused thy boyish heart to beat. Then, darling, do not burn them, even though they be not mine, As the giver’s loved no longer, cherish them for ‘Auld Lang Syne’.” One happy year had rolled away—gaia it was winter tide— And evening, as Isat me down by mine own fireside— That hearth she’d hallowed by her voice, and laugh so sweetly clear— Her winning ways and yielding will would have made a desert dear. She'd been sitting close beside me, on her favorite little chair, And the firelight threw a shadow athwart her brow so fair. She'd borne some months of illness, and her face was thin and pale, > And the lines around her coral lips told suffring’s dreadful tale; Yet, in the hours of joy and pain, her chief thought seemed to be, If she must die most suddenly, what would become of me? Then, as we Sat together, I watched her anxicus glance Fixed on the fire, as she marked the embers crack and dance. “Darling,” at last she sofily said, ‘‘when first we met in hfe, Before I ever cared or hoped to be your happy wife, How aiff’rent were your thoughts on God to what they are this year? Now, when I die, you will not dread to follow, Robert, dear!” After this we spoke of courtship’s days, our meetings fond, 7 ween, Of all my loves betwixt the times, who forced themselves be- tween; And I deemed she looked more happy, spite of shades the fire- light cast, As she kissed my cheek, and whispered, ‘I know I am the last!’ Yet the flushing of her forehead, and the brightnsss of her eye Caused my soul to sink within me, for I felt that she must die. Twas long ere we retired to rest—we neither seemed to tire Of those happy, happy evening hours, beside our glowing fire. I know not how it happened; but they tell me I’ve been ill; And the shade of Death is haunting me, and pointing at me still! I sadly feel a dreadful shock has dimmed all pleasure’s light, For she never came to breakfast—Death claimed her in the night. —_—__ >< WHO DID LADY VIOLET RMA RRY ? OR, THE Mystery of the Black Diamond. By HELEN CORWIN FISHER, AUTHOR OF “THE UNLOVED WIFE,” THE CURSE OF EV- ERLEIGH,”? ‘WOLF OF VIGNOBLE,” ETC. was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers obtained from any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XI. THE GRAVE IN THE WOOD. Lady Violet’s groom was getting impatient, and Lady Violet’s horse was still more so, as he stood making the avement of the court-yard ring with his pawing hoofs. he groom was Hubert still; the steed the miilk-white, wind-footed Arp'ian already known to the reader. The anim’ ....ted his ears and arched his neck with a neigh ¢: sutisiaction, as My lady at last appeared, and poising herself like a bird on a bough, sprang from the groom’s hand to the saddle. Her habit was of green velvet, every button upon which Was an emerald. Her hat was green also, and circled with a plume made of the young, burnished feathers of the peacock. Her hair hung in long, shining braids, se- cured from her face by a golden arrow. Lady Violet was no longer little. As the great gates of the court-yard fell apart, and she swept out, followed by Hubert, she looked like some royal huntress queen in her green and emerald trappings. She was in a trieksy humor this morning, and led the obedient groom an eccentric chase through the devious woodland paths. She thought sometimes of that hand- some, brusque young guardsman, who had persisted in telling her his love in such cavalier fashion; but she was certainly not thinking of him this moment, when her horse stopped in the depth of the forest, quivering like a leaf, and planting nis forward hoofs with a strange fright- ful ery, such as animals give sometimes in the extremity of a more than human terror. In vain his imperious rider tried to urge him forward. There he stood, stonily, till the groom came up. Lady Violet herself was white as death by this time. “There is something under the brush there that he is afraid of, Hubert. Will you see what itis?” she said, compressing her lips slightly. The groom’s horse was bristling too with terror, and almost broke away from him, as he got off and began to peer about among an evidently freshly disturbed heap of the forest debris. The next moment he drew back with a ghastly cry. My lady had slipped from her saddle and came noiselessly beside him. He was too late to stop her seeing. He had uncovered 2 man’s hand—a stiff and stark human hand. For a moment Lady Violet’s senses seemed leaving her, and she leaned heavily on Hubert. Thenrallying, with a desperate effort, she turned again toward that ghostly object, hat moment shé Would havé screamed, but that the sound died hoarsely in her throat. ‘ Upon one of those corpse-like fingers was a ring, she had watched many a time on Gilaeroy Evelyn’s shapely hand, Perhaps Hubert recognized it, too, as with ashen lips he tried to drag her from the horrible spot. But she tore away from him, and flung herself like some wild creature among the heaped-up brush, scattering it with her own hands, and dragging at the moss with the strength of a young tigress. Hubert dia not try to hinder her. Hesaw how useless that would be, and mutely joined his exertions to hers. The body bad been hurriedly consigned to its strange sepulture evidently. The grave was no grave. Only the underbrush and wet leaves had been heaped above him who lay there, and that but recently, for the blood, with which the rich hair was soaked, was yet damp, and the handsome-set face wore a strangely life-like look. “He can’t be dead!) spoke my lady, with a curious, husky utterance, ‘Fly, Hubert, to the Cliffe, and bring assistance.” “My lady,” remonstratea the man, “go you; it is more Meet that I should remain here.” “True, Hubert ?’ And with that she mounted her horse again, and flashed away in the direction of the park. Almost before Hubert had missed her, dismal as his Watch must have been, she was back with the needful can een aid. They lifted him tenderly to the low, easy carriage they had brought—as tenderly as though he had indeed been a@living man. As he lay on the silken cushions which they had hastily heaped in, he seemed, as you saw only his face, from which Hubert had removed the stains of blood and the soil, to be only sleeping. Lady Violet rode beside the carriage, her lips set, her eyes darkening with gloom. As they came in sight of the mansion, she dashed aliead, thinking suddenly of her father, to whom any sudden shock was forbidden, Flinging herself from her horse, she darted up the ter- race steps, and learning from a servant that the earl was in the library, hurried thither, composing her face as she went, to as natural an expression as possible. “Papa,” she said, stopping beside him, “Captain Eve- lyn is back—did you know it?” “Captain Evelyn back! That is news indeed !’? Lord Eaglescliffe exclaimed, rising from his chair. “Please to sit down again, papa, and promise me not to agitate yourself. Captain Evelyn has met with an acci- dent, and they are bringing him here because it was near- er than the Nest. 1 have sent for a surgeon, and I shall gee to everything. You are to remain where you are,” The earl heard her without contradiction; but he had no idea of staying where he was. With an anxious glance at him, she went out again. “Has anything happened, Lady Violet?’ spoke Mrs. Miggs, coming noiselessly beside her imperious pupil, > we c where she stood, watching. the avenue, with somber glance. “Yes, plenty !’’ flashed the young lady, sweeping to the opposite side of the terrace; by which Mrs. Miggs under- stood that she wished to be let alone, and, accordingly, with her pale hands folded mneekly, stood to watch, also. Toe solemn cavalcade came presently into view, and, almost at the same moment, the surgeon gulloped up the avenue. Lady Viclet’s messenger had met him not far from the park, fortunately. As the men bore their sad burden within, Mrs. Miggs glanced anxiously at Lady Violet. \ “Will you go with them, Miggs, and see that it is all as it should be in the silver suite,” Lady Violet said, with- out looking toward her. ; Miggs moved away. The silver suite was one of the most magnificent of those stately sets of apartments which Were at the ser- vice of such guests as came to Eaglescliffe. Governess days were long over, but little Miggs remain- ed asasort of upper Servant, companion, father, to the queenly heiress. Having visited the silver suite, she sought Eleanor Lyle, whovknew nothing yet of all this. “] think Lady Violet needs you,” she said, timidly—she was always timid. “Would you mind going to her?” “What do you mean?’ demanded Eleanor, rising. But Miggs had already-vanished. Muttering, audibly, that the pale governess must be crazed, Eleanor turned toward Lady Violet’s apartments. On her way she encountered the bustle and excitement, anc met Lord Eaglescliffe coming out of the room in which Jay Captain Evelyn’s unconscious form. He had been sent out by the surgeon, who knew his state of health tco well to permit him to be there. Miss Lyle stopped to ask what was the matter. The voice of the earl shook as he answered: “Captain Evelyn has been set upon and nwurdered,” he said. “If that villain I sent to Australia were back, I should say it was some more of his work. His body is in mw LF there, Miss Lyle, and the surgeon is murmuring over it, as though he thought this was an age of miracles.” Eleanor’s gray eyes dilated, and Lady Violet came fly- ing up the broad stairway, and linked her arm in the earl’s. “Come with me, papa, and walk on the terrace. You promised me not to excite yourself, and 1 don’t thank other people for doing it for you,’’ she said, with a flash of her magnificent orbs in Eleauor’s direction. As she swept away, the emerald length of her habit trail- ing the velvei-covered stairs, slie called over her graceful shoulder, with sudden change of tone: ‘Bring us the earliest news, Euy. please.”’ Miss Lyle sat down obediently in the’ embrasure of a blazoned window, and waited, with her eyes fastened hungrily upon the distant door of the room in which the surgeon and his assistants toiled at their desperate task. ‘Dead or alive, which?” she whispered to herself, with a shiver; ‘and who did it? Who talked of murder last night ? Who has an interest in the death of Sir Edward Evelyn's heir. Ah, Conway, if this is indeed your hand, unscrupulous demon, what security have I, or any one Wiio stands in your way?” She arose after a few moments’ waiting, which seemed unendurable, pacing the floor and watching that distant room impatiently. ‘How nervous I am,” she mused, looking at her hands, which she could not lock tightly enough together to stop their shaking, and trying in vain to appear calm. The door she was watching at last opened, and one of the surgeon's attendants came out, on some errand. She intercepted him. “Will he vive ? she demanded, so energetically that the man stared. “He’s alive; and that’s somewhat wonderful for the like st what he’s been through,” the man said, aud pursued lis way. Miss Lyle stood 2 moment, and ran down to the terrace. “Captain Evelyn is alive,’’ she said to the pair walking there, and waiting with an anxiety that neither guesse “Thank God’s goodness,’”’ cried Lord Eaglescliffe. His daughter suddenly dropped his arm, and swept past Miss Lyle into the house. “Please to talk to papa a moment,” she said to Eleanor, as she went by, her face shining white as marble under the plumed hat she had not yet removed. The earl looked after her wistfully, the stern lines of his face softening. “Do you think she ever got over Conway?’ he asked Eleanor. “Sometimes I fancy sne loves him still.” ‘Heaven forbid!” said Eleanor, in a-heartfelt tone. ‘‘I think you have no occasion to fear that, my lord.” In his stately chamber at Eagtescliffe lay Roy Evelyn, five days later, and it would have been hard to tell, from his ghostly thin face, his hollow eyes, whether it was life or death yet. He had been dead and buried, so to speak, but careful nursing, and expert surgical attendance, haa developed germs of life that first dreadful day, and kept it throbbing eyer since, Whether he would live now was another question. gt eh He lay with his handsome, death-white face against the pillow, the breath through his ashen lips scarce stirring the lace beside him. He had not spoken a conscious word yet. The door opened. Lady Violet, in dinner attire, came softly in, and stood looking at him. She wore a costly robe of dead-white silk, with a necklace of large pearls about her perfect throat, a delicate tracery of seed pearis wound like sea blossoms in and out of the waves of her magnificent hair, She wore no other ornaments, and the simple but rich toilet suited her grand young beauty as vo classical setting does some priceless stones. The attendant, with a lurking suspicion of some jove affair between the peerless heiress and her handsome, in- teresting patient, bad retired discreetly to the further side of the room, upon Lady Violet’s entrance. My lady glanced at her, and swept noiselessly nearer, bending her lustrous looks lingeringly upon the still white face with its silken drooping hair. “Once more, my darling, each time I think it will be the last,” she murmured, kissing him softly, and instant- ly retreating, without looking behind her. As she went, the invalid’s marble lids lifted slowly. The light of reason and consciousness shone in the dark orbs beneath. He stirred. He murmured a name, and the nurse came fluttering forward in a rapture at the ta- vorable symptom, but hushing him instantly like a child. Lord and Lady Evelyn were dining at the Park. They had been there mostly since that nearly fatal event, lately parrated, There was no other company. They were dis- cussing the narrow escape of Lord Evelyn’s heir from a murderous death, ana conjecturing, as was natural, con- cerning the author of the black deed, and its object. “If Conway was in England,” said Lord Evelyn, “1 should lay it to his account. Tue man is bad and despe- rate enough fur anything, and a single life between him and the prospect of the Evelyn estates, would be sheer aggravation to one 80 wrecked in life as he, should he ever return to England.” Miss Lyle sat near in arich and careful toilet. Over her pale face seemed to settle a gray shadow as Lord Evelyn spoke. ‘He is not likely to return?’ Lord Eaglescliffe said ea- gerly. ‘‘You do not anticipate anything of the kind?” “] presume hot. But he might. Fortunately he would not be likely to get pardoned home, and to come back without would not benefit him much.” Again that shadow upon Eleanor’s face, and to her in- tense relief Lady Violet entereu at this moment, her rich dress trailing the carpet as she came. The hateful sub- ject was dropped. Noone talked of Vane Conway, of the nanished furger,in the pure radiance of Lady Violet’s presence. CHAPTER XII, ELEANOR’S REWARD. The week had come round. Once more Eleanor Lyle threaded the park shadows. The cleardepths of ner large eyes shone with an ominous lustre, as she saw Conway waiting for her, pacing the sward Jazily, and smoking, as usual. He had been putting the contents of her purse to some use, and looked something of the gentleman once more in his new attire, though nothing could make his scarred face handsome again. He came gaily forward to meet her, held her 8 moment in his emibrace, and kissed her cold cheek repeatedly, without seeming to notice how pale and cold it was. “Allis prepared, my Own,’’ he said, as he drew her within the shade. “Prepared! For what?” passively within his clasp. “For our marriage, my Eleanor. I am cured of my am- bition. I will dwellin an earthly paradise with you the rest of my days.”? She roused herself and looked at him. Those large clear eyes looked into his own desperately, yearningly, but horribly incredulous. Was the wild dream of years to come true at last? Was there, after all, at the bottom of this bad man’s heart, whom she had believed and doubted alternately half her life; was there, after all, down under the crust of his selfishness and deceit, a liv- ing well of pure love? It would be heaven to believe it; but she could not. His very glance wavered from hers like quicksilver. His handsome, treacherous face had lost its beauty, but it was a false face still—falser than ever this afternoon. She thought of the blood just spilled so wickedly away in the wood there, and drew herself-from him. “Captain Evelyn lies up at the house ill of the wounds some asSassin gave him the very night you were here, a week ago, Vane.”’ The dark, smiling face changed to savage scowling. “T only wish he had killed him,’? Conway said, brutally. Eleanor questioned, lying ah Ye A 7, Diy OM c Oe WHO DID LADY VIOLET MARRY ?—“ HUBERT, WILL YOU SEE WHAT IT IS?” Eleanor Lyle watched him with gloomy eyes, her heart growing more leaden every moment. “Vane,” she said, slowly, ‘it 2oas you / The returned convict did not start, but it was not the io of alover that flashed out of his cold, menacing eyes at her. é “Pshaw!? he cried, after a, pause, “you know well enough, Nelly, that bad as 1 hate the fellow, I wouldn’t lay a finger on hint” You we tig, wy queen. - ‘“T was not jesting, Vane,” Miss Lyle sajd,in a slow, distinct way. ‘You are @ terry changed man, or else you worn aiveys so; and you Saif, the other night, that you would murder Gaptain velyn and me too.” “Do youthink I would?” he demapded, anatily. “ome, drop the Subject. I come here wit! my heart Tull of ten- deruess for you and desirous to forget the old life, and begin anew one, Are you set upon thwarting me?’? “God knows I wish I could believe you,’’ she said, drearily. “It was not so hard believing me once. I understand you, Miss Lyle, at last. You’ve made up your mind you won’t marry a convict,’’ he said, sulkily. Eleanor Lyle’s deathly face flushed in the dying sunset light, and paled again. “You Know better than that,’ she said. “If you will convince me that you had no hand in that attempt upon Captain Evelyn; if you will swear to me that you have no wicked designs upon Lady Violet, which you are plotting lg now, 1 will be your wife any moment you ask me 0. Conway threw up his head with a resolved look, a dan- gerous smile on his still handsome lips. “If I were proud, as I used to be, I should not take the trouble to vindicate myself to a woman who could bring such a charge against me and pretend to love me at the same moment, ButI’m not, and I don’t bear malice to the girl I love very casily. J promised to tell you some- thing to-night, didn’t 1?” Eleanor started. He smiled again, as he reached out his left arm and drew her within it, but it was such @ deadly smile that, for the first time in the long years she had known him, a cold thrill of fear ran through the veins of Eleanor Lyle. She struggled a little to release herself, but with that same creeping look he held her tighter. “T haven’t told you yet who Lady Violet’s husband is,”? he said, in low, calm tones, his right hand stealing up to- ward her face. A horrible sensation seized her. as she felt this move- ment, and looked into his terrible, pitiless eyes. Was he going to murder her, as he said he would—was he going to kill her, to get her out of his way? With a cry that was like the wrenching of body and soul, she tore her arms loose, and flung them about his neck, burying her face in his bosom, as she clung to him. “If you kill me, Vane, I will haunt you as never mur- derer was haunted before.” CHAPTER Xilil. AFRAID FOREVER MORE. “Tush ! who talks about killing??? Conway said, in a hard voice. But in the same moment she seemed to be falling through fathomless abysses—consciousuess vanished. As she drooped inert and helpless upon his arm, Vane Conway smiled down upon her still face as a demon might. His look softened a little,as he gazed. The brief struggle had loosened Eleanor’s long black hair. It was threaded here and there with siiver. He lifted a lock. “Poor child,” he said; “poor child! Conway would from his wicked soul you had never seen him.” Then he lifted her, and striking down an obscure path, came presently to a Waiting carfiage. “She has fainted,” he explained to the driver, as he lifted his burden in, and took his place,still supporting her. Some of the streets in the west-central district of Lon- don are very dreary. The houses, though large, are old, and forlorn of aspect, and growing more so every year. Shabby lodging-houses, frequented by sunken gentility, hiding-places for unhappy debtors from remorseless cre- ditors, are the best of them. One of these houses, which was wanting a tenant, Vane Conway had hired, and partially fitted up. He reached it in the night, and having dismissed the carriage, let himself in with a key he had, and bore his still unconscious victim to one of the rooms he had pre- pared, It was broac day, when Eleanor Lyle at last opened her eyes, but a day heavier than tsual with London smoke and fog. Conway sat placidly waiting for her to come to herself. It was some moments before the clouds which had ob- scured her senses cleared sufficiently, to enable her to re- alize her surroundings. She was in what had been a handsome room in its day, large and well lighted, with a bed-room opening from it. Part of her own money had gone toward refitting both in fair style and comfort. There was a carpet, toilet ap- paratus, a few books upon a table, and some more on some shelves between the windows. Altogether the apartment did credit to the taste and skill of Mr. Conway. It had a cozy, pleasant aspect. Had he really been seized with that longing he had professed for an earthly para- dise which Miss Lyle was to share, and was this it? He smiled as he met Eleanor’s wondering eye, and as she sat up and pushed her loose hair off her foreliead, he remarked: “You are not dead yet, you perceive.” “Wheream Il? Why have you brought me here?”’ “Breakfast first, afterward we will taik,’’ he said, rising. “You will find everything necessary to perform your toi- let. I will return in an hour.”’ ‘ing that you have quitted the park for the armsof the she sat down by one of the windows and looked gloomily out, stillin the rich dinner dress she had worn the even- ing before. She did net trouble herself to think. Her head ached wretchedly, and she felt an utter lassitude and confusion of mind incompatible with thinking. With Conway came breakfast, brought in by a tolerably tidy maid. in a handsome china breakfast service. Con- way ate with relish. Eleanor took her chocolate in si- lence, and ate a little without looking at him. “Would you mind a cigar?’? Conway asked coolly, as the little maid was taking away the things. Eleanor shook her head. When they were alone once more, Miss Lyle turned toward him. “Well?” she questioned, not a feature of her cold, pale face altering. It was asif she had asked: ‘‘What is the next act of the play ?”” “You will find writing materials yonder,” he saia, civil- ly. ‘You will please write a note to Eaglescliffe, expluin- man you love!’ “Meaning you ?”? “No, madam,” bowing low. “Ah, a myth, aman of air?” “Precisely; a man of air.’? ‘And then??? questioned Miss Lyle, without glancing at the writing materials mentioned. “You will also request that your wardrobe, and such belongings as you may desire, shall be sent to an address you will iurnish in the note.” ‘Not here??? *-Not here.” ‘Afterward ?”? pursued Miss Lyle, imitating his coolness. “You will give me your word solembly, not to attempt to communicate with Lady Violet in any manner, to re- main here under such conditions as I shall appoint, seeing me often, of course, and——. I believe that is all, now.” Eleanor’s darkly handsome face grew darker every moment. “You think I will do this?’ she said, in a bitter voice. “You think you have got me fairly in the toils, and that between my fear of you and my love of you, I will obey you.’ Conway laid down his cigar, and leaned his elbow on the window ledge. “You will obey me,’’ he said, looking at her. “I never will, You may chain me here in this house, but I will never stay without. Here, in the heart of a great city, leannot be so completely at your mercy; but that some one Will find me out at last, and bring you to answer for all this.” “You are as completely at my mercy as though you were alone with me in the middle of a great desert,’ Conway said, without changing his position. His face grew in some deadly meaning every moment. Eleanor felt the same horror of him creeping over her as the night before, but she would not yield toit. She was not a2 woman of common timidity. She was, on the con- trary, possessed of great resolution and calm judgment. She looked from his stony-white face and shining eyes about the room, then beyond him to the busy London life outside the windows, She walked to one of these, and threw open the sash. It was not fastened. Then she looked back at him. He was watching her in that same passionless, freezing man- ner. “What is to hinder my calling this moment for help, and throwing myself upon the law for protection from you?’ she. asked, with a half-foreboding underlying her confident manner, “Try it, and see,’’ he said, quietly. Eleanor Lyle closed the sash and came back to him. “What Go you mean?’ she asked, trying in vain to steady her voice. ‘‘What is this vague threat you hold over riy head. Was there poison in my chocolate. Is death already coursing in my veins?” “There is nothing of the sort, lassure you. sit dcwn, I will talk to you.” He drew a cushioned lounging-chair forward himself, and Eleanor dropped into it mechanically. She was afraid of him, try as she would to overcome her terror. She sat rigidly upright in the chair he had given her, and looked at him with darkly questioning eyes, “Great heaven !’’ she burst forth, ‘were you and I ever lovers??? He gianced at her. “We were; we are, if you listen to reason. I don’t think you fairly comprehend mie, Fleanor,” and his man- ner was more natural. “Lady Violet will not be giad to see me, certainly when she knows I am areturned con- vict. I think you said she believed me to be on the Con- tinent, in honorable self-banishment from her lovely society ?”? Eleanor bent her head. “She hates you. 1 believe that is the simple truth,” she said, coldly. “The fickleness of women,” gneered Conway. ‘Well, as you say, she hates me, and I propose no harm to her, I shall simply lay a tax upon her regard for the peculiar re- lations between us. A tax in money, mind, on which you and I shall settle down domestic doves, and be happy. You loved me enough to do somuch for me once, Hleanor. lt is only to be silent—and you shall be loved as woman never was before.’? “I don’t believe you. You don’t expect me to; there is not one ring of trath in your voice,”’ she answered, scorn- fully. “There is no use in talking with me, as you call it, Vane. You and I cannot make terms on this subject.” “Take the alternative, then,’ he said, his race harden- ing again. ‘It is your own fault if you will not have the peaceful way. I am desperate, Eleanor. I am prepared to do desperate things sooner than be balked of the one chance left a ruined man for retrieving himself.’ “Knough. What is the alternative?” He bent close to her. “What happened to you last night? he asked, his voice almost a whisper, Eleanor recoiled with an involuntary shiver of fear. ‘Worse will happen if you defy me,’ he pursued, ina chill voice. ‘I made some new friends while I was off on convict duty. One of them presented me with a very cu- rious drug. Applied in a certain manner, as last night, it produces only insensibility. Administered in another manner, which I should not need to quit my seat to ac- complish in your case, it produces hopeless insanity. It will not touch physieal life, but it will madden the brain past all hope of restoration,” Eleanor Lyle half rose from her chair, pushing it back with all her strength, to escape from this man. It was not Vane Conway; it was some demon, whose horrible spell was being cast upon her. She would have fled to the window, but her limbs seemed paralyzed. She tried to scream, but her tongue refused its office. For the first time in her life, she fainted. He stood looking at her, the man she had loved through good and ill report, whom she had served to the very verge of wickedness, who owed his right to stand on free British soil this moment to her, and requited her thus. “She brought it on herself,” he said, half angrily; ‘‘it was no fault of mine,” He sprinkled some water in her face, and waited, with a lowering brow, till she showed signs of consciousness. Then he went to the table and wrote a few words, which he left there. Quitting the room, he sent the little maid before-men- tioned, up to her. One of the first things Eleanor saw, upon coming fully to herself, was his note. It said, “I leave you till morning, when I shall expect If you will I shall not find you, and punish you—you .know how.” Miss Lyle turned cold to her heart’s core as she read the last words. But alone once more, the awful terror that Conway’s presence must evermore have for her now, lifted somewhat, and left her a comparatively resolute woman again. Sne had sent the maid away. She saw by her watch that it was a little past noon. She laydown upon the bed in the inner room, both to rest and think. She could think collectedly now, she said to herself, with a bitter laugh. How long she might be able to do so, was another thing. “One thing is sure,’ she mused, “if I stay here I shall go mad. Imust get away from the sight of Vane Con- way, if I go straight to London Brijge, and fling myself off into the dark Thames’ water. There are worse things than death—yes a hundred thousand times worse.”’ When Vane Conway came the following morning, con- fidently expecting to fiad his victim, and in an entirely manageable frame of mind too, he found a vacant room, Eleanor Lyle bad fled. There was a note for him, a few lines written in a firm hand, and carefuliy sealed. “You went too far,” ifsaid. “I had rather fling myself off London Bridge, than to stay to meet you again. “For the sake of the past, in which I have served you, and loved you better than [have my Maker, do not pur- sue me, do not try to findme. In return, I swear to you, that so long as your impositions upon Lady Violet are only for gain, I will remain silent, avoiding her, as jeal- ously as I shall you. “IT pave plenty of money with me, which I brought away from the house last night for you.”” “I was an idiot to leave her to herself,’? muttered Con- way, crumpling the note in his band. “But she has al- ways given in before. 1 certainly thought she would now.” He stayed some time, angrily pacing the floor of the room in which he had sat with Eleanor the day before. “I must find her, that is all there isof it,” hesaid. ‘1 shan’t spare her a second time.” (To be continued.) TWO NEW STORIES will be commenced NEXT WEEK, by two splendid Authors. SCHEMING MADELON; or, THE BE- CRET DOOR, by the Author of ‘‘PeERLEss CATHLEEN,” “LADY oF GRAND Court,” and “Rosz or Kenpae.” The other, ‘‘CON- RAD THE CONVICT, or, THE BRAND OF CRIME,” by Fran- cis A. Durivace, Author of “Ramon THE OuTLaw.” Leighton llomestead ; EDNA’S DEBT, AND HOW SHE PAID IT. BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, Author of “Marian Grey,’ “Hugh Worthmgton,’ “Rose Ma- ther.’ “Darkness and Daylight,’ “Lena Rivers,” ‘“ilome- stead on the Hillside,” ~Tempest and Sunshive,” ‘Cousin Maude,” “Ethelyn’s Mistake,” “Cameron Pride,” “Meadow Brook,” “English Orphans,” “Dora Deane,” etc., ete. . “The Leighton Homestead” was commenced in No. 17. Back numbers may be obtained from any News Agent in the United States. i er CHAPTER XXVI. AFTER ANOTHER YEAR, Roy Leighton remained abroad for little more than a year, and then, sometime in July, came back to his home on the river, which nad never seemed so pleasant and at- tractive as on the summer afternoon when he drove through the well-kept grounds, and up to the side door, where his servants were assembled to welcome him. Traveling abroad had not greatly benefited his mother, who returned almost as much an invalid as when she went away, and who,to her other ailments now added that of rapidly failing eyesight. There were films grow- ing over both her eyes, so that she could only see her beau- tiful home indistinctly, and after greeting the domestics, she went at once to her own room, while Roy repaired to the library, where lay several letters, which had come for him within the last few days. One wasin Miss Jeru- sha Pepper’s hand-writing, and Roy opened that first, and found, as he expected, that it inclosed one from Edna. She did not write in her usual cheerful tone, and seemed very worry that she had not been able to make him a single payment during the year. “My school is not so large asat first,” she wrote; ‘and I was so anxious to pay another debt, of which i once told you,I believe. I have paid that all, except twenty-five dollars of interest money, and you don’t know how happy it makes me that 1 can almost see my way clear, and shall soon owe no one but yourself. “Tam so glad that you are coming home again, for though I do not know you, it has seemed lonely with you so far away, and I gladly welcome you back again. ifL thought your mother would not be angry, I would send my love to her, but if you think she will, don’t give it to her, please.” ‘I shall take the risk, any way,’ Roy thought, and car- rying the leiter to his mother, he read it aload, and then, as she seemed interested and inclined to talk, he proposed going himself to see Miss Pepper, and ascertaw, if possi- ble, where Edna was. Mrs. Churchill did not quite favor this plan, and still she did not directly oppose it, but sat talking of ‘the girl,” as she designated her, until the summer twilight was creep- ing down the hills and across the river, anu Georgie Bur- ton came in with Maude Somerton. It was more thana year since Georgie had met with Roy. She had been more disappointed than sne cared to own, at his having departed for Europe without a word of hope for her, who had waited so long and so patien#y for him. True, he had written to her occasionally during his absence, ang once, when describing an excursion among the Alps, and the wild, romantic scenery, he had said, “I wish you had been with me, Georgie ; you would have enjoyed it so much.” As Georgie did not know of Roy’s lettevs to Edna, or hat every one contained a similar wish, expressed often in stronger language, she still tried to take courage, and hoped for the consummation of her wishes. But she treated him a little indifferently, and there was in her manner a coyness which, while 1t was new to Roy, rather pleased him than otherwise, and’ made him think how much she was improved. : Maude was her same old self, chatty, full of life and spirits, and a little inquisitive withal. “Rad Mrs. Churchill or Roy ever heard from Mrs. Char- lie during their absence, and where did they suppose she was ??? Roy answered that “he had heard from hera few times by way of her aunt, but that he did not know where she was, as she stiil chose to keep her place of abode a secret from them.”’ Having said so much, he would gladly have changed the converaation, but his mother was not inclined to do so, and she talked about ‘“‘the girl’ and Roy’s proposition to find her if possible, and bring her home with him. “fle thinks I need some young person with me all the time,’’ she said; ‘‘and perhaps 1 do, for my sight is failing every day, and soon I shall be blind.” Her lip quivered a little, and then she added: “But whether this Edna would be the one,1I donot know. I’ve given up all hopes of Roy’s marrying.” The last remark was uttered a little impatiently, for Mrs. Cuurchill’s great desire now was to have her boy married, and married, too, to Georgie Burton, whom she thought he treated shametully, telling him when talking With him onthe subject that ‘everybody supposed they were engaged, and had been so for years, and it was not right thus to stand in Georgie’s way, and diminish her chances as he did.”? When she said what she did with regard to Roy’s never marrying, there was aslight flush on Georgie’s brow, while Roy laughed merrily, and said: **Don’t get discour- aged, mother, I shall astonish you yet with a daughter-in- law, and meantime please tell her, Georgie, what you think of my finding Edna, and bringing her hereas a companion for my mother in place of ‘that wife’ who is to come some time, you know.’ There was a merry twinkle in his eye as he said that, and Georgie looked rather conscious as she replied that ‘if Edna were the right kind of person she shoulda think it an excellent plan.”’ “And we will never know what she is until we try her,” Roy replied; while Maude, who had been sitting very quiet during this conversation now spoke up and said: ‘In case you cannot find Edna, allow me tomakea suggestion, and propose for Mrs. Churcnill’s companion a dear little iriend of mine; a charming person every way, preity, and lady- like, and refined; in short, just the one to be with Mrs. Churchill. I refer to that Miss Overton, whom 1 met at Rocky Point last year, niece to Mr. Philip Overton, Roy’s agent, you know. 1 wish you would take her, Mrs, Churchill; lam sosure you would like her,” Mrs. Churchill was not yet quite prepared for Edna, and as she really did feel the need of some one in the house besides the servants, she took the side of Miss Overton at once, and asked numberless questions about her, and finally declared herself willing for Maude to write and see if the young lady would come. Georgie, too, favored the Overton cause, while Roy stood firm for Edna, and when the ladies arose to go, he accompanied them to the door, and said to Maude ina low tone: “1 would rather you should not write to that. Miss-——what did you call her— until Ihave seen Miss Pepper, as1 fully intend doing in a short time. Iam resolved to find Edna, if possible, and having found herto bring her and mother together, trust- ing all the rest to chance.”’ “Very well,?? was Maude’s reply; but before she slept that night she wrote a long letter to “Dot,” telling her what the probabilities were of her becoming, ere long, a member of Roy’s household, and telling her also of Roy’s intended visit to her aunt, who might as well be fore- warned. Four days after the date of this letter, which threw Edna into a great state of excitement, Aunt Jerry read with total unconcern that Roy Leighton was coming to see her and ascertain, if possible, where her niec? was living. “But don’t tell him, Aunt Jerry, please,’? Edna wrote. “As Miss Overton I may possibly go to Leighton Place, and Mrs. Churchill is sure to like me better as a stranger, thanif she knew I was ‘that dreadful girl?’ whoran away with Charlie; so keep your own counsel, do.”’ “Asif Ineeded that advice,” Aunt Jerry muttered to herself, as she folded up the letter and put it in the clock, wondering “when the chap was coming, and how long he would stay.”’ “Not that I’m afraid of him, or any other man, only I’d like to be looking decent on the girl’s account,’ she said, you to have come to some decision. Meanwhile, do not dare attempt toescape me. You can hide nowhere that as she glanced about her always tidy, well-kept house, to see what there was lacking. “The winders were awfu. What do you think, Georgie. 1 must have somebody, and .- an ta cat Se EOFS TOE - nasty,”? she concluded, and she went at them at once with soap and sand, and rubbed them till they shone, and scoured her cellar stairs, and put fresh linen on the bed in the front chamber, in case he should stay all night, and carried water up there and a bit of Castile soap, and put a& prayer-book on the stand at the headof his bed, and wondered if he was high or low, and whether he would expect to ask a blessing at the table. “] shall ask him to, any way,’’ she said, and then she made a fresh cask of root-beer, which she always kept in suinmer, and baked a huge pound cake, and made some balls of Dutch cheese, and wore her sécond best calico every morning, and her best gingham every afternoen, in expectance of her guest, who did not appear for more than two weeks, and who took her at the last wholly un- awares, as is so frequently the case. She had given up his coming, and was making a barrel of soap in the lane, but so close to her front yard as to be plainly visible to any one who should stop at her gute. She did not wear her second best calico that morning, but on the contrary was arrayed in her cleaning-louse ces- tume, a quilted petticoat, patched with divers colors and kinds of calico, delaine, and silk, blue, green, and black, with here and there a bit of scarlet merino, a part of Edna’s dress, the whole forming a most wonderful gar- ment, which would at first sigut remind one of Joseph’s coat. She never wore hoops in the morning, and her short, patch-work quilt, hung loose and limp about her feet, which were encased in what she called her ‘slips,’ a pair ol low, cloth shoes, she had herselr manufactured. A loose calico sacque, or short gown, Surmounted her petti- coat, and with tue exception of the shaker on her head, with its faded brown cape, made from an old barege veil, completed her costume, She was equipped for her work, with no thought of Roy Leighton in fier mind, and the fire was blazing brightly unuer her big iron kettie, and the soap was boiling merrily, and with her sleeves above her elbows, she stood, saucerin hand, stirring and cooling some of the glutinous mass, and had about concluded that it needed a little more lye, when the sound of wheels was heard, and a covered buggy and gay, high-mettled horse came dashing round the corner of the church, and stopped before her gate, where a fine, stylish-looking man alighted, and seemed to be looking curiously about him, and possibly speculating as to whether he really had seen the Whisk of a gay-colored petticoat disappearing round the house or hot. Aunt Jerry had always expected Roy in the stage, and had never thought of his hiring a carriage at Canandai- gua, and driving himself out; but the moment she saw him, she guessed who it was, and, in her surprise, dropped her saucer of soap, and came near slipping down from setting her foot in it, as she hurried out of sight. “The very old boy! if that ain’t Roy Leighton, and I jookin’ more like an evil spirit than a decent woman!” was her first exclamation. Then her natural disposition asserted itself, and, instead of stealing into the house and effecting a change of toilet before receiving her guest, she resolved to brave it out, and make the best of it. “I'm dressed for my work,’ she said; ‘‘and if he dou’r like my appearance, he can look t’other way.’’ And hold- ing her head very high, Aunt Jerry came round the cor- ner of the house just as Roy was knocking, for the second time, at the open door. ; dic saw her, and wondered what his mother would think of her, and could scarcely keep his face straight, as le asked “tf Miss Pepper lived there?” ‘Yes; I'm Miss Pepper.’ And Aunt Jerry began to un- roilone of hersleeves, and button it around her wrist. _ “Ah, yes; Lam glad tosee you. I am Roy Leighton— Edna's brother-in-law.” “On, you be!’ Aunt Jerry answered, rather drily; and as hie had come close up to her now, aud her soap was near boiling over, she darted toward the lye leech, and seizing a wooden dipper, poured some of tne dark fluid into the boiling mass, while Roy stood looking on, won- dering what she was doing, for it was his first experience with soap-making, and thinking of Macbeth’s witches: «Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn, and cal- dron bubble,’ he said, very softly, to himself; adding, in a little louder tone, as she threw in the lye: ‘Cool it with a babboen's blood, then the charm is firm and good.’ Aunt Jerry caught the last line, and turning upon him, ladle in hand, she said, a little proudly: «TY suppose | look so like an old hag that you don’t think i know anything about what you are muttering to your- self, but 1 do. I held that book before the Bible, when I was young, and now, ‘by the pricking of my thumbs,’ I know that ‘something wicked this way comes,’ ” ; Roy laughed merrily, and offering her his hand, said to ter: «Shakespeare with a vengeance; but I trust the prick- ‘ing in your thumbs does not insinuate that lam the ‘wick- ed something’ which comes your way, fort assure youl come ‘on peaceful thouglits intent,’ but tell me, please, what you are doing in that seething cauldron; and if the ‘toad, and 'the'bat, anu the Jew's liver, are allin the poi- ‘soned broth? ay ae itay ewes Ros ‘Aunt Jerry looked at him a moment, to seé ff his igno- _ Fance were real ov feigned, and then replied: mes was you born, not to know soyvt-svap when you ee it?” “T was bormin Bleecker street; New York, when that was the place Where to be born,”’ Roy replied; and with the’ice thus broken, the two grew Very svuciable, Roy made himself master of the mysteries of soap-making, and began to feel a deep interest in this strange woman, who made no movement toward the house until her soap ae and the brands carefully taken from under the ettle. : Then she invited him into her kitchen, aud disappear- ing in the direction of her bedroom, emerged therefrom in a few moments, arrayed in her purple calico and white apron, which, for several days, she had, worn in expec- tation of his coming. Aunt Jerry was something ofa puzzle te Roy. Regarding’ her simply as an ordinary stranger, she amused and interested him, but when he thought of her as Edna’s aunt, and remembered the first letter received from her, he winced a little, and wondered if her niece was like her, They spoke .of Edna at once, and Roy told why he had come, and asked if Miss Pepper would give him her niece’s address. But Aunt Jerry was firm as a rock. ‘She never had told a lie since she joined the churel,”’ she said; ‘‘and she did not believe she sliould commence at this late day, with one foot in the grave. She promised Edna not to tell, and She shouldn’t. Tho girl was doing well, and was more of a woman than she had ever ’sposed she could be. She has paid a good share of her debts,” she continued; ‘“leastwise she’s paid nearly allshe owes me; butif you think me mean enough to Keep it, and from what you wrote me once about a receipt, I take if you do, you are greatly mistaken. I’ve put every dollar of the four hun- dred in the Savings Bank, and as much more Withit,in dna’s name; and when she’s twenty-one, or if she mar- ries before that time, I intend to give it to her. Let them that’s richer do better if they will.’ She jerked out the last words with a side motion at Roy, who took her meaning at once, but said nothing of his own intentions with regard to Edna, further than his wish to find her and take herto Leighton Place. But he might as Well have talked to a stone, for any etfect his words produced on Aunt Jerusha. “When Edna says I may tell, I will,and not before. I was harsh and unreasonable with her when she was young perhaps, but I'll do my duty now,” she said; then turning rather fiercely toward Roy, she continued: “My advice is that you let Edna alone, if you don’t want to make more trouble for that mother of yours, who thinks lier boy stooped. If I do say it that shouldn’t, there’s something mighty takin’ about Hdna, and every boy in these parts was bewitched after her before she was knee- high to a grasshopper. She ain’t much more than that new, aid she's a wonderful pretty girl, such as a chap iike you would be sure to fancy. How old be you?’? Roy confessed to thirty, and Aunt Jerry complimented him by saying ‘‘she’d ’sposed him older than that,’ and then glancing at the clock, Which pointed at half-past eleven, she asked him to stay to dinner, ‘and see how poor folks lived.” Roy's first impulse was to decline, but in spite of him- sel. he was attracted by this queer Woman, who boiled soap in so unsightly a garb, und quoted Shakespeare while she cid if, and showed, in all she said and did, a striking originality of character, which pleased while it surprised him. He accepted her invitation to dine with her, and while she was making the needful preparations, looked curiously around the home which had ouce been Edna’s. It was not a luxurious home, though scrupulously neat 2nd c.ean, and very comfortable, still he could imagine just how a bright young girl would pine and languish thcre, and long toe break away from tle grim stillness and loneliness of the house, “Poer little Edna,’’ he said to himself, more than once, while there aweke in his heart a longing to take the little gi.l in his arms and comfort her, after al! she had borne of toneliness and sorrow. Aunt Jerry's dinner, though not like the dinners at Leighton Place, was tempting and appetizing, and Rey did full justice to it, and drank two cups of cotfee, for the cream, he said, and ate two pieces of berry pie and a fried cake for dessert, and suffered from dyspepsia for the re- mainder of the day. Aunt Jerry asked him to spend the night, offering as an inducement that there was to be service in the church that evening, and after it a wedding of Joel Upham, Mr. Walker’s hired man, and Ellen Mehan. But Roy declined, and said good-by to her soon after din- mer was over. His attempt to find Edna was a failure, and he went back to his mother, who, secretly, was more than three-fourths glad, for she was not at all enthusiastic with regard to having her daughter-in-law for a com- panion. She greatly preferred Miss Overtou from Rocky Point. Indeed, she had conceived quite a liking for that unknown young lady, and as soonas Roy came home and reported‘his ill success she made him write 2t once to Miss Overton, stating what her duties would be, asking if she would come, ana what her terms were. «Perhaps you'd better name three hundred and fifty @ollars a year; that surely is enough,’’ Mrs. Churchill said, nd sc Roy, to whom a few dollars more or less was noth- img, and who feit that to be constantly with a half-blina, nervous invalid was no desirable position, made it $400, and asked for an early reply. [To be Continued.} {TWO NEW STORIES will be commenced NEXT WEEK, by two splendid Authors. SCHEMING MADELON; or, THE SE- CGRET DOOR, by the Author of “PreEeRLESs CaTHLEEN,” “LADY or Granp Court,’ and ‘Rost or Kunpaux.’- The other CON. RAD THE CONVICT, or, THE BRAND OF CRIME, by Fran- c1s.a. Doriyace, Author of “Ramon Tay OvtLaw.” bianca eae aa. In view of the enormous shirt stnds now worn, some humorist says clam shells will next be in vogue in Fulrode Island. WHAT I HAVE SEEN. BY OWEN JONES. “O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no other name to be known by Ict’s call thee devil.” —SuHakvsPeARE, I bave seen the skillful workman, Blest with gifts that Nature gaye, Wander ragged like an outcast— Hurl'd into a pauper’s grave— Seen his little starving children Look like ghosts of grim despair— Seen his widow, wan and haggard, Crush’d with overwheiming care. I’ve seen the justice on the bench, Whose talents could applause command— Seen him sink Cown low, disgraced, Degraded by a felon’s brand; I’ve seen a famous Thespian star, To whom the world its praise did yield— Seen his wretched bones neglected— Dragged along to Potter’s field. TI nave seen the blooming rose-hue Once adorn the cheek of beauty Fading, and the lovely fair one Straying from the path of duty; Oft ye seen a doting mother, Bow’d with grief, and broken hearted, Pining ’neath a weight of sorrow— Every gleam of hope departed. I knew uw pastor—grave—devout—~ Beloved and gentle as a child, He taught as with an angel's voice, He fell and died. a maniac wild, And we}! I Knew a gifted bard, Breathing songs that made us glad, Te whose tuneful lyre could eharm, Became an outcast, raving mad. I've view'd, enrapt, a painting rare, Rich in art, superb, transcendant— Known the genius who had wrought it, Poor, degraded, lost, dependent; T have heard with thrilling rapture, One whose aceents bold delighted, Mourn'd his loss, a brilliant genius , Fallen, rain'’d, beggar’d! blighted! Go view thy fallen sisters, go Hear thy brothers rave and how], And should’st thou ask ‘‘Whence all this wo?” I answer thee, The maddening bowl! The Rese of Kendale. CHAPTER XXI. Chastelard. I wasjust thinking how such things were made, And were so fair’as this is. ‘Du you know She held me here and talked—the most sweet talk Men ever heard of? Mary Beaton. You hate me to the heart! What will you do?—Swinscurne, a “Chesterton,” repeated the youth, who was acting, ‘‘come, come down; the sea is splendid, we shail have a glorious row.” Thereupon another youth came vaulting lightly down the rocky sides—a tall, ruddy, strong young man, with meeting, bushy eyebrows—he looks, it seems, d diy upon the ground, and his voice is rough and harsh answers his companion, “Why wilt you call me Chesterton? It is you who are heir to the title, you who are to have all the geld, and the honors, and the pleasure, and everything else—call me John, my own name.’ . “Youare named John Chesterton,” replied the other, laugh- ing. while he stepped into the boaty “and I don’t see the harm ot calling youso. I am Dan Chesterton, or Daniel, at your ser- vice. We are both Chestertons for the matter of that.’ The ruddy young man got into the boat, and the two put out to sea.’ ; It must be understood that a!l the acting was in English. Most of the audience were English yisitors in France, and the French guests all spoke E h, and understood it thoroughly. An observer would have been completely shocked at the ghastly changes that passed over Lord Chesterton’s face. He became ‘vid; his very lips were blanched. He stared at the actors, he gasped for breath. Heaven knows what thoughts and fears were in his brain. Me pressed his finger-nails into his hands, and then he seemed all at once to lose himself in the contem- plation of the spectacle; he fixed his eager eyes upon it; he stared, and shuddered, and shivered, Meanwhile the play went on; the two youths were stillin the boat; the scene had changed from before the old castle, and now it seemed that the young men were tossing in the boat npon a desolate, ° only the horizon bounded the view, and there. hung gorgeous and pom with the glory” light seamed full upon the fair, hands 1 who had first appesma 26 the scene. . other one, with meeting brows, got up deny and placed ;his strong hands upon the shoulders of the slichter one." i, Po “John, John,’ said the. cther with "a laugh, “this play is too rough,” eed ae 3 ; “Listen !’’ growled the otlier between his set teeth. * false to you—false as Satan; Iswearit. You, the hej carldom of sterton, have promised marriage to, of a poor m ‘i Y 1usic-master, and I—I—havye won. ch ove Without any trouble.” The’ aah ts snapped his fingersand laughed; he had relinquished his hofd of the other‘s shoulder, and was looking fnli into the sorrow-stricken face! “She has been my slave for the last six months,” continued Chesterton, witha cruel sneer; “fér my partI am tired of her and her demonstra- tions of affection. Only, before.you make her Lady Chesterton, I would warn you that she has lost all that a woman most prizes, her self-respect, and the respect of all who know ber story. Still she hopes to be Lady Chesterton some day. Oh, 11 you. pent hear her mock at you behind your back—if you only col It was'more than the youth could bear; he unloosed his cravet and gasped feebly for air. Then the other, with the stealtt and cunning of an Indian savage, fastened his hands onthe slender shoulders of his brother and forced him into the water. — “Die!” he cried, with a loud, hoarse mtonation in his voice. “Providence made you, heir to the title and the money, and gave me all the brains to manage it, and all the will to enjoy it; die !—the salt sea be your last draught.” The youth struggled, but only il seemed feebly; he went over the boat into the water with a loud plash; there was an eddy- ing roll fora moment, and then the waves closed over him. There remained the ruday young man with the meeting eye- brows standing up im the boat, leaning upon the oar, and smil- ing upon his brother’s watery grave. : “Now, they might hang me for this ifthey knew,” he solilo- quized aloud; “but havpiiy they don’t know. Ishall go back and whimper and cry to papa and mamma at Chesterton Court about my dear brother—my dear, handsome brother—and then I shall whiten my cheeks with paint, and pretend I can’t eat. Ha! hal and Lam now the heir to the earldom. I, John, se- cond son, whom the nurses and grooms have pitied ever since I was born,” Again the scene changed. Behold a man worn and thought- ful, in shabby-genteel garments, and a woman past the flush an bay of ber youth and beauty They have between them standing a little boy of some four years old. “T have told you,” said the man, ‘that your life would be a joyless one, Alice, if you cast in yourlot with mine. Lama man living for one object—revenge; or, rather, I constitute my- self the avenger of one who is dead, and the righteous scourge of one who is living. My story you know; but, though you nave been my wife for five years, you do not Know my real name. I could claim one of England's. proudest titles it I willed; but no, Ihave no wish to claim it. I shail bring up my boy to claim it one day suddesly, when his wicked uncie shall think him- self established in power. When he shall have a son whom lhe will fancy heir to all the lands and utles of Chesterton, I will go to him with this boy inmy hand, and I -willsay to him, ‘Here is the true earl.’ Meanwhile Iam only, to appearance, a poor lawyer’s clerk at twenty-five shillings a week; assuch you loved me, as such you married me, accepting what I had to offer—a heart all withered up from the possibility of loving. My love, alas! lies buried in the grave of Lilian. “Now, Alice, with that faith in me which you have always felt, I trust, when I ask you to part with onr child, to give him another name, and to piace him with a certain childless doctor of my acquaimtanve who knows his secret, and who will bring the boy up as his own, you will readily acquiesce. I wish him taught science and medicine; he is beautiful, and I wish that he should be learned and brave, and polished, a gentleman of this nineteenth century’s growth, so that when he comes into his tiles he may grace them. For me it sults me to live in humble obscurity; there is much wealth of mine that my murderous re- lative knew not of when he pushed me into the sea. Wealth which lies gathering and gathering unto itself in interest; much T have invested in mines and shares, and public companies, and, so far, ail that I have touched has turned to gold. I mean one day to gather it all togsther to buy a certain old French chateau with land thereunto appertaining, which is fast passing out of the owner's hands, and there to establish myselt under an assumed, though sounding name, as the wealthy master of that house. Them you shail eat the bread of idleness, and, if it please you, riot in splendor. “Then, when my wealth has become colossal, and my boy is educated, I will call my false brother to my house; I will teil him the tale of how I dived under the sea and came to the sur- face again at a distance from him and his boat, how I swam to the rocks and crept under their shelter, how I dried my clothes in the sun, and while I Jay there Jonely and with a burning an- guish at my heart, while I bethought me that Lilian was talse, the desire rose up in me for such a strange vengeance asit had never been compassed by mortal thought to execute. I would go away and hide, my parents would mourn me as dead; only certain wealth left me by an uncle which was placed in the hands of a certain well-known lawyer I would reserve, and hoard, and allow to increase until I was independent of the wealth of my wicked brother. I would wait until I was so rich that the world should not say this poor adventurer only strives to deceive and tosimulate. I weuld neverclaim the wealth for myself, but for my son. Ah, how many years onward! I would marry, and bring up a son to be a scourge to the false Lord Ches- terton; he should go and reclaim the wealth, and the honors, and the tiles. AllthisI accomplished. I went at once tothe lawyer and persuaded him, sorely against his will, to fall in with my scheme. Now, wite, will you let the boy go; will you consent to fall in with my wild grotesque ideal of vengeance?” There was weeping and clinging about the boy for a space, and then the pale mother cried: “Anything, anything for you—ch! my husband!—but it will break my heart.” Again the scere changed, and now a young man appeared, whose traits bore a strong resemblance, got E as they were with stage effect, to those of William Eustace. He stood under a beech tree ina lordly park, and he seemed to be waiting for somebody. Then cametoward him a young maiden, dressed in white, whose face was shaded by a large shepherdess hat. “Claribel, Claribel,” said the young man, “I adore you as I ever did, and éver shall; but you have grown cold to me lately. This Lord Chesterton has turned your head. Ah! believe me, heisa bad man. There isa tale that he murdered his brother in his youth.” F Thus far had this strange play procecded, when Claribe!— Lady Chesterton—suddenly started from her seat, and stood up in her robes of pale-blue satin, and her dazzling sapphire and diamond ornanients. “I forbid this play to proceed,” she said, in a loud, proud, clear, pitiless yoice. “I forbid the master of this house, who calls himself a count and a gentleman, to rake up the stories of a great family’s history, and to make them food for public sport. He knows that everybody present is aware of the fact of a madman's love for me before 1 became Lady Chesterton; has not England and France rung with that madman’s story? propose, in the name of gentle breeding and chivalric feeling, that all invited guests leave this house of insults at once, as I do, and as my lord will do.” : A mutmur, whether of applause or assent it was hard to tell, vibrated through the creat theatre, at these haughty, spirited words, so eloquent of Claribel’s cold, proud, pitiless self. Then “| witnessing, nigw I ean render back my sovl to its Maker in .Mhe is a thing of the past, that-y nice ice tantra arn denise the old man, whom we have known first under the name of Ephraim, living in a hut near the village of Earnscliff, next as the mighty mesmeriser effecting the deliverance ot Eustace; and lastly as the mysterious master of the magnificent Chateau ot Roses—tnhen, we repeat, that old man, dressed in hiscourt suit of splendor, a black velvet, with diamonds at his cravat, and on his knee buckles and on his shoes, came forward and bowed low to the whole of the assembled guests. “My friends,” he said, ‘I beg that you will not allow yonder fairlady to frighten you away from the festivites of my poor chateau. Iwhospeakto you am the rightful Earl of Chester- ton, and he who sitsin yonder seat holding down his burning face is my would-be murderer. Up to this hour he has believed that he was one of Cain’s fraternity. It is notso, John?” The head sank lower, and the burning face was hidden from the excited audience, who waited, it seemed vainly, to hear the uccused refute and deny the charges of the accuser. “T—],’i slammered the husband of Claribel at length: “I say that the manisun imposter. Let him prove himself Earl of Chesterton.’ “Sir, said a loud, English voice, and there stepped forward before the audience a tall, stately, silver-haired man, with eagle feature and imposing aspect; *‘I am Roundell Oliver, one of the best known of our English lawyers. I hold the proots of all that your brother has said. He and I were boys together; he came to me soon after his supposed death by drowning, and he told me all his story, his wild resolve, his plan of eccentric pun- ishment. Let me not call it but simple vengeance upon his wicked brother. [was young and ardent as he was. I was then simply a student in the Inner Temple, and it seemed to me that the plan of retribution was perfect. The would-be mur- derer was to come into his fast-flowing honors; he was to enjoy them, he was to marry, and then the rightful heir was to come forward with the proofs of his identity, and dash the sparkling cup from the eager lips. I took down the date; I made my de- position as to the factson parchment, and I promised to lend myself to ry friend's scheme of vengeance, which I have done. Now Lregretit much. Lregret his long life from youth to age, passed in toil and obscurity; I regret the fate of his wife, who pined away and died before he would permit himseif to use his Wealth. More than all, Lregret the tate of his hapless son, who, when the doctor died with whom he was placed, and whom he believed to be his father, was adopted by a singular caprice of rate by the very family whose daughter was married a few months ago to the would-be fratricide, John Chesterton. Yes, lady,”? turning toward Claribel, “when you cast contempt upon the love of Wiliam Eustace you were spurning the devotion of the real heirto the earldom of Chesterton. There is abundant proof. The elergyman who christened the boy, the lawyers who have held the hoarded wealth, I, whose name is untar- nished in the history of the last thirty years, all are willing to testify to the truthfulness of what I have asserted.” There was a great pause—then the faces of many men_ were turned wrathtully toward the lowered face of he who had hith- erto been called Lord Chesterton. “There shall be a lawsuit,” cried Claribel. “Oh! coward, coward,’’ passionately to her husband, “have you nothing to say? WHI you not refute this vi lamous conspiracy? Wil you not give the lie to these aspersions ?”” “T dare not!” burst forth the man. “Oh, is it not relief to find that I slew him not. Brother, brother, whose white, drowned face has haunted my dreams through long, long years!” - “That was twenty-eight years ago. He would only be fifty if he were alive; but this man has the wrinkles and the white hairs of seventy winters.” . “Think of “s lite, my joyless life of toil and waitine!”’ cried the true Lord Chesterton, “think of my urief for dead Lillian. is a nearvel that I bear uot the looks rather of fourscore years. “It is his voice!’’ cried the husband of Claribel, rising up and ringing his hands. ‘it is the voice of the brother whom I thought I had killed. Nay, but it is sweet to feel that I have done no murder.” His voice wasstrangely hoarse. Then it was that a hush fell upon the assembly, and something like pity for the fallen man manifested itself, But Claribe}, furions as a caged tigress, turned fiercely to bay.” “It is ali falsel” she said; “a cowardly fabrication! and I defy you, and I will dispute every inch of this ground with you. You have practised your mesmeric arts on this man whom I have called husband, and you have turned his brain.” Thus she raved on. But meanwhile the two brothers had ap- proached each other, and were looking mto each other's faces. On the one side was stern, sad reproach, on the other guilty, imploring fea-. “fam not a imarderer,” gasped the husband of Claribel, “it is you, in the flesh—you, whose face has haunted my_ dreams, whose voice has called me up out of sleep and sounded like an unearthly summons echoing in my chamber! Thou, whose body I fancied garlanded about by strange seaweeds at the bot- tom of the restless ocean! Itis you!” “Tt is I,” replie@ Ephraim; ‘but L have tasted the apples of Sodom! They are ashes in my mouth. The son for whom I have garnered up all these honors is dyiog in the next suite of rooms. You shall come and see him, and you shall understand that though I have,punished you it has been a bitter triumph for myself, You, too, madam,’ turning to Claribel, ‘“‘you shall come and Jook upon the ruin you have made. Had you been true to him, madam, then had you been truly Countess of Ches- terton one day.” Claribel rose, and a fierce flame shot out of her eyes. They rested upon the white face of Evangeline. “You,” she said, with an accent of intense scorn, “you are the confidant of this man, whois about to ruin us all. Doubtless a will marry you to his mad son, and we shall see you take my place. : A little procession was formed, involuntarily it seemed, and the true earl, his brother, Claribel, Evangeline, and Hargrave, who went to support the Violently agitated lady of his love, proceeded to the apartment where Eustace reclined in his easy chair of satin, near the fire, his eyes sull fixed on vacancy. sh id the heirof the earldom ot Chesterton,” said the elder brother, pointing toward his son. . ustace made no sign. Ses ‘He will never be earl,” cried Claribel, with a mocking At sound of that voice the young man raised his head. His eyea sought Claribel. A flush came into his face, suffusing the cavernous hollows with a deep erimson. “Ha, ha!” hesaid, “mocking fiend, are you here? Have you come to triumph over my rui Soul and dying Dedy? Ihave learnt, within the last tiree days, to hate you as 1 once loved. Thavescen and heard things w it is not lawful for a man to utter. I know you now, False woman, without heart and soul, T know you when itis too late.> But I rejoice that I have seen you at the last, that I may tell xo that gee Dower over ti ou have 20 more despotic sway over me. Now,” and the young man threw up oneof his arms and glanced above, like one who invokes Heaven’s aid and peace and thankfulness. Woman, you have wrecked my life, but Iam no longer the slave of your cruel caprice. Lam going to the bourne from whence no traveler returus, and before I go the scales fall from™my eyes. Isee your soul, hideous with sel- fishness, odious with pride, ugty With cruelty; the bodily torm,; which alone won my iove, I behold as the gorgeous case which guards a monster.” : Claribel turned white with rage, when the excited Eustace spoke those insali Fords. , . “Poor madman,” she cried, with a laugh, “if indeed yonder lunatic be the heir to your earidom, my lord,” and she made the elder brother_an ironical curtsey, “I am. tearful thata straight waistcoat thust encase his limps beforethe jeweled cor- “Here is the house!” cried Mlsie, stopping suddenly in front of a lurge fine hotei, with a row of orange trces in full blcom be- fore the handsome poreh, “Go in, my child, and do not expect to see me again before two days. I have a friend in the secret police of Italy, awd this friend—it 1s a womau—is working hard to obtain the deliver- ance of Duval. I believe we shall be able to effect it. Wait here until [ arrive—probably with him. Goin my child!” The lips of Elsie trembled. It seemed that she could not tear herself away trom Fanchette; but Fanchette, hastily and pas- sionately Kissing her, passed into the hotel among a crowd of servants, and hastily demanded to be shown to the apartment ot Mr. Rix. “Ah! the man-seryant said. “The gentleman had been say ing that a yooug lady might arrive who would ask for him.” And thereupon Fanchette followed the mun up the shallow stone stairs and to the dvor of an aparimeat. The man knocked. ; “Come in/’’? cried a man’s voice, hoarse and weak, il seemed, with anxiety. Fanchetie turned the handle, an’ entered a large room, with polished, dark floor, hangings of sky-blue dainask, inirrors against the walls, and a table drawn up into the embrasure of a bay window, which overlooked a charming flower-garden. On this table was spread tbe luxurious meal which foreigners call the second breakfast; and, leaning back on one of the sky- blue ¢hairs, was a white-haired gentleman, in a silken dressing- robe; turning over a newspaper in his hand. ie started, as Fan- chette approached—Fanchette, his child, whoin he had never seen, He did notrush to meet heratonee. He gazed at her with a longing, curious gaze, Jike one who sees some cebject, of which he has often dreamed, for the first time in reality, and wonders if what he beholds is still only a Gelusion. Fanchette, mm the gray serge dress, her brilliant hair nearly all hidden beneath the hood, her face, worn with the fatigue of traveling, was_ still incomparably and iveontestably hvely. The large, liquid, hazel eyes drooped not beneath the searching gaze of the earl: the color flushed into the round, fair cheek. “Papa! papa!” shesaid. Then there was a spring into his arms, a wild, glad gathering of Ins child to the heart of the sorrowing noble. | “Oh, my love! my little love!’? he said, weeping. ‘And has that good creature, whom they call Elsie, effected your escape? Ah, my child, why did you hesitate at Kendale, at first? Why did you rfot come to ine, your father, at once, betore they be- gan to shut you up and make a prisoner of you?” “T thought, dearest father, that it would be base ingratitude to quit the countess without explanation, and she had not begun lo Mapalson me then; she did nottell me what my fate was to be. only waited to see what would be best, and then you sent Captain Duval to me,’ added Lady Fanchette, with a deep, con- scious blush; ‘“tand grandmamma found him in the summer- house; but don’t scold, dearest papa,’ added Fanchette, plaint- ively. ‘‘All our troubles are over now—are they not? And when poor Duval is released, we shall be the happiest people in the world. You willsave me now—will you not—from grand- mamma? You will exert your parental rights, and I shail live with youin a sweet little house, somewhere in our dear Eng- land—shall I not, papa?—and we will forget allsorrow. We do not want money—we do not need titles, to make us happy, dar- ling papa—only love.” He stroked her hair with astrange tenderness. “Lovely face!’ he said; “lovely face! Ah, my Fanchette! some happier, younger man will be coming to steal that sweet face away from me, that it may brighten his home. By the sles T reach old age I shall be again as lonely asI have hitherto cen. “No, papa,’ cried Fanchette, kissing him passionately; ‘no, unless you wish, I will never leave you.” “T hope I am not so selfish,” said the poor earl, sadly. “I wish to see you happy. even as I was happy vith my blessed Fan- chette, my sweet French wife, with her passionate eyes and tremulous mouth. She was not so beautiful as you are, love; but, oh! how infinitely dear to me!”’ Thus the long-separated father and child talked. Then the earl Jed her to the table, and made her partake of the dainties Spread upon it. “We shall not be rich, my child,” said Lord Kendale; “but, fear not, we shall not be poor. I made enough money sbroad to enable us to live in ease and comfort, and to be able to allow you aa pretty little income. We will leave the cruel old grand mother to lavish her wealth upon whom she will: we will ask nothing from her; but I shall be glad when we are ont of Italy. I do not feel safe until you are in England, or, at Jeasf, in the French capital.” ; They spent that day and the next in making plans, and Fan- chette purchased some becoming clothes. Her father gave her a well stocked purse. . : On the third day, as they sat over the dessert, after dinner, a knock came to the dvor—a loud, yet hght rap, which made Fan- chette’s heart beat—and then there entered the handsome sol- dier, Duval. He had changed his travel-soiled garments, and he appeared before the earl and his daughter as a gallant gentleman. He bowed low to both, but did not, in his chivalrous modesty, pre- sume so much as to shake the hand of Lord Kendale unul it was offered to him. “T have tailed sadly and signally in everything I have under- taken for your benefit, my lord,” said the young man, sorrow- fully, “That y Fanchette is restored to you, you owe to El- sie, the gipsy, not to Raymond Daval. The second time I met Lady Fanchette, the countess discovered me, and I was the mis- erable cause of the imprisonment of her I would have died to serve. Then I failed in the snow, and the enormous pace, and the wetting, brought on an illness and fever, which kept me a prisoner at exactly the most critical time. After that, I was taken off as a suspected spy, just as I was to have assisted Lady Fanchette to ese . I feel unworthy of gratitude or kindness; only may I be p itted the felicity of traveling with you to England; after that, I shall not dare to intrude my unworthy presence on you-any longer”? _ The heart of Fanchette sank when she heard these words, she looked up half reproachfully atthe young man. Most beautiful was Lady Fanchette in her simple white muslin embroidery and black velvet boddice, the wealthof her golden hair talling in heavy plaits on her shoulders. Duval met the earnest glanc- ing of the dark hazel eyes, and something that he read in their lustrous depths set his heart beating fast. “You must not talk of deserting us, Duval, because fate has prevented you trom being of actual service in this last matter— and yet yor were ot service, for if you had not been disguised as a guide, Fanchette would never have understood how sha was to escape. Sitdown and take refreshment with us, and consider yourself henceforth as a friend of the house.” To describe the glowing rapture t i at these words baffles description; | now established in the hotel with the l their friend and traveling conipanion, Ik of love to ine Lady Fanchette; true love is often timid t in this manner. 5 es ¥ anor meanwhile was eager'and earnest m her inquiries fter b 4 She isin this house,” replied Duval; “she persists in saying that she will not leave you until you are safe in England; she will trayel third class in the same train by which we go first; she will be near in case dy Fanchette is ill, or fatigued, or nervous, to offer her all womanly help.” “What unexampled devotion,” cried the earl, in a voice of perplexity. “It is not for gain that this woman has constituted erself the guardian of my child. I have repeatedly sent her money, which she has returned by post twice, three times, dur- ing the Iast week. Who is this woman? why does she keep out of my way? For goodness’ sake send her here; let me thank i she has done.’’ , onet entircles lus brows.” . “Witty,” cried Eustace, With a smile, “apt at repartee, ana cutting as a two-ddged sword, you ever were; but, tell me, what is this talk Of a coronet?” The tone of the young man was perfectly calm and rational. With one quick glance, Evangeline divined that his soul had awakened out of its long apathy and torpor; that he was once more the William Eustace ot Stanton Hall, the intellectual, spirited, graceful, manly youth, who had won her young love. A great rush of joy seized hold on her being, and shook her as the wind shakes a reed; she trembled excessively, and ap- proached Eustace timidly, and took a chair beside him. “You know us all now, William,” she said, gently; “you have been 1ll, but you are getting well, quite well.” “Quite weil,” repeated the old ear!, clasping the hand of his son, and speaking nan hysterical whisper. ‘‘Oh, Heaven grant it be so; Heaven grant that my wild, strange scheme of ven- geance has not lost me my son, and yet had she known that he was heir to the earldom, she would have married the coronet, not him who wore it. Live, tive, my bov,” the eld man sank low on his Knees before the astonisbed Eustace; ‘‘live to throw off this vain love, live to enjoy your honors, and to forgive your father, who, in his morbid desire to punish his murderous bro- ther, overlooked your happiness, and condemned you to a life of privation. I theught it wouid be good for you, 1 did—I did,” sobbed the old noble; ‘even when I knew you were living a wild Bohemian life m Paris, following yonder woman.” The large eyes ef Eustace opened in surprise. “Tell me,’ he said, ‘‘what does all this mean?’ Then sottly Evangeline told him the whole strange story. When she came to the end or it, he sighed heayily. “Itseems a tale unreai asthe shadows of a dream,” he said, slowly; “but true or not, [have notime to siay and become Earl ot Chesterton.” He pointed upward. “The struggle is past,” he said, ‘1am summoned before a high tribunal, where for the deeds done in the body Ishall be jucoged; but in tnat high court, merey shall temper judgment, I have no fear. Evangeline, gentlest of sisters, would to Heaven I had loved thee as thou-has merited, How was it that Satan got ho!d of me, and blinded my eyes to your beauty, your loveliness of | character, your gentle, angelic hature? Now Isee you as you are! Evangeline, if I were to live and not die, Ishould creep to your feet on my Rnees; I should say, take me to be your faithful loye through life.” : He turned deadly white as he spoke, and placed his hand on his heart, while his long, panting sobs, spoke eloquently of the approachof that great reaper, who mows down the flower of humanity in its glory and prime, even ashe mows down the bearded grain and the withered tree. Evangeline sprang away, and returned with a glass of cor- dial, and held it to the whitelips. With agreat effort the young man swallowed a fewdrops, and revived even as a flickering light revives before it becomes extinguished forever. “I have hope, ny father,” he cried, extending his hands to- ward the strange old néble Who had played so eccentric a purt inthe game of life. “Ihave hope beyond the grave. I say, in the words of the Psalmist—‘I shall find merey, and not judg- ment;’ and you, I pardon you, for I know that thought isin your heart. Ipardon you. You wrecked your own life for the sake ofthe false Lillian. I lose mine through the heartlessness of the beautiful being who stands there looKing sorrowful be- cause the heritage is gone from her husband; buat you, I pardon, oh, cruel queen of earthly beauty,” he added, with a sad smile, turping his glance toward Claribel, *I pardon the colduess, the falsehood, even as I hope to be forgiven.’ Then his hands groped in the air, as those grope who seek support in the dark. Evangeline seized one and tle true Earl of Chesterton the other; then Eustace, heir to an earidom, lay back, acaJm smile settied on his sclendid countenance, and his spirit passed from him inasigh. Evangeline sobbing violently in a terrible, but a Learless ger, found her hand seized, and ber fainting head raised with a tenderness which spoke to her soul. He who thus watched and tended her was noble Harry Har- grave. CHAPTER XXIL Maiden with the meck brown eyes, In whose orbs a shadow lies, Like the dustin evening skies!—LoNGreLLow. Fanchette and Elsie arrived at the French town, where the earl bad promised to await their arrival, on_a@ lovely spring morning, after travelingaday and a night. It was a pretty town on the confines of italy. Orange-groves blossomed about and around the white villas and stately boulevards. In her half-religious dress, without money, without luggage, leaning on the arm of her newly-found mother, Fanchette went timid- ly along the streets. “What am Itosay to papa when I see him?” she said to her- self. “Ll know! I will talk to himcf my mother. I will bring them together 1f it costs me my life!’ added the enthusiastic young creature to her own soul. “There,” said Elsie, giving Fanchette a printed card, “thatis the name ofthe hotel where your father is staying, under the name of: Monsieur Kix, Ask for him and they will show you to his room. I know the house weil. There 1s hardly a town onthe Continent,’ added Elsie, “that I have not wandered over from end to end during the course of the last weary sixtecn years!’ Fanchette clasped her mother's hand more fervently. ‘Mistaken mother,” site said. ‘Self-imposed suffering which hag been fruitless in result. But it is not too late yet to be happyi” Wisie shook her head. ; “Too late, far too late!” she cried. ‘Can you believe that the earl would take to heart the sun-brown gipsy-looking creature, who has spent all these years in wandering about Europe sell- ing laces, telling fortunes—what not? Think how he has mourned meas dead, His grief must be calmed down now— rake it not up again. Let him love my memory, sleeping as he believes in my grave; let him not waken up in horror to recog- nize the ghost of his former love. And whata ghost!” added Elsie, with a dreary laugh—‘'a brown-faced gipsy, coarsely clad, whose mistakon, passionate love manifested itself in the strange fashion of making him and his child and herself all sufferers!” Fanchette did not reply, but her resolve to bring her parents her in person, Captain Duval, for “Yes, yes, seid her here!” cried Fanchette, starting to her feet; ‘send her here, Captain Duval, I willgo with you to find her. Itismy earnest wish that she be introduced to papa.”’ “You cannot very well descend into the servants’ quarter of the bony Lady Fanchette.” . “Nay, Twould do anything to see Elsie,’ cried Fanchette, passionately. Duval rose. “TI will go first, and if I fail in persuading this strange woman to.appear, then, Lady Fanchette, I will return for you." Duval left the room. Fanchette sat counting the minutes till his return. He came back at the end of a quarter of an hour, but without Elsic. “She is obstinate,’’ he said, despondentiy. “Then if she will not come to me, I will go to her,” cried the earl, starting to his feet. ‘ Ra I, too,” cried Fanchette, clinging to the arm of her ather. Thus the little procession made its way toward the servants’ quarters in the hotel, Duval Jeading the road. They descended the staircas:, and Duval conducted them to a litle room where two or three maids of different ladies staying in the hotel were chatting together, Elsie sat apart, sewing by the side of a lamp; the light fell upon her dusky hair, her earnest face, the long, thick lashes resting on the brown cheek. The earl started when he saw her; started so that he almost reeled, and Duval caught him by the arm. An exclamaiion burst from his lips. Elsie glanced up, and ther eyes met. Instantly by magic, without a word, without a sign, those two rushed into each others’ arms, and embraced as those might embrace who have met their beloved beyond the bounds of life. Elsie réad thatin her lord’s eye, which told of love, of pardon, of complete extenu- ation for her mistaken zeal, and wild, unmeaning self-sacrifice. Duval stared at the weeping pair in amazement. “sbe is my mother,” said Fanchette, simply, but with dignity; “she is the Countess of Kendale..* i : Our story draws toward its close. The gentle earl never once reproached the wife whom he so truly loved for the singular part she had chosen to play; their reconciliation was pertect. Duvai became the affianced lover ot Lady Fanchette, and their nuptial day was fixed, Jane, the Dowager Countess of Ken- dale, was turious when she discovered the flight of Fanchette. Fanchette’s mother had so contrived that the dowager gained no trace of her grandchiid until the arrival of the beautiiul girl in England, under the guardianship of her parents. There was one stormy interview between the outraged son and his unnatural mother. The dowager had never known un- til she had made her way, white with wrath, to the small, ele- gant drawing-room, in the pleasant villa, where the earl with is wife and daughter were established, that the white-haired gentleman and the sun-browned gipsy, with whem Fanchette had escaped, were none otber than the earl and countess of Kendale, her son, and her daughter-in-law. “We ask nothing of you, countess,” said the earl, encircling the form of his stiil handsome wife with his arm. The gipsy countess, in rich black velvet, was a different look- ing being to wandering Eisie, in her short red_cloak. “T will never call you mother any more, My child, my pre- cious Fanchette, has escaped the fate you had in store for her. Keep your wealth. We ask nothing; only leave us in peace.” Tbe countess turned upon him, impotent with wrath. “Listen to the curses which I will heap upon you,” she said, shaking her withered arm. But the words died away on her lips in inarticulate whispers, and Jane, Countess of Kendale, fell insxensible upon the floor, She never spoke again. She had modeno wi:l, and her long- suffering son came into all the wealth which she had so long kept from him. Evangeline rewarded the constancy of brave Harry Hargrave by giving him her hand, a year after the death of the hapless Eustace. The Earl of Chesterton talks of marrying again; and a young lady who has a fancy to become an old man’s darling, has pro inised to be his wife. It is likely, therefore, that he may still have a sonin his old days, and that Claribel may never again be Lady Chesterton. The man who had been called Earl Chester- ton retired into obscurity; his brother paid hisdebts for him and allowed him asmallincome. Claribel left him when she foand him poor and disgraced; she was ashamed toface her English friends after her downfall. The last time she was heard of she was living a reckless life at the gambling-spas of Germany, her beauty was impaired by late hours, and she was vainly trying to wring a fortune out of chance. She declares she will never return to England,to her husband, or to her parents. Lady Fanchette was bridesmaid to Evangeline Stanfield. The fashion- able papers announce her marriage with Duval as likely to take place in June. : THE END. (TWO NEW STORIES will be commenced NEXT WEEK, by two splendid Authors, SCHEMING MADELON; or, THE SE- CRET DOOR, by the Author of “PrxeRiEss CatHLEeN,” ‘“Lapy or Granp Court,” and ‘Rose or Kenpae.”® The other CON- RAD THE CONVICT, or, THE BRAND OF CRIME,” by Fran- crs A, Durnivace, “Author of “Ramon THE OvtLaw,” Ot Attention AU! We wish our friends would send! Ws the addresses of such of their acquaintances as the former think would be pleased with the New York Weesry. Specimen copies will be sent to those persons gratuitously, as we are confident that by this means we can greatly extend our circulation. The New York WEEKLY containssuch a variety of reading and illustrative inatter that every person will be sure to find_in it something which wili be deemed especially interesting. By speaking to their friends of the merits of our journal, our subseribers will do usa grateful service; and it is but a reasonable request on our part, cqnsid- together gathered fresh force. ering what we have done, and will continue to do, to receive the approbation of the public. 7 ' tla teresa neteninnn acne oar SNe a Schenck’s Mandrake Pills. f The medical and scientific talent and ingenuity of both Eu- rope and America have long been actively, but unsuccessfully, exercised to provide a substitute for Cxlomel, that powertul, dangerous, poisonous, destructive substance, which, notwith- standing its known ruinous resu ts, has acted a {cading part in the practice of most plysicians all their professional lives. Days and nights, year in and year out, have been laboriously and persistently passed by eager heads and hands to learn if, in all the wide realms of nature, there could be found some- thing that would perform the varied offices of calomel, and at the same time nor be followed Ly its deplorable, baneful effects. Fortunately tor mankind, and to the perennial glory ofscience and the medical art, this great desideratum has been discovered by the distinguished Dr. J. H. Schenck, of Philadelphia. Schenck’s Mandrake Pills combine precisely the purpose, the power and the need which has been so long sought; and hence- forth, calomel, in all its killing forms, from mercury to its most distant dilution, may be laid on the upper shelf of obscurity, to repose in the merited dust and rubbish of ages. The pills haye been in use in Dr. Schenck’s very large practice for several years, and their marvelous virtues have been fuily demon= strated. tive, friendly, searching and thorough on the human systen. — Itis not probable that so really great and efficacious a dis< covery in medicine has been made for centuries, and it redounds all the more to the extraordinary spirit of investigation, obser- vation and sagacity of Dr. Schenck that he should have reached the proud distinction of making it. The doctor pats forward no special claim to be a scientific man, but he is certaiuiy that and very much more—a man of r re common sense and intel- ligence. He has had, and is daily having, an imamense practice in the cure of disease, and has sadly seen too often the disas- trous aud fatal effect of calomelin its varied phases, not to have for it a just and abiding horror. Schenck’s Mandrake Pills may be said to act as follows: 1. 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They are compounded from the vegetable kingdom, the process of which is known ouly to Dr. Schenck, aud the pecu- liarity of which is that it extracts all of its wonderful proper- ties. Combined with other very cfficacious medicaments, they form a most remarkable panacea. 7. They lift, as it were, a great weight from the body, leaving it invigorated, and giving bucyanvcy and elasticity tothe mind. 8. They can and do, when takeu in time, save and prevent sickness In various forms and stages. Thousanda of lives are unquestionably saved by them every year. 9. They are sold at a price which places them within the reach of the poorest as well as the richest in the land 10. They are so good, and when once tested will be found so indispensable, that no prudent, intelligent person will be con- tent without them. ll. They never injure any one, not even thé smallest child. Within their hittle pelict area there is power, but only to attack disea:e. 12. They are what mankind has been impatiently waiting for for ages. The very extensive demand for the pills from évery section of the country shows at least that they are beginning to be ap- preciated? Asa commercial fact of interest we may state that no pill in the coiiutry is selling so rapidly at the leading medical depots. The great resources of the fine laboratory in Philade!- phia are taxed to the utmost, and yet the supply is far behind he demand. ~To most men the nranufactare of these pills would constitute 4 sufficient Lusiness, bat Dr. Schenek, with an ambition and persevérfatce which are herculean, and a faith and a courage quite apostolic, and possessed by very few in this world, desires for atime longer, at all events, to respond in some little degree to the calls of the sick and suffering. He has, however, struck upon a most fortunate discovery—fortanate for the world, and fortunate in a double sense to himself. Schenck’s Mandrake Puls have but just entered upon their beneficial career. Their course will circle the round of the nations, aud no people upon whom the sun shies or the stars look down will ere long be without their health-restoring, life- giving aid. Disease, routed, dismayed, disheartened, will fice from its hiding-places in the human system, shorn ofits power to curse and destroy. The pioneer to new lands will advance with the symbols of civilization in one hand, and the great healing discovery, Schenck’s Mandrake Pills, in the other, Combiming, as thes do, not only the best efficacy and virtue of Mandrake, itself a most remarkable growth of nature, but other rare and active products cuiled from her profuse cornucopia, and compounded, as they are, in the nicest proportions, and: atter the most ap proved chemical methods, the pills are truly an achevemeni in medical science which will bear the ssverest test of time. and grow in popularity in proportion as they are used. They act not upon any one, butseveral organs, and above and more than ail they clear the system of that gross, impure, filthy bilo which causes so much disease, and which, while in the system. ulterly prevents anything like health. Schenck’s Mandrake Pills, A Certain Cure for Diseased Liver and the Many Dangerous Maladies which are caused by a Morbid Condition of that Organ > To give the public a clear understanding of the mode in which Schenck*’s Maudrake Pills produce those wonderful effects which ars attested by thousands of rchable witnesses, we pre- sent a brief DESCRIPTION OF THE HUMAN LIVER and its functions, which will make the operation of this popu lar medicine perceptible to every man’s understanding. The liver is supplied with blood-vessels, nerves and absorb. ents. One of its obvious uses is to secrete and prepare the bile It likewise filters the blood, and separates that fiuid from aii impurities. How mdispensably necessary to health is the proper performance of this function. If the liver is diseased, it cannot purify the blood, and 1f thatis sent back through the lungs, brain and other parts in a morbid condition, it must cause jaundice, biliousness, obstruction of the kidneys, gravel and other complaints more or less paintul and dangerous, but the least of them quite enough to make a man s'ck and uncomfort.- able, and unfit forthe performance of any of the duties ot life. The nuhealthy state of the system very often énds in pul- monary consumption, The circulation of the bleed is conducted in this manner. The heart sonds the vital current down through the arteries, 1t passes through the flesh, taking up all imparides in its progress, then the streaim of blood flows backward through the veins, and passes to the ver to be purified. It is impossible to cure consumption, serofula, or scarcely any other kind of ulceration, while that important organ, the liver, 13 diseased. It is for that reason that “regular physicians” rarely cure consumption. They usually begm their treatment with the use of some cough medicine, the basis of which is morphia or opium in some shape, which locks up the liver instead of relaxing the secre- tions, giving a tone to the stomach, and producing a healthy flow of bile. Dr. Schenck’s Pujmonic Syrup, Seaweed Tonic, and MWiandrake Pills will strengthen Lhe system, purify the blood, and ripen and heal ulcers on the lungs. A volume would be required to give a brief account of the remarkable cures performed by Dr. Schenck’s medicine, viz.: Pulmonte Syrup, Seaweed Tonic, and Mandrake Pills~all of which are accompauied by fall directions for the use of them. Dr. Schenck is professionally at his principal office, No. 15 North Sixth street, corner Conimerce, Philadelphia, every Sat- urday, where all letters for advice must be addressed. Price of the Pulmonic Syrup and Seaweed Tonic, each $1 50 per bottle, or $7 50a half dozen. Manirake Pilis, 25 cents per box, For gale by all druggists and dealers. Their effect is preeisely what is wanted—at once ac~ ws" 4 } j yr a atnnapeenaman fiers ae Fe 4 7 TR ene ene a emis menrninttn iat ene ee nee ee ———— , a ememtitn oe — pemencnnigecnpsnonomeal —— eee ea ee ee a ee oe —— | Joka Brocn.—l, See answer to “SP ae ‘ A we e> w§ THE NE ———_— 5 e 86 ¢ ths Pelclolus 3 be ELIXIR. Itis almost worth while to have a touch of Dyspep- sia, or a bilious headache, or a twinge of bilious colic, or a feel- ing of debility, inerder to realize the delightful effect of Tar- RANTS ErFERVESCENT SELTZER APERIENT.. The rem-dy, as it bubbles in the goblet like champagne, 1s so pleasant, so reiresh- ing, thatat is positive enjoyment to drink it, and as a tonic, evacuant, and anti-bilious papearalicn, it is far more effica- cicus than anyof the sickemng drogs usually prescribed, SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. w30-it AGENTS WANTED. \ TE WISH AN AGENTIN EVERY TOWN TO SELL’A NEW BOOK wanted in every iamily, and recommended by the ng papers of the country. Que Agent lately reports 34 or- a ina day. One Ladysays: “Ihave sojd 100 copies in the last three weeks, and attended to my own house work.” We received an order this week froma Lady Agent for 775 copies. Tuere is money inthis book. Send for private circular. W. J. HGLLAND & CO.’ — eld, Mass. Chicago, ‘Th. 1840. 8. 6 8 € 8 1870. PAIN KILLER! This Valuable Family Medicine has been widely and favorably known in our own and foreign countries, upward of THIRTY YEARS! It isan External and Internal Remedy.. For Sammer Com- pla it, OF any other form of bowel disease,in children or adults, itis an alinost a certain cure, and has,withont doubt, been more successful in curing the various kinds of CHOLERA than any other known remedy, or the most skillful physician. In India, Africa,and China, where this dreadful disease is more or Jess prevaient, the Pain Killer iscomsidered by the natives, as well as European residents in those climates, a sure remedy; and while it is a most efficienbremedy fer pain, itis a perfectly safe medieme, ev. in uBskillful hands, Sold by all Druggists. w20-2t.eow. TD) IVORCES LEGALLY CBPAINED IN DIFFERENT States.— Desertions, eie., sefficient cause. No publicity. No charge, il Address M. HOUSES, 73 Nassau st. [w30-l3teow 1 obtained. A Photographic Copy of a SINGULAR PHENOMENA IN NA- FS TCRE. Inclose 2% cents to Drawer 40, Elmira, N.Y. [w30-4t IC PILOTOGRAPHS, WONDERFUL AND AMUSING.— 25 cents a package. Library of Love, 50 cents. Send to W. YSS, 3 ASTOR PLACE, New York. {w.30-4teow XNIARTIPOS. 25 fastest seliing articles or AGEN | S eXtant.. Agents are ¢-in- 25 be SE hii pRONDE: ge BD Bue in * : NX the list. oO Capital re- ‘Al Ay W AN rRHD quired. Kasibeet N KW ‘ STANFORD. & CO., y Everywhere. 61 Reynolds. Block, Articles: wedi ii ] Chicago, Ji. ‘LSHG HEAL Use none but! PSA*D BEEF TEA FOR’ THE MILLION. *rensthening Nourishment! Economy in housekeeping!! LIB- i JOMPANYS EXTRACT OF MEAT, the same that re- 2d the highest prizes at Puris, Havre and Amsterdam, and ssuprlied to the British, French, Russian, Prussian, and r Governments, ‘None. genuine without the signatures of n Liebig, the inventor, and ef Dr. Max V. Petienkofer, de- ate, on uy ar, i s’ SONS, Company’s Agents, 183 Broad ay, New For Sale everywhere. w30-l3teow “itis a poon to womankind.”—Hail’s Journal of Health. al rT, SIXTH EDITION—TENTH THOUSAND. CONJUGAL SINS AGAINST THE LAWS OF LIFE AND HEALTH, AND THEIR EFFECTS UPON Father, Mother and Child, By A. K, GARDNER, A. M., M. D., Late Professor in the New Yerk Medica! College. “We know not how this matter could be treated more deli- cately and !udiciously than it isin this book; ana yet it istreat- = thoroushly, and from aseientific and Christian standpoint. a ling the tide of error, sin aud misery with which the commnr- nity is being overwhelmed, and in “saving the American race from extinction, or atleast from the prependerance of an em erant population, should read and heed its lessons.”—[Am. Pres- byterian Review. . (Rev. John ‘Todd, D.D. “It is written in the best spirit, scientific and moral. and it ought to be read by husbands and wives, and fathers and inoth- 5 . ¥. Independent. It is elevated in tone, thorough, and yet delicate in treatment.”’—[Home Journal, N. Y. ; _Gne Volume, 12mo., elecantly printed. Price, Paper Cover. SI; Bound, $150. Sent by mail, postage paid, on receipt of J. S. REDFIELD, 140 Fulton street; New York. TO YoU! COL. FE. Z. C. JUDSON (NED BUNTLINE ) ; has jnst written andpublishedya beautifal Temperancersong= ae ° 7 c - OUR BANNER SONG.” MUSIC BY CHAS. E. PRATI. Asplendid full length likeness of the authoris onthe title paye, which im itself is a picture -worth more than the price of the song. Sent free by mail for 50 cents. Address Col. Jupsan, Box 4,896 Post-ottice, New York. : c : 4% = ee ee Our Knowledge Box. A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTIL REMEMBERING. QUESTIONS ANSWERED, AND INFORMATION WANTED,— (. F. R.—See No. 22.....+..Efie M—\. We furnished ‘all the in- tormation we po sessed on the subject in the number to which you refer. 2, We cannot answer till we see i 3. Your hand- wriling is fair...... Frank.—To ExtTerminaté VerMiy.—Use a small quantity of red precipitate ointment, Keep the body as cleanly as possible, and change your underclothing very fre- quently. The ointment should be used very sparingly. Wash your head in the strongest bay rum you can precure...... Wat. .—Your blood needs purifying. A small quantity of sulphur— as much as you can get on the blade of a penknife—put intoa tumbler of water snd drank before breaktast will help you..... Y. J. S—CuRLING tHE Hark. —Hair that is naturally straight can, not be made to siay permanently in ¢cufls. he following flui will make the hair curl temporarily: ke borax, two ounces, gam arabic, one drachm; and hot water (uot boiling) one quart. Stir, and as soon as the ingredients are dissolved, add three ta lespoonfuls of strong spirits of camphor. On retiring to rest, wet (he hair with the above diquid and roll it in twists of paper, as usual. Do not disturb the hair until morning, when untwist and form into ringlets, ....Quimby.—See answer to ‘Frank.’ J. F. Keenan.—l. Yake a dose of Epsom salts once or twice a week, use the warm Dathdaily, live sparingly, and drink noth. ing but, water-2: No. 22. 3. Gen. Harney is ahout 7 years of age... -.-B. Butler,—l. See answer to W.. H. Mem this week’s ps . 2. Wash your. face in water mixéd With a litle Jemon juice, and afterward apply cold creat... Her Tralsheimer.—Y¥ our handwriting, at present, would, hardly wget you asituation as bookkeeper, but practice will, of course, ini- prove }t........4 Joke—L Shave frequently. 2. Use cold cream. 3. Partake of that Kind of food which contains the modst sugar. +. If you send her a written invitation, word, it. as tolows: “The pleasure (or honor) of your Company is solicited by Mr. 14 with hima a ball at——... Jessie Farre:.—To sa Furnircre.—The following recipe for polishing furniture is said to be better than the ordinary varnish: Melt over a mod- erate fire in_a very clean vessel two ounces of white or yellow wax, and when liquified add 4 ounces of good essence of tur- pentine; sir the whole uniil itis entirely cool, and the result will be a kind of pomade equal to varnish without having any of itsinconveniences. 2. Use the pomade above described. 3. Take a quarter of a teaspoonful of Li-carbouate of soda, in half a tumbler of water, three times a day.......... W. EB. B.—1. Iv- PLAMMATION OF THE ExeLins.—Make a pouluce of the crumb of bread soaked in a pint and a half of cold water, in which a drachw of alum has previously been dissolved, and apply it over Uie eyes in a handkerchief when gong to bed. 2. Your questions are grammatically written. 3. Your handwriting is wood...... +.» Weaver.—We Will think the matter over...... .... ; N.J.S..in last week’s paper. 2. Moisten them with the steam from a kettle of boiling water.... &. Selrake,—Wak Eyrs.—Bathe your eyes in a mixture of equal parts of vinegar and water; use the best vmegar you can pro- cure. We have heard that this remedy has proved so efficacious as to prevent the necessity of wearing glasses. Another remedy is to agitate a lump ofalum in a basin of water until it becomes strong to the taste, and then lave the eyes with it. Try the vine- gar first... Hater of Bedbugs.—These pests may readily be destroyed by dissolving halt a drachny of corrosive sublimate in a quarter ofan ounce of spirit of salts, mixing it with one quart of spirit of turpentine. Shake these well together, dip a brush in it, and wash those places where bugs are suffered to resort, and this will remove them with greater certainty than any other mode now practiced....Jfrs. H. R.—To Dyz Linens anp Corrons Rep. —Cotton and linen are dyed red avith madder.. The process was borrowed from the Easty hence the coloris often Called ‘Turkey-red. The cloth is firstimpregnated with oft, then with galls, and lastly with alum. Itisthen boiled foran hour ina decottion of madder, which iscommonly nixed with a quantity or blood. After ihe cloth is dyed, i is plunged into asoda lye, in order to brighten the color. The nea given by this process is very permanent, and when properly conducted itis very beautifui. The whole difficulty consists in the application of the mordant, whichis uy far the most comp /ieated emplor ed in the whole —— to atte art of dyeing.........,. John.—To be had of any druggist....-. .. @ 7.—See answer to “Sadness” in last week’s paper......Emili Purcel.—l. To Preserve THE TEETHi+Clean your teeth with ae and water, The soap destroys the animalcules. 2. Wash your hands in water mixed with a little lemon juice. It will also soften them......... Norah Beaumont=See No. 22.......... M.¢, 7.—1, Consulta physician. 2. We do not know the par- ties............d0. S—To Remove MoLrs.—A subscriber, some months ago, sent us the following, which has since been succes- fully tested by another party: “I once had on my face a mole, Which Ttrequently cut while shaving. I removed it without any trouble merely by applying a stick of nitrate of silver to it ouce or twice. Moisten the stick—a little drop of spittle is enough touch the mole onee, and it wiil tarn black. Do not interfere witn it while sore; it will dry up and fall off like a scab. Ifitdoes not come off clean enough the first time, re- pe IU”. - ssuee- Sufferar.—1. Ope of your troubles is caused by mpure blood, Sarsaparilla will benefit you. 2. Lemon juice and a little Water may have the desired effect... .... Subscriber. —See answer to “Ned” im last week’s paper........ . Curiosity, — To Make Ice.—Into :. metal vase half filled with water pour | very gently anequal quantity of ether, so that no mixture take place of thet wo liquids The vase is placed Tindar thea celver of an ait-pump, which fs so fixed upon its support as to re- maim quite steady when.the airis pumped out. At the first stroke of the piston the ether becomes na state of ebullition; it is evaporated totally in less than a minute, and the water re mainseon verted into ice......-... YT. 4.—TO Mags Lemon Juice, —Takéot fresh lemon peel, 2 owces; strained lemon juice, pint; refined sugar, 214pounds. id these toa pint of water, dissoly@ with agentle heat, and tien strain the solution while Not. .ee,....S—Bee answer tow. S. iu thus column, ors, parents, and all interested (and who is not?) in stem- { “St is gO ee full, clear, explicit, and instructive.”°— ere especially Danvers, was astonisued at the ap FATHER’S HOME—AND SOBER. BY MIRIAM FRENCH. Cne evening, passing through the sireet, I saw two ragged urchins meet; Said one, who seemed the eldest boy, While every feature beamed with joy: “John, father’s home—and seber!”’ The other answered: ‘Is that so? then we'll have supper—thatI know; And off for home those two did’start; But, oh! these words went to my heart: * John, father’s home—and sopder !” Back, swift as lightning, few my mind ’ To that sad home just ieft behind, - Where dwelt my children and my wife In poverity—a wretched life: Father’s not home—nor sober. I thought.of my poor Auna now, Her griet-bowed form, her care-worn brow; Then farther back te days of bliss, My Annia’s smiles, my children’s kiss— Bright days when I was sober! My heart grew very lone and sad, Remorse and shame nezr @érove me mad; TI knew that I caused all their wo— T once so proud, now sunk so low— A drunkard—seldom sober! Fierce was the struggle—hard the fight Which raged within my soul that night. I called fer help—God heard my prayer, Chased from my breast the wild despair, And helped me to keep sober. From rim I yowed { would abstain, And touch the poison ne’er again. I’ve kept that proniise firm, and they, My happy children, now can say: “Cur father’s home—ane sober!” ee ee JIRREL CAP SQUIRREL CAP. CHAPTER XXUT SQUIRREL CAP’S SACRIFICE. Even while the fight was raging at the canon, Lienten- ant Danvers had succeeded in reaching Davis’ Ranche, with his troop, and was Overjoyed to find his friend Mor- ton so convalescent as to be able to undertake the home- ward journey immediately. The handsome reward which was tendered Davis and his wife was only accepted in part; and, aftera brief night’s rest, the party, with Morton in their midst, set out on their return io Laramie, a number of trappers and hunters, desiring to visit the fort for ammunition and other traps, bearing them company. Charley Morton was stili pale and emaciated, but hope —that medicine of the mind—had had a wonderful effect upon his frame as well, and, though they made easy stages for his benefit, he managed to sit his saddle with- oul excessive weariness. At the close of their first day’s journey, they camped, as before, at the base of Raccoon Ridge. And here every one was Surprised to find the old trapper’s lodge deserted ; by the entire family, except the panther and the parrot, | both of which speedily gave evidence of their being with- in. The presence of the former, of course, prevented any one from attempting to force the door; but they soon be- came satisfied, without an internal eXumination, that the rest were gone. Squirrel Cap’s friends, the hunters and trappers form- ing a portion of the party, were not seriously alarmed, since they conjectured that he was merely out upon one of his periodical trappipg expeditions. Lut to Danvers— the one, it will be remembered, knowing of Allie forming a part of the household—this disappearance was at once mysterious and alarming. He remembered the forbid- ding sternness With which, upon his last interview with | Squirrel Cap, the latter had refused to listen to his pro- posal that Allie should, asan act cf justice, be restored to her real father; and his prominent impression was that the old ranger, fearful of an attempt being made to rob | him of his treasure, had set cut with her for some recess | of the neighboring mountains. 3 Bat, upon their taking up their camp at the foot of the | Mountain, some fugitive Indians brought them intelli- | gence of the fight that had been raging at Red Canon dur- ; lng the day. The informers were evidently of those in league with the mail-robbers, for they gave a garbled ac- count of the manner in which tie military were being cut up, and said that, at the time they quitted the vicinity, the great Captain had captured eighteen soldiers, and that the rest were In retreat. Danvers Nardly.knew what to make of this, but it ad- ded tothe mystery of Squirrel Cap’s' and Allie’s disap- pearance—though in what way he could not guess—and also so increused his anxiety for the safety of Morton—in case the robbers should really have obtained an advant- age over the troops, that he determined to push on for the fort, after a few hours’ rest. . The camp broke up three hours before daybreak, and the march was continued as rapidly as Lieutenant, Mor- ton’s Jeeble condition would permit, ne , arrived within twenty miles of Laramie, when every” tion of Squirrel Cap leading old Nineveh in the same ai- ion they Were going, aviile the sight of the beautiful all but Danvers. The o]d trapper was haggard.and wot and he walked ata limping, broken pace. He paid hy little attention to those who surrounded him, but kept on his way, merely saying to Allie: - ‘Hide yer purty picter, leetle gal, from the wulgar gaze of the myrnidions of the satrap, as Thomas Hood said to the Baroness of Trafalgar. We has our say, an’? we weaves our way. Come along, Nineveh, ole gal! . Danvers could not help noticing the sad and dejected look of Allie, and his heart smote him a little as he guessed the cause. | “But at least tellme where you are going, my dear old friend,’? he said. ‘To the fort, sir; to the embattletured mansions of war! Come along, Nineveh, ole gal!?? anvers did not speak for some moments. He thought of the motives he had assigned to his own mind for the cold trapper’s desertion of his cabin, he also thought of the terrible earnestness with which his first pleading for »Anie’s restoration had been waved off, and now when the reality, the magnitude of the sacrifice about to be made dawned upon him, he was mute in reverence beiore the great, good heart that made it, “Squirrel Cap,” said he, ‘I—I haven’t words to say what [ want tol”? “Then doant you try it, sir,” wasthe stern reply. “Go on, you an’ the rest on yer! Goon, an’ announce in the embattletured buttricks of the great, the coming sacri- fice!. Come along, Nineveh, ole gal!? ‘ They saw that it was useless to expostulate with him, and so they galloped on ahead—Danvers with 2 lighter heart than he had known for many a day. lie explained to Morton as they rodé, and they both hailed the rising stockades and block buildings of Lara- | inie with delight. Soldiers and officers came out to wei- { come them home. } _ishali not attempt to describe the meeting between Morton and Helen Larrimer, but I doubt not that it ‘was none the less delicious than brief; for the lieutenant’s condition was so feeblevas yet, and the long ride had so exhausted him that he had to ve taken tu his quarters at once. As soon as Danvers could obtain an interview with Miss Larrimer, which she was as anxious for as himself, he explained everything to ur as rapidly and succinctly as possible. The lady could scarcely believe the evidences of her senses when sie learned that the long-lost daughter of her guardian was already almost within his embrace. ' “The old trapper cannot fail to be here with his charge in two hours’ time at the latest,’? said the lieutenant. “We had better seck Major Warfield at once, and let him know everything as delicately as possible.” They both hesitated as to tie most fitting manner to perform this service, but at length sought the presence of Lhe major im company. ijeleu prepared him, and then Danvers broke the truth pes him in a blunt, soldierly way—deeming that was the est. But the infirm health of the old soldier could not bear up at once; and he fainted quite away. He was soon re- stored, however, and gradually gathered the whole his- tory irom Danvers’ lips. Tne story of Squirrel Cap‘s saving his daughter's life, and of the great sacrifice he Was about making out of a simple conviction of duty moved the major to tears. The weather was warm and pleasant for the season of the year, and it was decided they should all go out on the plain to meet the lost one restored. ° Morton’s affability on his sick bed, had acquainted his brother officers with the wonderful event. The non-com- missioned officers had got hold of it ; so had the soidiers; so had the hunters aud trappers at Gumpert’s; in an hour the whole garrison and its sarrvundings was ablaze With excitement. All who could be spared from the fort were out upon the plain, standing as close as etiquette would permit, to the group formed by Mis, Larrimer, Major Warfield, Lieutenant Danvers, and a few other officers. Major Warfield had proposed to ride out immediately to meet the expected party ; but Danvers had persuaded him to desist from this, out of respect to Squirrel Cap. It was while thus waiting upon the plain that acourier arrived, announcing a victory at Red Canon, and the ut- ter destruction of the robber horde, with the exception of the redoubtable Captain and a few of his crew. But even this intelligence, acceptable and gratifying as it was, did not sensibly detract from the general interest in the arrival of Squirrel Cap. and his charge. | Suddenly a great shout arose from the entire assem- blage, as the well-known figure of the Ranger of Raccoon | Ridge appeared over the little eminence of the road, an eighth of a mile west of the fort, leading old Nineveh by the bridle rein, Of course, the picturesque little beauty in the saddle was the all-absorbing object of atten tion, and occasioned especial emotion in the breast of Major Warilield ; but no one failed to perceive with sorrow tye forlorn and hag- gard appearance of Squirrel Cap, as he limped slow] Yy tue ward the group formed by Major Warfield, M:ss Larri- mer, and the officers. Little Allie herelf looked around her, with wonder in her great eyes, and seemed scarcely to comprehend what such an array of people meant. Squirrel Cap said hardly a word. He halted, lifted Al- lie from the mule, and placed her in the arms of her fa- ther, whe strained her to his heart while, soldier that he was, the tears towed down his cheeks. The old trapper remainee standing, like a statue, by the head of his mule, for some moments. ° “Show the major your keepsake, litile gal,’ he said, at length, speaking in cold, even tones. Childlixe, she drew the little cross from her bes.m, and held it up to the major and Miss Larrimer. “Ts it all right, major??? asked Squirrel Cap, inthe same dull, unimpassioned tones. “Yes, yes, noble, nople fellow! Sheis indeed my own little Alice, my long-lost child!’ exclaimed Major Warfield, again folding her to his heart, while the girl submitted to his caresses in a dreamy way, as if she scarcely knew what it was ail about. ‘ “Come along, Nimeveh, ole gal!’? said the trapper, turning away, -as though he had just completed an every- day business transacuion, and preparing to retrace his steps. + Bat both Major Warfield and Danvers sprang after and detained him. “Told, hoid, Squirrel Cap, dear, dear friend !* cried the former. ‘You must never leave us! You shall not, at least, go till 1 have thanked you for this priceless boon you ave conferred upon me !”? “Major,” said the trapper, now struggling to conceal his emotions, ‘1 dug that ere leetle gal out of snow, out of the deep snow. I warmed her to life, an’ built a big fire, and sot her up agin a tree, an’ thawed her back into this ere mortual existence, ailon to ‘whiich I can bring ole Nineveh to witness. ~ An’ when I sot watcuin’ of her all night in the forest, I said ento myself many times, in the thrillin’ accents of the Bishop of London to the Queen of Cream ‘Tartaryji finders keepers,’ sir, finders keepers. - 1 took her to my palatial. aboje on Raccoon’s ragin’ Ridge, an’ interduced. to my family; an’ 4 built her a budwer, sir, yes, sir; 4 bud wer, as sacred tothe dominion of beauty an’ honor an’ purity as any georgeous temple as’ ever frowned’ adewn' the rollin’ Ganges of the West;:an’ all this ere: l-can prove by either Puss, the panther, or Polly, the parroi—my)te- mainin’ family at my palatial aboje. An’ more’h that, sir, 1 civerlized her, sir, 1] taught her how fo eatjan’ drink and sit on cheers, like wue-blue,, onten-onten, spang-up Christianized humanity; an’ how to cook, sn— roast, bile bake an’ fry, and how to sew garmints, like a maiden of prosperity and truth. More’n that, sir, | taught her how to read, how to read the holy Bible, an’ Pilgriin’s Progress, an’ Ichabod Jones, written by Amos Farthing- dale in the eighteenth centurion. [lifted her up from the yawnin’ pit of heathing and paging benightedpess an* sot ner on the pinnacle of Christian beauty. Allon which I calis on Lieutenant Danvers an’ that genial Engiisher— fit should have been. mentioned that Mr. George St. George De Courcy formed one of the grovp|—to bear Wwit- ness to. Ina word, major, I said to myself, me an’ this jeetle gal, my darter, shall climb together outen the Wal- ley of the Shadder of Death, an’, takin’ the crooked trail of righteousness, go on an’ on to the Pike's Peak of heaving. But the lieutenant came an’ presented, your claims. I debiged-an’ defied an? reared agin hin, an’? waved him off! Yes, sir, waved him off. But arter he was gone, sir, I begun to rastle with my sokl. It was a tougher fight, sir, than the one I had on this werry plain with Ringtail Gaffer, the Texan alligator.’ But’! won the scrimmage, sir, an’ I says te this leetle gal, theugh it busted my heart while I was sayin’ of it: ‘Come up, come up, my bony, bony lass, fur we must away o’er the mountings,7o’er the seas, to Laramie's em- battletured buttricks of war, Whar your rightfal father waits fur hisown. The leetle gal cried an’ got pate, but she come, an’ here she is. Major, 1 have d@ne my juty to my country an’ the army! Farewell, sh, anG@ may God biess you, sir, an’ ali them noble knights an’ Ja- dies here assemblatured in battle array! EF Tetrates my steps to my cottage by the sea, an’ let. nO'man stop my going |? ay “But why not stay with us, dear, good old. man that you are?’ said Miss Larrimer, repressing ler smiles.at this, her first hearing of Squirrel Cap’s Style of eloc- tion, and lending the aid of het Sweet voice to detain tim. “We will all be geod and Kind to you, aud you can see your little Allie every duy.’’ i “Nay, fair dame, I cannot listen to the siren woice; my hum is in the wilderness of wastes! Come along, Nineveh, ole gal}? it { During all this interview, Squirrel Can’s voice aba man- ner were so desolate and sorrywfal, that few could smile at his discourse—whose style had become go familiar to him as to render it indispensable to him in expressing any species of emotion; and now, as he turned. away once more, he was the picture of rugged.despair. . Bat little Allie—apparently now appreciating the whole situation thoroughly—suddenly escaped from her father's embrace, and sprang to his side. She did uot speak, but the fullvess of her little savage heart fodid relief ia a, x In the morning, dnd they had |- j ona, pari- little maiden in the saddle was, of cburse, a mystery to’ torrent of tears, which poured like water upon her fosier- father’s hand. 7 ; > Bod sot It was then that Squirrel Cap quivered like a leaf. Bat he pushed her gently from him, and merely sai: ‘ “That good-lookin’ lieutenant there will soon help your father to forget the ole man, Allie, leetle gal!’ Miss Larrimer smiled as she fooked at Danvers, forthe ad caysed lim to blush to the roets of his hair... é ; O.more, but. sprang upon ole, Ni i «3 atiter Sat a dispersing. The group C d- center, Were, just; about re-entering the 5 rate, »| leading into the stockade, when a great shouting upon the road caused then: all to turn, when théy were, aston- ished at seeing’a wild figure on a gigantic si¢ed, follow is by half-a-dozem others, dash down at fail speed toward. the fort. t ‘aay “The Captain! the Captain ! cried a'dozen Voices. _ Miss Larrimer turned white with terror, and th major, with his officers, stood stock-still, hardly knowing What, to make of the wonderful apparition. avid ee Bub the twenty or thirty lianters, who still remained upon the plain, were not. accastomed to be taken by any surprise, and they immediately threw themselves between the entrance and the coming horseman, With rifles cocked. Ove of them: instantly fell dead with one of the Cap- tain’s bullets in his brain, while at thesame time the rob- ber-chieftain’s towering horse plunged to’ his knees, pierced to the heart. : r : A dozen or more rifles; cracked, and the mad followers of the mad Captain were no more. 3 The Captain himself staggered to his feet, and as he did so, it was evident that he nad also received a bullet in the breast. His cap had fallen, and his black ringlets fluttered in the wind. Iits small, graceful form, was travel-stained, his lips were parted, and his great black eyes blazed with tne brilliancy of approaching insanity. The crowd instinctively parted before him as he stag- gered toward the party at the gate, and as they did so they noticed Major Wartield was as pale as death, and that he clutched the stockade for support.’ “Let me look at lier! Let melook on ber only once be- fore I die * exclaimed the Wounded bravo, tottering to- ward tue group, all of whom mechanically shrguk from him. ; But the great, blazing black eyes, were rivetted solely upon one, and that was little Allie, who cowered feartully at her father’s side. ‘Ttisshe! it isshe! Oh, God, I.thank Thee! once more gazed upon the face of my child !” His child! : ; Tue bravo tottered to his Knee. He seemed choking. He tore open the bosom of his jacket and vest for air, and the woman was revealed | ; “Yes, yes,”? gasped tis most miserable wretch: ‘I be- hold thee once snore, my beautiful one! Oh, this is worth the black past—the years of crime! Do not take her away, Warfield! I know how I wronged you; but ina few moments I shall be dust. Let me gaze on her while my eyes retain their vision. You know I shall never see her again; for she will be an angel, while I—Il—on, mer- cy, Heaven! How beautiful she is! How—how-——”. The wretch fell dead. “i “Come, come, come |? exclaimed the major, in liusky accents, and dragging bis daughter into tue fort. ‘This is no place for you nor me, my child.” Danvers supported Miss Larrimer within, and the rest gradually dispersed, with horror upon tneir faces, and in their hearts. i Nearly a-week had elapsed after the tragedy just re- lated. The Captain slumbered in a nameless graye, and the denizens of Fort Laramie had, in a measure, regained their wonted composure; when another event, at minor importance, occurred, a glance at which will be of inter- estto the reader, I think, although not altogether rele- vant to the thread of our story, because it will afford him some idea of the extent to which these mail robbers car- ried their depredations and outrages, This was the bringing in, by one of the last parties re- turning in from the massacre of Red Canon, of two of the remaining robbers—the villain called Thumbscrew. and Moses, the Jew bar-Keeper of the Robber’s Ranch, On the morning after they were broughtin, they were led out, and placed upon the scaffold of a huge gallows, which had been constructed on the plain, immediately outside the fort. Here, in the presence of the soldiers and hunters who surrounded them, before meeting their justly merited doom, tuey were allowed to criminate each other to their heart's content. « This course was taken by Major Warfield—who had al- ready obtained their coniessions in writing, for the pur- pose of transmission to the War Department—front the conviction that it would have a moral effect npon the motley throng of auditors, not a few of whom were sus+ pected of haying been covertly accessory to similar outrages, The villains were led out together, with their arms pine ioned, and the halters placed ronna. their necks. Moses betrayed the most abject fear, and quivered like a leaf; while the bolder raffian turned u deflant glauce to the hooting, jeering crowd. “How does that cravat feel,. Moses?’ cried a voice. And a dozen similar taunts saluted them from allsides. , “On, shentlemens,’’ cried tie wretched Jew, “circum- stances prought me into de gvonection with this horrible maps. lsaw him kill Tree young womens, mit his own hands, an’ then poke a little paby in de fire, pecause it squealed too loud !? “You infernal liar!” growled Thumbserew, “Didn't T have you give upthat whole batch of German emigrants t@ Faniire, to be burned alive, only 4 month ago?’ nC TELA PO ERE CCE aT Arana 5 thg dog de “No, shentlemans; Gatwas him what give dem up to de zavages. All de poor beobles cries out: ‘Moses, ve vill remeniber you in our brayers!!’ *? “Ha! ha! ha!’? laughed the other villains ‘*why, men. we never had a figut, but this eld cowardly wreten went picking over the field, like a raven, robbing the dead, and cutting the throatsiof the wounded. He killed four men this: wayrat Rock Independence !” ; “Shentlemens,” cried Moses, “if you lets me off I will exbose de Villainies of hundreds of oder beobles far vurse nor me. This horrible mans here, 1 am sorry to confess, deserves death’ a pillion dimes; put Lam combarativeiy innocent.” io ; “T don’t ask for my life, men,?? retorted'the manlier vil- lain; “but | would rather die fifty:times than let:you seb this Old villain free. .He knew more about the Captain’s plans than anv one in the gang, and often put him up to deeds of cruelty which he wouldn’t otherwise have com- mitted. He caused the Captain to turn over three dis- a parties of emigrants to the tender mercies of the red- ins. After these recriminations had continued till the crowd, fairly disgusted, clamored for the sentence to be executed, Thumbscrew cried out: “Men, put the question to you. Which is the manlier ‘of the two—I, or this sniveling wretch at. my side? “You! you!” cried a dozen voices. ; on will you grant me a little favor om the strength e 2 8 - : ' “What is it? what is it __ “Let me have the pleasure of looking on his death, be- fore you stretch my own neck.” “Yes! yes! you:shall! you shall). « ; “No, shentlemens! no! no! datis no fairy play!? howled the Jew, dancing about in terror and rage. } Butthe trap gave way beneath him, and his cries were throttled by the.running noose. ; The other wretch looked on, with undisguised delight and adimgration, at the struggles.of his strangling confe- derate; and then met his own death with stoical-indiffer- ence. 30 6 Itshoula be mentioned thatdn the case of Luke, the Station-keeper, who had been captured, with others, he received eventually a full pardon, through the revresen- tations made by Lieutenanh)Danvers.o.. . From the estimates, made by Major Warfield in his re- port to ‘the War Department,’ the-astonishing. develop- Inents were made known that-during, the eighteen er twenty months in which this single band.of robbers.oper- ated iu the West, the mail had beenwebbed fyur succes- sive times, though to wliat amountcould only be conjec- tured. Nineteen emigrant trains were estimated to have been plundered and destroyed, involving the less of life of ninety-four persons,-men, women, and children, with tie Capture of horses, mules, and other live stock to the yaine of four hun@red and fifty thousand dollars. So thatit is not surprising that both Major Warfield and Lieutenant , Danvers, with other officers, who were prominent in-exterminating thes gang, received prompt promotion at the hands of tie Department, which tney did, omy alew months after the events 1 have narrated in the last few chapters. f nods jo. “fo be-eoncluded next week.) : TWO NEW, STORIES will. be commenced NEXT WEEK, by. two splendid Authors... SCHEMING ,MADELON; or, THE SE- CREY DOOR, by the Author of ‘Preritess Catuneen,”* “Lapy or GRAND Covrrt,”* and “Rose oF KENDALE.”” The.other, “CON- RAD THE CONVICT, or, THE BRAND OF ORIME,” by Fran- cis A. Durivsce, Authorof ‘Ramon tHE OurLaw.”? >o-~« ‘ »»«“Jtems: of Interest. R=> An extraordinary freak of nature has been recent- ly seen in England at the country seat of the Earl of Chi- chester, A,domestic hen, two years old, had been in the habit of laying her eggs in a Kennelin whicha dog had six puppies. Wanting to sit she was shut np for ten days. After being let loose she went tothe kennel again and twook charge of thé pups. She covered them with her wings and scratched. abont to learn themto feed. In short she did everything but ih urish them. When the p app.es were taken away she fought furiously to prevent ies 4 ee" . Se The last method of: combining style and economy in grave: Inatters) obcured at -Ajbany not long since. /A man went to an undertaker to borrow. a valuable casket, covered with velvet, to use at the funeral of his brother, purposing totake the body Out after the funeral, place it { | in a pine cofin; and retarn the casket to the owner, £3- A German paper tells the story of an enamored couple, (le. 65; she 48,) who concinded to get marvied. The jardeht- lover was too feeble to walk to churof, and was afraid to trust himself inside a jolting carriage, so the bride put himinto a perambulator and wheeled him to cliurch. married him, and wheeled him home, ike It peta ely asserverated that a large, good-look-. ) iberately and calewatingly committed suicide, in the basin ef tie fountain in the State House Yard in’ Uartford, Conn. He held his head under water until he | was dead, ie bad been at play With other dogs a few moments béfere. ka Mr. Charles Wild, a respected citizen of Columbia County, N..Y., Whilereading the ether evening, suddenty~ complained of a violent pala about the head, and @ most uucomiertable sensation the eyes. He retired; and on awakening tle next morning found that he was totally blind. 4 ‘p> Ata dinner-party given in this city lately, a rosé. _Was placed by the plate of each guest, and on touching a smapisy z @ to represent a thorn, the top,of the rose fell back, disciosing a very elaborate bill of fare, printed in gola letters on White satin ribbon. | — we 4 YOR prota gentleman 1m California, who doubted tha e€ , ass on the Pacific slope grew un inch per day, | Wasshoivn a stalk 126 inches long, Which grew in four mo ths. | is - #4 One of the gentler sex says, thatthe heaven of the stropg-minded jwomen is ‘where buttons grow in their, _proper places, and nien cease from bothering, and needles ure ut rest. ro The Aiapet of aerial voyages made by Charles Green, the English aeronant, recently deceased, was over 700.. He once made au ascension on a horse attached to his balloon. "A cat in Boston, noted for its spotless white hairs, fell into a@ barrel of black ink, aud reappearing was so unrecognizable thatit was driven from premises where it had long been a favorite. . RE- The Emperor Napoleon recentiy received from the Spanish Marshal Prim, 20 000 cigars with giltends. The Emperor acknowledge the compliment by sending the Marshal a pair of costly vases, kas~ A Boston physician, in cases of scarlet fever, pré- Scribes warm, lemonade with a little mucilage, and a sheet wrung eutiof hot water laid on the stomach, renew- Ing it as often as) it cools. ‘ k= A Norwegian in Farmington, Wis., recently ate poison hemlock in mistake for horseradish. He died in spasms in fifteen minutes. éa@- A young man in Michigan lost his voice on Christ- mas last, and has beem ntable to speak since, except in his sleep’when he talks asdiuently as ever. a> A Louisville burglar tied a corkscrew to the end of a pole, and pulled throughia broken window the clothes of the sleeping occupant of the, room. / A Frenchman says, that after the eight year a horse gets an annual wrinkle on the upper edge of the lower eyelids ? | Ba- The sum of twenty-five cents is new charged for admission into the Tennessee Penitentiary Criminal Court, guests with passes excepted. 8a> MWigh-heeled shoes have brotight two Hartford young ladies to the doctor’s door for ‘treatment for pain- ful distortion of the feet. #a> The Italy, said to be the largest merchant screw steanerin the world—the Great Eastern excepted—was jaunched at, Glasgow recently. When an Indian campis captured ont West, the soldiers secure the loose scalps to send East for chignons. £a> There were 20,000 bricks in the three chimneys of an old hotel recently torn down in Concord, N. H. ae Crop reportsin our exchanges from ail parts of the country, are on the whole thus far very favorabie. Ot Extraordinary Case of Hydrophobia. A correspondent, who is a physician, sends us the fol- lowing particulars of an extraordinary case of hydropho- bia. His letter is dated at Toledo, Ohio, April 20: “About four years ago two men in this city had a fight inasaloon. They were both powerful men, and they had a long and bloody tussel witheach other. While fighting one of the men had a finger badly bitten by the other. The finger became inflamed, and the inflammation ex- tended to the whole arm; and for some montlis it was expected the man would die, but he recovered and the wound healed up; but as soon as the wound had healed he began to show some signs of insanity or madness. He fancied, when sleeping, that the man who had bitten him was always attacking him, and he would wake up in a great rage, striking in every direction at his antagouist, and so he would remain for some time, before the delu- sion passed off. Shortly after this he began to see the man’s shadow in water, and in all other fluids mixed with water, but it would not be visible in a looking-glass. Other symptoms increased the first two years, and were only exhibited once a month at fall moon, At the close of the third year, at every full moon, he fancied the moon was close by, and that between him and the moon stood his old antagonist in a threatening attitude. He would rave and be furious for about twenty-four hours, and then the spasm would pass away; but in the mean time he would not attack any other person. The novelty of the case puzzled all therphysicians in this city, and in this part of our State; but 1t terminated fatally at the last full moon. Just-as the moon was rising he happened to be at one of our docks on the Maumee river, and fancied the moon and his old rival were ‘preparing for a fight, He sprang to meet him, jumping into the water andiwas drowned before assistance could reach him. The name of the man thus afilicted was Patrick Clair, an old resi- dent of this city, and at one time an active business man. The man who bit him was a stranger, whom nobody knew. and was neyer seen here afterward.’ P~DeX!5 east i Pleasant Paragraphs. {Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing toward making this coluunn.an attractive feature of the. New York Werk ty, and they will oblige us by sending for ~publica- tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for general perusal. It is not nece¢ yy that the articles should. be as they are pithy and likely to create amusement, mhimor defects will be remedied. | MAGNUM BONUM. Some time ago, the “Union Star Line” madea large shipment of bones from Louisville to Philadelphia. Tne weather being rather warm, asa naturel consequence, the contents of .the cars distilled a periume slighty obnoxious to the olfactory organs of the recetving clerks. Numerous complaints were made, and at last & command was issued to discontinue the shipment of bones until the weather changed. The manifest clerk of L: became indignant at this ungent.emanly mandate, and invoking the poetic muse, responded: thus: Why should man’s folly lead him ‘vo hear vile scandal’s tone? Was not the first of woman Created trom a bone? Did not the dauntiess Samson When friendless and alone, Deal death to countiess thousands With but a single bone? Then cease your condempation, And speak in milder tones, For what is bona ideman But animated bones? 5 Bones ‘and smell connected are, ' Philosophers don't @cubt it, And could we ship them seperate, We'd make no bones about it. EE, BETTING MOURNER. 3 Down in the Blue Grass region,-in Kentucky, there lived two neighbors, whom we shall dub Smith and Jones. Now, if there was anything that would arouse Smith's anger, it was the inti- mation that anypmamhad a horse which conld beat; his roan fily. Jones,was also owner of a horse, and there. existed a ri- valry between the two mien ‘as to Which should own the fastest horse. This rivalry was about toculminate in a race, when, unfortunately, Smith’s wHe died. There waSstch a large num- ber of mourners present at the funeral,that Smith had his roan brought out trem, his stable, tha: he mightbe usefulin taking to the grave-yard some of the friends who had not yehicles of their own. Jones was in the rear with his horse, which by some means became seared; and dashed up the road ata furions pace, startling Smith’s horse, which tollowed in a dashing run. As they passed ‘by: Smith’s carriage, in the | forward) pant of the: procession, the grief-stricken widower looked out, and seeing them neck and neck, he forgot everything Mh the excitement ot the moment, and sung out: “Tero to one on the roan, by the eternal! Who'll take me up?’ **Ttis needless to say that there was no takers. : SMIKE, RevRaw. A PUNGENT ROSE. ; A little boy, in the habit otf bringing flowers to school, was much annoyed because his teacher, ayoung lady, so much ad. mired them that she took them from him and kept them for her own gratification. ‘To get ‘square’ with the teacher ‘he one day brought to the school a very large and atiraetive rose, of a rare variety, having first carefully sprinkled: it with Cayenne pepper. Taking two or three of bis schoolmates into his copfi-; dence, the rose was passed from one to the other, and ail pre- tended to smeliit in turn, until the ieacher espied it. She or- dered it to be brought to her at orice, ‘and as she received it she gracefully applied itto her nasal organ; and indulged‘ina pro-- longed sniff, which was succeedéd bya sonorous sneeze" a-che-' hoo! a-che-hoo !? repeated twenty times in lessthan two min- utes, to the infinite delight of the: boys, as they wi:messed her sneezing tit, indicatedthat she was much tickled, if not pleased, with that pungent rose. Miss E.'B: “BETTER THAN YOUR’N.” Farmer Dowell haying drivena load of vegetables to market, got drunk with the proceeds, and, in. a half-uncouscious srate, Was tumb!ed into the wagon, and driven home by his son, a boy, of fourteen. To punish him for his intemperance, the boy se- lected the worst roadsjon his:route home,and gave the inebriate a merciless jolting, whieh partially sobered him. On the follow- ipg morning the father called his son aside, and said, “You sarved me a nasty trick vesterday, Sammy; and almost sheok the inwards out-of me. If Lhad sarved my father as you treat- ed me, he would have given me & sound thrashing!” ““Oh, your father!” exclaimed Sammy, sneeringly; “a niece father you must have had!? ‘Don’t say, apytung agin my father,” ait. swered Farmer McDowell, angrily, “He was a heap better than | your’n,” AOULa HARD ON TEE DOCTOR. |” A few years aga, the Common Courcil of acity in Pennsylra- nia, was honored by having for its President a worthy member of the medical profession. On’one occasion, When there was no business before the house, a membergwho was in the hardware business, moved thatthe gentieman from the second ward, Mr, W., be required to furnish their worthy messenger with a good turkey for his Christmas dinner. -Mr. W. offered as an amend- ment that the hardwareman furnish’a sufficient number of half inch steel tacks forstuffing another. Mr.J. moved an additional amendment, that the doctor, who wasiv the chair, showlda fur- nish a pill to aid the digestion of the tacks, "The amendment, being open tor debate, a very grave and earnest looking gentle- man arose, and said, ‘““Mr.President,our worthy messenger is 3 warm personal friend of mine. . I was perfectly satisfied to per- mit the original motion, and the first amendmentto pass with, out any objection on my part, having every confidence in the ability of my friend’s stomach to easily dispose of the turkey and, the steel tacks; but the doctor's pill is a more dangerous affair; and not wishing to be accessory’ before ihe fact im a case of manslaughter, f move the last amendment be laid on the table.” Passed unanimously. , UNSMAN, A FISHY DOXOLOGY, | ahs Fu During one of the aniual religious meetings lately held in this city, a large congregation attended, and atong the number an ld lady, partially deaf, eon by an interesting young ady. The former like many others, especially those younger in pee a ‘attempted to appear less deaf tnan she really is. They, the church before the exercises were concluded, and as they were descending the stairs from the gallery, the windows, being open, the younger lady’s ears were saluted by a fish.Ven- ders voice, crying, ‘Shad! fresh shad! Here’s yer fresh shad!” whieh the old lady commeovted ov by saying, “I always | like 10 come out of church early: T hear them singing the Dox- ology Row.”? itanp. ‘ A RAILROAD RFFIGY. Ashort time azo, asa train trom the Union Stock Yards to o Chicago, on the Fort Wayne and Chicago Railroad, was passing _ round a curve, the engineer blew his whistle for the brakes to be put on, and the train soon came toa stop; but not until the engine had ren over what appeared to be aman. The engine “baeked ‘up, some.ot the passengers rushes Guts, oder of the In- iled, dies fainted, and great excitement prevaile, at all fears were errs by the discovery that the cdrs had only passed over 2 loff suit of clothes, staffed with stray. M. D. youl 3 A SUNDAY-SCHOOL BLUNDER. hittle Dick Devers was reading from the Testament in his Sunday-seneol class, fit the topo Vhis» voice, as most all little boys do this passage: “And straightway he was met by a man with an naclean shirt!” eOf Course there wasia general titter, as hig hearers were well aware that he should have said, “Un, elealspirit.” ot ; nibderetkd iaewte 2a Why is the letter 4 never cold? .Because it is always in hot water... 5 ; Whar animal is ii, whose name, spelled dechwards, hecomes something trom which rogues’ coats are often made? Rat, FAKS AND FANCIS. Ifaman sukcedes in climeim’ hart wa up the Jader of prosper- ity—metatorakly spekein’—thare will bee plenta ov peopel redy uv pirktius to help him phurther up: bat iff he maiks a misstep an’ falls back too the phut of the lader, evry 1 will pheel kanled upon too kepe him thare, wether he’s too blaim for his tumbel or Knot. Sumbody hessed that “an honist man’s the noblest work, ov God,” an’ a gude menny peopel hev repeted hiz litle joak; but | iam ortherised bithe President ov the Sqoshtun Ile Knmpana | to sa that the Great Ruler hes never kompleted enny of His “no- ble works.” z Old mades, az aginral thing, doant like tew grow old harf so wal az kommin peopel. «I new i ov this k ass oust that used tew tern the han’s ov the Klock bak tew maik herself think she wazn't gittiw’ older. It wuldn’t be hafso hard to make some men rite a good book as it would be to make thein rite their names under a temprince nledge. , PERSONAL.—If the femaii who took a hanful ov hare from the top ov my hed wen I acidently droped her bonit intew the mud, as I Was tryin tew bring her out ov her swoon, wil return the saim i wil be very thanksul, and also pa the frate‘on itt. Ifsum ov our publick mén was tew go to Sabath Skules unis tha learned the Nine Commanders, i think tha would be ben- by fited by itt. Jason HORSKINS, A FLOATING ANCHOR. : Joe Greer, a wateriman, having been arrested for stealing an anchor from a boat-house, the magistraie asked him where he obtained the anchor. The accused very coolly replied, “‘Yer honor, T'll swear 1 caught it afloat!’). He was boarued for thirty days at the expense of the county. SNORKEY, A SMART MAN. : A certain clerk in the country, wishing to display lis intelh- } gence, referred to. Pocahontas asa great, noble, kind-hearted andtrne man. “ITold on!’ cried hiscompanion, “Pocahontas wasa woman.” “she was, eh?’ said the clerk. “Well, that’s just my juck! How wasTto know? Y never read the Bibte i” ‘. MaYFLOWER. THR FROG'S EXCLAMATION. One eveningin spring, as Pat was returning home from the village store, be heard (for the first time in his lite) the frogs Thinkingit a strange noise, he listened without being able to account for it. Onreaching home he told his employer of ‘the strange voices he had heard near the brook; he could not make out what all the noise was about, unless it was that they were talking politics. ‘‘But whatever it was,” he added, “there was one benivolent ould qintleman ihat pleased me more than all the rest, for he. kept ali the while callmg out ‘More Rum! more rum!’ and T thought shure he must be very thirsty.” Maup CaRROLt, A PHYSICIAN NOT NEEDED. The wife of a wealthy farmer becoming sudden)y ill, the hus- band wrote a letter to the nearest physician, asking him to come to his house aS quick as possible. Just as he bad finished the note, his wife entered the room, saying she was well again, and that she did not need medical attendance. Having listened with delight to thisinformation, the husband wrote the follow- ing at the bottom of the letter: ‘‘{My wife is all right again; so you need not come.” The farmer then handed the note.to one ot his farm-hands, and told him to hasten with it to the dvetoy, JUPITER, SAW THE POINT. A young Jady, who officiated as teacher ina country-sehoo!, had on several oceasions fainted at some trivial thing, and had always succeeded in falling in the arms of a young man, whom we will call Clark, the owner of a farm adjoining the schooi- house. One day she was startled by seeing a huge rat make his appearance at the door, and it so happened that Cark was fixing the adjoining fenee. Her screams brovght him te her assistanee, and once more she had the pleasure of tainting in his arms some tive minutes aiter the rat had disappeared. Speaking of it that evening mm. the presence.of one of her schol ars she was taken aback by his remark that, “You didn’t faint til Mr. Clark wasclose enough to catch youin his arms?” In return, she gave him a look, full of anger and contempt, to which he replied very coolly, ‘‘You need not look se mad about it, for we all saw the point!” That little wretch was severely whipped next day at school, MYRTLE. ENOUGH TO MAKE A MAN CURSE. . In the town of Hampton, N. H., there lives a man, who in his younger days, was what is generally termed a little ‘wild: but it happened that at a revival he “experienced refigion ;?" and one Sabbath was baptized. On the following day the old sow got loose from her sty, and the young man had been vainly trying toget her back agam. When his mother eame to the door, and asked, ‘What is the matter, Jason®’? He answered, with .astring of oaths, consigning the old sow to infernal fires,. and closed by saying, “Limust curse the hog eyen if Ihave got religion.”’ Bostan Susy A RED-HOT RETORT. At a social party, a few evenings since, there was present one of our young bloods, whose abundant supply of auburn locks often causes him to be made the subject of unpleasant jokes and remarks. It sometimes happens, how ever, that our friend comes out first-best, as was the case on the evening in question. The unpleasant subject had been brought up, when one of the party, with more valor than aiseretion, attacked Brick as fol- lows; “I say, Brick, how came youto have red hair? Were ) ifficted with a rush of Blood to the head? ‘No, replied Brick; “it must have been caused by a rush of brains to the head—a disease from which you will never suffer!’ Git Buas + > @ 9¢_____ THE LITTLE COPPER BOX. BY THOS. C. HARBAUGH. Tam a cashier, and have been for years, and the story { am about to relate is a true one, and may interest the readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY. One morniog, while seated in the office reading the Bankers’ Gazette, a mun entered. Now several men had given us a Call that particular morning, but this one was a strange person, whol knew at once had entered the bank for the first time. He was of medium hight, and weil proportioned; nis nair, dark and straight, fell upon his shoulders; his.eyes were large and lustrous; but his red scar, extending from his left ear to hismouth, gave him a repulsive look. After giancing around the room, he approached the desk. I laid aside the Gazette, and arose. “This is the Leroy Bank ?* hie Said interrogatively. “Yes, sir.” “De you take fhings on deposit here?” he emphasised the noun strangely. “We take mouey,”’ I answered. “But ‘things,’ he said.’? “Seldom, sir.” “Then you have taken them ?’? “Well yes,” I answered hesifatingly, not liking my visitor’s looks, ‘“‘We have kept valuables, such as jewels, wilis, etc., in our vaulis till called for. But it is not in our line of regular business.”’ “Just so,’ he replied. “I haye something, a box, I wish to leave with the bank, you can put it in tue vault, and la- bel it ‘left till called for.’ ’’ I bowed, and upon requesting to see the article he wish- ed to deposit, the man smiled, and putting his hand in his bosem he drew it forth. It was a little copper box, about three inches square. It was highly polished, and nearly covered with tiny, brass- headed nuils. I took itin my hands and examined it with intense curiosity. No hinge or key-hole was visible, not even a seam that would have indicated a lid. “Well,” said I, finishing my scrutiny, and setting the box on the desk. ‘Well, this is wnat you desire to leave in our care?” “Yes, sir. It isnot bulky, and will not occupy much room,” he answered, smiling faintly. “Tt isa curious box,” said I; ‘perhaps it contains an infernal machine.” “Far from it, sir.’ He was becomingimpatient. ‘Will you keep it.” “T suppose so. When will you call for it 2’ “On, Ido not know,’ he answered. “lam going ona long journey, and Know not when I will return.” ‘Perhaps never,” I said, eyeing him the while. : mtrue, sir teller, for such a position I think you occupy ere.” I bowed affirmatively, and said: ‘In the event of your death ; ? “Tne box will be called for,’ he finished. “But how will [ know that the person calling for it should fave it?” “On, easily; write me a receipt, and the person present- ing it will get the box.” Idrew a biank sheet from the desk, and taking the pen, wrote the following receipt: : “New YorK, May 18, 18—. “Received this day, of —— ——, a small copper hox, to be left in the vault till called for. Joun Howarp, “feller, Leroy Bank.’’ With a fiourish [ made a small mark on the receipt, so Leould identify it whea presented. “Now then sign your name in that blank there.” He seized the pen, and ina bold chirography wrote a name: “Lionel Vaseini.’’ “An Italian 7” “Aye. And now,” he continued, twisting. his grizzied mustache, “I will go. Take care of the littie box, though it may not be called for in twenty years,” and picking up the receipt and bowing he left. For a minute after his footsteps ceased on the pavement, I found myself gazing atthe box whichI was turning over and over in my hands, Where was the liad? My cu- riosity was raised toits highest pitch, and I tried to pry into the little metal stranger confided to my care. With my knife [hammered the eight corners, but no lid flew open; then 1 struck many of the brass nails; but still ne lid revealed itself. Finding it impossible to open the box, I tried to conjec- ture with certainty whatit contained. In the midst of my study the bank president entered. “Hello, Howard!” he, shouted, ‘what have you found ?’ “Look,” and I placed the box in his hands, He examined it as I had, and handing it back asked me where I got it. I told him all—of my visitor, what he had said, etc. He listened attentively, and as I conciuded Said: “Yes, sir, put it inthe vault, in the middle safe; and when it is called for, mind I want to see the claimant.’ Away I went to the strong vault, hugging the little box as though invisible thieves were watching a chance to de- pvive me of it. L unlocked the largest safe, a massive one indeed, placed the box in one of its innermost apartments, relocked it, and left the vault. Well, reader, days, months, and years passed away; summer gave place to autumn, autumn to winter, year after year, and-still the little copper box was an occupant ofthe strong safe. No claimant came. Closely I scrutin- ised every one that entered the bank, hoping it might be he of the scar; but he came not. Every day I went to the vault and took a peep at the box, and the president would jokingly remark: “Howard, if you wish, I will get a larger safe, and let you sleep init, with that confounded copper box for a bed-fellow.*? Thus twenty years were numbered with the past, and changes had been made in Leroy Bank. The cashier had died, taken his own life, and I was now at his desk. Mar- ville, the president of twenty years ago, still retained his position, though in his seventies. The twenty years left their mark behind, my cheeks were growing furrowed, and my hair, once dark as night, was now grey. Still chat little box remained in the vault, and I had : Since given up all hopes of seeing it claimed. One day Marville entered hurriedly, and throwing his | gold spectacles on the desk, exclaimed: “John, I have seen Lionel Vascinil’! lips were beautifaily chiscled, and twitched nervously. Ay I sprang to my feet—Lionel Vascini! I remembered the name. | believe that not a day had passed, during those twenty long years, that I had not repeated that namea score of times—Lionel Vascini--the man of the copper box. ‘Lionel Vascini ?’’ I shouted. “Yes, sir; it is he,’ replied cld Marville. ‘The same grizzled mustache, the same grey eyes, and the identical red scar,’! ‘*Where is he ?”” “At the morgue.! “Dead 2” ‘“Dead!’? I grasped my hat, and hurried from the bank in the direction of the morgue. I entered among the bodies of the dead. 1 glanced at them, and passed on. [Here lay a girl, her features beautiful in death; there a young man, whose bloated face told that he had beenin ihe water. Suddenly I paused—before me lay a man, the cold water from above falling upon him. One look satisfied me. It was Lionel Vascini! “Poor fellow,’ said I, “he will never claim the box;” ane I turned to my guide, and nodding toward the body said: “How did he die?” “He was seen tojump from the pier last night, and when he was fished out he was dead.’’ “His clothes—l would see them.” The clothes of the deceased man were handed to me. I searched them. Ina pocket, I found a comp, a knife, and purse, Into the latter article I Icoked expecting to find oe receipt | had written twenty years ago, but 1t was not nere. “Do you recognize the body ?”” asked the man. “On, yes; ’tis Lionel Vascini, an Italian. I will senda | coffin for it to-night.” 1 left the horrid dead house, and returned to tne bank. “Well,”? said Marville, as I entered. “} have seen him,’ “Now, then, what shall we do with the box ?! “Let it remain in the vault ‘till called for,’ per order. “Just as you say, John,"’ said he; “I have nothing to do with it; but if I had I would force the thing open and see what it contains.”! “Curiosity often tempts me todo so; but my word is given, I will keep the box unopened till my death, should it remain unclaimed till that time.” The president smiled and walked away. A stormy day eight months after I had found Vascini in the morgue, a man of about thirty years of age, cntered the bank, and bowed respectfully. “You are the teller, sir” “No, sir, the cashier.’? “Where is Mr. Howard, the teller ?”’ “You were teller nearly twenty-one years ago ?”! “Yes, sir.” ‘Then I have business with you. Here !’’ and he drew from his pocket a folded paper, and handed it tome. I unfolded it, and started. 1 saw a name never to be erased from my memory—‘“‘Lionel Vascini.” 1 had recognized my own receipt. Is that satisfactory ?”? asked the man, a3 I looked up. “Yes, sir, entirely so,” “Then I will trouble you for the box.’? I stepped to Marville’s room, called him in, while I pro- ceeded to the vault. Returning with the little box I laid it on the desk. “Ah! that is it, though I. behold it for the first time!’*he exclaimed, and he drew forth his knife and a letter. He opened the latter, and read alona: “The twelfth nail from the southeast corner.” He tock the box, and struck the nail designated with his knife, but no lid opened. “Tarn the box over,” said Marville. The man did so, struck as before, and lo! with a noise like the crack of a percussion cap, a lid flew open. Eagerly we bent forward to see the contents of the little box, which had not seen the light for so many years. What a dazzling sight met our gaze! The vox was filled with diamonds of the first water. We uttered an excla- mation of astonishment, but the man silently regarded the treasure. “Gentlemen,” said he at last, “I thank you for guard- ing this box for so many years, andI pray you to accept these as your reward,” and before we could utter a sylia- ble, he took from the box two of the largest diamonds and handed them to us. ‘But really———,”’ began Marville. “No excuses,” said the man, impatiently. “In giving you these I but fulfill my father’s !ast request.’ “Lionel Vascini was your father then?” ‘Yes, sit; | was in Italy when he died, commited suicide, youknow. Well he wrote to meafew hours before he comuuitted the rash act, inclosing the receipt.” “Bat allow me to ask,” said Marville, “whence came those diamonds ?’? “That I cannot reveal,” and the lid closed with a snap. “So good day,’’ and he was gone, while Marville and I stood bewildered, gazing a moment at our diamonds, then at the door through which the son of Lionel Vascini had walked with untold wealth. We weighed our diamouds. Mine weighed thirty-one earets. Muarville’s thirty-four. I still possess ny diamond. itis of a rich sky-blue color. Marville has died, but I know not what became of his diamond, as he departed this life intestate. Since that stormy day, E have not seen the little copper box, hor its possessor. ———————_>8+—_——— To Correspondents, Gossrp witt Reapers anp ConrTripuTors.— J. F. B.—None of the iron-clad vessels of the Monitor pattern, built by our government, draw !ess than ten feet of water when Jjoaded. The smatiest Monitors, such as the Patapsco, draw ten and a half feet of water.......... Impatient.—See answer to “Ix- ion,” in the New York WEEKLY, No. 26......... «S. Goose.—lst. A decided humbug 2d. We know nothing of the arucle whatev- er. 3d. Apply to a Memberof Congress. 4th. Licenses must be taken out by claim, patent, insurance, real-estate, and express agents........ S. F, Peake.—Iist. Iceland was discovered by Nad- dod, a sea rover, in 860. Its colonization was commenced in 874, by Ingolf, a Norwegian chief. In the latter part of the 9h century a great revolution took place in Norway, and Harold the Fair Haired, a ruler of one of the petty kingdoms into which Norway was divided at the time, succeeded in subduing his brotber monarchs. His successor, St. Olaf, became a convert to Christianity, and the conquered chieftains and kings were subjected to religious and civil persecution, which drove them into exile and rebeilion. The weaithier sought refuge in Ice- land, and before 930 the island contained many thousand bardy and iaelligent settlers. From the accounts of travelers, the present dwellers in Iceland are worthy descendants of the old Norse kings. They are represented as of smali stature, but strong muscular development. Hardened by continual strife with the elements, the Icelander is seemingly cold and preud, not communicative under ordinary circumstances, though al- ways hospitable; his honesty, temperate habits, chastity, piety, and intelligence deserve the highest praise. 2d. Greenland was discovered about the end of the 9th century, by au Icelander named Gunbiorn, who was driven westward by a storm, not many years after the settlement of Iceland by the Norsemen. He called it “‘Hvid-erk” (‘white shirt’), from its snowy southern headlans. The name Greenland was afterward given to it by another Icelander, Erick the Red, who, expelled from Iceland for killing another chief, spent three years in exploring the new country, and returned with such flattering ‘reports of its beauty and verdure that he succeeded in fitting out an expedition of twenty-five vessels to return toit. Haif the adventurers were lost in the ice, and tke remainder formed two settlements on the wes: coast. [t was this Erick, and his son Leifr, who are supposed to have reached the coast of New Engiand, and to have inade a settlement on the banksof the Taunton river. 3d. The gentleman shouid make the first sign of recognition on meeting with a lady acquaintance in the streets. 4th. Your pen- manship is good.............- Oscar.—The British Empire, under which title is included the entire possessions of Great Britain, is much greater in area than the entire territory of the United States. The British Empire has an area of 6,150,000 square m.les, located as toliows: In Europe, 122,200 square miles; in Asia, 1,500,000; in North America, 3,000,000; 1n Africa, 259,000; in the West Indies, South and Ceniral America 68,000; and in Australasia, 1,200,000. The entire territory of the United States is 3,404,277 square miles..........An Ignorant Miss.—You can pur- Chase arazor at stores W cutlery is seld. You can get a good razor_ tor $2 or $3.......... . M. J.—We camnot........ 22%. Rowland.—In ciimate Minnesota is favored beyond most lands in the same latitude. The winters are cold, but clear and dry, and the fall of snow 1s light; the summers are warm, with breezy nights, during which oceur most of the rains; and the geveral purity of air and the salubrity ofits climate recommend it for the residence of invalids) When you land in Minnesota you should consult some physician as to the best part of the State to locate in. We are too little acquainted with the different localities and their surroundings to advise you in a matter so important to your heaith......... Charles O’ Malley.—1st. Capt. Marryat, British naval officer and novelist, was born in 1792, and died in 1848. ‘Frank Mildmay; or, The Naval Officer’? was his first novel. It was written and published in 1829. 2d. We are not positive as to whether Capt. Wm. H. Maxwell, autuor of ‘Hector O’Halloran” and “Tales of Waterloo,” is dead or not. 3d. Charles Lever, the popular novelist is stili living. He con- tributes the ‘Cornelius O’Dowd” papers to Blackwood’s Maga- cine...... Vivia.—1st. Proposals of marriage should be oral; bat there are occasionally men so bashful that they cannot make a proposal in that way, Consequently are compelled to do it in writing. There is nothing improper in making a proposal in writing; but it has the appearance of wantof manliness. 2d. It is never improper to undo a wrong. If you have injured any one, in consequance of false representations having beer made to you, it is your duty to remove the effects of the injury to the utmost of your power, careless as to what any one may say or think, or how your acts may be interpreted........ Ethel.—Ist. If the gentleman prefers the lady who is angling for him, let him go, as you will be better and happier without him. 2d. The fact that you admire two gentlemen equally is strong proof that you love neither. We would advise you to wait till the right one comes along—the one to whom you can give all the tender feel- ings of your generous heart—and then you'll have no doubts as to whether or not you should accept him, if he ever speaks the four all-umportant words, ‘‘Will you be mine?’’....... Una.—The best thing you can dois keep yourtemper. You have done noth- ing wrong, consequently should make no advances to your an- gry lover. Because he ts excited, it does not follow that you should imitate his bad example. But if you must “do some- thing,” our advice is to apply ice to your head. You'll find it an excellent soother for a. perturbed brain and turbulent tem- OTD, beuss-. > Edna Browning.—I\st. Your best course is to apply in person to the superintendent. We have not the ‘east doubt but that he is in receipt of dozens of written applications for posi- tions which are already filled. 2d. Apply toa bookseller. It is utterly impossible for us to know the price of every book pub- lished. 3d. Your handwriting is too cramped in style for a tele- graph operator........ Louise.—We must decline giving you any information as to how you should take arsenic for your com- plexion. You may wish to commit suicide, but we have no in- clination to assist in adding to the coroner's fees...... -Amicus.— Ist. You should bow and pass the usual compliments common on such occasions; andif the lady invites you to accompany herself and brother home, and you consent, the lady walks be- tween you and her brother. It makes no difference whether you are on her left or right side. 2d. You can mention the fact without offense. 3d. A quack........ Tony Lumpkins.—It is not usual for ladies and gentlemen on being introduced to shake hands; but should either offer a nand to shake it would be dis courteous for the other to refuse to take it...... —Yes...... X. C. Dunlap.—ist. We could not use the story, consequently it would be useless to forward it. 2d. Your note is grammatically composed and correctly spelled, but the pete is poor. 3d. Postmasters charce letter postage on MSS. 4th. There were two dukes, three kings, and one emperor, of Bohemia, of the name of Weneeslas, or Wenzel. 5th. Caius Gracchus did not kill Thberius Gracchus. Tiberius was assassinated by Scipio Nasica and a crowd of Senators in front of the temple of Jupi- ter. Caius Gracchus incurred, as his brother had, the enmity of the aristocratic party by his struggles on the side of the peo- ple, and he was eventually defeated in a battle with them. He fied to the grove of the Furies, where his faithfulslave first held “Here; you behold him in position of cashier,” I replied.- ain id the sword to his master’s heart, and then fell upon it himse}{ ae eg Amateur.—Billiards is one of tre most melenufic of gam: Chess is the oldest and most scientific game known..... Trex Chase.—When we accept an article for publication, we don say when it shallhe published. It may appear in a few weel and may not be published in a year......... Charles de Pe ; Ist. We think that the watches are worthless, 2d. There are number of bird fanciers in this city, from any one of whom yi can purchase many varicties of pigeons......... Minnie.—It m; remove the pain for the time being, but will not remove t corn. The best way to remove a corn is to get a bit of sth caustic, moisten it slightly, and touch the corn with it for ty or three days in succession. Be careful! not to touch the healt! flesh with the caustic.......... D, W. C.—\st. The air we breat! revolves with the earth. 2d. We do pot think you could get berth aboard ships to do light work. We know of no light wo on board merchant ships. 3d. Do you not think it would be good for your health did you go to Work on a farm for the Su mer and Fall? Youare probably acquainted with some farm who would not require you to do any severe labor, until yi had gained strength. Farm labor is pretty hard work, we kno’ at certain seasons of the year, but it isnever so severe nor da serous asthe work of a sailor.......... P. R. Smittie.—Webste Dictionary is the acknowledged authority in this country, a) is fast ppecrscding all other dictionaries in England.....°... Cora B.—Back numbers of the New YORK Wrrx.y cost six cei e€ach..-.4.5 H. Elliott UcBride.—We hope to be able to commen the publication of Hero Strong’s serial within ihe next ft months,....... G, W. £.—\1st. The American News Co. has pt lished a work which gives the titles of the works law stude1 should study. If you expect to become a lawyer, you cam do it on the strength of reading one law-book. 2d. You shot have a knowledge of elocution before going on the stage. The are several teachers of elocution in this city who will read give you lessonsfor pay. 3d. We knowof nothing which w make the eye-brows grow faster or larger than nature mtend they should grow.......... Ben.—The trip will benefit you.... Walter Stoddard.—\st. New York since it became a State } hever been without laws which prohibited the sale of liquor Sunday. 2d. The storv will be commenced shortly. 3d. “Bur Brentford” and “Ned Buntline” are two distinct persons. If y have read their stories with any care you will see that th styles are entirely unlike....J. Cruise.—You are not sufficien advanced in education at to write anything fit for publicatic o's eee An Admirer.—ist. The number of bones in the human bo is variable; but in the adult they are estimated at 244. 2d. 7 woman has twenty-four ribs. just the same as the man. The French word “regime” is pronounced as though spel! ‘“ray-zheem,’’ and means “system of order’? as usually vsed. Friendship.—You write a good hand. The last specimen is the b of the two in style and clearness... .Leonard.—The city of Phi delphia in is number of houses greatly surpasses New York. 1860 there were 89,978 buildings in Philadelphi»; while in N York, three years afterward, there were but 54,338 buildings. M4. D.—Aimost any knowledge can be acquired by one whe persistent. Latin you can learn from books as easily as y could learn German from books; but Greek you will find ve difficult to master without oral assistance. But you can leg both if you have the pluck to stick to their study once you cx mence...... J. S. Cosden.—We must decline publishing enigm rebuses, ete. We can fi!l our columns to better advantage... Resormed.—ist. Other countries have special ee a: for what they deem particular blessings; but it is only in United States that one day is set apart each year to give thar for the countless blessings showered upen the country by Beneficent God. 2d. There isa kind of tobacco called Cav dish, but we know of no narcotic which bears the rame. 34. § answer to “‘Ixion” in ihe New York WrrEkKLY, No. 26....H. J: —Quacks both...:.. Last of the Mohicans.—\st. Yes, there is at ter way: Keep out of her company. 2d. The story will be ec menced next week. 3d. The north-west passage has not been found...... Israel Light.—1st. It is correct to say ‘‘a floc! sheep.’ 2d. Your handwriting is gcod. 8d. Wecan furnish back numbers inquired for. They will cost you six cetits ea pike Shellback.—“Evin go bragh” means “Ireland forever.”. A Plain Farmer.—We have answered your question ence befc but will answer it again, as you appear to pave overlooked reply. A step-sister is merely a relation by marriage, cor quently there would be ro moral or social impropriety in y marrying her...... Purblind.—\st. No compound will have ; effect whatever. If you have a wish to become blind you: take no surer way tosuccess than by us ng the nosium quacks. 2d. Yes. 3d. The courts have decided, time and ag: that a passenger purchasing aticket between two points o railroad cen stop at intermediate places, and that the comp: cannot collect from him any extra tare—that the ticketis¢ for the entire distance for which the company agreed tot: the passenger........ Livingstone.—Consult a good pny sician Ivanhoe.—See answer to ‘“‘Purblind.”...... Cloudestlesly Morning —Ist. We do not knew which is the best—indeed, think nel good for much. 2d. We do not know. 3d. Minnesofa_has great vari: ty of game birds and animals 2s can be found in; State inthe Union. 4th. Ahum:ug. 5th, The writing is pi hehe Ed, Burmin.—\st. it is impossible to state, with anyid) approaching correctness, the number of vessels now in « mission in the Amercian Navy, as the reductions which bh been going on for the past four vears have changed the figt almost daily. 2d. “The Water Wolf’ was commenced in 12, Vol. XXII.—tbe number was dated Feb. 7, 1867....... Take Weekly.—Hair cannot be removed otherwise than by shay and cutting. You can apply articles that will destroy the rc of the hair, but at the same time they will destroy the skin,: leave a scar like that made by a sev re burn....... A. J. N— affair is one of the most notorious quack concerns in the co es see: Matrimonial Inquirer.—1st. He will be guilty of a bre of etiquette if he docs not keep his engagement. How is h know ihat the lady does not intend keeping her engagem with him? 2d. A gentleman generally addresses his inten by her christen name, and the lady does the same. Betrot parties are not quite so formal in their manners to each othe) mere scquaintances. 3d. Affianced men and women shonl¢ as circumspect in their conduct as though they were marric they have no more right to receive or pay attention. 4th. ¥ handwriting is very good ..... Zindlema'.—The proper food one who wishes to acquire flesh, is ail vegetables of a far ceous kind, such as peas, beans, potatoes, corn, etc.; bread | butter, cheese, milk, fatty mea‘s, and oily fish. He must ay tobacco in all forms, and take gentle exercise every day.... M. Kurr.—See answer to “Ixion’ in No. 26...... Tom_ Halls.— As there have been a great many Princesses named Beatrice are at a loss to te'l to which of them you refer. Say whic! them you mean, and we will gladly supply you with any in mation in our power. 2d. The number of languages canno accurately state’, for several reasons: some are not kno and of many of the others our knowledge is not sufficie minute to co-ordinate them; nor are the Jimits between guages, dialects, idioms, etc., accurately defined. Adelung Vater reckoned 3,064 languages and dialects,and Balbi at 2,000—860 of which have about 5,000 dialects. Ofthese 860 tl are about 53in Europe, 153 in Asia, 115 in Africa, 107 in Austr and 422 in America. From. this you can perceive that it is tirely out of our power to comply with your ——— to pub the names of the different langnages. ...1 Mac.—A hopeless cas James Richey.—ist. Merely ask .if the proprietors are in, then ask them if they can employ you. 2d. There is no pa in existence in which there are as many border stories lished as in the New York Werkry. 3d. We do not kn 4th. You can get shot-guns at all prices from $25 to $300. A revolver costs from $15 to $90,......... Topsey.—The only 1 to get work at rectifying, or, indeed, at any other business, either make seenenuee to the proprietor of an establishm or by advertising.......... Iowa B. B. €.—They are both sos ful that it is difficult to decide which of the two is the most erring in aim.......... Curious Boy.—I\st. 1t is @ notorious gu concern, 2d. ‘‘Ixion’ is pronounced “Ix-i-on,” the second taking its full sound. 3d. Hardly up to the bookkeeper’s st< ard. You flourish too much. 4th. Yes...... +. - Alphonso.— See answer {0 “Ixion.”’ 2d. A quack.......... H. W. Byre Ist. It would settle nothing for us to say which of the poet this country we consider the greatest: We have not yet ' duced any poet who towers immeasurably above all his fell —as, for instance, Shakespeare does in comparison with writers in our langoage. 2 The two greatest poets v Homer and Shakespeare. 3d. Demosthenes was the greate: Grecian orators. Losing his father when a child, his guard embezzled a consider: ble ed of his estate, and, at the of seventeen, he pleaded his cause against them, and was cessful. His first attempts at oratory in the public assen were failures, for his iungs were weak, his pronunciation i: ticulate, and his gestures awkward. He retired from public for some years, and by great perseverance overcame his fects. He would deciaim as he walked up and down the 3! hills, and by the seashore when the waves were roaring, he accustomed himself to speak with pebbles in his moi To ac quire graceful gestures he practiced before a mirror; to correct a practice he had of shrugging up one shoulder placed a sharp-pointed sword just over it, in the place wher: stool. Not being ready in ‘speaking extemporaneously, studied orations very carefully in a cave. He read and rer too, a!l the ee writers of antiquity. Having gained oc dence that he had overcome his faults of manner and style returned to public affairs,and at once took his place at head of Athenian crators. Majescy and energy are the cl acteristics of the eloquence of Demosthenes. To convince understanding, rather than to exert a power over the pass of his hearers, was the object of his oratory; and, as Ci: says, this 1s the ideal model of trueeloquencs. Demosthc was born at Athens in 382 B. C., and poisoned himself at Ca ria in 322 B,C. 4th. The answer to your first question isa r¢ to this one..... ....4. Frank Tully—You have our permis t0 GRID. 2.75525 E. J. Rase.—ist. The gentleman is always troduced to the lady. 2d. Where both are of the same your companion should be introduced to the person you m 3d. We cannot add to our list of contributors. ......... Gymna Tights can be purchased at several gentliemen’s furnis! goods stores in tins city.......... J. ¥.—Until you let us ki what it is you want to know, it is entirely out of our powe give you specifle information.......... California Volunteer.— Whether or not such a book has been published we cannot : We have never seen it. Did you apply tothe bookseller your city you would probably learn if the work has been | ished. 2d. You write a neat and handsome hand....... John.—The life of a cabin boy aboard ship is worse than th: a galley slave. He is the target on which the captain and cers expend their ill humors—he is cuff-d and kicked by men—he is treated worse than a masterless dog. You bad ter stick to your trade, become a good workman, and you be more independent, and receive better usage than you would aboard ship.......... Rand Nix.—The morey was tributed to the regiment..........3 M. V. B. Keller.—We cx undertake to see after the private business of corresponde Our time is too much taken up in attending to our own bt RES: OSS To Contributors.—We have in hand many }¥ which will be appropriately noticed at our earliest co! nience. Wed Buntline’s Last and Best Sto1 LITTLE BUCKSHOT; THE White-Whirlwind of the Prairi is now in the hands of the printers, and will soon apy in our columns. We regard it as the best, Border St that “Ned Buntline”’ has ever written. It is brimr over with thrilling scenes from the beginning to the € Those who read “Buffalo Bill’ will find ‘Little Bucksh equally worthy of theiradmiration. ‘Little Buckshot a real character, one of the Best Scouts, Shrewdest Ind Fighters, and most Daring Men in the whole Int country. To the admirers of stories of Border Life commend “LITTLE BUCKSHOT; THE WHITE WHIRLW OF THE PRAIRIES” as a true picture of life in the West wilds, and as a story of surpassing interest. P. S.—Since the above was written we learn the large reward has been offered for the delivery aliv “Little Buckshot” into the hands of Red Cloud, Big B and Black Elk, the great chiefs of the Sioux and ecotahs. They fear the daring scout who has so often the troops of the United States into their stronghc and who has baffled and outwitted the wily savage: every point. We don’t think that the tempting offe 1,000 tanned buffalo robes will lead to “Little Bucksho capture. The Indians cannot follow him with gre rancor of hate than they have in the past; and reneg whites fear to come within range of his death-dea rifie. His “har ain’t goin’ to be raised jist yit.”