~~ eee ar ee N: dot SS wenchee ere sete aren Sr A sie eS eae A RT * is > AAG tt a, + 3E ek ai 1864. ——— $3 OO PER YEAR, Sinzle Copy, Six Cents. BY ARVILLA SYLVIE SPEREY, * Our dead! We claim them, each and all! Who has not wept a loved one’s fall? Is there a heart in one true state That has not mourned a brave boy’s fate? “Is there one eye that has not shed Tears o’er some valiant soldier’s bed? Is there a hand whose trembling clasp Has felt no soldier's farewell grasp? Is there a lip that never pressed, A soldier’s ?— or a woman’s breast That never yearned to help the brave Who found in Libby’s walls a grave? God may forgive the fiends whose souls Are guilty of their blood; there rolls es Across my heart too deep a prayer For vengeance on the devils there! Say, ye whose sons and brothers fell By dozens, inthis human hell, Look o’er the history of their fate— ., “le mot your ouls with deadly hate? -. oe % : h - + Sr a ee A Tale of Spain in the Fifteenth Century. . BY LOUIS LEON, Anthor of “The 8 lver Ship” and “The Step-Daughter’s / : « - * Pertion.” ‘ * ok numbers of “Syria, The Jewes; or, The Magician er Toledo,” can be obtained from every News Agent throughout the United States. j 4 ° i ik _ OHAPTER IV. i pYErA AND HER ENEMY. Syria was startled at her encounter with Count Garcia, and recoiled instinctively before his bold, free gaze, endeavorimg to pass on, but he put forth his hand to detain her. ‘Don’t be in such a hurry, pretty one,” he raid, in his oily tones. ‘I waited for you some time this morning, near your father’s door, in the hope of seeing you, and have followed you ever since, even witnessing your affecting in- terview with the young sword-maker. I no- ticed that he tasted your sweet lips. Have you not a kiss for me?” Syria’s cheeks flamed with indignation, as she exclaimed, ‘‘How dare yon insult me so? I will call for help——” “Do so, most beautiful Jewess!” returned the count, his eyes gleaming evilly upon her. “One call from you would seal your doom! At a word from the king’s chamberlain, for such I am, you would be torn to pieces, your home sacked, and your father destroyed!" The maiden shrank from him, pale as death, and speechless with terror, while Ester leaned against the wall, half fainting» ‘Bat you will not drive me to extremities,’’ he went on, softly, tightening his grasp upon herarm. ‘I know that I can trust your good sense and prudence. Show me your face, pretty one!” and he drew aside her veil. Syria trembled with fear and indignation, but was powerless to repel him. Her pale, sweet face, lighted up by her bright eyes, was so pure in its rare beauty, so classical in its countour, that the count could only gaze upon it for a moment in silent admiration, = * Syria looked drearily up into her father’s face, and then sank fainting on his bosom with a@ moan that showed that her heart was breaking. ee CHAPTER VY. ‘ THE DUKE OF VALCLUSA. i The residence of the Duke of Vailolusa was wide inner court entered through a lofty . arched gateway, and presented a hagdsome appearance with its three stories, profasion of latticed windows, arohes, etc. In the centre of the court an alabaster fountain sent up its musical jets of spray, while snowy swans sailed languidly about it, curving their iong*necks to pick up fragrant floating leaves, In a large saloon or parlor of this palace sat the Duke of Valolusa, absorbed in thought evidently of no pleasant nature, His brows were contracted, and a look of deep sadness rested on his conntenance, Around him was a most lavish display of taste and fortune. The lofty room was arched in the shaps of a crescent, and supported by slender alabaster columns, with sculptured niches filed with marble flowers ag natural as life, yet never losing their,snowy purity and freshness. The coiling was of cedar, and in- laid with ivory, mother-of-pearl, and polished silver, which reflected back the light as froma mirror, with a thousand shimmering prisma- tic rays, that seemed like some celestial rain- bow. Exquisite fretwork ornamented the walls, the most delicate and elaborate ara- besques covered the ceiing, perfectly colored blossoms twined about the glittering columns, creeping upward in luxariance, and, greatest wonder of all, every one of the tiny blossoms held a tiny chalice of rare perfame distilled from the flowers they so perfeotly represented; the floor was of vari-colored marble in a beau- tiful mosaic pattern, and the furniture, so rich and tasteful, accorded with the Moorish char- acter of the apartment. rs The dake was suddenly aroused from his abstraction by the sound of tramping in the street outside, and by a loud knoek at the door of the court. He arose and went to the lat- ticed window, looking down upon the small crowd who were already separating and re- turning to their homes, but saw nothing of the cause of their coliection, The next mo- ment the door opaned, and the Count Garcia vant3 and laid upon a silken couoh. “We must bear it, Juan, and/ recognize the _ . fact that thege is a gulf between us that can _ | never be b¥idged over. I cannot disobey my’ father. I dm his only child, and he hag no one to love but me. Bat wherever we go, Ju- lovely countenance, “I shall bear your imago in my heart, shall pray for you, and never es her hand to Juan, bot he caught ae effect, and Syria at jf “‘Ctod will bless you, my daughter, for your - Syria; but I shall hasten your marriage with built of stone, in the Moorish style, with a a Prt Se eel uv SS aceaaeres SS SS “Whatis the matter?” cried the duke, re- garding the blood-stained form of his son with alarm. ‘Is the count injured ?” “Tt’s nothing, father,” said Garcia, crossly, home. stand there like a frightened woman.” them with the order that a physician be sent for, said, ‘Oiro, I request you to speak more respect- fully to me—at least ‘before the servants. I also demand an explanation of your wound!" ‘Bother! How you do stick to a subject!” ount, sulkily. ‘I had a duel, if you , and got a little the worst of it!” ‘Who was your opponent?” demanded the duke, standing beside his son. “Only a miserable citizen, too far beneath me to be my opponent, if I could have helped it! He was only a low sword-maker, Juan Montes!” “Jaan Montes!” repeated the duke, in as- fonishment. ‘How came you to fight with him?” Garcia gave s blundering explanation of the cause of his late conflict, and the duke de- anded, “Your trouble was abouta girl, eh? What gizi?’, “The daughter of Ben Israel, the Jew. But I have not given hor up, by any means. I shali have my revenge on Montes and on tho girl,”’ ‘Ciro!’ said the duke, with stern emphasis, *4@ you do aught to injure this young girl, or Juan Montes, I shall disown and disinherit you! I would to heaven that you were like young Montes—so noble in appesra’ace; si honest and truthfal. I saw bim te-Guy.dr ihe first time, and my heart thrille*Sirangely at the sight. You. speak (fai beiig beneath you, but in reslity hig og far‘above you as the sun is above-thoyarth.” . “Indes,” sneered Garcia. 3546 ig not your son!” y #Twould ho werel” responded his father, bitterly. “Z should then have comfort and happiness, whereas now my life is made bitter by yeur evil conduct. I hear frequent com- plaints of you thaé yon use your influence to tax the hard-working citizens, and you know that such injustice is visited by them upon the unofending Jews. Such conduct on your pazé must ¢ease, Ben Israel’s daughter, must be anmolested, and Juan Montes let alone, or I will publicly disinherit you, and denounce you to the king. I know you stand high with him, but my influence is far more powerfal then yours, and [ shall use it, if you force me to it” Count Gareia did not reply, save by a eud- | den darkening of his sinister countenanes, at which his father became deathly pale, and -aaid,* “How siragget With that look upc in fane, Ciro, yo. remind me of the ont neray | i ever had—oroan as dark and evil in bis ways | ag. the associates of the Evil One himself! I/ never notice, it before, but you look¢trangely Hike him.” gt ¥ You ave’ womplimentary,” sneered Gaxcia. ‘Pray, who may this enemy be?” “He was a Jew,” responded ‘the duke, thoughtfully. “though none the worse for his Hebrew blood!: He was born -in India, and was tinctured with Hindoo ideas, foll of sub- tlety as the wiliest Brahmin, and as cunning asasorpent. He oameto Toledo in his youth, with Indis staffs to sell, and sawand loved the lady who afterwards became nly wife. Hepro- posed to her and was rejected forme. On the occasion of our marriage he vowed a terrible rovenge upon us both. There might have been some hanteur in my Octavia’s rejection of the fellow, on account of his insufferable presump- tion, but I know that her manner was gentle, and even sisterly to him when they parted. Bat notwithstanding his horrible oaths, he ver Visited his wrath upon us. Octavia hiened my home for a couple of years with her dear presence, and then died afew days after giving birth to a son, leaving you to my love and core. And meanwhile the Jew had left Toledo, returning to India, I suppose, for I never heard of him again.” “Onite a littl romance,” said the count. ‘‘And go I resemble that amiable Jaw?” ‘You do ai this moment, Ciro, as you did when I spoke. Itis most singular!” and the dake sighed heavily. ‘You have never been a loving son to me,"’ he added. ‘There has always seemed to be some secret antagonism between us two, so that I could never pour out to you the parental love that filled my heart. And you have only yourself to blame for this coldness between us, my son.”’ ‘Oh, of couxse, iam fo blamoe,’’ said Gar- cia, with a sinister smile. ‘I am to blame that my old nurse seemed to regard me with aversion from my infancy up, that you and I} have never cared for each other, that my tr- | tors have ked me, and that I have never been appreciated till of late.” A deep shadow rested upon the duke’s coun- tenance as he replied, ; “‘Old Tomasina, your nurse, had a most un- “What a pity a most stubborn boy. But, to leave these un- ‘oirospections, I will again assure you that if you do not obsy me in this matter of Juan Montes and Ben Israel's daughter, I shall carry out my throat against you.” “Well, it’s nothing to me, of course, beyond an hour's sport,” said the count, with a jarring laugh. “I'll have nothing more to do with either of them, if you insist upon it; but I peasant The duke sighed and handed the money to his servents, as directed, and having dismissed } erful Duke of Valclusa.” Ben Israel soothed. his hte The duke seemed agitated, and after a pause | ing nbt to cde hitisell ‘1, ' > accountable dislike to you; but then you were | telling me that w again,” Count Garcia bowed with meek submission ho having recovered his senses on his” journey | and said, “Just send some gold pieces out to the men who brought moe home, and dont replied, in husky tones, gers ?”” . fingers. distinct through his lifetime. grief, to the extire neglect of my infant son. When I roused myself to an interest in him, I peared,” “Well,” demanded the count, as bis giher paused, ‘‘what of it?” “This,” responded the duke, 7th incraased agitation. ‘Jaan Montes yg that same pe- culiar crescent mark Hon his wrist, and his hands are like min, Count Gesis glared upon his father in as- tonishmpt ~~ aN ‘ “Dut Jose Montes declared the youth to be his own son,” mused the duke, forgetfal for the moment of his companion, ‘It is a singa- lar coincidence!” “I seo nothing singnler that I had a mark on my wrist that disappeared, and that this low-born *sword-maker has a mark mains,” declared the count. “I sh from your singular talk that you we e in your dotage.’’ ¥. “Speak more respectfally to me, if you please,” said the duke, sternly. ‘You forget yourself, sir!” re Ye At this janctare the physician was. an- nounced, and the count’s wound was exam- ined, declared to be but trifling, and dressed, n chantbor fr and be was then removed to his own to refresh himself with sleep. vf & “Wo'll sce!” muttered Garcia, ashe gank into his downy bed. ‘“‘I've stilled the#@ man by a promise, and my way is open before me. That Syria shall be mine, and I will have my revenge upon that Juan Montes, who steps ; between me and love, as well as between me and my father. I will swe@p him from my Juan Montes loves her, and is loved in return. | to her feet; ber face white ang , Consequently, you, had better not see her | startléa expression. ‘It seems to me, father, that you think more of their happiness than of mine. Juan Montes | in sudden alarm. 0 is a fortunate youth to have inspired so sudden | yourself to'the citizens. 1\,,, and deep an affection in the wealthy and pow- |} if you do, and may injure Up “I will be frank with you, Ciro, and tell you | brace, they listened and fing the reason why the young sword-maker has taken such a deep hold upon my mind. You] nearer and nearer it can. sees father are aware that for several generations the} and daughier were thrill! | ot o for their slender hands and long taper fin- The countassented, and cast an involuntary glance at his own thick hands and short stumpy | thought, Ester rushed “When my son was born,” went on the duke, ‘the hada distinct mark of a crescent | shall we do?” shape upon his wrist—a mark that the physi- cian assured my anxious wife would remain‘as | alyzed, Syri found that the mark upon the wrist had disap. + a \ i - *. x 2~26X6 5-94 9 ‘a om FAO ; La a “a ————————SSSS EES s » “It sounds like a maddened, nutaoe,” 7: ,| plied Ben Israel. ‘Perhaps... ore sack. ing the rabbi’s houset I will,,, “Oh, do not go out, fathy» 904 Syria, “T bes sq not to show ip others nos Dé promis- ssly to the Yectionate em- mob, and then clasped in lies ‘Louder and louder SOT aq the Shar, and he: 7 : ee , with ‘rror and males of our family have been distinguished | apprehension. \ RE net “What if they ehiut mixs here?” cried Ben Israel. “My", atages While he stood, a ;, pralyzed at the ‘ato thpxoom, agonized with fear, and « xclep ing, ho “The mob is tiiing iato tia street. What ing the ¢ ; Seeing the tho she xo doeply loped so par- *<# vecovercd her } Gipossession, After my wife’s | and her ve r id: death Iwas for some time absorbed in my} <¥ | ace Was los Kani em, as she SW? dite not theyvoniy octminethe street, | “*uer. Bat let us seq for our{tves if they are | Sming here. We have a cecrt way of escape af the worst comes!” ‘ je “My brave child!” exsiaimed Ben Israel, recovering his calmnes, “Yon are sight. We will seo if we are the intended victims of to-night’s slaughter !” : He caught up a massive Iamp and rushed out of the room, through the closet, into the kitchen, closely followef by the two women, and hastened to a front he could have a perfect view af the street be- low. eo Shouts of terrible meaning were borne to their ears, the name of Ben Israel was 1¢- peated with shrill cries by scores of the mem- bers of the black mass harrying’ toward tho money-lende:’s dwelling Lights flashed, torches flamed, yells and groans resounded, and still onward came the i mtil they had blocked up the narrow street om each side of the house. « . “ie “Qome down and open the Gor!” cried a voice that Ben Israel and Ris daughter in- stantly recognized as Count Garcia's. ‘Ifyou don’t it will be the worse for you!’’ A momentary silence succeeded. Syria crept close to the side of her father, 2nd in the mingled light ef" moon and lamp was distinctly revealed to the mob below. Every trifle in hex costume and appearance was instantly no asands of ficrceand angry eyes. dzess, frosfed silver sprinkled wiih -shimmered in the igi] son glowed and ghone § of fire;and her y vali bth—so help me, ye powers df Darkness t*” tracted imalevo be rie his evil’ smile still of his ee, be Zell H *Bee the ae ‘ cap / tapas ously idle ; i. arene i | mouds sc : Sine al inl \ —«{hatr, and of Tis Do our CHAPTER VL ‘ " As ; \ : : * J daughters dress like m\rom her HOMELESS. © [person would enable “ich us #o live at It was evening, and several days subsequént to Syria’s meeting with Count Garcia. The maiden satin her secret bower, in the midst of light and perfume, bub her face was pale, and in her Spanish eyes was a look of deep suffering, sueh as only a tortured hoearfi can produce. Tiluminated volumes lay around her; her harp. was ready for the evening song; the table was Inden with delicacies for their supper, and everything was awaiting the en- trance of Ben Israel, who at length made his appearance, clad, as usual, in his vestments of dainty linen and silk. “Why so sad, my darling?” he asked, ten- derly, coming to her side and Jaying his hand upon her glossy waves of hair. ‘‘Are you thinking of Juan Montes?” “Yes, father,” replied the. girl, blushing as she lifted her trnthful eyes tovhis; ‘But I am not repining—that is, I am trying to school my heart to accept whatever yon decree. f have given my promise, fathy, to give him up and think no more of him as 2 “lover, unless with your consent!" “And that you can nerer have!” said Ben Isracl, firmly. ‘Dismiss all thoughts of him from your mind, for Rafael Ezra is on his way to Toledo to claim his bride. And now cheer ap, Syria, and let us have supper and music, for I feel strangely sad to-night!” Syria made an effort to throw off her sad- ness, kissed her father affectionately, and then summoned Ester, and the trio sat dowpato supper. - * The meal was eaten in silence, acloud seem- ing to rest upon each member of the little | group, the table was then cleared, Ester with- drew, and Ben Israel said: “Syria, Count Garcia called on me to-day. He looked as if he had been ill from his wound, and his manner was very insolent and overbearing!” “Count Garcia here?” exclaimed Syria. ‘What did he want?” “Money. He demanded fivehundred pieces |of gold, refasing security of any kind, and ot it back again he'd q & vhen I like to know it!” ‘Why, father,” said the girl, “you didn’t let hixa have it, did you?” : ‘Yes, dear—what else could I do?” returned Ben Israel, bitterly. “As he told you, he has but to speak a word, and I am ruined. From his manner, I dread that he will use his influence against me, Iwish to remind you of the secret vault, where you will find my R should like, of all things, to marry that Little dewess.” ‘J should have no objections to your mar- riage with her, Ciro,” responded his father; ‘‘bat, from what you have said, I judge that i wealth, if anything should happen to me-———” | He paused instinctively, as a low and sullen } Foar from the streets penetrated through the : heavily draped walls, and he arose to listen, i “What is it, father?” cried Syria, springing ease the rest of our Hives! “Bhe Jew Pimselfis better dressed than a Spanigh grandee! They fatten upon us—leé us take/their wealth!” ‘Remember, the girl is metto be harmed!” cried Copnt Garcia, standing on the steps that led to the office. “Not to be harmed!’’. cried another voice. ‘See her beauty! As ‘likely as not, she has bathed herself in the blood ef ‘oue of our chil- dren. Who has losta child, let him seek it at the hands of this Jewess! Come on, broth- ers !” ae . With a demoniac yell the speaker led on the mob to the attack. Groans and shrieks re- sounded as some of the popniace were tram- pled under the feet of their comrades, the torches were waved frantically, and a furious assault was made upon the office doar. At the same moment Ben Israel, Syria, and Ester stole from the balcony, hastened into the secret rooms, fastening every door be- hind them, and hastily caught up enveloping cloaks and hoods to disguise themselves. ‘The hour I have dreaded so long has come!” groaned Ben Israel. ‘These goods for which I have toiled will soon be scattered by the idle and thriftless people; but, thanks to my prudence and foresight, all my wealth is secure, Come, we have no time to lose!” Syria cast a last glance at the protty bower, looked at her little bed-rooth and her chirping birds, as if bidding them all an gteynal fare- well, and with them the peate and joy of her life; and then choking down a sob, she fol- lowed her father into the seeret stairway, which they swiftly descended. As they reached the bottom they paused in- stinctively and listened to the horrible din and noise above them. The door creaked and groaned like a human being, and the next mo- ment it was burst in and the» bioodthirsty mob rushed into the dwelling. “They will have to search long before they find the opening to the secret rooms,” said Ben Israel, in a low tone. ‘Some of them are coming down into the cellar, and others are tramping up staizs—but we are safe!” As he spoke he held the lamp down to the flooring at the foot of the staircase, touched a hidden spring, and a small trap-door flew up. Through this aperture they all passed, closing the door behind them, and found themselves in a narrow subterranean passage, where their light cast ghostly shadows, and where the tu- mult reached their ears in faint mur: urs, Stealing along this dim corridor, ‘iy went on andon, their garments brushing the walls on either side as they passed, until they reached | 8age, and ascended through trap-door into ‘the silent and deserted synagogue. wearing aj} from which 1 open, and the secret bower was revealed in all t c + ‘ > a! ally. to xvert it; and a flight of stone steps that terminated the pas- | ‘We will wait here a little while to rest,” said Ben Israel, nestling the tiny-form of his daughter in his breast, as he seated himself on a cushioned bench. ‘‘Extinguish the light, Ester, and sit down. I have a key to the door, and ‘we will soon go to rabbi Benja- min’s.”” And fhus in darkness, with wildly throbbing hearts, they waited to rest. In the meanwhile the mob, with Count Gar- cia at their head, had dashed up the creaking and dusty stairs into the kitchen and other open apartments of Ben Israel's dwelling, ut- tering loud cries of disappointment at not fad- ing those whom they sought. ‘“‘Where can they have gone?’ cried Garcia, when the cellar and the entize house had been explored, with the exception of the hidden rooms. ‘There must be some hiding-place that we have not fathomed, since they cannot have left the building.” “Barn them out!” eried several voices; ‘fire will drive out that dainty Jewegs, and we will pick her of her diamonds as we would pick a chicken of its feathers!” “There must be some secret closet!” claimed Garcia, his voice sounding far abo’ the din, as though used to command such law- less wretches. ‘Bring beams, and we will soon unearth our rat.” Beams were brought, the light of flashing torches applied to every crevice, walls sound- ed and beaten in, and finally the old clothes closet, adjoining the kitchen, was dismantled of its garments and its walls investigated. ‘‘There’s: nothing here!” cried one of the men, beating the concealed door with his béam. ‘We shall have to give itup. Ho!” His last word was shouted as the door flew its beauty to the astonished besiegera, (To be Continued.) THE VERNONS: TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF LIFE. ik numbers of ‘The Vernons” can be tained from every News Agent throughout the United States. } Nera CHAPTER LXIl. Charles Manly had loved Ellen as only strong minds love; and when the bitter truth was forced upon him that he loved in vain, had felt as only strong minds feel. He was much too proud to be 2 persistent wooer. If he could not tear her image from his heart, he could at least abstain from giving any outward sign that it was still cherished there. If he could not meet her.caim- ly, he could avoid meeting her at all, He could seem, at least, to forgst her existence. And-this he had done, firmly and_ unfalteringly. He bad his usual work to do, and he did it in his usual manner. No outward observer could have told that anything was preying on hie peace. Charles wly was not the man to make his feelings a and GRow that. - uy enffor from the é haye seen that he OBeavored, thdngh ineffectR-. Wien the terriljle catastr B-had befalle her, ke had ,in stepped forwat}i to her side. He could serve her; and everything else was, : ment, forgotten. His high spirit would not sifer him w-seck any renewal of the intercourse which had terminated so abruptly and so painfully, but he would. be glad to be usefal to her at a distance; and if it could be managed that she shonld not know who had helped her, so much the better. Ho was nota manto do any work by halves; auch less one in which Ellen was concerned. He hada plan in bis head for her benefit, and a vague notion that it was feasible. This vague- ness he af once sot himself to reduce to certainty. “Have you heard anything of poor Mr. Henry’s widow, sir?” he inquired 6f Mr. Weldon, the day after his last visit to her lodgings. The question was met by a frown. ' “7? no.” What should hear abont her?” asked the mannfacturer, in an impatient tone. “What is she to me, or to you either ?” ‘What she is to me,” said Charles Manly, “‘is*a matter, of little consequence. To you, sir, she is a daughter-in-law; and——” ‘ ‘Not she, indeed!” criod Mr. Weldon. ‘I never acknowledged her as such, and i .never will. What do you bring her name up to me for?” “Because I want to interest you in her behalf, sir,” said the foreman. “That you never will, then, I can tell you,” re- plied the maater, curtly; ‘‘so you had better shut up at once.” *¥ cannot do that, sir,” porsisted Manly; ‘‘nei- ther my principles nor my ieclings would permit it. Iknow that Mr. Henry offended you by his marriage, and I am not about to justify the step he took; but he is dead, and his errors should be buried with him. His widow is a noble and high- minded woman, in every way fitted te do honor to your family. If you gould but beinduced to ro- ceive her, Lam sure that you would find her a comfort and blessing to your household. Of course she is suffering much now——” “Ts she?” interrupted the sword cutler. “I’m glad to hear it; andi hope she'll suffer ever so much more. She can’t suffer too much, let it be what it will; andso far from my putting ont a finger to heip her, if I could make her suffer ton times as much as she does, it would be a comfort to me to do it.” “For shame, sir!” cried Charles Manly, with some severity of tone. ‘However, I am sure you do not mean it.” “Don’t I!” evied Mr. Weldon, with his voice raised to the highest pitch of excitement.. ‘Tf I could but see that woman starve before my eyes, I should be as glad as if I hed made ten thousand pounds on a government contract, Talk to me sbout ker high-mindedness!. She is nothing bet- ter then a murderess! If my poor boy had never | took up with her, he would be here now. Don’t tell me—I won’t hears word! His blood iz on her heed; andif I had but the power to strike that head off her body, I would not hesitate a moment in doing it—not a moment, I wouldn't.” The ferocity of his look as he uttered this de- nunciation left searce a feature in his face that could be called human. He paused for 2 moment to recover the breath which the excitement had completely taken away, ang then continued, with much aspority— ’ “And whet business have you to mix yourself up with these things? I told you, once defore, that I wouldn’t allow anybody to poke his nose into my private affairs, {don’t keep you to tell me what I onght to do, but to mind your work. I consider that what you’ve been saying is very much like your impudence; and if you can’t Keep @ still tongue in your head about things that you’ve no more to do with than the man in the moon, the sooner you are out of my house the better—-thet’s all ve got to say.” “It is quite endugh, sir,” replied Manly, with « calm dignity of manner which he had never as- sumed toward Mr. Weldon before, and which, in the midat of the latter's excitement, impressed him in @ manner which he could neither account for nor resist. “I know Ihave no direct interest in for idle go ie fk when he ©. tefry ay by hip father, tence for the past. Yes, penitence, Mr. Weider) ing woman as the suthor of your son’s death, you force me to ask, who drove him from his home? Who threw him into the arms of temptation? Who spurned him when he sued for a reconeilig- tion buta few hours béfore his fate was sealed and, when one kind word would have snatched him from destruction, rnthlessly hurled him down the precipice on whoge brink he tottered? Let your heart answer these questions, sir, before you dare to falk about your son’s blood.” He paused for @ moment, but the comucicnces stricken man felt incapable of reply. "Fox me,” contined Manly, ‘I am ready to take you at your word. Ihavelong known you for a hard, grasping, worldly-mindsd man; bat 7 was not prepared to find you so utterly dead, not only to kindly and honorable feeling, but to justies it self; and, instead of the christian forgiveness commanded by our God for real injury, cherish- ing for an imaginary one's rancor o¥ ee ommend Ah gel ge! —_—, annie gt ied 4 _ inald, a little stiffly; and then, 4) ‘pain psss across the fair features of Amy, he has- + tened to add, in a more cordial tone: L a SS ve pee) = SS oS 4 a 2 = = ; 2 WJ @ in as countenance fell. “At all events,” he resumed, _ “we must do cur best. We will ride on to the turnpike; and if he has not passed, warn them to stop him; then return, dismount, and beat the woods while there is a shred of daylight left.” “Fang the fellow!” cried one of the subordin- ates; “the has the cunning of fifty foxes rolled into one. The stylein which he has baffled us, and thrown us off the scent all through the country, beats everything thatI ever met with. He almost deserves to get off.” The waning light could not quite hide the depth of Edwards’ frown. “Get off!” he said, sternly. “Never, while I have strength to hunt him down. He has bafiied me, but he is not out-of the toils. I will bring bim te bay yet! and then—— But we wasie tine. Let us om |” CHAPTER LXIYV, in giving their jaded animals the spur, the 8 rode forward, and were soon out of sight. 2ld, however, in whose. mind the incident i had just occurred had awakened a myriad collections and feelings which quite incapaci- tateG him from resuming bis sketching, continued to linger about the woods, and to traverse them for a short distance in various directions, hoping to hear semething of the issne of the adventure. i this hope, however, he was fated to be disap- ted. No sound broke in upon the solemn 238 which makes the approach of evening so ssive. Ones, indeed, he fancied that he distinguished the distaat sound of a pistol-shot, but as ke Listened in vain for any repetition, he was a iset compeiled to believe that his imagina- tion had deceived him; and, after lingering till he began to fear that the cloudy looks of his hostess would hint that his late arrival had “spoiled her beautiful dinner,” he reluctantly turned his sieps toward the town, His fears in this last respect, however, proved groundless. Something had evidently delayed Mrs, Wilbraham’s dinner beyond its usual ‘hour; for he met her on the stairs, going up to dress; and as ehe passed him, instead of the anticipated scolding, she leid her hand on his arm with a cheeriul smile, and whispered, with a significant * wea: “The young beauty is come. You will see her presentiy,” Reginald smiled g courteons answer; but the subject, it must be confessed, was one of light “interest for him. His mind was full of other things. There were a few points to be added to his last sketch, which the waning daylight had prevented his making on the spot, and which he was anxious to supply while the scene was fresh inhis memory. ‘There was also the episode of Sir Thomas Falconbridge, so singularly inter- woven with his early life, and now so unexpected- ly crossing his path, when to all appearance their roads had been separated for ever. Tnore was something inexplicable about this man. He had met him bat once, at his father’s table; as far as he could learn, there had been no previous intim- acy between the families; he seemed to be an utter stranger; and yet, the procnrement of Rag- inald’s dismissal ffom Mr. Weldon’s, and the sub- sequent ruin of his prospects In Birmingham—all this seemed to imply an: amount of antagonism and hatred, which pointed direct to some painful mystery, What this was he had, of course, no means of ascertaining; but that Sir Thomas was, for some cause or other, a secret and virulent enemy, was evident. His name, therefore, as was batarai, did not conjure up any pleasurable feel- ings; and when he had accidentally heard that the baronet had compromised himself by connec- tion with 3 gang of forgersa, and had narrowly es- ceped the hands of justice, he could not be ex- ected to feel any sympathy for him. Reginaid’s mind was s0 engrossed by the event of the afisrnoon, that he searcely remembered, 0p deaceandiag to the drawing-room, that there Was t¢-be an addiiion to their party, till he saw a econd lady, standing by the gide of his hostess. “F Se anPEenine Epaz Toors,—The simplest method + a | 4 Le é & a BP wm \ cas pei ci. 5 eer & ee ee ee t which belong peculiarly to her era. “Ting acis and associations of the terrible m - and womanly gentleness and affection is now -oldand young, every lady and gentleman— banishment, the tragedies of plague-ships on NEW YORK, DECEMBER 29, 1864. THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY,” 121 Nas- sau Street, New York, are our General Agents for suppiying dealers with the WEEKLY. SYRIA, THE JEWESS. Yet are Spain’s maids no race of Amszonsa, But formed for all the witching arts of love: Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, *Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, Pecking the hand that hovers o’er her mate: In softness as in firmness far above Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great!’ byron’s CHILDE HaRoip. With the new year comes a glorious addition to the current literature of the nation®—a tale of the land which the most fires the young blood, which glows the brightest in song and story, and which fills the soul with delicious aspirations and splendor!—a land which the immortal genius of Byron has described as strikingly ds briefly: “Oh, lovely Spain! renown’d, romantic land!” The heroine of this magnificent romance is a Jewess, one of those dark-eyed maidens of the East who thrill the heart and fascinate the eye of the observer. Whoever reads her thoughts or traces her actions will be reminded of the beautiful Rachel and Ruth, and other Jewish heroines of the Bible, as well as Walter Scott’s glorious creation, the beautiful Rebec- ca, Indeed, she has the sweetness of Queen Esther, blended with the strength and dignity of Sarah, and the angel-like purity and stern resolye of Rebecca. ‘The only child of Ben Israel, the money-lender of Toledo, in the days when this city was the Spanish capital, and when her people were subjected to persecution end wrong, this record of her career is full of lofty faith, of dauntless heroism, of strife and chivalry, and of those dark and lawless events By the magic pen of its popular author, the reader of ‘‘Syria’’ will be enabled to live amid the entrancing scenes of those olden times. The wicked chamberlain of the king, the rob- bers which have ever cursed the country, the sufferings of the Jews under the cruel edict of the Mediterranean Sea, the outbreaks of mobs in the cities of Spain, and all the features of those troublsome eras, will be found in this marvelous story. But better than all the excitement and mys- tery with which ‘‘Syria” teems; better than all the heroic deeds of its hero, the young sword- maker of Toledo; and better than all the a gician, with his fiendish secrets and purposes —far better than any of these transient emo- tions—will be the moral effect and the pleasant instruction the reader will derive from these pages. The whole progress of the beautifal a is as ennobling as thrilling; . Placed, e the great prototypes te whom we have al- home w position of trial and sorrow, her goul rises nobly to its duties, and in every line is shown the glory of woman’s devotion and the nobleness of a true life. Like another Ruth, or Rachel, or Rebecca, she will win the hearts of all who read her story, and make | every reader wiser and better. This graphic revelation of manly heroism running through the columns of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, the favorite family journal of America. The indeed the whole universal pablic—will be captivated and delighted with it. ——_—_———Se Oo ae THE EDUCATION OF THE LIMBS. In the education of girls the healthfal ex- ercise of the limbs has been too frequently ne- elected, as if teachers thought that the culiiva- tion of the mind could be properly carried on without the aid of the body. Modern science, like ancient practice, has, however, proved the falsity of this assumption, and it is now ad- mitied thata sound mind cannot well exist without it be united toa sound body. Physi- cal, no less than mental culture, is now sys- fact, use its members in the way which Nature —the true mother—invariably dictates. Is it not a pity, asks M. de Laspee, that the great and beautiful beginning which the mother makes in the culture and education of her child—the manner in which she teaches it to see, hear, distinguish, and understand, and in which she indefatigably pursues her elemen- tary course, for the trouble of which she finds ample reward in its first smile and in the first word it utters—is it not a pity that all this should be spoiled the moment the child be- comes acquainted with the world, and when it enters its secondary education, by the adop- tion of another and totally different system ? It is, of course, impossible to do more than indicate the system that should be pursued in the education of the limbs. Suflicient if we point out the necessity for a stricter attention to the physical aids to health tnan has hither- to been adopted. Every day the girl should be encouraged to walk, run, and leap, till she has acquired that perfection of freedom in the use of her limbs so much admired in spirited boys. Without the exercise partaking of the tediousness, it should possess the value of a lesson. We do not tie the branches of a young and beautiful plant into awkward and unnat- urel positions. ‘Why, then, should we deny free scope to the branches—the limbs—of a young girl? To this want of freedom of the limbs the wives, sisters and davghters of America have to attribute distorted spines, shrunken arms and legs, and various malformations too seri- ous to be lightly discussed. We bandage waists and chests in stays, and by restricting out-door exercise to the decorous walk or the sober saunter, we deny to the young girl that liberty which—like her brother at school—her nature absolutely requires. But the philosophy of exercise is better un- derstood than it was, and we are happy to find that the scholastic system of the present day include gymnastics and calisthenics among the female accomplishments. When the young limbs are growing, and the muscles, ligaments and bones are being set into the form and bearing they will ever afterward assume, it is of vital importance that good physical train- ing should accompany mental and moral cul- tivation. Nothing could be more ill-conceived than the scholastic system so long in vogue, in which children—especially girls—were con- fined in constrained positions at the desk for many successive hours withouté intermission, and often in an atmosphere of actual poison, and under the most dull and depressing cir- cumstances. Various mechanical appliances have been invented for the furtherance of physical train- ing—dumb-bells, clubs, India-rubber stretch- ers, elastic chest-expanders, and the like. It would be well if these admirable aids 4 the adopted. — The philosophy of exercise may be summed up in a few sentences, Muscular develop- ment can only be secured by regular exercise, such as calls into action every part of the frame, limbs, and trunk alike. The exercise should, where practicable, he pursued in the open air, accompanied: by pleasing occupa- tions. and, if need be, music. The hours of confinement in school should be shori, and frequently succeeded by recreation and lively games, _ Exercise should be pursued as a matter of discipline; its naty e and duration determined by the age, capacit), aad requirements of the pupil—never excessive, but always pleasing and unfatiguing. When exercise tires it should be discontinued. Good food, and plenty of it, should accompany muscular exertion; and sound rest, unstained, should follow. a DICKENS Vs. SALA. A very pretty little quarrel has just com- menced between Mr. Dickens and one of the chief contributors to All the Year Round. A novel by Mr. Sala has been. as is pretty [gen- erally known, for some time in course of pub- lication in the pages of that periodical, but some time ago a iong interval occurred be- tween the periods of the arrival of the different instalments. A similar break having occurred the second time, the conductors became irri- tated at the delay, and commissioned Mr. Hal- liduy to finish the storythusinterrupted. Mr. Halliday accepted the commission, and now tematically pursued in many of our best sem- inaries; and if the present system be continued in the higher circles there is every hope of a greatly improved method of culture among the daughters of the middle and lower classes, At various periods in the world’s history the bodily culture of boys and young men has been steadily pursued; but it is only in very modern days that the physical education of girls has been recommended or adopted. Without going altogether to the length advo- eated by many who, in their system of calis- thenics, recommend no fewer than four hun- dred different positions of the limbs, it is an undeniable fact that girls might and should’ex- ercise their bodily fanctions to a much greater degree than they ordinarily do. Were running, walking, skipping. jumping, dancing, swing- ing, kneeling—in fact, female’gymnastics gen- erally—pursued more systematically, many ills to which girls are liable would be either pre- vented altogether or considerably alleviated. One of the causes of pale faces and shrunken limbs among city bred girls is doubtless due to the absence of that freedom and careless ease to which village maidens are accustomed from their earliest years. : Physical education should commence at the cradle, As soon as the infant begins to take notice it should be encouraged to fling and toss about its little limbs, to crawl upon the has published some two or three chapters, In the meantime, Mr. Sala has sent over some more MS., which, of course, cannot be used. There will probably in consequence be some employment for the legal profession, unless the good offices of friends should .avail to smooth the difficulty over, which, under the circumstances, is scarcely likely. {2 The ‘‘dead heads” on the Philadelphia city railroads are to be compelled to have their photographs printed on their passes to pre- vent the transfer of their tickets to friends who otherwise would have to pay their fare. The adoption of the same plan by theatre mana- gers would redound to their benefit, as theat- rical ‘dead heads” are, more numerous than the proprietors of public places of amusement imagine, A photograph gallery of ‘‘dead, heads” would be as attractive as the Rogues’ Gallery, and we hope soon to see some enter- prising artist advertise the exhibition of an ar- ray of ‘‘dead heads,” taken from lite, >+@r- 7 2 {#7 Next week we shall publish a number of beautiful Christmas sketches and poems, writ- ten expressly forthe occasion. Let all who would enjoy a feast of reading, suitable for the season—be sure to get the New York WEEKLY next week. ded, Sat, up ‘the ‘whale ned woles wal in scientific schooi-misiress were. univcgially | FASHION GOING TO THE, ‘Dogs. The ladies of Paris who delight in the com- panionship of favorite poodles, have inaugur- ated a fashion which is fast becoming gener- al. Each lady colors her poodle to the hue which she prefers, and blue dogs, yellow dogs, soarlet dogs, pea-green dogs, and striped pup- pies, pass each other in the street, guided by their fair owners, who lead them with silken strings, All who are unwilling-to adhere to the decrees ot fashion, will now be pleased to learn that it is ‘‘going to the dogs.” CHIT-CHAT WITH THE LADIES. BY 4 OW Ane WR —_—_- — THANKFUL, er We suppose New Yorkers never before were so negatively thankful. It ought to do us good. We rejoice to-day thet we have not been collectively and individually burnt out— that we do not sit amidst the ashes of Gotham, bemoaning ourruin. And it might have been, too, had the fraternity of thé black carpet-bag had ‘its way. Genuine doseendants of Guy Fawkes must have Deen among us; but Guy Fawkes failed, and so Gia, So may they evermore in all inceidiary designs. On the whole, we believe that bad people and malicious people genetally do fail, and that goodness and kindness triumphs in the a. not always, of course, but very, very frequently. Crime brings its own punishment, and the venomous adder, Spite, has a sting for its master as well as for that master’s enemy. Speaking of spite, how many spiteful people there are in the world! HUMAN ADDERS, who sting very sharply. It seems natural to admire beauty, honor merit, and applaud well-carned success, but dowe all doit? Oh, dear, no! Let a girl havea pretty faco, and a host of masculine admirers, and half a dozen others who wish they had bewiity,_ also; or who are angry at the existence of a rival to dispute their charms, begin to sting and hiss on every side. The fair complexion is powdered, the lips are rouged, the figire manufactured. Miss Smart whispers that she hasa ‘‘fearful temper,” and Mrs. Snarl hints something against her character intended for circulation, despite the cantion, “Don’t tell anybody.” Often the spite falis harmless to the ground, ‘) but now and then the innocent victims suffer. Who ever heard of an author who had made a reputation, who had not also thereby made a host-of petty eaaeling enemies ?—or ofa pol- ssf ss isters to groan ¥ and forget the’ very earthly spite We may well wriggled into’ Para m “itch such glimpses of his’ ging! brant, ee earth. And yet leave a few out, ang it isu’t a bad world after all. And we are sorry we said there are so many spiteful people, when, after all, the kind-hearted ones are so much more numerous. That sets us thinking how"differently we would act if we really knew each other’s griefs and troubles. A wiidowin the heart would be a great convenience. I think no one would break a heart if they saw it breaking. And it is not a poetical fancy— MEARTS DO REALLY BREAK. They dissected a poor woman who died of grief, consequent on the abandonment of her husband, and found her heart absolutely burst, or broken. Fancy her agony before such a thing could occur. We wold not wish any other punishment for that utfaithfal husband than to look at that heart reat in twain by the sorrow He had caused. SPEAKING OF THE HEART. Never drink ice water, or very cold water even, while yet very warm from exertion of any kind. A weék or so agd a dancer in Cin- cinnati, after performing a very fatiguing dance, came off in a glow of heat, and, being encored, refreshed herself with a glass of iced water before repeating the performance. The consequence was, she dropped dead before the audience after the first feyiteps. This thing has happened to many a one before—laborers at midsummer, farm hands and even house- wives over their ironing or baking. Every one should rest before drinking cold water after exercise or exposure to great heat, and never standin adraught. We are deli- cate creatures the strongest of us, and only prugence will keep us aliveand well. When we think of PRUDENCE, we have a word or two to say to the girls. If one thing more than another is needed by young women‘in the world, it is that very quality. Girls of to-day do things they did not dare to do in the days of our grand- mothers. We sometimes wish that the system of sur- Veillance exercised in France in regard to un- married girls. were in vogue bere, when we seé young women, who would shriek were they | told they were not respectably conducted, be- having asthey do. When decent mechanics’ and storekeepers’ daughters allow strangers to make acquaintance with them in the sireet, when they answer glances and smiles which are absolute insults, and leave a doubt in the mipds of men, who do not know them, as to what their characters really are, it is time to pause and Consider. ' n- eyes, as she returned the cards to the envelope, in | pearl and gold uyon the table at her side. v Is IT THE nae? Sometimes we fancy that the very bold dress in vogue is the cause of these immodest manners; sometimes that the feeling has pro- duced the dress. History tells us that in all ages when the dress was most gaudy, bold and glaring, the manners of the women corresponded. We have not reached the extreme boldness in our costume, though our fashions, as displayed on the Broadway promenade, approximate more closely to those seen in Hogarth’s pictures than they have done within the memory of any woman. Anditis to be hoped that manners and morals, as well as garb, will stop where they are, or turn back to meet modesty again. If not, heaven help us, Our caution to girls who have not had the advantage of much society is, never imitate a strange lady whom you meet in the street, either in dress or manners until you know who she is. If she is over-dressed, and puts on “‘airs,’’ and exchanges glances with those who appear to admire her, make up your mind that she is not one to be imitated, and only remember her in order to try and look and do exactly the reverse. There ends our sermon, but we felt com- pelled to preach it, and we wish every woman who writes would take up the text; sucha homily is needed. As a usual thing a lady follows fashion, and does not precede her. In the street no one would turn to admire her dress for business; she attires herself plainly and shuns rather than seeks attention. Yet on festive occasions ahd surrounded by those who know her, she may dressin different style, wear bright hues, costly materials and jewelry. In her carriage (if she owns one) she may dress ten times more than when walking, and is guided by the fitness of the garb to the oc- casion, and by its becomingness to her own style, at all times. We mean a rich lady, of course; a poor one cannot do just as she chooses, bat I think we will always find that she prefers, if she can have but one best suit, a plain merino toa sleazy, striped silk, anda modeststraw bonnet to a queer little jockey with a red feather and dotted veil. LITTLE GOLDEN-HAIR. BY EDA MAYVILLE, “The Harlands! Oh, thatis too bad! It will be the most splendid fete of the season, and every body will be there. How unfor- tunate that Will should be away just at this time!” And the beautifal little wife, Lilia Melrose, pouted ont her red lips, tapped her foot ner- vously upon the soft carpet, while something very like a tear gathered i in the dark, lustrous tossing them at ¢nce into the tiny basket of “Why don’t you say something, Harry? Why don’t you tell me it is provoking, or that you are sorry? and not sit there with that air of sublime indifference, as though it was a matter of not the least importance.” ‘Well, really, you must excuse me, Lilia, but my thoughts were wandering. I was just then wondering whether I should be suceess- fal in that last venture. What were you say- ing? Oh, the Harlands! When do they give their party?” “To-night, Harry, and I have calculated so much on it, but Will is always so provoking; always gone when he is wanted athome. If he would only come back to attend this party I would let him off for a month, then he might go and stay as long as he chase.” ‘Singular what a way you little women have of making your Wants known. Yon, for in- stance, fret and scold, and declare a thing im- possible when you know youshave only to say, ‘Harry, my loyal cousin, there is a grand fete to-night which I very much wish to attend, but owing to the absence of my husband I shall have to forego the pleasure unless you will consent to become my escort, and I know you will not be so ungallantas to refuse.’’’ ‘Will you go, Harry? Oh, won't it be grand! And such a dear, kind cousin, to take a hint and tender your services without sub- jecting me to the humiliation of asking them.” And springing up, the gay little woman, now all smiles and sunshine, danced out of the par- lor, forgetting in her great love of pleasure the parting words of her husband—tke husband who in the fulness of his great heart had pressed her to his bosom, and kissing her ripe lips, said earnestly, : “I will be back in one week, Lilia, and I hope to find my treasure safe. Don’t let any think happen to little Elmer. He is a brave, venturesome boy, and if he should get a fall now, so soon after that terrible fever, we might, dear Lilia, lose our darling. Don’t trust him to the servants, for I feel a strange presenti- ment of ill. God grant it be only the result of morbidness.”’ “He is a dear, kind husband, tender and watchful to a fault, only I do wish he wasn’t so old maidish. Elmer is no better or worse than other children, and will bear the rough knocks of the world equal to any of them, I am sure. I don’t see why Will should be so anxious about him,’’ was the soliloquy of Lilia as the street door closed upon the retreating form of her husband; and a bright little head with golden curls, and a beautiful face, with brave flashing hazel eyes. looked up to hers, while the sweet, infantile mouth was dimpled with sunny smiles. The mother’s heart went out to her darling, and clasping the little two- year-old-trouble in her arms she hugged him to her breast, covering the white fat neck and | chubby arms with-warm, impassioned kisses. Lilia Melrose was 5 nob a heartless woman, she worshiped her child, and as fondly loved her husband as the most exacting could have wished; but she was thoughtless, and therein lay the secret of all her short-comings. Asa child she had been petted and indulged, and as a wife there was no change. William Mel- rose Jooked upen her as a little plaything—a pet, and never had he thought till since the birth of their child, that there was in thechar- acter of the woman he had chosen, a single attribute wanting. But now he sometimes noticed with pain that she was not as thought- ful for her child as he could have wished, leaving it to the care of servants, while she spent the day shopping with her lady friends, and the evening at some rout or play. Once she had returned to find the little form tossing in restless agony, the eyes staring in all the wild delirium of brain fever; then in a tumult of fear she had clasped the baby in her arms, ministered to its wants, leaving it not by night or day, weéping and praying beside its little crib, until the danger was pronounced past. But with health the lesson was forgotten; and gay and happy she flitted on through life, little heeding the admonitions of her more serious husband, to watoh tenderly the little life entrusted to their care. It was a glorious night; the stars sparkled in the clear sky, and the moon rolled on in its regal splendor, casting its mild rays over the fleecy cloak that had that day wrapped the earth in vestal folds, From the palatial dwell- ings of the Harlands the lights streamed out, while within was one blaze of dazzling splen- dor—diamonds flashing in the ebon tressés of | the proud belle and pearls gleaming. upon fair , white necks, But most peerless—most lovely of all tho assembled multitude, was Lilia Melrose. Never. before had #he looked so transcendently beau> tiful, the round cheeks flushed with excite- ment, the bright dark eyes sparkling with merriment, as she moved through the happy throngs—no thought of her husband upon his lone and tedious journey—no thought of the little pleading face of her boy, as he, clinging — to her rich dress, had begged her not to leave him—to stay, for his head ached sd badly where he had hurt it on the stair; no thought of any- thing save that she was at the envy and admiration of all, as leaning upon the strong arm of her handsome cavalier, Harry Dan- forth, she swept proudly through the room. But at last the guests began to disperse. Among the latest to take their departure were Lilia and Harry Danforth, and gaily they chatted to the merry chime of the bells as they were whirled rapidly toward home—jubilant as a child over the pleasures of the evening, laughing at some eccentricity that had at- the beauty of some stranger, until the sleigh drew up at her own door, and she *he loné and darkened hall. danger—camo over her, and frightened and trembling she flew up the broad stairway, pausing not until she reached her own room. f Adim light was burning, and hastily divest- ing herself of her wrappings, she gazed around. Everything was as she had left it, Yet why that terrible apprehension? She tried to re-assure herself, when suddenly a light step sounded along the corridor, and the tear- ful face of the nurse appeared in the doorway, Lillie needed but a glance. No questions were necessary. With a wild cry she sprang past her; through the long halls she fled like one bereft of reason, pausing at last before the eyes, spell-boun upon the sight that met m gaze, death, was before her; the clustering, golden curls, that éhad been her pride, waved as in life around the broad, open brow; the beauti- ful eyes she had last seen swimming in tears, lips there lingered a smile of heavenly purity and sweetness; and beside the little sleeper, his face buried in his hands, and heavy sobs convulsing the strong frame, knelt her hus- band. He had returned to find her revelling among the thoughiless while her child strug- gled in the embrace of the great Destroyer. And then she heard how the little one had wept, refusing to be comforted, calling vainly for mamma, until, withfever coursing through his veins, excitement ran so high that he had been-seized with convulsions, and thus the little life went out. Her pretty Golden-hair, her lovely babe, was lost to her forever. Had she taken him in her arms, soothed him ten- derly upon her breast, and with kisses wooed him to forgetfulness—all might have been averted. No words were necessary to tell her this. One backward glance sufficed to show her how heartlessly she had sinned, how fearfally she was punished; and, springing forward, she covered the little face with wild kisses, hugged the inanimate form to her bosom as in life, begging in agonizing tones that God would sible at the feet of the husband in whose breast grief brooded like a thing of evil. - Days and weeks were brushed from the life of Lillia Melrose, yet ever bending over her was the pale anxious face of her husband, and through his watcbfal tenderness she at last awoke to consciousness—a wiser and a sadder — woman, clinging to him with childish helpless- ness, leaning upon his stronger judgment, re- garding religiously his slightest request. Years have passed, and two other little household angels have come to win her from her grief — yet when she thinks of her first-born, her the shadows and weeps that she hearkened not to his last pleading wish. tracted her notice, or going into raptures over ~ popped in yy 5 _A something—a dread, a fearfal feeling of ¥ door of the nursery, gazing with dry, burning ee The little form of her child, cold and still in a were now closed forever; while upon the pale — give her back her boy—sinking, at last, insen. ~ brave, beautiful Eimer, she sits down among B sp at aks commana | pon z } | q th OO Ne ¥ kel wf. OH, GIVE | ME a A HOME. BY AUGUSTUS ; TREADWELL. Oh, give me a home by a parling stream, Where the sweet wildflowers grow— Where the musis sweet of the rnuning brook Shall murmur soft and low. Where the vines shall clamber above my door, - And the lovely eglantine ©all "neath my window its sweets exhale From its bed of mossy green. Where the birds shall sing at the morning hour, And throughout the liveiong day, To cheer my soul with their lively notes, And chase dull care away. Yes, give me a home away from men, By the side of a purling stream, Where life with its golden hours shail pass Away like a blissful dream. ~-@ ees at ‘WAMILY PRIDE; OR, Purified by Suffering. QY¥ 8 MARY J, HOUMES., [Ba ck numbers of “Namily Pride’ can bs obtained from every News Ageat repens the United Siates.} © ¥ GHAPTER VIII.—(Conrmvep.) After that Helen did not cry again in Katy’s presence, but the latter knew she wanted to ‘and it made her rather sad, particularly when she saw-reflected in the faces of the other members of the family the grief she had wit- messed in Helen. Even Uncle Ephraim was not as cheerful as usual, and once when Katy eame upon him in the woodshed chamber, where he was shelling corn, she found him resting from his work and looking from the window far off across the hills, with a Icok “which roade her guess he was thinking of her, ‘and stealing up beside him she laid her hand upon his wrinkled face, whispering softly, ‘“poor Uncle Eph, are you sorry, too!” He knew what she meant, and the aged chin quivered, while a big tear dropped into the tab of ve as he replied. ‘‘yes, Baa very sorry.” ' That was all he said, and Katy, after smooth- _ ing bis cheek a moment kissed his silvery hair and then stole away, wondering if every - girl’s family feit so badly before she was mar- se and wondering next if the love to which Was going was equal to the love of home, ich, as the days went by, grew stronger and ronger, enfolding her in a mighty embrace, hich could only be severed by bitter tears £ fierce heart-pangs, such as death itself Riatetimes brings. In that household there | n Katy, no se glad of at m suffered more because he ret, to cover up his sorrow so enessed the pain it was for him té go each day where Katy was, and watch her as she sometimes donned a part of her finery for his benefit, asking him once if he did not almost wish he were in Wilford’s place, so as to have as pretty a bride as she should make. Then Marian Hazelton glanced up in time to see the expression of his face, a look whose meaning she readily recognized, and when Dr. Grant left the farm-house that day, another than aipenlt knew of his love for Katy, draw- hurriedly as she thought of vords ‘I never will,” of re- sision and telling Katy what on should have told her long before. But the wild wish fled, and Wilford’s secret was safe, while Marian watched Morris Grant with a ‘pitying interest as he came among them, speaking always in the same kind, gentle tone, and trying so hard to enter into Katy’s joy. “Bis burden is greater than mine. . God help.us both,” Marian said as she resumed her work. And so amid joy aiid gladness, silent tears end breaking hearts the preparations went on “until all was done, and only three dsys re- mained before the eventfal 10th. Marian Ha- zelton was going home, for she would not stay at the farm house until all was over, notwith- standing Katy’s entredties, joined to those of Helen. ‘Perhaps she would come to the church,” _ she said, ‘though she could not promise;” ~~ and her manner was §0 strange as she gatherod _ up her things that Katy wondered if in any way she could have been offended, and at last * gaid to her timidly, as she stood with her bon- net on waiting for Uncle Ephraim, ‘*You are not angry with me for anytbing, are you?” - ‘‘Augry with you!” and Katy never forgot the glitter of the tearfal eyes, or their pecu- liar expression a8 they turned upon her. ‘‘No, ob, no;I could not be angry with you, and yet, Katy Lennox, some in my position would hate you, contrasting your prospects with their corre but I do not; [love you; I bless you, and pray that you may be happy with your nsbund; honor him, obey him if need be, and above all, never give him the slightest “~ cayse to doubt you. You will have admirers, Katy Lennox. In New York others than your . bukbaud will speak to you words of flattery, but don't you listen. Remember what T tell you; ahd uow, again, God bless you.” She touched her lips to Katy’s forehead, and when theywere withdrawn thére were great {ears there Which she had left! Marian’s tears on Katy's brow; and truly; it was very meet \\ <¥ that jast beforeber bridal day Wiiford Came- y) 3 ron's bride should receive such baptism from Li is Marian Hazeltor. | verdict/afi +} to Aneir CHAPTER IX. SEFORE THE MARRIAGE. On the morning of the 9th day of June, 18—, Wilford Cameron stood in his father’s parlor, surrounded by the entire family. who, after their unusually early breakfast, had assembled to bid him good-bye, for Wilford was going for his bride, and it would be months, if not a year, eve he returned to them again. They had given him up to his idol, asking only that none of the idol’s family should be per- mitted to cross their threshold, and also that the idol should not often be allowed the privi- lege of returning to the place from whence she came. These restrictions had emanated from the female portion of the Cameron family, the mother, Junoand Bell. The father, on the contrary, had sworn roundly as he would sometimes swear at what he called the con- temptable pride of his wife and daughters. Katy was sure of a place in his heart just be- cause of the pride which was building up so high a wall between her and her friends, and when at parting he held his son’s hand in his, he said, “T charge you Will, be kind to that young girl, and don’t, for Heaven’s sake, go to cram- ming her with airs and nonsense which she does not understand. Tell her I'll be a father to her; her own, you say, is dead, and give her this as my bridal present.” He held out a small-sized box containing a most exquisite set of pearls, such as he fancied would be becoming to the,soft, girlish beauty Wilford had described. Something in his father’s manner touched Wilford closely, mak- ing him resolve anew that if Kitty were not happy as Mrs. Cameron it should not be his fault. His mother had said all she wished to say, while his sisters had been gracious enough to send their love io the bride, Bell hoping she- would look as well in the poplin and little pleid as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding day, Mrs. Cameron said, and she might take her choice, only Wilford must see that she did not wear with the poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk; country people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look well,*even if she were not there to see her. And with his brain a confused medley of pop- | and plaids, belts and gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford finally tore himself away, and at three o'clock that afternoon drove through Silverton village, past the little churck whieh the Silverton meidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a moment in their*work to look at him as he went by. Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she did not look up, ske only bent lower over her work, thus hiding the tear which dropped upon the delicate buds she was fashioning into the words, ‘Joy to the Bride,”” intending the whole as the center of the wreath to. be placed over the altar just where all could see it. “The handsomest man I ever saw,” was the ost of jhe girls as they game back | k, whilf Wilford Grove Ma to the | farm-house where Katy had been so Ladiotlity Bh ae for him, knew he was actually there, she ran away to, hide her blushes, and the feeling of awe which | had come suddenly over her for the man who was to beher husband, But Helen bade her go back, and so she went coyly in to Wilford, put upon her finger the superb diamond which he said he had thought to'send as a pledge of their engagement, but had finally concluded to wait and present himself. Katy had heard much of diamonds, and seen some in “apen daigua; but the idea that she, plain Katy Len- nox, would ever wear them, had never once entered her mind; and now as she lodked at the thought she should never tire of looking at the precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next the plain broad band of gold, and tried it on her third finger, asking if she knew what it meant, the true woman spoke within her and she answered tearfully, “Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what I shall be to you when I wear that ring for good.’’ Katy was very quiet for s moment as she sat with her head nestled against Wilford’s bosom, but when he observed that she was looking tired, and asked if she had been working hard, the quiet fit was broken, and she told him of the dresses ‘‘we had made,” that we referring solely to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hard- ly done a thing. But it did not matter; she fancied she had, and she asked if he did not wish to see her dresses. Wilford knewit would please Katy, and so, though he cared very lit- tle about it, he followed her into the adjoining room, where they were still spread ont upon tables and chairs, with Helen in their midst, ready to pack them away. Wilford thought of Mrs. Ryan and the check, but he shook hands with Helen very civilly, saying to her play- fally, “IT suppose that you are willing I should take your sister with me this time.” Helen could ndt answer, but turned away to hide her face, while Katy showed to her lover one dress after another, until she came to the little plaid, which, with a bright biush, she told him ‘‘was the very thing itself- the one intended for to-morrow, and asked if he did not like it.” Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she wished him to do so, butin his heart he was thinking bad thoughts against the wardrobe of his bride elect—thoughts which weuld have won for him the title of hen- huazy from Helen, could she have known them. And yet Wilford did not deserve that name, When he came in sight, however, and she }self, capable of judging ters’ boudoir, it was natural he should think more of it and notice it more than Morris Grant would do, while for the last five weeks he had heard at. home of littie else than the probable tout ensemble of Katy’s wardrobe, deciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs. her see to it before Katy left the city, Wilford did not enter into Katy’s delight, would on that account be very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting the pop- lin off his mind, and with a premonitory ahem he said, ‘‘Yes, itis very nice, no doubt; but,” and here he turned to Helen, ‘‘after Mrs. Ry- an’s services were declined, my mother deter- mined to have two dresses fitted to sister Bell, who I think is just Katy’s #ze andfigure. I need not say,” and his eyes still rested on Helen, who gave him back an unflinching glance, ‘“‘I need not say that no pains have been spared to make these sarments every- thing they should be in pois: of quality and style. I have thenrd in athe «, and, turning now to Katy, ‘‘it if my mother’s special re- quest that one of thes.be worn to-morrow. You could take your choice, she said— either was suitable. { will bring them for your in- spection.’” ms He left the room, while Helen’s face re- sembled a dark thunder cloud, whoso light- nings shone in her flashing eyes as she looked after him and then back to where Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong. ‘Whois Mrs, Ryan?” she asked. ‘What does he mean ?” but before Helen could com- mand her voice to explain, Wilford was with them again, bringing the dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild. She had never seen anything es elegant as the rich heavy poplin or the sofé lustrous silk, while even Helen acknowledged that there was about them a finish which threw Miss Hazol- ton’s quite in the shade, “Beautifall’’ Katy exclaimed; *‘and trimmed so exquisitely! I do so hope they will fit!” “I dare say they will,” Wiltord replied, en- joying her appreciation of his mother’s gift. ‘At all events they will answer for to-morrow, and any needfal alterations can be made in Boston, Which will you wear?’’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. I wish I could wear both. Helen, which shall I?” and Katy ap- pealed to ber sister, wao conld endure no more, but hid her head among jis pillows of the bed and cried.» Katy understood the whole, and dropping upon the floor the silk to which she inclined Wilfor id stolen “5m | hin come Helen was her- os nda ania Bensibly. She knew the city silk which A three dpl- lars per yard and wad Sastonod® ith button of | gold, having Katy’s initial upon ‘heir face, “vas handsomer and better suited “py Wilfo: | Cam- eron’s bride than the sovitry plaid, costing Daring this se the room, aud wi who met her with loving caresses, and then} one dollar per yard, and trimmed with buttons at eighteen pence per dozen, and so she said to Katy, “I would rather you should wear the one they sent, It will become you better. Suppose you try it on,” and in seeking to gratify her sister Helen forgot in part her own cruel disappointment, and that her work of days had been for naught. The dress fitted well, though Katy pronounced it too tight and brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she|too log. A few moments, howover, accus- felt a thrill of something more than joy at that | tomed her to the length, aud then her mother, good fortune which had brought her to dia- | Aunt Hannah, and raonds. Vanity, we suppose it was—such van-/admire, while Katy proposed going out to ity as was very natural in her case, and she | Wilford, but Helen kept her back, Aunt Betsy t Betsy came tosee and remarking, under her breath, that ‘‘she didn’t see for the life on her how Catherine could bs so free and easy with that man when just the sight of him was enough to take away a body’s breath.”’ ‘More free and easy than she will be by and by,” was Helen’s mental comment as she proceeded quietly to.pack the trunk which Morris had brought for the voyage across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as she folded away one article after another, and wondered under what circumstances sho should see them again if she saw them ever, — Helen was a Christian girl, and many s time the deep would keep its waters calm and still while her sister was upon thém, and she prayed so now, constantly, burying her face once in her bands, and asking that Katy might come back to them unchanged, if possible, and ask- ing next that God would remove from ber heart all bitterness towards the bridegroom, who was to be her brother, and whom, after that short, earnest prayer, she found herself liking better. He loved Katy, she was sure, and that was all che cared for, though ghe did wish he would release her before twelve o'clock on that night, the last she would spend with them for a long, long time. But Wilford kept her with him in the parlor, kissmg away the tears which flowed so fast when she recalled the prayer said that night by Uncle Ephraim, with her kneeling by him as she might never kneel again. He had called her by ber name and his voice was very sad as he commended her to God, asking that he would ‘‘be with our little Katy wherever she might go, keeping her in all the mewandering scenes of life, and bringing her at last to his own heavenly home,” Wilford himself was touched, and though he noticed the deacon’s pronunciation, ho did not even smile, and his manner was very respect- Accustomed all his life to hearing dress dis- ful, when after the prayer ove" they were cussed in his mother’s parlor and in his sis- bought and made in the country, his mother ‘Harvey, who boarded at the Revere, and have Under these circumstances, it_was not strange that even after she told hin how Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and that it alone, the white-haired deacon felt it ineum- bent upon him to say a few words concerning Katy. | ‘‘She’s a young, rattle-headed creature, not much like your own kin, I guess; but, young man, she is as dear as the apple of our eyes, and I charge you to treat her well. She has never had a crossways word spoke to her all her life, and don’t you be tha first to speak it, nor let your folks brow-beat her.” As they were alone, and it was!easier for Wilford to be humble and conciliatory, he promised all the old’ man required, and then went back to Katy, going into raptures over the beautiful little Geneva watch which Mor- ris had just sent over as her bridal gift from him. Even Mrs. Cameron herself could have found no fault with this, and Wilford praised itas much as Katy could desire, noticing the inscription, ‘‘Katy, from Cousin Morris, June 10th, 18—,” wishing that after the ‘‘Katy” had come the name Cameron, and wondering if Morris had any design in omitting it. Wil- ford had not yet presented his father’s gift, but he didso now, and Katy’s tears dropped upon the pale, soft pearls as.she whispered, ‘‘I shall like your father. I never thougnt of having things like these.” Nor had she, but she would grow to them very soon, while even the family gathering round and sharing in her joy began to realize hew great a lady their Katy was to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, if sleep at all they did, which was doubtfal, unless it were the bride, who with Wilford’s kisses warm upon her lips, crept up to bed just as the clock was striking twelve, nor woke until it was again chiming for six, and over her Helen bent, a dark\ving about her eyes and her face very white as sho whispered, ‘‘Wake, Katy darling, this is your wedding day.” + CHAPTER X. MARBIAGE AT ST. JOHN'S. There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy Lennox married, and the church was literally jammed for full three-quariers of an hour before the appointed time. Back by the door, where she commanded a fall view of the middie aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face as waite as ashes, and her eyes gleaming strange- ly wild even from beneaih the thickly dotted veil she wore over her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in coming there were agitating her mind, but something kepé her sitting just as others sat waiting for the bride until the sex- ton, opening wide the doors, and assuming an added air of consequence, told the anxious spectators that the party had arriyed—Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford and Mrs. Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helev, Aunt. -Hannah and Aunt the most, she flew to aa len’s si o and Betsy—thai was ail, aud they came slowly up pered to her, “Don't, N° Le Fe the aisle, while countless eyes, a turned. ford. I won’ t wepr ci sae therg wogr pe them,eyery woman noticing } rs ces th one you m? 0 Te me i SisMin | 5 agping carro with so long apes , and ihe to think of Shiuig Od ’ Rowin oy Teome queer féniale instiget chat it was city-made, and not the handiwows k of Ma- rian Hazelton, panting for breath in that pew neat the door, and trying to forget lierself by watching Dr. Grant. She could not have told what Katy wore; sho would not have sworn that Katy was there, for Shs~saw only two, Wilford and Morris Grant. She could have touched the former as he passed her by by, and she did breathe the odor of his garments while her hands clasped each other tightly, sah ina she turned to Morris Grant, growing content with her own pain, «o much less than his as he stood before the altar with Wilford Came- ron between him and the bride which should have been his. How pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird her voice yang out a3 she responded to the solemn quece tion, “Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband,” &c. Upon Uticle Ephraim devolved the duty of giving her away, a thing which Aunt Botsy de- nounced as@ ‘*’Piscopal quirk,” classing it in the same category with dancing. Still if Ephraim had got it to do she wanted him to do it well, and she had taken some pains to study that part of the ceremony, so as to know when to nudge her brother in case he failed of com- ing up to tine. ‘Now, Ephraim, now; they’ve reached the quirk.” she whispered, audibly, almost before Katy’s “I wili” was heard, clear and distinct; but Ephraim did not need her prompting, and his hand rested lovingly upon Katy’s shoulder as he signified his consent, and then fell back to his place next to Hannah... Bat when Wil- had she prayed in seoret that He who rules }ford’s voice said, ‘I, Wilford, take thee Katy to be my wedded wife,” there was a slight con- fasion"near the door, and those sitting by said to those in front that some one had fainted. Looking round, the audience saw the sexton leading Marian Hazelton out into the open air, where, at her request, he left her, and went back to see the closing of the ceremomy which made Katy Lennox a wife. Morris’s carriage was at the door, and the newly married pair moved slowly out, Katy smiling upon all, kissing her hand to some and whispering a good-bye to others, her diamond flashing ia the light and her rich silk rustling as she walked, while at her side was Wilford, proudly erect, and holding his head so high as not to see ome ef the crowd around him, until arrived at the vestibule he stopped a moment and was seized by @ young man with curling hair, saucy eyes, and that air of ease and assurance which be- tokens high breeding and wealth. ‘‘Mark Ray!” was Wilford’s astonished ex- clamation, while Mark Ray replied, ‘You did not expect to see me here, neither did I expect to come until last night, when I found myself in the little village where you know Scranton lives. Then it occurred to me that as Silverton was only a few miles distant I would drive over and surprise you, but Iam too late for the ceremony, I ste,’’ and Mark's eyes rested admiringly upon Katy, whose grace- ful beauty was fully equal to what he had imagined. Very modestly she received his congratula- tory greeting, blushing prettily when he called her by the new name she had not heard before, and then ata motion from Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for her. Close behind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as much astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. There was no time for conversa- tion, and hurriedly introducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris followed her into the carriage’ with the bridal pair, and was drivon to the de- pot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleasant, good-humored sallies did munch to- wards making the parting more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. It was sad enough at the most, and Katy’s eyes were very red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and impatient, when at last the train swept round the corner and the very last good- bye was said. Many of the village people were there to see Katy off, andin the crowd Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from tho others except it were by the fond caresses given to the bride. Aunt Betsy ho had observed from all the, rest, both from the hanging of her pongee and the general quaint- ness of her attire, and thinking it just possible that it might be the lady of herrin’ bone me- mory, he touched Wilford’s arm as she passed them by, and said, “Tell me, Will, quick, who is that woman in the poke bonnet and short, slim dress?’ > Wilford was just then too much: occupied in his efforts to rescue Katy from the crowd of plebeians who had seized upon her to hear his friend’s query, but Helen heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, she re- plied, ‘“That, sir, is my aunt, Miss Beisy Barlow.” “I beg your pardon, I really do. I was not aware———’ Mark began, lifting his has invol- untarily, and mentally cursing himself for his stupidity in not observing who was near to him before asking personal question, = With a toss of her head Helen turned away, ing thought that Katy was really leaving hey. groaned and creaked, and the long train was under way, while from an open window a litile white hand was thrust, waving its handker- chief until the husband quietly drew it in, ex- periencing a feeling of relief that all was over, agd that unless he chose his wife need never go back again to that vaigar crowd standing mpon the platform and looking with tearful’ eyes and — aching hearts afier the fast receding trata. For & moment Mark talked with Morris Grant, explaining how he came’ ; ing that on the morrow he too “ on to Boston, to remain for a few day Wiliond sailed; then, feeling that He some way atone fdr his aw “pe gerding Annt Betsey, he sought. oat. still standing like a statue and watohing “the feathery line of smoke rising above the distant trees. Her bonnet had partially fallen from her head, revealing her bands of rich brown hair and the smooth brcal forehead, while her hands were locked together, and a tear trem- bled on her dark eye-lashes. Takenas a whole she made a ing picture standing apart from the rest and tot y oblivious to them all, and Mark gazed at ~% & Moment curiously; then as her attitude oe she drew her hat back to its place he advanced towards her, and making some pleasant remark about the morning and the appearance of the country generally. He knew he could not openly apologize, but he made what amends he could by talking to her so familiarly that Helen al- most forgot how she hated him and all others who like him jived in New York and resambled Wilford Cameron. It was Mark who lead her to the carriage which Morris said was waiting, Mark who handed her in, smoothing down carefally the folds of her dress, and then stood leaning against the door, chatting with Morris, who thought once of asking him to enter and go back to Linwood. But when he remem- bered how unequal he was to entertaining any one that day, he desisted, saying merely, **On your way from Boston call and see me, I shall be glad of your company then.” ‘‘Which means that you do not wish it now,” Mark laughingly rejoined, as, offering his hand to beth Morris and Helen, he again touched his hat politely and walked way. CHAPTER XL ‘AFTER THE MABRIAGE. ‘Why did you invite him to Linwood?” Helen began. ‘I am sure we have had city guests enough. Oh, if Wilford Cameron had only never come, we should have had Katy now,’’-and the sister-love overcame every other feeling, making Helen cry bitterly as they drove back to the farm-house. Morris could not comfort her then, for he needed it the most, and so in silence he left her and went on his way to Linwood, which seemed ag if a faneral train had left it, bearing away all Morris’s life and love, and leaving only a cheerless blank. It was weil for him _that there were many sick ones on his list, for in attending to them he forgot himself in part so that the day with him passed faster than at the farm-house, where life andits interests seemed suddenly to have stopped. Nothing had power to rouse Helen, who never realized how much she loved her young sister until now, when, with swelling heart she listlessly put to rights the room which had been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It was a sad task picking up that disordered chamber bearing so forgetting her resentment in the more absorb- ."] The bell had rang, the heavy machinery is . “ I many traces of Katy, and Helen’s heart ached A i terribly ag she hung away the little pink calico pay dressing-gown in which Katy had looked so »¥% prettily, and picked up from the floor the pile i , of skirts lying just where they had been left the previous night; but when it came to the little half-worn slippers which had been thrown one here and another there as Katy danced out of them, she could control herself no lon- ger, and stopping in her work sobbed bitterly, ‘Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you.” Bus tears could not bring Katy back, and know- ing this, Helen dried her eyes ere long and joined the family below, who like herself were spizitless and sad. Tt was some little solace to them all that day to follow Katy in her journey, saying, she is at Worcester, or Framingham, or Newtown, and when at noon they sat down to their din- nor in the tidy kitchen they said ‘‘Sheis in Beston,’’ and the saying so made the time which’ had elapsed since the morning seem in- terminable. Slowly the hours dragged, and at last, befere the sunsetting, Helen, who couid bear the loneliness of home no longer, stole aevoas the fields to Linwood, hoping in Mor- ris’s companionship to forget her own grief in part, But Morris was a sorry comforter then. If the day had been sad to Helen, it had been doubly so to him. He had ministered as usual to his patients, ligtening to their complaints and answering patiently their inquiries; but amid if all he walked as in a maze, hearing nothing except the words, ‘I, Katy, take thee, Wilford, to be my wedded husband,” and seeing nothing but the airy little figure which stood up on tiptoe for him to kiss its lips at parting. His work for the day was over now, and hoe sat alone in his library when Helen came hurried- ly in, starting at sight of his face, and asking i¥ he was ill. “{ have had a hard day’s work,” he said. ‘J am always tired at night,” and he tried ‘to smile and appear natural. ‘‘Are you very lonely at the farm-house?” he asked, and then for Katy, and again denouncizg Wilford. as proud and heartless. . “Positively, Cousin Morris,” and Helen’s _. eye flashed as she said it, “he acted all the ‘while he was in the church as if he were doing . something of which he was ashamed; and then did you notice how impatient he seemed when the neighbors were shaking hands with Katy at the depot and bidding her good-bye? He looked as if he thought they had no right to touch her, she was su much their superior, just because she had married him, and he even hur- ried her away before Aunt Betsy had time to kiss her. And yet the people think it such a splendid match for Katy, because he is so rich and gensrons. Gave the clergyman fifty dol- | lars and the sexton five, soI heard; but that “| does not help him with me. I know it’s wick- od, Morris, as well as you, but somehow I find myself taking real comfort in hating Wilford Cameron.” _ “hot is wrong, Helen,’ x x all wrong,”, and Morris tried % reacon with Ber; but histarga- nents this time were not very strong; and he nally said to her, inadvertently, ‘‘If Ican for- give Wilford Cameron for marrying our Katy, you surely ought to do so, for he has hart me he most.” **You, Morris! you, you!" Helen kept re- peating, standing back still farther and fur- ei . thoughts passed like lightning through her - Inind as she marked the pallid face, where was -writien since the mor more than one line of suffering, and saw in the brown eyes 2a look such as they were not wont to wear. ‘Morris, tell me+-tell me truly--did you love my sister Katy?” and with an impetuous rush Helen knelt beside him, as, laying his head upon the table he answered, ‘Yes, Helen. God forgive me if it were wrong. I did love your sister Katy, and love her yet, and that is the hardest to bear.” Ail the tender, pitying woman was roused in Helen, and like a sister she smoothed the locks of damp, dark hair, keeping a perfect si- lence as the strong man, no longer able to bear up, wept like a very child. For a time Helen felt as if bereft of reason, while earth and sky seemed blended in one wild chaos as she thenght, “Oh, why couldn’t it have been? _ Why didn’t you tell her in time ?” and at last she said to him, ‘If Katy had known it! Oh, Morris, why didn’t you tell her? She never guessed it, never! If she had—if she had,” Helen’s breath came chokingly, ‘I am very sure—yes, I know it might have been!" “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, ‘Pho saddest are these—it might have been.” Morris involuntarily thought of these lines, but they only mocked his sorrow as he an- swered Helen, “I doubt if you are right; I ‘hope you are not; hope that it might not have been, as itis not now. Katy loved me as her brother, nothing more, Iam confident. Had she waited till she was older, God only knows what might have been, but now she is gone and our Father will help me to bear, will Help as both, if we ask him, as we must.” And then as only he could do, Morris talked with Helen until she felt her hardness towards Wilford giving way, while she wondered how Morris could speak thus kindly of one who was his rival. : “Not of myself could I do it,” Morris said; ‘hut I trust in One who says ‘As thy day shall thy strength be,’ and He, you know, never fails.” There was a fresh bond of sympathy now between Morris and Helen, and the latter needed no caution against repeating what she had discovered. The secret was safe with her, and by dwelling on what ‘‘might have been” she forgot to think so mach of what was, and 80 the first days after Katy’s departure were more tolerable than she had thought it possi- ble for them to be, At the close of the fourth there came a short note from Katy, who was still in Boston at the Revere, and perfectly happy, she said, going into ecstasies over her ! y husband, the best in the world, and certainly S37 ae oe " Pe eke 09)" SN . as Hetea broke out afresh, mourning sometimes |° ther from him, while en he the most generous and indulgent. “Such beautiful things as I am having made,’’ she wrote, ‘when I already had more than I need- ed, and sol told him, but he only smiled a queer kind of smile as he said ‘Very true; you do not need them,’ I wonder then why he gets me more, Oh, I forgot to tell you how muchI liked his cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boards at the Revere, and whom Wilford consults about my dress; I am somewhat afraid of her, too, she is so grand, but she,pets me a great deal and laughs at my speeches. Mr. Ray is here too, and I think him splendid. “‘By-the-way, Helen, I heard him tell Wil- ford that you had one ef the best shaped heads he ever saw, and that he thought you decidedly good looking. I must tell you now of the only thing which troubles mo in the least, and I shall get used to that, I suppose. tis so strange Wilford never told me a word until she came, my waiting-maid. Think of that; little Katy Lennox with a waiting-maid, who jabbers French half the time, -for she speaks that language as well as her oWn, hay- ing been abroad with the family once before. That is why they sent her to me; they knew her services would be invaluable in Paris. Her name is Esther, and she came the day after we did and brought me such a beantiful man- tilla from Wilford’s mother, and the loveliest dress. Just the pattern was fifty dollars, she said. “The steamer sails in three days, and I will write again before that time, sending it by Mr. Ray, who is to step over one train at Lin- wood. Wilford has jast come in and says I have written enough for now, but I will tell you how he has bought me a diamond pin and earring’, which Esther, who knows the value of everything, says never cost less than five hundred doilars. ‘Yours, loving, Kary CaMERON.” ’ “Five hundréd dollars!” and Aunt Bewy held up her hands in horror, while Helen sat a long time with the letter in her hand, cogi- tating upon its contents, and especially upon the part referring to herself, and what Mark Ray had said of her. Every human heart is susceptible of flattery, and Helen was not an entire exception. Still with her ideas of city men she could not at once think favorably of Mark Ray, just for a few complimentary words which might or might not have been in earnest, and she found herself looking forward with nervous dread to the time when he would stop at Linwood, and of course call on her, as he would bring a let- ter from Katy. . (To be continued.) ADA MAR; Og, ‘The firchdukels« ~ ¥: ie BY ILLION CONSTELLANO#-* - ’ h ‘baer CHAPTER XXX. . MAR AND YILBFTO EXPOSED. : The two mon returned to the seats from which ‘they had arisen, and continued to glare at their enemy, with a mien at once indicative of their guilt and their fear. Hernan quietly seated him- self near Maximilian, and continued: “That this man, the Count Viletto, isa villain of the basest and meanest description, will be proven ina very few moments. Permit me, arch- duke, to inform you in the briefest manner possi- ble, that he has another name, which is far bet- ter known in, Mexico than his title. In a word, he is the terrible and infamous Colonel Lobo, the chief of the sang of robbers and cut-throais call- ing themselves the Free Riders!” The count started to his feet, as if stricken b an electric shock, and shouted, stepping towar his accuser: “ Tis falso—an atrocious falsshood! I ask again—will your majesty condescend to hear me traduced in this vile manner by an outlaw of Captain de Valde’s stamp?” Another gleam of appreciative intelligence ap- peared in Maximilian’s eyes as he replied, . ‘*Peace,.Count Viletto! Captain de Valde has been an honorable pee: and I have not yet re- ceived any warrant for doubting his statements. At the sams time [do not see how this charge ean be trae. Colonel Lobo is gaid to be an In- dian, a man of large stature, a man quite unlike Count Vilctto in appearance.” ‘Just so, your majesty,” Count Viletto hastened to way, recovering his calmness. ‘The famous chief of the Free Riders isa different person alto- gether.” “In outward appearance merely,” said Hernan, with &@ meaning smile. “i repeat that Colonel Lobo and Couni Viietto are one and the same per- son. I have the proofs of the fact at command, and will produce them.” With this Hernan’stepped to the door leading into the hall and ushered in a couple of men, at sight of whom the accused became deathly pale. “Here, archduke,” continued Hernan, “are a couple of well-knowm residents of this city. They left here ten days ago, to proceed to the capital to avoid the vomito, On the plains between Ori- zaba and Puebla, the party in which they jour- neyed was attacked by the Free Riders, with Col. Lobo at their head. In the course of thé fight that followed, this gentleman,” and he indicated the witness nearest nim, “‘seized the beard of thé’ robber ghief, when it came off in his grasp, being a false one, and the face of Colonel Lobo was plainly revealed to both of these gentlemen. That face bore a long and livid scar from the eye to the chin, and was the face of Gount Viletto.” © “Ti’s false!” gasped tio, white as @ sheet, and trembling in every limb. “Speak!” commanded Maximilian, turning to the witnesses. ‘Do you recognize in Count Vi- letto the chief of the robbers ?” The two men both replied in the affirmative, adding some particulars that placed their testi- mony beyond question, and Hernan then said, “A few words more, archduke, and you will comprehend the matter. With the aid of a false beard, a dyed complexion, and a general disguise much like that which enabled me to travel among your troops in safety, this Count Viletto, other- wise Colonel Lobo, has been long in the habit of plundering travelers on the national roads, and has even committed scores of murders, particu- larly during the last three months, In regard to his robberies, these two witnesses will submit a few further statements.” . _ ‘Hear me, your majesty!” cried Viletto, writh- ing like @ worm scorched by fire. ‘“Tnese outlaws have combined to ruin me—to degrade mo in your majesty’s opinion, There is not a word of truth in all they utter.” “Peace, count!” said Maximilian again; “I must investigate this matter fuliy. The identity of the famous robber chief is a matter of the tirst impor- tance.” “And for this reason,” said Hernan, “I will hasten to produce ftrther proofs. One of these witnesses was robbed, at the time mentioned, of ebrtizip valuable jewels, and the other of certain sey ames | upon the seat from which he had They believe, ag I do, that these stolen treasures are now among the effects of Count Viletto, in this very house, ‘T'o end all doubt in the premises, let the baggage of Count Viletto be brought into our presence. ; ’ “No, no!” cried Viletto, in the wildest excite- ne, “Your majesty will not permit this out- rage?” . Hernan had not waited for permission, but had stepped to the door, given an order to some per- son in waiting outside, and the next moment a couple of guerrillag brought into the room a trunk and yalise, which Hernan plaeed before Maxi- milian, saying, when the men had withdrawn. ‘Possibly the valuables, of the witnesses may not be here, but I thinkit quite likely that we shall find them, as the owner of the jewels saw Colonel Lobo slip them into his pocket. Count Viletto, I will trouble you for your keys!” Viletto declared that his keys were not with him, but at the same instant Ada detected him throw- ing them behind a sofa near him. She secured them, the baggage was unlocked, search was mace, and the property in question was speedily produced, to the great joy of the witnesses, and to the complete confusion of Viletto. “Ts it possible?”.exclaimed Maximilian, when the witnesses had fully identified their moneys and jewels, ‘Tie fact is proven. The count and Colonel Lobo are one and the same person.” - “Aga further proof,” ssid Hernan, “there are the villain’s disguises, jewels and moneys he has stolen, enough to convict him, when the public is notified to come forward, a dozen times over.” “Enough!” was the Archduke’s comment. “I will take him in, Ar——”. The count made a dash for the door of the back arlor, but a couple of Hernan’s men intercepted im, having been imyaiing in the supper-room, and he was soon secured and ironed. “Can it be?” gasped Mar, with the air of one awakening from ® horrible dream. ‘The man upon whom [have built such anticipations—the man to whom I would have sold Ada—is @ mur- derer and robber!” “Well, you a better,” retorted the count, sullenly. ‘“‘Captaimde Valde has promised you a similar exposure. Don’t exult over me you have made sure of your own footing.” These words recalled Mar to himself, and he passed into a state of the most active and watch- ful excitement. ‘*The remark of Colonel Lobo recalls me to our remaining business,” said Hernan, again turning to Maximilian, ‘This Senor Mar is a worthy com- panion of the count—a villain of the basest de- scription. Your attention, Archduke, and you will soon undersiand the nature of the two men who have made themselves so prominent in welcoming you to this country.” Ada looked quickly af Hernan, her lovely face paling and an apprehensive expression gathering in her dusky eyes, bui her lover met her glances with an encouraging and reagsuring simile, : “T#’s false!” oried Mar, in a state of shuddering apprehension sitailax to that which had so recent- ly forced Viletto to the same exclamation. “The accursed outlaw has cemspired to crush me and rob me of my daughter.” d “That's the idea,’ ‘sneered Viletto, turning to his late confederate. ‘‘Stick to it.” Unheeding theangry and scornful glances which thus commenced passing between the two villains, Hernan continued “As the first step towards exposing Senor Mar, I will summon his principal accuser. Here heis— General Navarro! % Even as he spoke, General Navarro came into the room from the corridor leading to the court. At sight of him Mar uttered a terrible cry of de- spair, 2nd sank backwards, more dead than alive, arisen. “General Navarro!” repeated Maximilian, bow- Hing to the new comer. “Not the General who MASEGE @ of bis w unseen ; PROG +3 Ve rchrown him into a pri- ag sion of his weaith, ifu imprisdwed fifteen years, eto., sen¢e ae “Th proof of all this,” continned Hernan, “I have many witne at command. Firat, Gen- eral Navarro, who testifies to the identity of the overseer with this Seaer Mar. Second, many friends of the General who can swear to this identity. To crown all, I have within call the keeper of the private dungeon during all these horrible years—the keeper eraployed and paid by Mar—a witness who now accuses Mar, in addition to all his other accusations, of being guilty of murder. Behold him!” At these words a gait and haggard figure came staggering into the room, sank into a chair beside Hernan, and fixed his eyes upon Mar, who uttered at sight of him nother horrible cry, and covered his face with his hands. ‘This is the man,” said Hernan, “‘who for fil teen years, acting under Mar’s orders, kept Gen- eral Navarro continedin a private dungeon among the hills in the wilderness west of Zacatecas. The prisoner escaped. The keeper: and his wife agreed to report to Mar. that the prisoner was dead. The wife endeavored to kill the husband by poe for some reason that he cannot fathom, and then went to Mar to report, and was killed by him, as can be proven by Dona Ada and her du- enna. As you see, the witness is but just alive, but has withstood the effects of the poison long enough to establish the guilt of the wretched criminal before us!” | Maximilian questioned the witness briefiy, but long enough to assure himself of the truth of the terrible accusation against Mar, and then dis- missed him, he being too weak to talk further. “Can it be?”, exclaimed *Viletto, sneeringly, “that the man with whom I have been associated, the man whose daughter I was about to marry, ia a murderer and a robber?” Maximilian could not help but smile at this ra- tort, but the grave expression which had gathered upon his face deepened, and it was evidently that he was thinking ef the great difference between Hernan and the two villains. “Lot me trouble you with @ fow words more,” skid Hernan,-after a pause, ‘When Mar impris- oned his victim, the rt only daughter, a mere infant, remained im-the villain’s keeping. This daughter, although 80 cruelly separated from her parents, has been favored by that Great Father who ever watches over the destinies of mankind, and has arrived at the years of woman- hood, the possessor of every virtue and grace that glorifies her sex. Here she is,” and be took Ada by the hand, ‘‘the reputed, daughter of Rin- conado, otherwise Mar; but she will henceforth be known by her true and rightful name of Nita Navarro, and live in the presence of her Own no- ble and loving father!” CHAPTER XXXI A HAPPY RE-UNION, WHICH BRINGS THE CONCLUSION. The words of Hernan had fallen upon quick hearings and understanding hearts. Great sobs had burst from Ada’s lips as the glad truth com- menced dawning upon her, and when Navarro, trembling with emotions, extended his arms to her, with a look of unutterable affection and tenderness upon his thin features, she sprang to meet Se et “My father! my father!” “My daughter! my own darling child!” he re- sponded, as he clasped her to his bosom. Mar uttered anincoherent howl as he glared from one to the other, witnessing their kisses and embraces, " “Can it be?” again sneered Viletto, eyeing his late confederats, ‘“fhe robber and murderer, as it turns ont, hag no daughter to give me|” At last, after ali these years of misery,” mur- mured Navarro, a3 Soon a3 he could command his voice, and while he caressed Ada with ail the ent-up love and tenderness of years, ‘at last I old you again in my arms, my own precious danghter!” ¢ Ada clung to him, twining her arms about his monies-—valuablos that they can identify at sight. neck and pressing tender kisses upon his face, which was now tranefigured by its great joy, and feeling in her heart a strange rest, a deep and abiding joy, such as she had never felt before, *T saw you this evening through the window,” continued Navarro, “‘and recognized you in a mo- ment, from your great resemblance to my dear wife—your mother, I should know you anywhere to be my daughter, Nita.” “Hernan has told me eo much of your suffaer- ings in your dungeon and in being deprived of oe loved ones, father,” whispered Ada, “that I ad already learned to love as well as pity you— and without a single suspicion that I was your lit- tle Nita. Ob, 1am so happy!” ‘Nita, darling,” said her father, in a voice choked by his emotion, “I must not be selfish in keeping you so ong to myself. I have another dear one to present toa you. While I was at the capital searching out Riconado, I found your mo- ther, living quietly by herself, and waiting with a sublime hope and patience for the hour when she should again clasp her husband and child to her bosom,” “My mother ?” repeated Ada, the color coming and going in her clear olive cheeks. Yes, darling; I will bring her to you.” Senor Navarro stepped to the door of the sup- per-room and instantly returned with a atately and lovely woman leaning upon his arm—a wo- man in whose sweet dark face aud melancholy eyes, now lit up by eagerness and expectancy, could be seen a powerful resemblance to Ada, She paused a»moment, regarding the flushed and tearful beauty of the young girl, and then with a cry of irrepressible yearning, she caught her to her bosom and overwhelmed her with pas- sionate caresses. 5 followed can be better imagined The scone that than described. Maximilian and his aids could not behold the joyful meeting without emotion, sud the duenna seated herself deliberately to have a good cry, ote Mar and Viletto regarded each other sul- enly. . “Seems you slipped up on your Kittle calcala- tions, Senor Riconado!” sneered Viletio. “It's -etrange I never suspected this pretty litile ro- mance of yours.” 5 Mar did not reply, but looked around him wildly for some avenue of escape, but he had already seen that guards were stationed at every door and as he now looked at the windows he seemed to see menacing eyes glancing in upon him. “Lost—lost!" he said, sweating at every pore, still looking around him. “But one way ot ¢és- caperemains! And yet-———” e paused as the archduke said, “Captain de Valde, have Mar secured. He shall be tried, and if there is any justice in the world it shall be meted out to him.” { Mar uttered a horrible cry, and drew from his bosom a tiny vial filled with a colorless liquid, which he drank before a hand could prevent nim. “I defy your justice,” he then aaid, with a ghastly smile. “The game is up, and I have slipped out of your hands. General Navarro, you are cheated of your revenge” Navarro, his wife, and Nita, hastened towards the dying wretch, who had sunk upon the sofa, almost conyulsed with the throes of death. mental gaze of Mar, for he suddeniy started, and opening his haif-shut eyes wildly, gam “Mercy! I willteli aii! General Navarro, Ada is your daughter. She is your lost Nita. I kept her, not Wishing to kill a harmless child. I leave at my Mexican bankers a will giving everything to her, 80 you won’t have to delay or go to law, in order to recover your property. I—oh—forgive— mercy —— “Moking your confession, eh?” sneered Viletto, gazing upon the convulsed, yet stiffening features of his late confederate. ‘*That’s right! Uabur- then your mind, Senor Riacondo.» it’s singular, was involved with Santa Anna in “47, as I was | though,” he added, a terrible smile wreathing his lately reading-——” Pesiuiciey ih a. . | bloodless lips, “that we, who have been ao loving . “Lhe ors said Nernan; “a gentleman who | in our lives, in our death are notdivided.?” was once gen tally B8° 29 in Mexico, and who As quick as thought he drew a vial from bis own Nl friends enough oborajte hi teme’ bosom, and despite his fettered hands, drained assisf bh. ws jugpice.. Listen tp a | its conten . 4 ae statement theaiire non wein and this Yii+!\ The ne: ent the two guilty wrotehes had tt” '. o- entered together upon eterni _ He proceeded to e@ate that Mars realname was | Maximiilpn arose and looked upon the ghastly Rinconado, that he iad formerly been the over- | faces and etiffening forms of the two men whom } seer of Navayro’s es/nte, und that he had seized } he had.so cordially greeted that very day, and in his vt a tine Ww iB, in tho ab- \whom he hoped to find friends allies, and ‘a sickening sensation stole over him, so that he Oe seat aud shaded his face with his an at Nita found refuge from the horrid sight in the bosom of her lover, whose face glowed with joy and pride as he folded her in his arms, “Car-r-r-r-r-r-amba !” came rolling in stentor- ian tones, through the apartment, at this junc- ture. “I can't stand tiis any longer! Must a in, captain. Makewayhere! Car-r-r-r-r-r- amba !’ “That voice!” shrieked Dolores, hysterically, arising and looking towards the door. “Tis my own lion-hearted warrior! the glorious priace of my he t! Let me fly to his sheltering arms |” I cas, beloved,” wasthe response. ‘‘Naught shall keep ms from thy side. Even royalty itself must stand aside before such love as ours, my princess. “Tis I, indeed, thy own trusty knight, the terror of his foes, Pacheco the Destroyer! I come! Ho, hol” : Amid a terrific clatter of boots and weapons, the redoubtable-looking squire came thundering from the corridor into the presence of his lady-love, and each, with a reciprocal volley of exclamations and greetings, clasped the other in a fervent embrace. “At last, my own darling Dolores!” exclaimed Pacheco, who had overheard the greetings be- tween Navarro and Nita. “At last I see thee, never more to be robbed of thy presence!” Ere another word could be uttered, the rattle of musketry ata distance, and the, duli booming of cannons, came to the hearing of the parity, and caused the archduke and his aides to start to their feet in wonder and excitement, Have no alarm, archduke, on that score,” said Hernan, quietly. “My men have attacked your guards at the depot, and have secured the half- nmaillion of doilars!” He listened a moment to the sounds of conflict and alarm that continued to reach their ears, and then said, “As you are now aware, arckduke, that the money belongs to General Navarro, and that Mar had no right to loan it to you, you will not blame me for restoring it toits rightful owner. Allow me to add, ere we take leave of you, that Mar and Viletto are fair specimens of tas men who will hail your presence inthis country. You may see already wiat sori of a career awaits you here, and the sooner you return to Europe the better for yourself! You will not be further troubled by me at present. President Juarez is-entirely willing that your Imperialism should run its naturai course, aud he believes that a liberal dose of it will do much towards healing the moral and men- tal sickness of our peopie. I shall accordingly oc- cupy myself with my own affairs during the next few months, leaving you to work out your pro- blems unmolested by me.” ore “Thanks for this assurance,” responded the archduke, “and permit me to add that you and yours shall be in no wise molested, You have made my friends great trouble, but you have ,had great provocations, andI am truly glad the events of this night have led us both to a positive good —you to this happy re-union, and I to a knowl- eage of my late adherents.” Adieus were uttered, and the archduke and his aides departed, leaving the happy party behind them to their great joy. We have little more to add. The morning succeeding the preceding events, the archduke set ont, with a graye and thougit- ful face, for the city of Mexico, and his subsequent career has been told in the daily papers o the United States, so that we need not linger upon it. The Marquis de Valde returned in safety from Martinique, to the intense delight of Hernan, his betrothed, and his old friend Navarro, but wea will not attempt to describe how happy he was made by the explanations and discoveries that awaited his coming. in a few days after his return, Hornan and Nita were duly united in marriage, amid great rejoic- and sentimental Dolores took upon themselves the bonds of matrimony. ‘'he marquis-was seen the same night to arise from his bed, in a sound sleep, proceec. to a neighboring field, and exhume Some terrible vision seemed to pass before the ings, and at ths same time the doughty Pacheco } his missing money and gems. He was carofully awakened by eur here, and it came ont, after some investigation, that the marquis himself, in a state of somnambulism,had removed histreasure from the sub-cellar of his house to this spot, on the night of Hernan’s departure for Los Edi- Solaire being at the time greatly excited about lu. ¥ _, In the researches that followed Vilctto’s doath it was discovered that he had long been amoyec and impoverished by a family living on an island in the gulf, they being eognizant of some crime of which he had been guilty, and one great motive for his robberies and crimes thus became ap- parent, : As will readily be foreseen, Nita had no difi- culty in inheriting the property of Senor Mar, and it was all restored to her father, who fomnd that it had not diminished in the hands ofhis unfaiti fuloverseer. The Hacienda del Lago was taken possession of by General Navarro and his wif, while Nita and Hernan reside at the estate of the marquis, whosshealth has become excellent, now that he ig relieved ofthe anxieties and eares that once beset. him. ¥ nan, serving them faithfully, and at the : time affording them great diversion by their mate and exaggerated atiachment for each other. And so, allooncerned being in the enjoyment of loving hearts and the other great truths of exi tence, we leave them to their happiness, and wie the reaGer a like blessing, ~ ' THE END. 4 itn eaemanete nme TWILIGHI MUSINGS. I am sitting alone in the twilight, and sweet, sad memories fioat around me; spirits of other days smile at me with their sunny faqs, from out tho mnist of gathering years; and‘even the clook ticks softly, ag if in communion with my thoughts and feelings. But hush! Time’s curtain is withdraw- ing, and @ picture of sublime solenmity is slow! disclosing itselfto view. It is of a wild, dar. night—a lonely taper sheds « sickly gleam on the damp air, and lies in a streak of light on the dark, sulien waves of the bay, as they wash the shore with a dirge-like sweep. All is hushed in pre- found silence—for it is the holy hour of midnight, and the ‘‘Angel of sleep” has descended on mankind. No, not on ail—there are lonely wer ers in this home by the sea shore; for death | placed his broad wings over it, and borne away the spirit of a lovely maiden in the fresh —— opening womanhooé; he has touched her with his icy finger, and placed his signet om ‘her bo white brow, and the twin sisters are separ- ated. Fare The rooms seem haunted by a still, oppressive quiet, while a strange dry odor fills the air. The Girgelike moaning of the wind, as it sweeps into the room of death, with the hoarse, heavy wash- ing of the dark water along the shore, are all the sounds to be heard. And see, in the stands the long ceffis, with a tall, shrouded lying in it; her waxen nands folded on her still breast, and a emile playing about her marble features, which seem to have a high and almost sublima expres- sion—the overshadowing presence of spiritual na- oo: _ dawning of immortal life in the immor. 80 . Farewell, sweet Zernah! stoop down from thy bright home on high and w ar comfort to thy bereaved ones; tell them that time will heal the roan and bid them follow thee to the ; and. ‘ But see—the scenery is changing! four years slip by, and again those same rooms come to view, But no death is ‘brooding with dark wings ov] them now; they are bright and cheerful, Baie tha ‘ are smiling faces and gay voices. twin sister, is preparing or her bridal. ‘ piece for ms, Cora, won’t you?” and who can refuse a roquem, from one light-hearted ? But it will be # sad isvan altar where & precious sacrifice? offered to my country, from which passing time has not yet blown th whey 1 see you leaning on the stron, nobié lover, I think of the arm tha; and still in the lonely grave of thewolen But allis brightness and beauty ta grantit may ever be so. You leave your childhood’s home; it wiil be your no longer; mother and father will miss you; loving frisnds who have grown up with you from infaacy will feel that their circle is broken—buié we wis. you God-speed, Katie! : s ou, green: hili-sides and’ rose-bordered waiks. ove is life’s greatest beantifier, and in its light dark places look smooth and enchaiting; may. the lovely prospect never be clouded, but may you be always happy, take you ever into his kiad keeping. ‘ When far away, Kate, and your mind travols back to Amboy, and you think of your treasured dead in our little churcbyard—or the dear old home you will so well remember— the favor that:you will fe onet sottage. old friends at Oak Troe MADAME BARRONN Milliner & Dress Maker, No. 575 Broadway. The attention of the ladies is called to this elegant estab- lishment, where they will find a large assortm : nets, Round Hats, &c., and at greatly reduced prices, Also Dress Making in ail itsbranches. 575 Broadway, (over Brooks’ Shoe Store.) Sif PLAVING CARDS. THE AMERICAN CARD COMPANYS NEW UNION PLAYING OARDS, NATIONAL EMBLEMS, They are the prettiest card made, and suit the popular . idea. The suits are Eacuxs, IELDS, STARS, and FLAGS. CoLoneL in place of King, Goppxess or Liserty for Queen, and Masor for Jack. Ail the games can be played as readily as with cards bearing foreign emblems, Each pack is putup in an ele- gant card-case, and then in dozen boxes for the trade. In order that all dealers may have an 0..portunity te sell these cards, asample box of twelve packs will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of Five Dollars. Address AMERICAN CARD COMPANY, 4-tf No. 14 Chambers street, New York. . a ss Attention, Company! CLARE’S ONGUENT, a powerful stimulant, each pack- age warranted to produce a full set of Whiskers or Mous- taches in six weeks, upon the smoothest face, without stain or injury to the skin. pr gpg using this Onguent and finding it not as represent (by informing me of the faet) can have their money returned to them at any time within three months of the day ef purchase. Price $1. Sent sealed and post-paid to any address on receipt of the mom- ey. Address, 4. C. CLARK, P. 0. Drawer 118, Albaay, New York. 35-266 : ’ TT. __ Warranted ta produce a SHULTS ONGUENT fall set of Whiskers or Moustaches in six weeks, or money refunded. Sent pest paid for 0 cents, or 3packages for $1. Address 34-266 Cc. F, SHULTS, 235 River St, Troy, N. ¥. “PSYCHOMANCY.”—How either sex msy fascinat and gain the loveand affections of any person they choose instantly. This simple mental acquirement all can possess free, by mail, for 25 cents, together with a guide to the un- married of both sexes. A queer, exciting book. ae Address, T. WILLIAM & CO., Publishers, chiladet- sShults’ Curlique, For curling the hair. Price 50 cents. Sent sealed and post-paid. Address C. F, SHULTS, Troy, N. Y. 47-328 THE BRAZILIAN HAIR CURLER. _ One application warranted to curl the most straight amd stubborn hair inte wavy ringlets or heavy, massive curls. Sent, post-paid, on receiptef $1. Address 47-3m S. S&S. @HASE, Cohoes, N. Y. $l. Whiskers. $i. For one dollar I will send sealed and post-paid the “Gre- cian Compound,” highly perfumed, which I warrant to force a heavy growth of hair u the smoothest face in five weeks, or upon bald heads in eight weeks, without stain or injury to the skin. Entire satisfaction given or money retunded. Descriptive circulars sefit free. Address 47-3m E. L. SANFORD, Lansingburgh, N. Y. BEAUTY.—HUNT’S BLOOM OF ROSES, weharming, delicate, and perfect natural color for the &% cheeks or lips, does not wash off or injure the skin, re- mains permanent for years, and cannot be detected. Price $1 18 by mail, securely paeked from observation. ‘T & CO., Perfumers, 133 South 7th st., Philadelphia. 2-eow-éf, a sold. phia. Pacheco and Dolores reside with Nitaand Her-* oe ag to home: Life spreads out like a bright panorama before and may our Heavenly Faiiier me ask ent of Bon- . 3 Poe iltaaiine . _ : ay yr oh y 4 ~ Qf ’ 4 q od ; ‘ ett Py "eg « CO ner meet an ete ¥ wt ot ere: & me = da a | \ ee * ate. | +? + ' : ‘ 4 . Sead 4 } a .. : a 5 wt . i ~ ae i ’ i | \ a i i ? ; ; / uwiatly toladies of light complexion, as the discolored spots ie on face show ore strongly on blondes than brunettes; 1 bat they contriby te greatly in marring the beauty on either; ; 4 + Will effectually remove them witnout ri exture or celor, would be considered a “Eres medical science. Dr. B. C. PERRY, who made Giteases of the skin a specialty, has discoy- what can Je Circaig eentaing © —~ Agents whichwe . the comtiry. | . 1 DOZER FIN ~ SCARFS, l ae J.H. WINSLOW & CO. THE GREATES OPPORTUNITY EVER OF- FERED TOSECURE GOOD JEWELBY . £f LOW, PRICES. 100,000 WATCHTS, CHAINS, SETS OF JEWELRY, GOLD PEN, BRACELETS, LOCKETS, RINGS, GENTS’ PINS, SLEEVE BUTTONS, SIfuUDs, ETC. WORTH $500,000. To be Sid for ONE DOLLAR each, without re- ‘. gaz io value, and not to be paid for until | you know what you are to get. Send 25 cents a Certificate, which will inform you 218 fer $1, und at the same time get our g fulllist and particulars, also terms to waut in every Regiment and Townin J. BH. WINSLOW & CO., __ 208 Broadway, New York Ef STORE, 66 Broadway. (ENTS FURNISHING GOERS, 505 BROAD WAY. & SOFrt Fitish SHIRTS FOR GENTLEMEN, 505 BROADWAY. for r mts’, Ladies’, Misses’ and Chil- drep’s HOSIERY, GOURVOSIER’S & ALEXANDRBE’S KID GLOVES FOR LADIES AND GENTS, ICE MAYNARD’S LOVE, . BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES, ELL The old steeple-cicck, half embowered am: tig drooping elms and sturly oak tress hai just chimed out the hour of seven—the red fires’ of sunset were mellowing into twilight, and from the fragrant depths of the midsummer woods. a thousand faint, delicious seents were springing up, at the touch of evening dews. Yet the air was perfectly stili—so still, in fact, that the quivering aspen leaves that overshadowed old Jacob May- nard’s Stone house scarcely moved, and the swing- ing trails of sweet-brier that festooned the win- dows, hong motioniess as if they had been carved in emerald. Three persons were standing on the broad stone steps of the antique old house—Jacob Maynard, his daughter Ellice, and Hugh Warner. Mr, Maynerd was a tall, portly man, of about fifty, with the deep lines that betoken an iron will traced around the corners of his mouth, and keen blue eyes, full of cold, piercing light, singularly un- like the soft brilliance that giowed underneath the jong, dark lashes of his daughter Ellice, who was not perhaps what poets and romancers would call a beauty; but she was a singularly pretty girl, With an oval face, regular features, and biue liquid eyes that reminded one irresistibly of the first wild violets that smile up from sunny nooks in the apring wildernesses. | Hugh Warner was a slender, rather fine-lookin young man, with dark eyes anda cheek bronze y daily exposure to sun and wind. Just now, however, there was a dark red fiush glowing through its olive surface—a flush of mangled an- ger and mortification. * “You have said quite enough, sir!” he said, : Maynard fuilin the faeo. “I under- 2 y fiat Tam turned from your house asa rejected suitor for Ellice’s hand, for the one aill- comprehensive reason that I am poor,and forced to work for my daily bread. I may be poor, but am able to maintain Hilice, and I had supposed, in this democractic country, that that fact would g > d ¥ Lia 505 BROADWAY. TIES, &C., FOR THE HOLIDAYS, §05 BROADWAY. eo? 9 ; i = British & French Hosiery, ; 505 BROADWAY. LADIES’ UNDER LINEN, Beantifuliy made to order. and kept in stock, 505 BROADWAY. ents’ and Ladies’ Fine Underwear, _ ALSO, ay” AND GIRLS’ UNDERWEAR, GLOVES, FANCY SUITS, &o., \ 005 BROADWAY. MADAM YOUNG, Ein. AND TASTE are weli known to the fash- jonable word,) is engaged as PAL DRESS & CLOAK CUTTER, §05 BROADWAY. f WINTLE, long known to the patrons of BNINW?S BAZAAR, _ SUPERINTEXDS THE MARS, LADIES? AID CHILDREN'S PULFITLING DEPARTHENTS, Ar §05 BROADWAY. . & BALDWIN S PROPRIETORS, ‘CITING PATRONAGE FROM ALL D> APPRECIATE ; LASS GOODS LAND 2 JFACTURING. te} a how, &e., ie, . COMMON SENSE, Sr xzious people, and a good book for e . To be had at all néws depocs. maiked free. Address a }_ “I capnot diso\ey my father, Hugh,” sbewob- bed: “I will-iovs fou I live; but-do not be sufficient. More than this, Ellice loves me— and Ther!” Jacob Maynard’s high, smooth forehead grow dark with supressed indignation, a “Surely, you have not for *Hugh—-is is yon? or am I dreaming | where 7 : “From youder colonnaded mansion among the trees,” he answered, halfsmiling, ‘Then you did not know that you were upon the domains of an old frisnd ?” She shook her head wonderingly. “I fancied you were dead, Hugh—it has been 80 long since we heard anything about you.”” “And I fancied something still worse—that you were married! Then you love me still, Eliice?” The deep crimson mounted to the very roots of her hair, as she met his earnest, beseeching glance. Was itnot answer enough? “Take me to your father, EUice—he is within, I suppose ?” Oid Jacob Maynard would have risen up humbly to bowto the wealthy “lord of the manor,” but Warner gently stopped him, “a ay Mr. Maynard, I am Hugh Warner, an old friend. The old man stared blankly from his daughter to the stranger, and back again. “Tam getting feeble,” he stammered, “‘andI do a naderstand, sir. Hugh Warner was a poor oy. : “But Haugh Werner has become @ rich man since, Mr, Maynard—richer, perhaps, than he de- serves—yethe hes not forgotten old times.” “Tremember you now, sir,” faltered the old man, meekly; “but Lam not as quick as I was. Trouble, sir, changes us ail,” : coe me, Eilice ?” How— *“T have a favor to ask of you, to-ni Mr. Maynard,” said Hugh, still holding Mili hand in his. “Ith#s besn refused same. onc yet I have courage to ask yet a second time you givé me your daughter wife Jacob Maynard looked L HS - “Sir, we are very poor—and Elke is no longer | young and lovely.” “She is Ellice still; and dearer to mo than aught elso the world contains. Will yousgive her ? IT haye loved her with unehanged, un- shaken tenderness all these long, sad ye: I not claim my reward at last?” * The old man bowed his head upon his withered handa with a mute gesture of assent, while the tears slowly trickled down his cheeks. Hoe had borne tle world’s frown for years; but one word of kindness unmanned him. S—raay ‘Your audacity, young man, is more than equalled by my daughter’s folly. Do yousuppose And gothe morn of happiness. dawned at last over the jong, sad night which had darkened I shali allow Hitice Maynard tomarry a penniless mechanic? @ man who works for his living? Henceforth you will please consider this absurd affair as entirely and totally at an end.” He took his daughtor’s arm and turned teward the wide, open hall. Ellies lifted her blue eyes, swimming in tears, to her father’s stern, immova- ble face, Papa! may I not sey one good-bye to Hugh? Oh, papa, my heart will break!” ; “Not one word |” thundered the irate old man; “You have exchanged too much sentimental non- sense with him already !” He drew her in, leaving Hugh Warner standing with folded arma and contracted brows on the stone steps, just where he had listened to the sen- tence that darkened all life’s sunshine for him. ‘*This,then, is tha psnalty I pay for being poor,” he muttered vetween his set tseth. “For myself,’ I could bear it—but—Elllice ik Heturned, and walked siowly down the wids graveled waik, under the fragrant shadows o over-arching linden trees, “Hugh |” How long he had been standing, with his head bowed down on the ledge ofthe high stons wail that bounded the southern line of the Maynard estates, he knew not—it might have been an hour, it might have been but ten minutes; but he started at the soft sound ofLHilice’s voice. ‘You here, my darling? and alone?” “Ol Hagh! I could not rest without one word to hey Dearest, you will bslieve that Tlove you 8 “Ellice,” said Hach, involuntarily clasping her slender fingers, while Ellice almost shrank with the pain, “I shall leave this plac in a day or two, Will you not come with me, as my wife?” { > e é as long as tempt me to forsetmy duty 7” \ Hough bent to press his Jips to the fair forehead, flushed with emotion, and half hiiden by the dis- heyelied curls that had esoaped from their ribbon fastenings. : _ *Good bys, then, Ellice—good bye forever!” Morn and even—aun and storm—chancss and changes floated by, down the slow current of years, before Kilice Maynard looked on her lover’s faceagain, Could she but have r¥ad the book of the future, even her gentle faith might have quailed before the dark presentiments. itis well | &. FOOTE, No. 1,130 Broadway, N. Y. FING MACHINES 'y tnose who give them a thorough trial, yer introduced are rapidly superceding all eedle and shuttle, n b i d 1 ~ ns, Which produce An possibly be ob- “thing of life,’ then standing still until 1 both draw upon the it is togefher, making stitch fight and strong. They fie of running at very high speed, being smoothly ed, ar making fee stiiches to every revolution of the wheel, a speed unequalled vy any other shuttle inecinuse. , Yor these reasons the ‘Werzn” s acanowledged, where- ever knowm, tobethe best sewing machine made, end is unequetied in its simplicity of construction, power, dura- hility, ease ef management, and the great beauty anc r- tainty of its operation Every machine is war: ed Ail aiders er communications from Families, Tailors, ‘Seamstresses, Clothiers, Harness Makers, &c., in the eoun- try. will reeeive prompt attention. Send for descriptive samples of work. AGHNTS WaNTiZD in Address 506 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 42-12t-eow i. Cigars. G & PATENT OCIGARETTOS. Wholerake Depot at. 4 ‘ GAIL, AX & KUCHLER’S : Nos. 17Sand 175 Water strect, New York. (DIAMOND PARLOR-MATCHES. matehes are the BEST IN THE WORLD, SURE “WITHOUT SULPHUR, no DISAGREEABLE 4 and 4 luxury ané comfort to smokers and people E , witl k jungs. "Por Sale who le and retall by ats THE LODI MANUFACTURING CO., Sat; No. 66 Courtiandt street, New York. PERRY'S MOTH. AND FRECKLE LOTION. Chicasma, Or Moth Patches, Lentigo or Freckles, blem- asin the face calied moth, are very anneying, partic- removal of moth, freckles face without a he ered an infalliblercmedy for the : : iring the C. PER and other discoloratigns from the ~ Intexiure orcolér. Prepared only by Dr. B. , v ; , otk es No. 49 Bond-st See For sale ’ byall druggists €:ilfor Perry’s Moth and Freckle Lotion. | YAN GEES & POI x ce Gael on tlie *TER, No. 170 Washington-st.. Boston, Wholesale Agents for New England 7 — hae cg . . : . oo i ‘ ee Send for It. Be sao get wy circular, it will pay you to read it, Address B. A. WILLIS, & Nassau-st., New York. —- cme enetree re mars secret nate em ranma rae wa ‘Tux woes of human life are relative. The sailor springs from his warm couch to climb the fey aw at midnight without a murmur; while the merchant complains of the rattling cart which disturbs his ih repose. In the time of peace, we announce the breaking of a bone as a “mejancholy event”—but, in war, when weread of the slaughter of our Neighbors and thousands of the enemy, we clap our bands and that life’s leaves are turned over for us, one at a time, by the forbearing hand of Heaven. It wasten years lator that Mr. Warner sat in his elogantly appointed study, at Beech Park. From the wide-open French windows alovely view of wood and fie!d, ani winding stream spread out before him, like a living panorama; whi.e within the moss-green velvet carpet, and the tinted walls, hung with dimly colored pictures, presented ascaroe legs inviting prospect. h Down in the yalleys rose the smoke-blackened chimnoys of the great iron foundries that had proved veins of gold to the resolute, enterprising young man. for Hugh Warner had ai length re- alized the dream of slow, lagging years—he was a rich man. Yet was he happy? Ah, no, no! Directly opposite sits his agent, a bristling little old men, with gold spectacles, and an air of infin- ite conseqnence in his eyery motion. » **You ses, Mr. Warner,” he went on; “I didn’s know who they were,.and although the Hollow Cottage only rents for fifty dollars a year, I told "em. they must give some sort of respectable refer- ences. “Who? What are you speaking of ?” asked Mr. Warner, suddenly starting from 2, reverie. *“Phose people that want to hire Hollow Cot- tage, sir. The old man seems quite a decent sort of person, and says he d like some little piace ‘about the iron works=fesistant book-keeper, or something of that sort. “I should judge they had geen better days. Hignamoe is Mayaard, and——” “Maynard!” Hugh Warner started from 2 second reverie at the sound of the name. “Yes, sir; Jacob Maynard.” Warner rose suddenly, and began pacing up and down the room. “Jacob Maynard—and he daes not know that the man at whose hands he sues for favorsis the ‘penniless mechanic’ whom he once turned from his door,” he muttered, “Tileson 1” “Sir?” “He has—I think you mentioned he bad a daughter—a widow?” ‘No gir, not a widow, vant called her,” ‘Strange!” pondered Warner; “I heard sho was married long ago}! Yet, even then I could scarcely believe Ellice could be false to me!” ‘Sir?’ ejaculated the astonished agent. “Nothing! Iherdly know what I am saying to- night, Tileson. I donot feel well, Give me my hat, and Tll step round by the Hollow Co.tage rmoyself—a walk in the cool night air will do me good.” . : He re. out on the lawn, leaving Tileson in a state of dire perplexity. “The idea of Mr. Warner’a going round to see about the references at Hollow Cottage, when he as 80 many other important affuirs to attend to,” he ejaculated, rubbing his gold spectaclesin dis- may. ‘What can it mean?” The young moon was just beginning to tremble faintly threugh the purple vapers of twilight, and Ellice Maynard, standing at the cottage door, was watching its glimmer with eyes still blue and bright, though rather sadder and softer than of yore, The golden brown curls wore all brushed back now, and knotted at the back of her head. The fresh girlish bloom was gone from her choek—- yet Ellice Maynard was still pretty; even though the world classed her among that doomed rank known as ‘‘old maids.” **Filice |” Lay! . She gavo a quick, convulsive start—the soft, pe- culiar intonation of the one word carries her back to the radiant days of girlhood—alas! was it but a delusive dream ? No, tor a shadow fell across the moonlight that shone over the old door stone—a strong, tender Miss Maynard, their ser- comr Ellice Maynara’s young life, She had waited pa- tiently—nor had she waited in vain. <> «> > A BLOW IN THE DARK, A TRUTASFUL INCIDENT. BY ROGER STARBYCE, The ship Curfew—s New York vesasl, bound to the East Indies—was staggering heavily apon her way, under close-reefed topsails, through the wa- . ters of the Gulf Stream. it was @ nightof storm and darkness, and the gloom would fiave been im- penatrable had it not been relieved by the weird phosphorescent light of the foam-covered wayes, The wind roared ané shrieked madiy through the ship’s rigging, and the plunges thai she made were many and violent, cansing timbers and top- masts to reel with thahominous, jerking motion, which is never disregat by a good. seaman, Jsveral old water-dogs—weather-beaten fellows, with gray beards and bowed should¢s, who were among a party of sailors gathered near the wheel- house—shook their heads atevery piunge, and glanced Ss animes towards the officer of the watch, who was pacing the quarter deck in the ee — ly awaiting the moment when he eghould go for- ward to perform the duty already mentioned. At the endof an hour, his vigilant watch was re- warded. Ho saw the second mate leave the quar- ter-deck, and move on towards thefore pari ofthe vessel, until his figure was shrouded from view by the deep shadows that obscured the waist. Dick then stole frem the dark corner, where he had been seated, opened the blecksmith’s chest, and abstracting from it a heavy sledge, continued his way quickly and cautiously toward the bows of the vessel. He had previously assured hiraself that hig shipmates of the watch, with the excep- tion of the man on the lookout, were all gathered aft near the wheelhouse; and therefore, when at length he crept upon the knightheads, he did not stop to look around him, bui placing his knee against the top of the rail, and firmly grasping the ee oi the sledge, he peered into the ship's 162d, ‘‘Aye, there he is!’ he mentally exclaimed, ag he caught sight of 2 monkey-jacksé and a tar- patilin, “there he is—cursehim! Ha isin a good posttion forthe work, too, with his back turned towards me !” Then grinding his teeth with floree hate, he lifted the ponderous sledge and broughi it down with terrible force upon the head of his uncon- scious victim. There was a dull, crashing sound, ® faint groan, and the next moment the yawning waves received the form of the murdered man, Bowline now glanced towards the man on the lookout, who was geated upon thejib-boom, with Fey ASS sured himself that person was unconscious of the dark deed that had been committed in his vicini ty, he cautiously descended from the bow, dip; the sledge in salt water so ns to remove the blood which he believed was upon the hammer, and de hig way to the blacksmith’s chest, upon ich he seated himself after he had replaced his on, iis had not oscnpied this position many minutes when he saw a figure emerge from the steerage hatch, and move towards the quarter deck. _ The murderer started as though a bullet had pierced his heart. A terrible suspicion flashed across his brain! He spraug to his feet and staggered, rather than walked towards the miz zen mast so as to geta nearer glimpse of this figure. A moment afterwards the istter stopped near the binnacie and turned so that bis features, lighted by the compass lamp, were fally exposed to the view of Dick Bowline. . Then the latter was obliged to press his lips tightly togetner to check the exclamation of horror that rose from his breast, for the face that he now beheld was that of Lands- man, the second mate! He had not gone for- ward—he had only walked ag far as the steerage hatch, and descended through it. The dar noas prevented Gowline from perceiving this circum- | stance, and his heart was now stirred with fover- ish anxiety to know thensme of the person who had fallen beneath his deadly blow. He made his way to the wheel-house, looking so wild and ghastly that his shipmates stared upon him in astonishment, and were anxious to know whatailed him. Buthe returned no answer to their questions. Looking eagerly from ons to the other, he counted them again and again in his mind, inorder io assure himself that they were all there with the exception ofthe lookout. Having satisfied himself upon that point, be- yond a doubt, and thus being convinced that the man he had killed belonged to the other watch, he glided forward and entered the forcoastle. Trembling in every limb, under tho influence of a terrible presontiment, he now proceeded to draw aside the ourtains of the bunks and examine the faces of the occupants, There were twenty bunks in all belonging to the, larboard and star- board watches. As the larboard watch was on most unconcerned manner possible, a comrade, and indicating the officer iti ® nod, “there heis, paying no aitention ab ya te infernal pitcbings of the cla era them top-masts out of her pretty tell ye, if weidon’t ges orders t “Oh, he bb hanged!” n he de:..fhe’s a pari bheg. ag have and inf——* es “Right there, Tom,” interrupted Sha’ here seamen, ‘*He’s a lubber, ife § + and he’s got s lubber’s name, too—Laiig queer name forthe second mate of a Me \ —— : L “We oughtn’s to atand such a nian in mates.” remarked another old gailor bein’ a lubber, he’s a tyrant.” ‘Ave, aye, he’s allthat, blast him |” -saded-a fifth. “TI saw him strike Harry Bowling an awful blow across the head this morning, beeauss he didn’t coil up the top-gallant halyards to snit him.” “You saw this, you say, Tom ?—s#av the second | mate strike my brother in that way?” exclaimed the helmsman, whose eyes were now flashing with @ terrible gleam. “Yoa, Dick; and whatis more, I saw him deal the youngster & kick, too, on the day before.” _ The dark, swarthy face of the elde? Bowline grew livid with passion. He pressed his lips tightly together, and his sycs glowed like Goals of fire. | ‘Had Tseen my brother suffering theso indig- nities,” he muttered, “I wouldhave dashed out the brains of the second mate with a handspike 1” “Avo, aye,” remarked one ofthe men. ‘“Ii’a & pity, Bowline, that you and your brother don’t be- ong to the same watch. Landsman wouldn't dare to touch him when you were about.” =” ©“No—no, not at all—blastyhim !” chimedin an- other voice. “He is a coward, and he knows Dick Bowline’s temper well enough by this time.” _ “}i] pay him off yet,” said the helmaman in w, calm Voice. ey His shipmates looked at each other ina signifi- cant manner, anda few of? them shuddered, They knew the sposker’s character too well to doubt that he would keep his word, and they also knewthat he would hesitate at no crime when bent upon revenge, His brother formed a strik- ing contrast to him in every respect. He was a delicate youth, of slight frame, and wiih a mild face, partially shaded by locks of brown curling hair, His disposition was gentle; his hears over- flowing with love for his fellow-oreatures, but lacking that force which is necessary to every man, and particularly to those who go out into the world, Hehad suffered many indignitiosad the hands of the second mate since he shipped in the Curfow, and not daring to resent thém him- self, he preferred to suffer all, rathe:thanto make his brother acquainted with the story of hia wronge, and thus get him into trouble with the officers. It was owing to this reserve onbhe "part of tha youth, and his frequent persuasions ofsach of his Shipmates as witnessed the ill-treatment he ive?, nobto mention the matiter to his broth r, latter had remained rant of ifup to the period of which we ara w g. The fiercest passions of Dick Bowline were now aroused, and before ke was relieved at tho heim, he had formed in his mind a plan of revenge which he resolved to carry out npon the first fa- yorable opportunity. He had passed threo years of his life in & man-of-war, and was therefore ac- quainted with many of those devilish schemos which aro sometimes resorted to by the mem- bors of a frigate’s crew, to get rid of troublesome shipmates. From among all the dark plans that had crowded into his brain, he had now chosen that which was the moat simple and easy of exe- ention. It is generally calied “the trick of the hsmmer,” and consists in striking the victim upon the skull with a sledge, or any other heavy ingiru- ment capable of producing death, while he is in the chains, or in the ship’s head. To. guard against detection, the murderer generally™ per- forms the deed upon some dark night, while his J shipmates on deck are in another part of the Yes- gel. A heavy blow—a splash im the water, and the work is done! The man is not missed until hours afterwards, and it is thea believed by every person in the ship, with the exception of the as- gassin, that he had accidentally fullon overboard. Vick Bowline knew that before the other watch should be called, the second mate would go over the bow in order to look at the sbhip’s figurehead. This was the wooden image of a lion, the neck of which had lately displayed’a great crack, that threatened the dislodgement of the head. In or- der not to lese the latter, the captain had fastened a rope to it, ons end of which was tied to the windlass bitt: and he had ordered each officer of the watch to inspect the lion occasionally, and assure himself that the rope was in its place. After he had been relieved ab the waesl, Bow- 2. re lo ‘Aye, ayo,” growled one of the men, turning to! | and | ewéat relied In bi; > munications to this department have so often deck, only ten of 0 bunks were oc es 2 should have cor f tho bunks that he exa: that nob &@ man was mis when he cams tothe last one—the tent iv ic drome fro his forchewdl muco At wline pereeiye pile) £8 yom. : ‘end that he couid sojrcely last, however, HD ac- and then, sa his eyes 2] who was lying wpox his 8 Wi xa Mack wiih @ deep groan, 2: “Oh, my God |” d. ‘My brother is not in his bunk! It wash h en, Fhom Iki ‘What is that you say?” inquired tho Pia wii iting his head fro oF is that you say ?” ' Where ismy brother ?? demanded Dick, ina wild and hollow veice, as he sprang from the chest. ‘Whereis he? Where is Harry ?” “Hoe will be here ditectly, I think,” answered the other; “ho went on deck a short time ago, to get his jamper, that he had forgotten when he turned in, and«deft hanging near the head. He should have come back before this time 1” ‘Ave, aye, he'll never come back!” screamed Dick, ins voice of agony. ‘““He’s dead! dead! dvad! andI—Ism his murderer! Ol my God! 7 God!” ad ds 5. 6 tore his hair, an ashed his head madly against the bulkheads. He beat his forshead with his clenched fist, and in his wild grief, ke struck his teroples a furious blow, which felled him senseless to the deck. He was picked up by his shipmates and placed in hig bunk. Ho recovered soon afterwards, bub with the loss of his reason. Ho was a hopeless yaaniae from that moment, and when the vessel touched at her first port, he was taken ashore and pisced in @ mad-house. 4 PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS. * | righ — The sprightly little ““Gipsey,” whose com- amused our readers, makes us another visit, after an unusually protracted abgence. Now that she is once more inclined to be on visit- his face turned away from him, and having as- | and one who evidently cut his eye-teeth iong acquaintance, but I suppose I may aitribuve the honor to my rather prepossessing appearance.’’ I mentally vowed to give Carrie a piece of my for being so careless as to invite a perfect sirar her house, in the absence of both her parents, j be- cause ** he spoke so pleasantly and she liked his looks,” which was all tae reason she could give when I ques. tioned her afterward. On reaching home, I teld my me r how badly I had been treated, but she said I had mind gex to ne ub been ved just right ; and, worse atill, told my father and brothers all about it. One of my brotpors ptlled my curls, and said, ‘* Halloo, Gyps, how is the doctor? How are you, auntie? How is the 7 White my father and brother Tom actually rx angry, that i angry.) wh need not f escaped wit red. J was 80 began to cry (I never cry unless { am ny father said, ‘Never mind, 21 80 badly, but be thankful ¢ h nothing worse than a litt 7 i Brother Charlie, who is in a certain larg 3] to on Broadway, talked very largely about horsewhipping the doctor; but my father said “No, that he was not i have not seen him + worth noticing.”’ believe any poor girl evar had such torme erg aS T have. Isbegin to think t si ject for the lunatic asylum if Ob dear, oh dear! looking dentist until you are cortai: ata ii ws wife ; as ia Slice. ot T 4 au for xn, I detest the whole class mosé cordially. — If that dentist is as good at drawing teeth 48 he is at drawing the girls after him, or can fill the former with gold or amalgam as well as he can the ears of the latter with soft non- acknowledges a desire for a similar companion, The lady in question signs herself ‘Miss ing terms With us, we hope that her appsar- ance in this column will hereafter be as fre- quent as possible, and that all her future sketches will be as interesting amd humorous as the one describing WHAT CAME OF MY SHINING UP LOOKING DENTIST. Oh, dear, I do not believe any poor mortal ever had such trouble agi. Iam teazed aad tormented Seat lifa is simost a burden to me. You mast know that j two months ago I attended 2 sociable given by a friend, | and was introduced to a gentleman, a dentist, and at | the same time my friend advissd me to “shine up’ to} him and have some fun. He was good-looking and 2 | professional man, so I concluded to act mpon her ad. vice, We took long walks and studted astronomy; be gent me the most beautiful bouquets, and wrote whole pages of poetry. One day he confessed to having a penchant for rusk, so the first time my good mother made some I secretly took four and carried them to his office, for which he gave me a bewildering smile. In- deed matters wore progressing fiasly, whon the doctor called one day to ask me to ride out in the country to { t TO A GOOD- congratulated myself upon being heart whole. (QQ friends tell mo I have no heart, but I know better.) The day was delig i At eleven o’clock we drove up in front of a pretty farm- house, and Dr, Orton assisted me to alight, and I soon found myself in a cozy parlor, where the doctor intro- duced me to his anut and his wife! soon conquering my Chagrin I shook hands with the lady and assured her that I wae moat excruciatingly glad to seo her. at was very busily engaged in talking to the baby. I praised the baby, (the little fright looks just like his father,) feeling like pinching itat the ssme time. She, I mean the wife, took me to her room to remove my things, when I asked her if she was not surprised to geo her husband bringing a lady home with him, “Oh, no,” she said, ‘the had spoken of me #0 often that she had requested him to bring rac to see her, she was 80 lonely, tecling sure that she would like me I was so lively.” Poor woman, how I pitied her. After dimner we started for home, As we passed out of the village, I aske@l the doctor why he had never men- tioned bis marriage. He looked confused, and -ssid “Tcamea stranger to your city, and thinking I should have betier succesa if tho ladies supposed me a bachel- or, 1 took my wife in the country and left her in charge of my aunt, And when your friend called at my office, she took it for granted that I was single, and I did not correct her mistake, I have often wondered that she shout “glorious victory!” hand was clasping her own.*® line kept his eyes upon his intended victim, eager- should have invited me to her house on so short an ghtful, and I enjoyed myself very mt oh, } i turned tolook at the doctor, but he | {ago in this column, says she wants a hug- | band, ‘but is geo sn aunt of his; as I had heard him speak of her a | great maay times, Thad a curiosity to seo the lady, 80 | i went, ithought the doctor decidedly in love, pn i SLY } For 3 minute Ithought I should choke to death, but } } ' | } ' Nangy,”’ and in answer to a poem entitled sense, he is both a smart and shrewd dentist, defore he lured ‘‘Gipsey” into a courtship. «scored Lalking of courtship, we annex a com- munication on this interesting theme, from a™ favorite contributor, ‘“Carrie C. Hallock,” who akens our admiration by placing before the public AN OLD MAID’s oO v aw RIT ays EMBRANCHS. lways taken a lively interest in m: at part of it which has had the ha; ng of my existence; ther f beneGit of that portioa which has not, I a brief outline of that part of my life w my lovers, fori have bad them, M?. 1 The world h affairs, at least ness of knoy a