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ENTERED ACCORDING To ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1870 BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE GRERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISPRIC’ COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISYRIC? OF

 

= eer ae eas a NEE SEL ROT I

Vol. XXV.

FRANCIS S.

FRANCIS S. SULTHI,

eaoewue t

 

eae a

ge ou.’ Proprietors,

ae

 

 

 

 

SEEN DARKLY AS THROUGE 4 GLASS. |

BY ALICY CARY.

O thou gleam of life Elysian,

© thou vision of a vision,

Let me in my arms infold thee—

Let me have thee, let me hold thee—
Cross the river of dark death—
Come, @ come, and give me faith?

Let me see thy smile’s sweet beaming

In my waking, as my dreaming—

When the darkuess round me presses,

Bight me with thy shining uresses—
Leave me not to blindly ¢srope—
Come, O come, and give me hope!

Day and night; the hours are dreary—
Night and day my life is weary,
Sad with sorrows. sick with pinings
for the clouds with silver linings—
. For the skies so brightly blue,
For the drip-drop of the dew.

Noontide now no sun discloses—
May comes m without her roses—
Toncues of larks have lost their sweetaess—
Alli of love is incompleteness—

O my dearest—O niy best,

Come back to me—give nie rest!

Midnight moons have waned from splenior—~
Tole of winds no more is tender,
Waters-sing not in their mecting,
Nature's heart has ceased from beating:
O my lost love—O my irue;
Make the dead world live anew !
Teil me of the world about thee—
Teach me how to do without thee—
Show me by some blessed token
iow the grave’s dread seal is breken,
With what-body thou didst rise—
Make me with thy wisdom, wise.
Hast thoa found our maiden mother?
Has thou known our élder brother ?
Seen the throne of awful whiteness
That doth hide the Father's brightness ?
Heard the song the serapis sing?
Then to me some-echo bring !
Othou gleam of life Elysian—
0 thou vision of a vision;
if my arms may not infold thee,
Nor my mortaleyes behold thee—
Ere thou fad’st through Heaven's giad gate,
Teach, O teach me how to wait.
$0

SQUIRREL CAP:

OR, THE
Ranger of Raccoon Ridge.
By Burke Brentford.

DD

“Squirrel Cap” was commenced in No. 22. Back numbers can
be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United
meer CHAPTER Vii—(Continued).

Nineveh was in waiting just below the bank. The
Englishman was bolstered up in the saddle, and tiie
trapper, without a word, seized her bride-rein, and led
the way down the road.

“Il suppose we were defeated in the contest,’ said the
Engiishman.

“i<inder,’? was the laconic response.

“What was that ’orrid savage about to do to me, when
you volunteered vour noble assistance 1’

“Was goim’.to take your scalp—to lift your har, that’s
all.’?

“Dear me, dear me!’ exclaimed the Englishman, rub-
bing his hand over the tep of his head, asif to assure
himself that he still retained his scalp. “What ’errid
Yeathens! ‘Ow can I thank you, my noble fellow, for
what you have done for ime ?”’

“By not sayin’ nothin’ more about it,” was the reply.
“Good thing that the weather has moderated so much,
though, or you’d ’a been friz, sure as I’m a sinner.”

“On, my ’ead, my ’ead!”? exclaimed the yvounded man,
putting his hand to his temples with an expression of un-
feigned agony.

“Cheer up!’ said the trapper, Kindly, “we have only
three miles te go.”

But when tvey reached the door of Raccoon Lodge, the
poor tellow swooued quite away, and wouid have pitched
headlong from the saddie, had not Squirrel Cap caught
him in bis strong arms.

He bore him into the cabin, and laid him upon his own
couch of skips.

“Bring another tallow-dip, and some water, while I put
Nineveh in the shed, Aliie,”’ said the trapper, addressing
the pretty Indian maid, wie liad been up, awaiting his
return.

She did as she was biddea wiflt a quiet alacrity, which
showed a wonderful improvement since she had first
been inducted into “civerlization,’? as her foster-latner
calied it.

The irapper returned, and washed and bound, witha
skitiul hand, the sufferer’s wounds, which appeared to
be confined to several severe contusions of the skull, and
gave him some more brandy, which, with the genial
warmth of the fire that blazed upon the hearth, contrib-
uted to elevate his droopivg spirils wonderfully.

Allie moved avout the cabin at intervals, and the Eng-
lishman’s eye watched her with unfeigned pleasure aud
gratification.

“] wasn’t aware that you ’ad 4 wife,” he at length said,
turhibg to the trapper, who was watching the expression
of his face with a jealous look.

* Neither was 1,7 was the cool reply.

“ Oo, then, his this lovely being, my friend, hiff I may
be haliowed to nask ¢”?

“Tiai’s my darter.”

‘No, ’m your darter, poppy. I’m your darter! I’m
your darter!’’ squalled the parrot, Wino now, awakirig for
the first time, began to ruffle her feathers overhead.
“Swangers, strangers, strangers in the cabin!’ continued
the bird.

“Well, if hever I did see hanything to ’old a candle to
this!’ ejaculated the Englishman, as Polly settled down
upon lier master’s shoulder and continued to chatter at
lim vehemently. ‘What is that bird, my friend?

“Another darter of mine,” replied the trapper.

“Ho, hisee, a joke, a jokel but hi was speaking of the
’andsome young -lady—the Hindian princess, who was
*ere but a moment hago. You said that she was .

“Pur-r-r! pur-r-r!’? accompaniea by a-low growl, from
the other apartment, interrupted the speaker and caused
him Co pause,

The next instant, Puss, the she-panther, bounded into
the room, and the wounded man, suffering as he was, re,
coiled with affright.

Pass put up her back, eyed him suspiciously, and then
passed under the stroking hand of lier masier.

“Wha—at is that?” gasped the Engiishman, in aston-
ishment.

“Another of my darters,’? was the grim reply.

“Well, biff never hi—by Jove, you know! [can’t make
it hout. This his the queerest family I hever became a
hinmate hof.”’

‘Allie!’ called Squirrel Cap, ‘come here.”

The Indian mainen appeared.

“What am I to yer, Allie?”

“Father,” she replied—haying improved her English
marvelously.

“Where do you live, Allie!”

“Pike’s Peak,’’ was the reply.

“What did | bring you here for, Allie?”

“To take care of sick géntleman, father.’

“Good enough, Allie; you can go to bed now. Do yer
know whar Pike's Peak is, stranger?” asked Squirrel Cap
Ol bis guest, as Allie withdrew.

“No; if lad my uap I might be hable te———”

 

eee aren teed an llc si ma een eres ns et ~

aye?
‘

ter: ‘‘an’ that ere darter of mine will go back thar soon
as you git on your pins right and steaay.”’

“His hit possible?’ exclaimed. the Englishman.

“Yes; jest as possible as it is true,” was the reply.
‘Now, look here, stranger, d’ye consider ye owe me any-
thing ?”?

“7 howe you my life,’ replied the sufferer, with some
emotion.

“I wish yerto pay. me the debt—it won’t cost you
much.”

“] will grant hanything, heverything in my power.”’

“JT believe yer. I’m in the habit of makin’ fun of a
green Eoglishman, without meanipg anything mean nor
cruel, but I Know he has one thing he vallers, his honor.
Ill cure yer, an’ send yer back to yer friends at tie fort.
Swear to me, on yer Bible oath as how you'll never say
anything about havin’ seen that little gal, or any other
gal, about this ridge.”

“IT give youmy word of honor as a gentleman,’ was
the reply.

“Good enough. I believe yer.
at this flask, and go to sleep.”’

“The sufferer compiied. Squirrel Cap retired toa hard
bed at another corner of the cabin, and both were ‘soon
wrapt in sluniber.

Mr. St. George de Coarcy—who like enough carried an
impression of his family court-of-arms next nis heart—,
wus more seriously wounded than Squirrel Cap had at
first Supposed, and required much more nursing at the
hands of the gentle Allie than her foster-father liked.

The affection with which the hard old trapper had
come to regard this beautiful girl was almost as idola-
trous aS it was pure and fatherly. Perhaps her youthtul
beauty awakened some olden, long-silent heart-cnords of
his nhature—percnance her sweet. childish ways revived
the recollecuions of a time when his own breast thrilled
with youthful eestasy and hope; at any rate, he was filled
with a haunting dread lest she should be spirited away
from him, and aconstant jealousy of the very ground
upou which she trod,

Nevertheless, upon many occasions, in the pursuit of
his vocation, te was compelled to leave them alone.

Upon one of these occasions, Wille tie simple girl was
bustling about the room in which the sick man lay—
Allie had become quite a iiousekeeper by this time—a
littie ebeny cross, tipped with gold, fell from her bosom
upon the floor.

Unperceived by the loser the invalid possessed himself
ofit. It was small and’'beautifully chased, and bore the
initials “‘A. E. W.,’? in gold embossment.

While he was examining it curiously, the girl, perceiv-
ing it in his hand, sprang forward and repossessed it, with
acry. She refastened it to the wampum necklace, from
which it had become disengaged, and replaced it in her
bosom with trembling hands.

He questioned her as to the manner in which the keep-
sake had come into her possession, but could get no
answer; and from that moment she betrayed a strong
aversion for him, which no conciliatory efforts upon his
part could alter. He mentioned the subject to Squirrel
Cap, but the old man only shook his head and said,
grumly enough, that he reckoned his ‘darter’ had as good
a right to have trinkets as amy other gal.

At length the time came for De Courcy to take his de-
parture. To his surprise, the trapper furnished him with
an excellent hurse—one which he nad captured upon the
field of battle—and signified his intention of accompany-
ing him a certain distance.

It was a bright, supshiny day when, they set forth.
Allie stood in the door to bid them godx\-by.,. Russ, the
panther, crouched beside her, and the parrot squalled her
larewell from a perch upon the roof,

Despite the advances made by the Englishman, how-
ever, tlle leave-taking of the Indian maiden was cf the
most sidical kind—to the secret satisiacuion of the old
trapper; and they set out at a brisk pace, choosing a dil-
ficult and round-about path over the hiils, So as not to
strike the post-read west of Laramie River—the scene of
the recent conflict. The Weather was bright and clear,
but very cold, and the hardened snow alforded a firm
footway.

‘In course, yer won't tell nobody but the Major and
Lieutenant Danvers whar you've been ali this time,” said
the (rapper.

“Certainly not, if that is your wish.”

“Ic vemy Wish, stranger. 1U’d go hard enough with
me if the Captain an’ pis crew Knowed what l’ve did for
yer.”

“They'll know nothing from what I shall say, rest as-
sured.”

Now, take another nip

 

 

 

t’s four hundred mile from this,” interrupted the hun- |

 

 

They proceeded a number of miles in silence, Squirrei

 

TERMS, {

 

‘SOLDIER MAN! STOP! DON'T

Ud

SHOOT PUSSY!

Cap not seeming in a talkative mood, when the other,
more for the purpose of breaking the monotonous silence
than anything else, remarked:

“Mr. Squirrel Cap, I cannot ’eip hobserving what a sin-
gular hanimal that quadruped of yours his.”

“You may well say that, my friend,” said the trapper,
leaning forward and stroking down the forelock of his
homely brute. ‘In the words of Louis XIV., when John
Quincy Adams tried to buy him out with Arkansas shin-
plasters, that ere animal ain’t to be bought, That air
muel,’? resumed Squirrel Cap, patting her emaciated
neck with unfeigied admiration and affection—“that ere
muel’s an out and outer, an’ no mistake. ‘I onct left her
out in the mountains all night, and went next mornin’,
expectin’ to find her devoured by the wolves.”

“Bless my soul! in what condition did you find the
hunfortunate hanimal ?”’

“Oh, she was croppin’ alderberries alongside the trail,
brusnin’ off the wolves with her tail like so many flies,
while they was endeavorim’ to bite her shanks.”

“Hendeavoring to! Why, ’aven’t wolves got werry
sharp teeth ?””

“Not when theyhain’t got none at all.’

* Ow was that?”

“Ole Ninevehi had Kamped out every blessed grinder
they liad. The trail-was all: kivered with teeth, like a
dentist’s shop in an earthquake, an’ they was bitin’ away
on bare gums.”

“Hindeed!”’

‘“Sartain. Now, stranger, here we air at last. You've
got the broad post-road right before yer all the way to
Laramie. My advice is for you to take a bee-line on this
ere road, as if a mountain painter was behind yer. Never
stop for nothin’.

“But suppose the hanimal gives out ?’?

“Then git off, an’ walk. You remember what I told
yer—what yer promised? Not a word about that gul !”

“Not a word.’

“Git up, Nineveh !? and the trapper retraced lis way,
oa the Englisuman could essay an attempt to thank

iin.
CHAPTER VIIL
DISTRESS AT THE FORT—LOVHE’S SACRIFICE.

There were a number of ladies at Fort Laramie, and the
youngest and most beautiful of them all—-indeed, the
only unmarried lady in the garrison—was Miss Larrimer,
the niece and ward of Major Warfield.

For this young lady Lieutenant Danvers had long en-
tertained a hopeless passion. fle had known her in the
States. She was young, beutiful, lovely. accomplished,
and she liked Danvers well enough, but, unfortunately
for that worthy Officer, she Zoved his friend and comrade
Charley Morton.

Some weeks had elapsed since the disastrous fight at
Laramie Junction. Danvers was not exactly in disgrace,
indeed, the major thought him in no wise to blame, but
still he rested undera elond. The government had lost
property, lives, money, and he, as the officer in charge of
the expedition, felt that he was shouldering the moral
responsibility of the disaster. It was when he was almost
entirely cured-of his wound, that his friend and relative,
St. George de Courcy, arrived at the fort, pale and emaci-
ated with confinement and his long journey—the latter
portion of which-had been performed on foot—and with
his story of the mannerin which he had escaped the
general massacre. Morton, hesaid, was, in all probabil-
ity, acaptive in the hands of the robbers; of the rest,
probably tew survived.

Heavy snows set in again. . Although the garrison was
strong enought to fit outa formidable expedition against
the savages, the weather would not permit, and weeks
were passed in anxious waiting.

One morning, during this period of suspense, Lieuten-
ant Danvers made a call upon Miss Larrimer, and found
her alone in the little parlor or sitting-room, attached to
Major Warfield’s quarters. She had been restléss and
anxious for many days, but her paleness, in the lenient
eyes of the lieutenant, only enhanced her beauty.

“No news ?”’ she asked, looking up to him with a forced
smile.

“None whatever, Miss Larrimer. Indeed, I do not sce
how we Can obtain auy before an expedition starts.”

She sat near the window, and looked out upon the
waste of bleak cold snow.

“Helen !’

He was standing very near her, and addressed her by
her first name. She started a little, which caused him to
shrink back in some confusion; but she controlled wihat-
ever emotion she might have felt, and said sottly:

“Never mind, Harry !
eneugh for that.’

 

 

“Thank you,” he said, appreciating her generosity.
“Helen, do you know I—I am a very wretched fellow ?¥”

“J am so sorry for you then, Harry,” she replied, look-
ing down, and endeavoring to wring the neck of the cur-
tain-tassel she was playing with at the time. : cf

“Wouldn’t.you be unhappy if you kept on loving a girl
all the time, day and niglit, when you were pretty dead
sure that she didn’t love you?”

“Well, I believe 1 would,” she said; laughing, in spite
of herself, at his manner of putting the question.

“I believe you could have loved meif you had never
met Charley Morton.’ he exclaimed, somewhat nettled
at her laughter.

She did not jaugh again, but grew very grave.and Si-
lent. He waited a long time for her to speak, and was ot
length rewarded. She was blushing deeply, but turned
to him with a sudden frankness there was no resisting.

“Harry,”? she “said, “4youimpel me to a declaration,
whith, under any other circumstances in the world, @ na-
tural Inodésty would deter me from making. I am eli-
gaged to be married to your friend, Charley Morton.”

He started. He had not dreamed that it fiad gone that
far.

“Oh, do not feel unhappy, Harry ! do not» think that I
am not pained and sorrowful that you loveme. Tam
really, really sorry,” She exclaimed; and he instantly be-
gan to think bimself a brute, for great tears were stream-
ing, drop by drop, from her eyes. “You cannot blame
me,’ shesobbed. “You cannot wonder that I am con-
tinually auxious on Charlie’s account, Harry.”

“Blame you !? There was not a selfish or unmanly
ingredient in the man’s composition. “Blame you! Wot
a bit of it, my dear girl. If I cannot have you, Helen,
there is something exalted in having loved—ay, in still
loving, one’sSo noble and true. Listen to me, Helen. I
know 2 good deal about thiscountry, and about the vil-
lains who inhabit it—red and white. From this instant
i devote myself to the deliverance of your sweetheart and
my friend, Charley Morten, if he still be alive upon
earth.”’

She looked up with mingled surprise and joy.

“Yes, Tmean what l say,’ Ne continued. ‘I shallen-
deavor to get the major’s permission to start out at once.
I wiligo esa spy among this robber-horde, find out their
principal rendezvous, and work their destruction. I wiil
deliver Lieutenant Morton to your arms, safe aud sound,
or die in trying to.”’

“Harry | Harry !

“Dol? wait and see !
as itappears. That fellow Squirrel Cap,
Raccoon Ridge, promised me once tat
me, and Ill put him to the test.”

“This is too great a sacrifice, Harry.”

“Js it? Well, it shall be made, nevertheless.”

‘sHeaven bless and guard you, my friend, my more
than friend,’ she exclaimed, and, obeying an uncontrol-
Jable impulse, she arose, and imprinted a kiss on his
forehead.

A moment later, the major himself entered, and Dan-
vers briefly explained to him his resolve, which he pro-
posed to put in immediate execution, should he meet
with the approval of his superior officer. ;

“Tt isa desperate duty,lieutenant,”’ sald the major, very
gravely.

‘‘But there is more chance of success, if I undertake it
alone,’ said the lieutenant enthusiastically.

«Perhaps you are right,”

“I can communicate with Squirrel Cap,” continued the
lieutenant. ‘He can give me the geueral bearings, and
I think my knowlede of this class of desperadoes, and my
general allowance of ‘cheek’—I never was. deficient iu
that, that Iam aware of—wili carry me through. Who
knows but that I may return with a sufficient amount of
information toenable you.to clean out the whole gang ?”’

The major bent hi$ head for a moment, and pondered
deeply.

“Well, you can go, lieutenant,” he said, at last. ‘Take
two days to prepare yourself thoroughly, and no one shall
know of the nature of your mission but Miss Larrimer
and myself.’

Lieutenant Danvers quitted the apartment, fully en-
thused with the idea of his new enterprise, and, perhaps,
pardonably proud of the sacrifice he was about to make
upon the shrine ‘of his hepeiess love.

“What has pessegsed Danvers with this sudden hap-
hazzard caprice, Helen?’ askea the major, when left
alone with his neiee.

“Why, uncle, how should I know ??

“T don’t know how, but I know that you do know, my
dear,”

This is too much! you rave.’?

Iv 1s perhaps, not so impossible
the Ranger of
he would help

We bave known each other long She hung her pretty head, and her lip began to trem-
. ble.

 

 

Lhree Dollars Per Year.
Iwo Copies Five Dollars.

“There, there, never mind, if it pains you, my child
said the major, soothingly, and drawing her geutly to-
ward him. wy

“Oh, uncle, Harry is so good, so noble!” she sobbed;
and ina few moments the mejor knew all about ler en-
gagement with Morton, and the incentive of Lieutenant
Danvers’ suddenly-formeu resolve,

“Helen,” said. he, very gravely, “remember one thing.
When you accept a sacrifice such as this young gentie-
Man is about to make—a sacrifice of these great ana no-
ble proportions, ever consider the debt under which you
labor. Oh, never permit any to reproach you with that
cardinal sin—ingratitude.”

Astonished at the earnestness, even bitterness, with
which her uncle uttered these words, she looked at him,
at first with a pained, puzzled expression.

“My dear uncle,” she said, “why do you speak thus?
If Z have ever pained your generous heart by a Gisplay of
unthinking ingratitude, pray tell me when and how, so
I. may efface the wound by increased respect and
ove?

“No, not you, not you, my child,’ said Major Warfield,
drawing her into bis arms, and with more emotion than
it was lis custom to betray.

She kissed him tenderiy.

“Dear uncle,”? she said, “I have often wondered at the
origin of the grief which seems to have saddened your
nature. Would that 1 knew it, that, I might endeavor to
soothe and comfort you.”

“You shail know something of it now, my child. Come
with me.’?

He took her hand and led her to his own chamber.

“You have doubtless also wondered, my dear, why I
Keep tnat picture turned witn its face to the wall.’ suid
he, pointing to acanvas that was thus hung against the
Wall. ‘Now look upon the face.”

He turned the picture to the light.

Miss Larrimer saw the portrait of a young lady of sin-
gular beauty. It was adark, Spanish face, lustrous with
great eyes, and luxuriant with the black-twined ringlets,
the mobile softness and latent fire of the tropics. And
yet there was something vovert, almost sinister, in tue
voluptuous beauty of the face which created an unpleas-~
ivg impression in the mind.of the beholder,

“Listen, my child,’ said Major Warfield, replacing the
picture in its former ignominious position. “Seventeen
years ago, just at the close of the Mexican war, I was sta-
tioned at San Antonio, as a Jieutenant of dragoons. Al-
though peace had been declared, the country swarmed
with guerrillas, and in pursuing and punishing them, we
were often compelled to pierce the border. While upon
one of these forays, I came upon a ruined hacienda,
whose aged master implored my protection against the
reving bands who had neither Country ner patriotism,
and whose only object was pillage ana destruction. He
cared not for himself, he said, but for his daughter—the
original of the picture you have just seen—whom he pre-
Sented tome. She was a girl of rare beauty, and | was
instantly smitten by hercharms. We occupied the man-
Sion till the owner died. The estate was completely des-
Olated. The»gea hidalgo had borne an honored and
lofty name in the province—I was full of the unthinking
ardor of youth—l proffered my hand #m marriage to the
beautiful” orphau—Inez .de Gonzago by name—and was
accepted. We were married, and she came. to live with
me at tle garrison. My period of bliss was of short du-
ration, and 1 soon hau cause to bitterly repent my rash-
Bess. a 2 oddennts that I vad been grossly, cruelly de-
ceived. “My wife was. not the davghteror old Gonzago,
but 2 perSpn of the lowest erigin whom lie had befriended
ou account of lier beauty. Rumors caine flying, teuching
her character nearly.. She had, prior to ler acquaintance
with me, @ dark intrigue with a guerrilla chief and a mur.
derer of the blackest dye—Cortina, of whom you have
doubtless heard. Why the hidalgo, Gonzago, should up-
on his death-bed have wrought this monstrous imposition
upon the man who was befriending and protecting him, I
could only account for by the treachery of the Mexican
character, which impelled him toa final act o! spite
against one of the accursed ‘Americanos’ before he died.

“There were other stories, blacker, wilder still; but [
bore all and never uttered a word of reproach. Filled, as
I was, With a almost insane dread lest my family should
learn of the connection I had formed, 1 was willing to
bear with almost anything. I could have berne with her,
had she not possessed, beneath her guise of beauty, the
heart of a fiend. She disgraced me again and again,
made me the laughing-stock of my comrades, deceived
and defrauded mein a thousand ways, untiil was well
nigh driven to desperaticn.

“A child, a girl, Was born tous. Would to Heaven it
had been otherwise! Two years after its-birth, a terrible
quarrel ensued between my wife and myself. Laden with
wy justifiable curses, she quitted my roof, and went I
knew not,cared not, whither. She wished to take the
child with her, but I sternly refused—shuddering at the
bare thoughtof that innocent being coming under the
baleful influence of its wicked mother. But shortly after
the departure of Inez, my child was stolen by one of her
agents. Isearched foritinvain. Atlastlheard that the
mother was pursuing the vocation of an itinerant actwess
aud tracked her to the town of Matamoras, whither she
had gone to be near her paramour, Cortina, who bad
sacked the town a.few days befcre my arrival. Her child
tad been stolen from her—probably by her lover, in order
that he might gain greater power over the mother with
whom he was perfectly infatuated.

“1 found Inez plunged in grief for the loss of her child
—for the loss of my child whom I had céme te rescue
from her hands. She accused me of the abduction, and
flew at me like @ tigress, Stiletto in hand. I had lerg
ceased to have either affection or regard for her, and, es-
caping her fury, humillated myself by going to the guer
rilla chiefrain, in the hope of obtaining some information
respecting my child. But he professed to know netiung.
i was afterward made to believe that ic had sold it to a
wandering band of Comanches, and, seeking the wretched
and depraved mother once more, told her as much. She
refused to believe me, heaped curses on my head, and
vowed to pursue me with her vengeance to the ends of
the earth.

“Since that hour, I have neither seen nor heard gny-
thing of mother or child; and it is the lingering, haunting
hope that I may yet find my child that is the secret of my
melancholy and sadness. Perhaps she is dead. Perhaps
she has passed from tribe to tribe, aud now, if found,
would not have an atom of recognition for her wretched
parent; but stillit would be a glimpse of heaven to ob-
tain one look at her lovely face—for she must be beauti-
ful! There, Helen, my child, you have the secret of my
woe and bitterness.”

Miss. Larrimer had listened to this strange narrative
with intense and sympathetic interest.

“If your daughter were to be found, uncle,’’ said she,
‘are there aly marks or tokens by which you couid iden-
tify her?”

“Yes, yes, all of these! But do not mention the subject
again, my dear! Ltold you the story to show you bow
sharp and poignant is ingratitude, Ob, Helen, remember,
remember forever, the sacrifice which this loving, manly
nature is making for you—for you that you may be happy
with another.”

They returned to the little drawing-room, which the
young lieutenant bud just re-entered, to recount to them
the details of his plans fer his forthcoming enterprise.

CHAPTER IX.
ANOTHER STRANGER IN THE HAPPY FAMILY OF RACCOON
LODGE.

Allie had now been nearly two months domesticated at
Raccoon Lovge, and, considering her savage antecedents,
iad become a first-rate housekeeper. That is, sbe fully
answered all the requirements of Squirrel Cap’s humble
home, and his aifectien for her hao grown almost to idel-
atry.

She could speak English very passably, and, under the
rude but earnest tuition of her foster-father, was begin-
ning to spell her way tarough one of the dog-eared vol-
umes that comprised his primitive library. Puss and Poll
had ceased to regard her with jealousy, and now seemed
to look upon her as a legitimate memberof the heuse-
hold.

‘Allie, my Gear,” said the trapper, when enjoying his
pipe after along day’s bunt, “ihars only one thing as
mukes me sorry as how I ever found you.”’

“What is that, father,’ said Allie, gravely—she was
seldom. light, or gay, like most girls of her age.

“Because you makes me lazy,as Tom Payne said to
Cleopatra. ! want to stay to hnm all the time. I’ve pro-
mised eight dozen fox-skins tO tliat fur trader at the Fort,
an’ aint got two dozen to saveme. By-erimminy! I inust
go on a long hunt to-morrow, a’ make ’en up. Ive got
twenty traps seton the Ridge as I aint locked uito for
over a week.”

He made a pause, looking, with a pleased, genial ex-
pression, at her pretty face and graceful figure, uS sue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

LS semaiis)

ety

LI

 

ore

 

 

   

moved to anc fro, arranging the tin plates upon the table.

“Allie,” said he, ‘‘you’re gittin’ whiter an’ whiter every
day. Do you know, arter all, I believe you’re a white
gal.”

” She passed hier little hand over her face, as if to tell by
the toucn the different hue of which he spoke.

“Don's you ever think that maybe you was stole by the
Injins from white folks?”

She stvod still, her large eyes dilated, and she seemed
to be gazing into vacancy.

“Yes,” she replied,

“Ah, ha! What do*you recollect, Alie!”’

She shook her head, doubtingly.

*Don't no im’ard feelin’ twang the twine of memors?
as the Queeu of Kamskatska observed to Oliver Croim-
well.”?

She shook her head again. : sie

“IT don't know, father,’ she answered, witha half-smile,
and then went on with her duties.

“I thort so, I thort so!’ was the sage soliloquy of the
trapper, as he nodded his head over his pipe.

“Dm white anyway, poppy! I’m white anyway!’ chat-
tered the parrot, flattering down upon his shoulder; while
the panther drew herself up from the hearth, and rubbed
her sleek head against his knee, to obtain her share of
recognition.

“Orphings, orphings, all en yer!’ mused the trapper,
looking by turns at the three members of his family; ‘‘an’
sich is life, asthe poic sung. Vl lay that neither Puss
nor Poll knows who their daddy an’ mammy is. Out
from the howlin’, bellerin’ wilderness, outen from the
moanin’, youpin’, yelpin’ desert of calamity, they’ve
found home, sweet home, in the shanty of the humble, as
the melojious poic warbles in his lay.’’

‘Pye gota daddy! ve got a daddy, poppy!’’ squalled
the bira. :

“Pur-r-r! pur-r-r-r-r!? wenf the panther-cat, arching
her high back, and swinging her long tail, almostas thick
as a man’s wrist.

And then little sent Allie came up, and, smoothing
back the old man’s hair, kissed his wrinkled brow. :

“Talk about yer Olympic shadders!” exclaimed Squir-
rel Cap, delightedly; “talk about yer Elijian sunbeams,
an’ yer feather-beds, an’ yer steamboat coffee, an’ yer
high ole Bourbon! What air they to Raccoon Lodge in
winter?”

(To be continued.)
—————__ >- 0+

ANNIE ASHMORE, author of ‘FAITHFUL MARGARET,”
has placed anew story in our hands entitled “Zhe Dia-
mond Collar; or, the Bishop’s Devt."

Out of ‘the Da rk,

A TEMPERANCE 7TOR.Y.
BY NED BUNTLINE,

(E. Z. C. JUDSON.)

 

[Out of the Dark” was commenced in No. 21. Back numbers
can be had from News Agents throughout the United States. ]

CHAPTER XVIII.

Tossing in the restless agony of a fevered brain, Eugene
Westcott lay on his couch.

Sitting in a chair by his bed-side, even where she had
watchéd through the long weary hours of the night, his
young wife bowed her head on the’side of the bed and
Slept, utterly worn down by long watching and by sor:
row.

Her heavy, unnatural breathing attracted his atten-
tion.

“Oh, what a brute Iam!*? he muttered.
dering her—breaking ter heart. Ste 1s fretting herself
to death. So true, so loving, so faithful. Ah, there is
the door-bell and she will herself receive every visitor,
lest the news of my disgraceful condition gets abroad. I
“must-wake hers?”

He id so and she hastened to the door, there to meet,
as we have already seen in a previous chapter, the mean-
est villain in our story—Alfred Neville.

When she came back her white lace, her trembling
form, terrified her husband. :

“Darling, wronged, yet dear Florence, what is the mat-
ter?’ he asked, anxiously.

“Eugene, las Alfred Neville any checks of yours?”

No, no—a friend of his had, but they are destroyed:
Why do you ask?” fe gasped. apr

“Because he told me to tell you they were not burned;
were yet held against you.”

“Oh, devil—devil that he is! Florence, I am ruined if
those checks are used. Tell bim to come here. I will
ae on bended knees—humble myself to him tor your
sake.’

_ ‘No, Eugene, you shall not. I will see him and know
nis terns. You are not fitin mind or in nerves to meet
any excitement. Bestill, dear husband, l am_ strong
how. {fam nolongera child. Leave me to foi! this bad,
bad man. With Heaven’s help I will do it.’”

_She hurried irom the room, while he, weak and ttemb-
ling, lay there wondering what she, a poor little woman,
could do to save him. 3: a ee J

A Smile of triumph, fiendish indea
Alfred Neville when the young wi
into’the parlor

Seated there, she‘said: —
' “It seems to be ‘true, Mr. Neville, Mat

obtained, as yet I know not how, yeu b
my husband.” : eR,

“Yes, madam, a power that-will s
Prison.” ;

“Surely you will not use it?’*- ; ;

“Surely 1 will, unless certain wishes of mine ate com-
plied with.’’ it ‘pie

“May I know what they are?” ee ates

“Of course, being a party interested, you may.”
8 “Then ‘proceed, sir, 1 am listening with all possible pa-

ience.’ 2

“You must despise that man. He is a forger, a gam-
bler, a drunkar.!. Yes, I can see ‘in your cyes you do.
In these days a divorce could easily be got. But to those
who love, that is scarcely worth the trouble: I love you
and you can love me. If you will only pay him ef by
turning your affections on me; or, if not affection, at
least, receiving meas I desire, you will punish him and
make me cneof the happiest men alive. Whatdo you
Say, Florence? Be mine and he may go Scot free. Your
father then Wil know nothing abouttt. Your answer,
dearest, your answer.” ;

Fron white to red, and from red to white, changed the
face of that queenly woman. Her small hands closed
till the nails fairly entered the snowy pulms. Siie looked
at that wretch with eyes which seemed to barn right in-
to him. It was astruggle to master the passion which
rose Volcano-like in her wronged heart.

Yet she got up from’ her Chair, calmly, and rang the
bell. <A giri answered it.

«Send Thomas, the couchman, here, Elien,’’ she said.

Alfred Neville began to wonder what was coming.

“Send Thomas here and come yoursel! with him, EI-
len,’? continued the lady, smiling pleasantly as she spoke.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Thomas came in, while Alfred was rapidly revolviag in
his mind if if were not best for him to go,

“Thomas,” said Mrs. Westcott, to the tall, powerful Hi-
bernian, ‘‘take this fellow by the neck and hold him until
Elien brings a rawhide from the stable. He has insulted
mie and robbed your inaster.”’

“The divil! Kape still, sir, or Pll squaze the life out of
ye for insaltin the mistress.”

And Thomas clutched the trembling wretch with a
grasp like iron.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Westcott?—what do you
mean?” asked Neville, piteously.

The lady smiled scornfully, but deigned no answer.

Ellen came in with the whip.

“Now, Thomas, hold that wretch with one hand, and so
chastise him with the other that he will never forget this
hour, or venture to insult a woman again. Lash him as
you would the meanest cur that ever bit tne hand that
Ted it.” :

Neville screamed for help, butthe grasp on his throat
ughtened, and then the stalwart arm thut plied the raw-
hide did its duty faithfully. Swiftly, keenly, fell lash after
lash, cutting through the fashionable garments, until the
blood streamed below, and the victim grew faint from
agony.

All this time Mrs. Westcott stood caim and still. But
at last, When it was evident that Neville would faint un-
der more severity, she said:

“That willdo, Thomas. Take the poitroon to the street,
sit him down on the curbstone, and leave him. if he is
ever seen any hearer our door, break his neck, and I'll
hold you harmless, if it costs a million of collars.”

“Faith ma’am, ’tis no harm to kill such a baste as him.
I'll doit now if ye like.”

“No; this lesson will do for the present.
to threaten. Let him beware how he acts.”

CHAPTER XIX.

“Darling, what has kept you so long? asked Eugene
Westcott, petulantly, when his wife returned te the bed-
room.

I; was in the second sfory, and in the rear portion of
the house, therefore he had heard nothing of the melo-
drama goiag on below.

“It took me some time to settle with
Neville, my dear,” said she,

“Then you aid settle with him?’

Sta?

“Tam so glad. It was terrible to have those checks
hanging over me.’?

“Indeed? It seems yon have been gambling."

“Yes. He tole you that too. He and Selden got me
drunk, and enticed mé into it.*

; “What apity. Canaman get drunk without himself
drinks?”

_“Of course nof. But you seem so cold and so sarcas-
tic now; you are not half so tender as you were before
you saw that man.”

“No? Well, I have been bestowing tenderness on him;
r, at Jeast, it has been done under my direction.”

“In Heaven’s name, what do you mean ?”

“When you get well. ask him.”

“llorence, my wife, are you becoming insane 2?”

“I don’t know but I am, Eugene. { hear you spoken
of as a forger, @ gambler, and a drunkard. “Is not that
enough to make a wife crazy, if she loves her husband ??

“Florence, Florence, what can I do to prove that I
never again Will do as [ have done? [I have suffered so
much—still suffer—that you ought to forgive me.”
_.'You-would have suffered more, if you really love me,
if I had settled with that man on his conditions,”

 

“Tam mur-

    
  

“fo the State

ad Be

He has dared

your friend, Mr.

i 4
“What were those conditions, Florence ?’’
“That I should be divorced trem you and marry him.”
‘Heavens! did you listen to him???

“J could not help doing that.’

“And what was your answer?’’ ‘

“! let Thomas, the coachman, give him my answer.
It was written, in indellibe ink, on his back. Thomas
isa splendid scribe, He has practiced on horses so long
that he could not dail on a donkey.”

“I beiieve | understand you now,
give iim a horsewhipping,’? ‘

«Precisely, and a good one too. Let him use his checks
and lll do worse, Lil shoot him down in his tracks.”

“My darling, brave littie Wile. You are too good for
me. You have served him as he should b2 served, but |
wish those checks were oat of his hands. The scoundrel,
Selden, pretended to burn them when | gave him my due
bill. And now out of revenge, they muy indeed try to
to make this a criminal matter. Heaven help meif they
do! Ah! see who is there—i itis an officer do not let
him in—tell him I am dead, or dying.”

In his nervous terror the wretched man drew the bed
clotnes over his head to conceal himself when a low knock
was heard at the door.

st was his mother and sister who had come to see him,
and Florence admitted them without hesitation.

They shuddered as they looked upon him, yet he was
not half so hideous now as he had been. The care of his
tender and devoted nurse had healed many a cut and
bruise. Yet he looked very different from the noble man
be had been before liquor had done its wicked work upon
him,

“Eugene, Ihave not come here to utter reproaches,”’
said his mother, ‘but to counsel with you. I fear that a
terrible peril hangs over you. I have seen docuinents
with my own eyes which they tell me will send you to a
prison. I Know not how you can evade the shameful
penalties of the law except by flight. Even that will
bring disgrace—but itis better than a prison. We, your
sister and J, have already been insulted—a nameless hor-
ror proposed as a consideration for your safety. The
wretch who CGared to enter the sacred precincts of our
home with evil on his lips and in his heuri, us gone away
from the scene of lus repulse breathing vengeance! If, as
he says, he has youin his power, he will use it without
mercy now.”’

“Was it Selden, the gambler?’ moaned tlie invalid.

“Yes—you have named the villain.”

“He has the checks—he has the checks and my due-bill
fer an enormous sum!’? moaned Rugene. “Send for Mr,
Pendleton. I will confess what I have done, andif he
Will not pay and save me, I am indeed lost, for I will not
survive disgrace.*’

The door of the chamber was rudely flung open, no
knock announcing tie visitor, or rather visitors, for two
men, coarse-featured, rude and ruffianlyiu look and maun-
ner, entered,

“We don't stand on ceremony, ve don't!) said one of
these, who held a paper in his hands. “If we did we'd
lose our game many atime you see. So when the ser-
vant gal down stairs said we couldn’t come up, we just
Jaid her away in a corner with a pair of steel bracelets on
and a handkerchief in her big mouth, and here we are
like two hot muffins on a plate, ready for service. Mr.
Eugene Westcott, l’ve a warrant for your arrest, so tum-
ble out of that nice nest and get ready foratrip to the
Tombs. Judge wants to see you right away!”’

“Oh! heaven—heaven! .it has come at jast!’’ moaned
the wretched man. ;

“We is sick—he cannot go! He will ‘give bail to any
amount!’ cried poor Florence, almost in despair.

“Sorry tosay lcan’t bail him! He’s got to go before
them that can bail or jug, just. as they please. L've got
my duty to do, and 1’li do it if I have to tote him through
the streets on my back.”

“Officer, we do not wish to retard you in the line of
your duty,”’ said Eugene’s mother, ‘‘but is there not some
way of settling this matter. This demand, which we
know has no foundation in law, for itis only a gambling
debt incurred when my son was stupefied with liquor My

‘“‘LooK you bere, old woman, forg’ryisn’t debt. I guess
you don’t know what you are pattering about. This ’ere”
chap if he is a son of yours has been precious 0 get
intO a scrape, and it’s my private opinion, a
pressed, that he’ll be mignty slow in gettir
ie’ll get twenty years for refreshments at Si
bet high on that!” £

The cooi brutality of the man—his insulting
poor raother, aroused the dormant fire iu Eugene’s
atlast. | ie

“You are as bad as those who employ you, and they are
wretches utterly unworthy the name of ° old your
insulting fongues and | will dress and go With you.” -

“Talk smooth, my bantam—talk smooth, or VPiijerk you

You made Thomas

 

before you have time to dress,” ; j
“At least wait till I can send for my father!” pleaded
poor Florence. | c . mn , ‘
‘ Sorry I can’t oblige you, young woman, for:
looking, and l’m soft on geod looking Ww —)
dad can see him in the Tombs any time with a permit.”
‘Leave me Florence, mother and s er—leave me—I
will dress and go with him,”’ groaned Ei Be” <
ee tee is the matter bere’ lars in
house? — ays in the hall gagged and ironed.
does it mean??? - Sat AS my a
Pendleton, Who rushed

re good

 

   

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

    
     
 
  
   

 
 

f election:

 

licate-o t - :
“BHugene—what ag you done?” asked the old mer-
chant, sternly. “Have you t disgrace on me and

mine after ail ’ve done for you? Speak—tell me all this |

instant!”? 1 4

“| dare not—I dare not!’ groaned the wretched man.
“Florence, tell your father—better your lips tah mine!’’

“No—a wife should pever breathe the error or her hus-
band or speak his sin—Eugene tell father all—he will, for
my sake, be merciful!’

“Come—come. I must know what this means, If
these men have a criminal warrant for you arrest 47

“Which here it is, boss.” r

“Silence, sir, while Lspeakin my own house! I want
no interruption. I say agaiu if they have a legal warrant
for your arrest, it must be for cause, Now tell me with-
out any prevarication, what is the cause?”’

“Sir, addened with drink, l entered a gambling house
and there played aud won at first l know not how much.
I drank and played onuniill lost all the money I had,
and then—then, sir, | gave checks signed with the name
of the firm!’

“Which are not worth the paper they’re written on, for
Dll not pay @ dollar of them. Gambling? Gambling !
Kugene Westcott—I have done with you forever. Officers
the sooner you take him out of this house the better,”
*“Father—oh, father, for my sake!’

And poor Florence was on her Knees, her eyes stream-
ing, as she pleaded for her recreant husband.

“Silence, duughter, silence! ] could have borne any-
thing but gambling! I will not raise a finger to save him.”
“Then I'll save myself!’ cried Eugene wildly, and from
beneath the pillow where he had cencealed it, he drew a
pistol, cocked it with the speed of thought, and turned it
toward his head.

-So quick were his motions no hand could have been
raised to save him, but Providence was merciful. Tne
cap did not explode and before another chamber could be
tried, the revolver was wrenched from his grasp by a
strong hand, while the earnest voice of Steven Merritt,
who had that instant entered, cried:

“It is a sin to take away His prerogative, who gave life
and who alone should recall it, Repentance should pre-
cede death—repentance and faith im Him, who is ready
to receive the penitent.”

“Why did you not let me diel’? moaned the unhappy
man.

“Recause you must live to redeem the past.”

‘He can’t redeem a dollar,”’ cried Mr. Pendleton.
repudiate him and hisdebts. Heis a gambler
State Prison is too goed for him.”

“He does hot owe a debt which requires either pay-
ment, or repudiation,” cried Mr. Merritt. “As to gamb-
ling—a man who is maddened with liquor, knows not what
he does. If he commits folly, or even crime, while under
its influence, those wlio gave him the maddening poison
should suffer, not he. He who arms a maniac, is respon-
sible, before Heaven, fer the harm that maniac does.

 

sy
and the

Your son-in-law was maddened with drugged wine. He
was a victim to a cunning plot laid for hisrain. Hewas

lured on, step by step, until his mind was gone. After
he had reformed from a. first error ahd had signed the
pledge, for which you derided him, this was done. And
now, while your daughter weeps—while in silent agony
his mother and sister stand there, while he in his wild
despair raises his own hand against his life, can you
stand there and coldly say he shall not rise.”

“He gambled—he gambied!’’ muttered the old merchant.
“He signed checks he had no right to sign.”

“Itis not true that he signed those checks, sir. The
real forgeris in custody before this time, and will be
brought here to be confronted with the man le tried to
ruin. The man who pretended that he lost such immense
sums, and by a false pretense secured his due-bill, will
also be brought here—Seiden, the gambler:

“IT say, Bell, this begins to look slippery.
said the pretended officer to his companion.

“Not yet—you are wanted as witnesses,’ cried the no-
ble minister, and as he spoke, fcur regular officers en-
tered the room and took charge of the impostors.

“Oh, Mr. Merritt—he is saved—he is saved,and through
you,” cried Mrs, Westcott, as’ tears of joy rolled down
her cheeks.

“Not through me alone, good sister, but through Him
whom I serve,’’ said the good man.

“I would like to understand all this, I thought I did at
first—but I can’t now,” said Mr. Pendleton.

“Wait with a little patience for two more arrivals and
you shall know all,’ said Mr, Merritt.

(To be continued.)

————_>-e4

Messrs. GEO. P. ROWELL & Co., Advertising Agents,

No. 40 Park Row, New York, are authorized to receive
advertisements for this paper at our lowest rates.

—>-O—4

Let’s slide,”

 

THE IKMASOMETER.—Such is the queer title of a queer
little instrument manuiactured by N. Bangs Williams, at
No. 95 William street, New York, and which is designed
a3 a Weather indicator. Itis a compact, neat little in-

  
  

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

FRANCIS A, DURIVAGE, author of “Ramon the Outlaw”
Will soon commence lus new story entitled “CONRAD, THE
Convict; or, the Brand of Crime.’ Mr. Durivage is writ-
ing only forthe New York WEEKLY.
—————_+- ©.

TH E.

4 CHAPTER L.

Dat Rogmgery’s dishike of herson had increased to positive
aversion, as has been stated, singe the discovery of his designs
upon Walters life. She had curetully avoided him since, never
meeting him except atthe dinner-table, and then her manner
Was so studiously cold and reserved that Raymond had tound it
a Piagpnter to dine at his club, which course he had

opted. ' ut Fe

it had been several days, therefore, since they had met.

Durwg these days Lady Rosenbury had confined herself to
the ho Not caring to see any one an her grief and disap-
pointment. The society of the Lady Geraldine would have been
pleasant to her, but the maiden had not come near her, and she
only knew of her well-being tf 1 the cards of myitaiion to the
countess’ ball, and ihe briet notice in the court papers of the
lortheoming testivities at Monttord House.

In her seclusion, her lady ;
ly upon the subject of her future
she had resolved, as soon as she ¢
the world’s comments, to se

   
  
  
  
  
  

thought much and earnest-

tions with Raymond, and

d do so, without provoking

all connection between
mie.

them, and regard him asa stranger to her heart ahd
Atthe moment that aine was ushered into'the presence of

Lord Rosenbury, her ladyship was seated in her boudoir, her
attitude fail’ of unconscious mournfulness. An open book Jay
on her knee, and she had been seeking comfort and forgetful-
ness in its pages; but in vain, and her gaze had now’ wandered
to the portrait of her lute husband, the eyes of which seemed
(o beam lovingly and evcouragingly upon her. on

‘How nnworthy is taymond ot his noble father!” she sighed.
“He resembles hin as liwie in features and person as im mind
and charitveristics. 1 cannot comprehend how such a father
could have such a son.” . 7

She sighed agam more heavily,
emotion. : r

For afew minutes she gave way to her great grief, and then
she arpu uses) ervels regaiing her selt-possession as alow knock
soundec ,

 

and her lpg quivereg with

 
    
  
  
  
     
      
     
  
  
  
      

In reyilyt and a servant entered, bearing a note
upon as , 5 ¥

Lady. p the missive, bidding the Ned wait
e see if sded, and then glanced over us con-
ents. Fi

As she hy e address, the note was from the Lady

to one she had sent her that morn-

Geralding, espous
I health, and expressing surprise that she

ing, inqu
had nocs
_ It was a
ing from @
the nigh
bury to:
House la
his offer
hopes of
be unple
relative &
pied her @
iove tor he
One re
Geraldin
not perm}
earlor cd
upon the |
fuiling he
Visitors.
There n
care of thi
longed fo
wiles and
for protec

     
  
  

the maiden was quite well, but suffer
she would reveal to her ladyship on
ch she earnestly prayed Lady Rosen-
that she had not visited Rosenbury
tof Kaymond, who had repeated to her
it who had not yet relinquisbed_ his
ately her consent. It would, therefore,
meethim. She added a few remarks
‘ing how much thoughts of him occu:
eluded with many fond expressions of
other,” Lady Rosenbury.
»idance of Rusenbury House the Lady
, and that reason was that she was
home without the attendance of the
sre particularly desirous of impressing
otion to their niece, whose suppcsed
sidy been freely commented upon to

 
    
   
  
  
  
   

     
  

 
     
  
    
      
     
 
   
  
    
 
 
  
 
   
  
 

   

| other reasons prompting their jealous
felt herself virtually a prisoner, and
: the ball, when she might escape their
er by appeaiing to Lady Kosenbury

 
  
 
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
  
   
  
 

Her la the letter thoroughly, and then said to
the ser ated to a respeciful distance: .
“Ts Li home ¢”?

i] desire his presence fora few min-
yship.

“a person is with him—Mr. Loraine:
ers not to be disturbed while he re-

     
   
  

ery V
visitor go
The ser
“Lorair
plain the
receive hi
tion? Ho

 
 
   

Nessage to his lordship as soon as his

 
 
 
   
    
  

ithdrew, and her ladyship mused:

tow singular! Has he come to ex-
sinregard to Walter’s death, and to
e Come to plot anew’ ter’s destruc-
hata father shouid ee to kill his

     
  

  

  

 

  

 
  

  
    

   
      

own sont between Raymond and Loraine seems
cannot iniugine how they could ever
ainous agreement, or how Raymond

he subject of such a terrible and un-

 
 
   
 
 

ye com
er darec

   
   

 
 
 
  

- For si enbury awaited in vain the coming
of Raymo} he entered her preseuce.
‘There w: Xcitement in his manner, and an anx-

  
 
 

ioustone i

i did not escape her ladyship’s notice,
as he ingu
“Be sea

i rd to him
Said

         
   
     
 

     

r ladysbip. “T desire an inter-
rious points upon which we are at
ere 7”

ole of alarm, and took aseat ata

1@ countenance of her so

life?” -
Rosenbury s

       
  

Diets

‘-

} my heir?

FALSE HEIR.

ip. i
tt” inquired Lady Rosenbury, her} ing signatures,
pn. “Did } “It is
u another scheme against Walter’s a

     

  

 

while I live.” ,

Lady Resenbury saw that it was useless to argue the matter,
and relinguished it, resolving to think it over in her solitude.

“LT have something else tu say to you,” she said, after a pause.
“T have onee Gy twice made some allusions to you about my in-
tentions to will may Property to Walter; that bo one may ever
sity he was a fortune-hunter in w the Lady Geraldine.
You have large wealth in the entailed estates, Raymond, and
will not miss my fortune, Lintendto declare him publicly as

ds to be so fond of you,’

cam that is the reason he pret

    
    
    
 
 
 

snee aymond, “He's played “ards wel!, and I y
laughs im his sleeve at his success you contemplate dying
soon, all you go into a conver ’ ea
Lady Rosenbury was deep] a rl at this unfecling speech, but
she evinced her emotion only L sign and the tading or the

color of her cheek. Her tone Was as gentle as usual as she

  

necessary busimess.” ie
Asai concluded, she glaneed at the clock upon the mantel-

Melt. :

Raymond had always looked upon the proposed will in Wal-
ters favor as something far in the future, which a thousand
contingencies might occur to preyent, and his anger was great
on finding that her ladyship intended, without further delay,
not only to make a will in taver of Waiter, but tosetue an im-
mediate income upon him in addition.

“Walter cares more for money than he pretends,” he said,
angrily, “He has worked upon your sympathies, inducing you
to dismherit your ownson on his account. I
plans hadn't miscarried lately.”*

“You mistake. Walter does not know my intentions in regard
to him,” said Lady Rosenbury, quietly.

Raymond was so excessively enraged that he expressed
doubts of her ladyship’s word, decliring that he knew that the
artist had» taken every opportunity to malign him, and threat-
ening to be even with him yet.

As her ladyship grew indignant, he changed his tone, plead-
ing with abject entreaty tor the fortune she prope leaving
at her death to Waker; but Lady Rosenbury rebuking his cluld-
th selnannes, he became angry again, and exclaimed, threat-

gly:

*‘And so you persist in disinheriting your own son in favor of a
low-born paiiter ¥”

“You are no longer my son!” said Lady Rosenbury, spiritedly.
“My conversation with you this afternoon has given me an
insight into your character, which I find to be utterly cowardly.
selfish, and weak. Unworthy son of a noble father, I know not
whence you derive your ignobie nature. I do know that if my
dear husband were alive, and knew you for what you are—ia
murderer at heart,a traducer ot the absent, a creature to
whom falsehoods and false dealings seein second nature—he
would scorn and disown you asI now ao! Go, sir, and do not
enter my presence again.”

She arose, and pointed to the door, :

Raymond also arose; but, instead of obeying, advanced me-
nacingly toward her.

At this juncture, the door very opportunely opened, and the
attorney was ushered into the room, according to her iadyship’s
orders, previously given.

At sight of him, Raymond turned without a word, and with-
drew, placing limselr, however, at the door,in a convenient
position to listen to the conversation between Lady Rosenbury
and her business agent.

“Treceived ycur note, my lady,” said the attorney, “and have
brought the papers necessary for the business before us.”

As he spoke, he took from his pocket a small packet of papers
tied with colored tape, and her ladyship indicated to him a seat
before her writing-desk—a tall, inlaid structure at one side or
ihe room.

“You-know in whose favor the will isto be made?” inquired
her ladyship.

“Yes, my lady. Youstated that Mr. Walter Loraine, the dis-
tinguished young artist,is to be your heir. Have you quite
po my lady, to leave everything to him, ignoring your no-
ie son ?° ;
“Lord Rosenbury has sufficient property without mine,” re-
turned her ladyship, quietly. “You underStand also that 1 want
a deed executed, giving Mr. Walter Loraine fiftcen hundred
pounds per year from this time forward.”

“I do, my lady,” said the attorney, taking upapen. “That
will make up the munificent sum of two thousand pounds a
year, counting his late ie bequest. _Mr. Loraine must be
a very deserving young gentleman to haye received the late
rd penne generous remembrance, and your ladyship’s
d forethought.’
4ady Roscnbury bowed, taking a seat beside the attorney, to
om she indicated, on looking over the papers, the alterauons
she desired made, The attorney ventured again to ask her
if she had fully considered the very singular step she was about
to. take in alienating so handsome a fortune from her family,

 

   
 

adding that even if Lord Roseubury’s fortune was very large,
i pisht be well to look forward to the-time when he would have
children.

Her ladyship replied briefly that she had quite decided,
and the attorney then read the documents for her approba-

20Nn. $

“Quite right!” she commented, when he had finished. “T°
suppose withesses are necessary to test my signature. My house-
EOS er and eer family servants—will do as witnesses,
willt oa

The attorney assenting, her ladyship touched her bell-pull,
and Rosenbury stepped into another apartment the ¢ -

   
   

  

 
 
  
 

 

“You advise in vain. I will never give up the Lady Geraldine

only wish my

per from the back until it is of uniform thickness, so thin that
you can see through it, then varnish the third tine and let: ic

   
  
   
 

OFVs erica Ophelia.—1, Yes. "2, See answer to “Blonde’’.......
Wotch-maker,—Fine emery is used tor polishing gold and silver

Waltch-cases...... J. M. Keeit= t....Matehless.—Avoid

 
    
  

stimulants, particularly a e fs 2 i
art) C. a Borne mild
aperient, say rhubarb and nag twicea ha Julia.—
lo restore Kancip Burrer.—For € five p sof butter al
Jow a pint of boiling water, a teactpful of ul cider vinegar,

and a teaspoontul of saltpeter. It all toge’
lined kettle,’ Doll ill the water is evaponate

-at the bottom of the kettle a thick Sedimeut, but the butter will
be found gpod eae used ina eak@.a. A, 4.—A swindle

ria porcelain.
There will be

+... Dodger, —BuRNS.—A Correspondent ree mimends glycerine
as an application jor barns. By the expk io Of a spirit lamp
the greater portion of his tace had been coy :
deep burns, wh. | in a week by the i
‘repeated appli lycerin, without pr

ad with rather
diate and oft-
ting blisters or

  
  

   
  
  
 

 
      
 
 
   
   

   
 
       

repli a ; es estering, of leaving any scar,.s...Johu 2 —AQUARIUM

"if to live many years, Raymond, and to enjoy my for-] Cemunt.—C lead, jus@as purchase nn eo is the
tune ive. I wish merely to make provision ust the | material requi purpose, and if it is toosott for con-
change tis inevitable. I propose to make Walter quite inde- Yenient handli ry whitening may be added. ... Griggs.
yendent of udine before jnarriage, thus carrying a |—Trst ror Kas Q ke a sinali tin vessel, pour into ic a
itue further my dear husband's Kindness to him. Inshort, Ray- | pint of water ne oiling, place init a commonthermoimeter,
mond, Il_expect my attorney here immediately, to discuss the | just immersing the ba

vail containing the mercury, Waten it until
it falls to 110 com. Fah., then pou, teaspoonful of oil upon it,
and apply a lighted mateh. ifthe oil does not ignite, it is safe.
The best oil will not ignite below 130 degs. Fah., but that at 110
degs. is safe. The explosive quality of kerosen is due to the pre-
sence of nahptha, which is removed by honest manufactures
during the process of repetring. Naphthais much cheaper than
Kerosene, and some dealers adulterate the kerosene with it, re-
gardless of the lives of those who burn it...... Weaver.—No.>....
'Cosm ite, STAINING Ivory.—A strong solution of ni ric acid
produces a black ole, For a blue stain, soak it in a sclution of
verdigris in nicric acid, Witch will turn it green; then dip it in
a solution of pearlash boiling hot, which produces a blue linge.
For purple, make a solution of sal ammoniac in four times its
weight of nitrous acid, and allow the ivory to stand init. For
red, dip the ivory for a while ina solution of nitro muriate of
tin; then plunge it into a bath of Brazil wood, or cochinea!l, or
a mixture. of the two, anda scarletdye will be produced Now
plunge the ivory for a little while ina solution of potash, and it
will become a cherry red....¢.N, D.—To promote-the growth of
the hair, and prevent it from falling, see No. 14....... ... Constant
Header.—To become fat, see No: 15,.... .Milton.—Lo StreNGTHEN
AND IMPRove THE VoIce.—Beeswax, two draciims; copaiba bal-
sam, three drachms; powder of liquorice-root, tour drachins.
Melt the copaiba bajsain with the wax ina new earthen pipkin.
When melted, remove them from the fire, pd while in a meit-
ed state mix in the powder. . Make pillg of three graias each.
Two Of tuese pills to be taken asa Uiree or four times a
day on alternute cays...... Wayhall—Yo cure chapped lips or
hands, apple glycerin. iv

 

 

NeD Buntline is weiting exclusively and constantly for
the NEw YORK WEEKLY. A great Sea story will soon be
commenced by him. He has no superior in this line.

; —_——_ >>.

Items of Interest.

4g>_ The fourth anniversary of the M. E. Church City
and Missionary Society was held in this city on Monday,
March 28th. There are 11 organized churches, the mern-
bers of Which are diyided into 25 classes, whien meet
veekly. The Society has 12 Sunday-schools, with a total
register for the year of 235 oflicers and teachers, and 2,998
scholars, or @ total Sunday-school membership of 3.233.
The Society has received during the past yea 946, and
expended in the mission and S. S. work $3¢ Dwiing
the last four years the Society lias expended $198 599. It
holds, free of debt, lots and chapels estimated at $134.600,
and movable or personal property valued at $11,3(2, mak-
ing a total of $145,902.

4%- A bountiful display of beer-blossomed beanty will
sooh take place in London. All tie bexufiful bar-niaids,
who can spare the time from their ‘beer-punips, are to

 

 

 
   
   
 

 

 

congregate at a stated place, ant, form a bar-maid show,
to which an admission fee will be demanded of those not
on exhibition. Visitors are to decide by yote which is the
prettiest maid, and the one most appreciated will be
honored with a prize. Several plump damsels bave al-
ready gone into training, with a view of further improy-
ing their blushes and dimpses. Jt is very likely, from tne
preparations that are being made for this contest, that
the drawers of beer consider that. half-and-half beauty
Will not stand the giiost of a show.

aa> Captain Mayne Reid, the eminent noveiist and
traveler, in response to the request of several proininent
citizens of New York and Brooklyn, has consented to ce-
liver in this city a discourse on the life and writings of
Lord Byron. The recent disclosures concerning the poet's
private life, the extended discussion which they caused
on both sides of the Atlantic,-and the admitted ability of
Captain Mayne Reid, all combine to impart to the pro-
posed lecture an importance which presages an immense

 

 
    
 

moned,
He then returned to the vicinity of the
He heard Lady Rosenbury make som
servants, and, atier signing her Ne uma

dor, remaining there while the necessary witnesses were -

  
  

planation to the
quest their attest-

ae
ti finished,’ muttered the bafiied and disappointed
e returned to the. ent apartment for tem-
1 ent1I lose a handsome
) 1 ought to have
er ladyship, paid res Wishes, and pre-
to be whatIam not! Lowe it to Walter Loraine—curse

3 When ghe 1 had departed trom the boudoir, Raymond
again ven red ee aston, and heard the attorney say: .
+ the doctmen:s are quite right now, my lady. What do you

 
 
 
  

   

    

 
 
 

    
 
  

    

    
  
  
 
 
  
     

| wish done with them?

  
  
   
   

Ac-
le pen-

e justice of these remarks, and

     
   

c 1eLrec
“Tye no iitention of harming.Walter. Loraine came to see
me on an €ntirely ditferent business.”
“To render an explanation ot the manner in which your
Plans were defeated, and to reecive his pay 7” demanded her
ladyship. y
Raymond replied by his silence. . ;
“Alas!” said Lady Rosenbury, mournfully, “that I should
have lived to see you the wicked peing you. have proved your-
self, Raymond. ve you no respect for the memory of your
rather? Have you no affection for the mother who bore you?
I beseech you to turn from your present evil ways, and be nore
worthy of your name and parents.”
The young man conunued silent, her ladyskip’s pleadings
making vot the slightest impression upon hin.
“Have Lever failed in a mother’s duty to you?” resumed her
ladyship, in trembling tones. “Oh! Kuymond, you have been
the child of may prayers, and yet there seeais to be little goud
m you! Why is this? Can you atiribute it to any fault in
ime?”
“You never loved me,” replied Raymond, at a loss for an ex-

       
 
 

Oh, I
“They will
sitoay,

  

 
   
 

will kee my desk," said her ladyship.
be qi pa few days aaded Wish to

a, tew di
orney prepared to take his |

the Cl ne,
- Atter some ler remarks, the at
leave, and Raymond hastened to his own apartments, his heurt
overflowing with bitter and malicious thoughts.
“That will never amount to much,” he said, harshly, to him-
self. ‘‘Walter Loraine will not live long, Lam persuaded. If
my hate could kill, he would have died long since. Loraine
must put him out of the way, and then ¢cie himself. Or, if he
refuses to do aught to further my plans, and persists in his ruin-
ous Cemands, he must die to-morrow night! I cannot go back
in the course I have entered, and will sacrifice without scruple
all who stand in my way.”
The dangerous light in his pale-colored eyes, and the unwont-
ed compression of ‘his lips attested his terrible purpose, and tue
unrelenting will to execute them.
“I feel,” he contmued, “that I am standing on a precipice,
where one step may hurl mie to ruin! ’'m getting rid of Walter;
may be obliged also to—to quiet Lady Rosenbury, and prevent
her denouacing me as lis murderer. With those three—her
ladyship, Walter, and Loraine—dead, I should then be happy!
And I should then be sure to win Geraldine |”
{To be Continued.}

 
  

   

 

—_>@~<

Two new stories will be commenced immediately—one

 

cuse, and naming a reason that had never troubled him in the }
least. “Youhave always set up Waker Loraine as my model, |
and have always preferred him to me.” ;

“But was not that your own fault? Even in your babyhood, |
Raymonc, youshowed a nature utlerly foreign to that of your |
parents; and although I ever acted a mother’s part toward you, |
icouldm’t love you. There always seemed to me to be anim-
passable gulf Legween us which I could never understand.”

Raymond besame deathly pale, and almost expected to hear
her ladyship express & suspicion of the true cause of the feel-
ings she lamented.

“f couldn’t help it if you turned from me then,” he said.

“f suppose not. I think I must have seen in you the nature
which you are now_ betraying, but of which I never suspected
the existence. Buctit is not tuo late for you to amend, Ray-
mond. It is not too late for yeuto win my respect_and affec-
tion, if you wish. I will encourage and assist you to become a
better Ian—to walk in the footsteps of your dear father. Will
you try ¢”

The young man eagerly declared that he would, but with so
hypocritical an expression, and with such manifest desire to in-
state himself into her confidence, that Lady Rosenbury could
not avoid an insight into his motives.

ae that moment she ceased to hope that he would ever
change.

“TJ understand you, Raymond,” she said, with involuntary
coldness. “Lhave no confidence in your promised reformation,
and we will notlinger on the subject. And I will tell you
trankly that Lhaveno faithin your statement that Loraine
came only to re¢cive the reward you promised him for a terri-
ble crime. Having failed in it, why should he come at all? And
why should he vemaim so long?” \ ’

Raymond was annoyed because her jadyship had read his
mind so thoroughly, and because her thoughts still clung to the
subject of Loraine’s late visit, but he replied, with assumed
lightness:

“He came today, presuming upon his late wife's services to
the family, andyour affection for Walter, with a imost ridicu-
lous request. Teould hardly get rid of him.” :

*“(ndeed. What was the rc quest?”

“He wants tolive at Rosenbury House, to dine with your lady-
ship, and to appear in our drawing-room. He said his son was
welcomed here, and wherever Walter Was a guest, he ought to
be admitted, too.”

Her ladyship expressed great surprise at this announcement,
at first being unable to believe it serious, adding:

“T never hearasuch a preposterous demand in my life, and, of
course, treatit with the ridicule it deserves. But you deceive
yourself, Raymond, when you say that he makes it on the
grounds you have stated. If he was serious, he made the de-
mand because he has a hold upon you.”

Kaymond betrayed confusion, saying:

“A hold on me!”

; You hired him to commit a murder, and you are in his
power. He presumed upon your connection with him and your
mutual guilt, and, to avoid conflicts with him, you may bare
given him some sort of promise, which you must break. I can
not have his presence here.”

“But he is Walter’s father-——

“That has nothing to do with the question,” said her ladyship;
firmly. ‘I can hardly believe that he is Walter’s father, but his
being so is no reason why I should admit him as a member of
my family. If he were my own relative, I could not haye him
a resident of my house.” :

“IT have not asked your ladyship to invite him here,” returned
Raymond, with his former assumed pleasantness of manner.
“TI simply mentioned his demand as an illustration of his impu-
dence. Of course, I could not allow my mother to sit at the
same table with her former servant. I know he would never
have asked it, bat for the well-known fact of his son's being re-
ceived by you as an honored guest.”

“Don’t call Walter ‘his son’! Loraine forfeited the name of a
father when he bargained with you for the extinction of Wal-
ter’s life. Throughout Walter’s life he has seemed rather in awe
of him than otherwise, and never bestowed upon him fatherly
caresses. ButI did not summon you hither to discuss Loraine.
{ wrote to the Lady Geraldine Summers this morning, express-
ing surprise that she has. not been here to see me lately. She
sent me a reply a short time since, stating that she remains away
on your account, you having made her another offer of mar-
riage, to Which you will not accept her refusal.”

“That is true enough,” said Rosenbury, quite at his ease, now
that his relations with Lorame were no longer under discussion.
“Her uncle assures me that he will use his influence on
ay reel and that she may be induced to accept me ulti-
mately.

“Her uncle little realizes the depth of the Lady Geraldine's
character!” said Lady Rosenbury, warmly. ‘She has given
her heart to Walter, as you know, and she will in due time give
him her hand. I desire you to cease to annoy he? in any way;
I will not have you make her visits to me dreaded by her on »vc-
count of your persecutions. It you persist in ao suit—unvwel-
come as it is—l shall oblige you to leave my house and take up
your quarters elsewhere.”

“Tr { could only be got away, you and Geraldine and Walter
would have charming reunions, I don’t doubt!” sneered Ray-
mond. ‘To speak plainly, I must say you are a discreet friend,
to persuade a young girl to disobey her lawful guardian. She
wonld have married me long ago had it not been for you.”

“T have acted toward Geraldine as though she were my own
child,’ responded Lady Rosenbury, sadly. ‘‘Her uncle is nota
proper guardian for her, and L have done right in tacitly en-
ecouraging her to rebel against an enforced and unloving mar-
riage. She and Walter were born for each other, and they will

 

 

 

 

strumient, and is ornamental as well as useful,

by Mrs. I. C. FISHER and one by EDWARD MINTURN.

 

Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED. —
Henry Good.—Harr WasH FOR REMOVING DaNnpRUrr.—Take of
borax, one drachm; rose water, half a pint; tincture cantha-
rides, half a drachm; cologne water half a pint; mix, and apply
night and morning....Ben Franklin. —SiLvERING GLASS GLOBES. —
1. Melt together one ounce of clean lead, and one ounce of fine
tin, inaclean iron ladle; then immediately add one ounce of
bismuth. Skim off the dross, remove the ladle trom the fire,
and before it sets add ten ounces of quicksilver. .Now stir the
whole carefully together, taking care not to breathe over it, as
the fumes of thé mercury are very pernicious. Pour this
through an earthen pipe into the glass globe, whicli turn re-
peatedly round. 2. To iour ounces oi quicksilver, add as much
tinftcil as will become barely fluid wheu mixed. Let the globe
be clean and warm, and inject the quicksiiver by means ot a
pipe atthe aperture, turning about till itis silvered ail over.
Let the remainder run out, and hangupthe globe...... Old
Coon.—RiINGWoRM.—Heat a shovel to a bright red, caver it with
grains of Indian corn, press them with a cold flatiron. They Will
burn to a coal and exude an oii on the surface of the flat iron,
With which rub the ring, and after one or two applications it
will gradually disappear....... James P, Johnsm.—See No. 23.2...
T. Ro and J, B—to Remove Moures.—We have heard of moles
which were removed by applying a stick of nitrate of silver two
or three times, but do not know that all molescan be disposed
of so easily. There is no harm in trying it. Moisten the stick a
little, and touch the mole lightly. It willturn black and look
pretty*bad for a few days. Do not touch it while sore, and in a
short time it willdry up and fall off. If one application does
not haye the desired result, or it the dead matter does not fall
clean, repeat the operation, Some of our readers have tried
tnis, and found it effective and harmmless....... Jasper.—EXCELL-
ENT WHITEWASH.—Soak one-fourth of a pound of glue over night
in tepid water. The nextday put it intoa tin vessel witha
quart of water, set the vesselin a kettle of water over the fire,
keep it there till it boils, and then stir until the glue is dissolved.
Next put from six to eight pounds of Paris white into another
vessel, add hot water and stir until it has the appearance of milk
of lime. Add the sizing, stir well, and apply in the ordinary
way while still warm. Paris white is sulphate of buryta, and may
be found at any drug or paint store...... Tragedy.— BuNtoNns.—1.
When the bunion is painful, pat three or four leeches on the joint
of the toe, and do not disturb them till they drop off; then bathe
the bunion twice a day in fresh cream, and afterward renounce
tight boots. Of course this remedy will not reduce the swelling
or the bone. 2, Anothercure is ointment made of half an ounce
of spermaceti and twelve grains of iodine, applied twice or
thrice aday. This remedy is harmless, but not always effectual,
as bunicns are difficult of cure.........Stofer.—See No. 18........
Philada.—BigvLiMz.—Boil tne miadie part of holly bark seven
or eight hours in water, drain it, and lay it in heaps in the
ground, covered with stones or weights, for two or three weeks,
till reduced to amucilage. Beatthisin a mortar, wash it in
rainwater, and knead it till free frem extraneous matters Put
it into earthern pots, and in four or five days it will be fit for
use. A substitute tor birdlime is mode by boiling linseed oil for
some hours, until it becomes a viscid paste...... F. Netterton.—To
clean the teeth, an excellent article is made by ccmbining pure
honey with finely pulverized charcoal. The teeth should be af-
terward well cleansed with soap and water...... Grandy.—Your
parrotis evidently troubled with vermia. Rub lard around the
head and under the wings, which will effectually scatter the
pests. . Spindle,—GLossy Starcu.—Take two ounces of fine white
gum arabic powder, put it into a pitcher, and pour on a pint or
more of water, and then having covered it, let it stand all night
inthe morning pour it carefully trom the dregs into a clean
bottie, cork it, and keep it for use. A tablespoontul of gum wa-
ter poured into a pint of starch made in the usual manner, will
give to shirt frontsa fine gloss, and to lawn, cither white or
printed, a look of newness, when nothing else can restore them
after they have been washed........ Gunthur.—See No. 20........
Bloke.—Im1TAtT1ioN MAHOGANY.—Warm box wood by the fire, and
dip it into nitric acid; when thoroughly dry polish it with lin-
seed oil colored with alkanet root. ~The following varnish is used
for the above: Saturate alcohol of 80 per cent with aloes, and
color with annotto unul the desired shade is resched....... Ed,
J. K.—See preceding answer....... Tom Kain.—See above ....
Blonde.—To Beavtiry THE SKIN.—Steep one ounce of grated
horse-radish in ecightounces of cold milk for’ two days; strain
and bottle for use, and wash the skin with it twice er thrice a
day. Itis not injurious hke most mineral preparations which
are used for the purpese...... as. Cecile.—See above...... St. Cris-
pin and Albany.—ToO TRANSFER AN ENGRAVING TO. GLASs.—First
make a varnish of two ounces of baisam of fir and one ounce of
spirits of turpentine. You may transfer the engraving toany
kind of glass that is perfectly clean. Apply the varnish to the
glass with a camel’s-hair brush, being careful to have it ae
ly smooth; place it where itawill be entirely free from dust; let
let it stand over one night. Then take your engraving, lay itin
clear water until 1t is wet through (say ten or firteen minutes),
then lay it upon a sheet of printing paper (not writing paper),
that the moisture may dry out from the surface and still Keep
the other side damp. Immediately varnish your glass the

 

 

attendance. '

4a>- A sum of money, over one thousand dollars, was
found in November, 1868, in. a cdr of the New Yoik and
Harlem Railroad. The finder, George Hawes, gave it to
the officers, requesting them to return it to the loser, in
case it should be called for. At the expiration of ten
months, no claimant appearing, Mr. Hawes demanded it
from the company and was refused. He brought suit in
the Superior Court of this city, and it was decided that
he finder, in the absence of the owner, should receive
the money. -

aa- A resident of Dubuque, Iowa, recently le
wife and six children, ostensibly for the Scuth, but
ality for Indiana to get a divorce and marry a you!
and prettier woman than his unsuspecting wife, b
attaek of chilis. and fever sh@ok the notion out of
and he returned’ homed Wiser bze-vetterman,

’a> The business in foreign fruits is yearly’on t
crease. Between thirty and forty thousand bos
oranges and lemons arrive in this city weekly frer
lan ports. Hucksters sell them’ at. the ear :
and elsewhere. for a comparatively triflin
what is paid for them in the Mediterranean, _

sa- The storm of Sunday, March 27th, was one of the
most terrific ever witnessed in this vicinity. At Haver-
straw, on the Hudson, fourteen vessels were sunk. One
schooner was driven up into a street, and it required
much labor to restore her to her rightful element.

4ag- A bearded girl has made her appearance at Giade
Spring depot, Washington county, Va. She is four years
old, and has a mustache and whiskers, the hair vpon the
forehead extending to the eyebrows. The arms, suoul-
ders, and back are covered with soft, downy hair.

4a- The nursery-men in Mlinois say that the cold
weather which coated the limbs and bodies of the trees
with ice will cause a heavy crop of fruit this year. Tue
Pi bog Kill the bark lice and the eggs of the apple cur-
culio.

4a There is need of academical teachers in Russia,
and it has been determined to obtain young men of Sla-
vonic descent from Austria, and to apply 25,000 silver rou-
bles yearly toward their education in the Russian philolo-
gical seminaries.
4q- A reunion of the Brown family recently took place
in Orwell, Vt, at the old homestead, now owned by Mr.
John Brown. Nine of twelve children are still living, and
seven were present. They were seated at the supper table
according to their ages, as follows: 78, 72, 68, 66, 64, 62, 60.
4a5- The legal-tender decision of the U. S. Supreme
Court obliges the city of Portsmouth, N. H., to pay $33,700
of the city debt in gold, that being the amount contracted
previous to the passage of the Legual-tender act of Feb.
25, 1862. ;
&@> Statistics show that there are many more women
thun men of marriageable age in New York City, the sum
total being about 132,000; and if we make a calculation
for the entire State it will be found that there are about
300,000 women for whom marriage is impossible.

aa Professor Liebig has received the Albert medal
from tre Society of Arts, Trade and Manufacture of Great
Britain. This is considered to bea great distinction, as
only one such medal is awarded annually, and this is the
first that has been given to a German.
Sa A Mrs. Gregg, residing with her son at Washing-
tonville, near Newburg,committed suicide lately by hang- -
ing herself with a skein of yarn to a post of herbed. She
had been partially insane for some time.
4a> A citizen of Maine is ‘prospecting’ in South Ca-
rolina for the lease of a large tract of marsh hud, and
proposes to cultivate frogs and send their hind legs to the
northern market.
BG> In Waterville, Maine, the Savings Bank has six
hundred and fifty depositors, with about $137,000 placed
to their credit. Savings banks are multiplying all over
the country.

2G A Cincinnati paper insinuates that the officersof a
ferry-boat made no effort to save a Man who fell over-
board until they found out he had not paid his fare. They
made a desperate dive for him and the two cents, then.

Ba A nursery firm at Columbia, Mo., has just graited
over 22,000 apple trees and several thousand plnm and
pear trees, all of which are expected to bear fruit in less
than four years. m

k= - In a case recently on trial before a courtat Lara-
mie City, Wyoming Territory, all the male jurors were
challenged otf the jury, leaving it entirely to the women.

&@- Wardsborough, Vt., recently elected a young lady
school superintendent, but the moderator decided that it
Was not legal to elect a Woman to such office.

ga- The champion skater of Toledo bears the proper
name of Swilt.
—_—_—_>-8~<+___—_
The author of “Faithful. Margaret” is writing only for
the NEw YORK WEEKLY.
ow
NEW MUSIC.

 

“OuR BANNER SONG” is the title of a’ very beautiful
and inspiring Temperance Song, which has at length
been issued, after considerable delay from the breaking
of the lithographic stone, and is now on sale in New York
by S. T. Gordon, in Philadelphia by Lee & Walker, in
Chicago by Root & Cady, and in San Francisco by M.
Gray. The words of the song are from the pen of Col,
E. Ze C. Judson, and are bold, fervid, stirring—finely ex:

ance, whose motto is: “We wound but to heal.’ The
music, which is the composition of the accomplished
Charles E. Pratt, is in accord with the words—strong,
inspiriting and brilliant. On the title page there is an
excellent and characteristic lithographic full-length like-
ness of Col. Judson. We predict for “Our Banner Song”’
great popularity among those to whom if is dedicated—

 

 

doubtiess unite their lives. I would advjgg you to look elses
where —" .

second time, then place your engraving on it, pressing it down

firmly, so as to exclude every particle of air; next rub the pa-

“All True Temperance Men and Women.”

 

3

 

CARE

 

:
pressing the enthusiasm of the noble army of temper.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

st nates neeetteat

    
   
    
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 
er ee ee oe eee ke ee ee ee es

—

cia

 

SE RAE cto os TON

 

 

 

 

 

- cents; customers supplied without c

SO OGEe REIT A NEN RE ND wo rmenee

 

 

——s

For Moth Patches, Freckles & Tan.
TSE “PERRY'S MOTH .AND FRECKLE LOTION.” The
) only Reliable aud Harmless Remedy known to,Science for
removing brown discolorations trom the Face. Prepared only
by Dr. B. C. PERRY, 49 Bond St, N. Y. Sold by Druggisis
every where. w22-13t

-
' ) 1h 1 FR ay

FREE! FREE! KE!

No charge will be made ff DR. TOBIAS’ CELEBRATED VE
NETIAN LINIMEN? does Bot cure Chronic Rheumatism, Sore
Throats, Mumps, and pains in the chest, limbs or back, when
apphed externally, and Croup, Diarrhea, Dysentéry, Colic, Sea-
sickness, &c., internally. Warranted to be perfectly safe to
give or apply tothe youngest child. It has been 23 ‘vears be-
fore the public, and has never iaued. © Sold by all the Druggis:s
at 50 cents and one dollar. W22-25-08.31 ”

ELGIN WATCHES

MANUFACTURED BY

THE NATIONAL WATCH COMPANY,

Pronounced by DEALERS and CONNOIssEURS throughout the coun-
try to be the Best TIME-KEEPERS now offered to the public for

LADIES’ OR GENTLEMEN’S USE.
They combine improvements not found in any other Watches
of either Foreign or American make. Ladies desirous of pur-
¢ebasing a handsome, strong, and correct timepiece wil! find the
elegant Watch bearing the trade-mark of “LADY ELGIN,’
to be all that they desire. Inquire of your Jeweler for the
LADY ELGIN. NO MOVEMENTS RETAILED BY THE COM-
PANY. Business Office and Salesroom National Watch Company,
159 and 161 Lake Street Chicago.
Anillustrated pamphlet entitled. “Making Watches by Ma-

chinery,” by the late A. D. Richardson, sent tree on application.
W2Z2-2t

Bliss’s Select GARDEN SEEDS.
B. K. BLISS & SON,

Nos. 42 Fark Row, and 151 Nassau Street
‘NEW YORE,
Importers, Growers and Dealers in Garden,
Field and Flower Seeds, Horticultural
Implements and Garden Requisit<s,

Would inform their friends and the public that the Sixteenth An-
nual Edition of their ILLUSTRATED SEED CATALOGUE and
GUIDE TO THE FLOWER AND KITCHEN GARDEN, is now ready for
distribution. :

No pains or expense bas been spared in preparing this edition
:O make it the most complete work of the kind ever published
in_this country. .

It contains 120 pages of closely printed matter; unward of Two
Hunived Choice Engravings of Favorite Flowers and Vegetables, and
two beautifully colored Lithographs of the celebrated Lilium
Auratum, and a group of Prize Pansies: and a descriptive list or
Tico Thousand species and varieties of Flower and Vegetnble Seeds,
including all the noveJues of the past season, with directions for
their culture; alsoa listof upward of One Hundred Varicties of
Choice Gladiolus; with many other Summer-Flowering Bulbs, and
Ft ga useful iniormation upon the subject of gardening gcner-
aliy.

A copy will be mailed to all Sante inciosing twenty-five

large.

 

 

 

 

 

vn Sab

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

Jeera vote

 

= =
Ses.
per

 

HELMBOLD.
_ Helmbold.

HELMBOLD.

HEEMBOLD.
HELMBOQLD. -HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMB&OLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.

* HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMB8OLD.
HELMBOLD. HEL\MBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.

HELMBOLD’S FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU is pleasant in taste
and odor, free from all injurious properties, and immediate in
its action.

BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCSU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU..
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.

HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU gives health and vigor to
the frame and bloom to the pallid cheek. Debility is accom-
panied by many, alarming symptoms, and if no treatment is
submitted to, consumpiion, insanity or epileptic fits ensue.

 

Address,
B. K. BLISS & SON.
22-2t-eow P. O. Box 5712, New York.

__DO YOUR OWN PRINTING, WITH A

NOVELTY JOB PRINTING PRESS.
The only low-priced press ever made
that will do good work. No greater
convenience can be added to any
business office, and no more valuable
*>means of advertising can be em-
plowed than one of these presses and
a few dollars’ worth of type. No
more useful, entertaining or instruc-
: tive present can be made to any boy
a than one of these pressesand asmall
quantity of printing material. He would find it a never-failing
source of instruction, p'easure and profit. PRICE OF PRESs-
ES, $15, $30, $32, $5). Send for full descriptive illustrated cir-
etlars, with testimonials and specimens of printing, types, bor-
ders, cuts, rules, &c., to BENJ. O. WOODS, Proprietor, 351 Fed-
eral St., Boston, Mass. w22-4t

  
  

eS

 

 

WAS cured of Deafness and Catarrh by asimple remedy,
and will send the receipt irce. Mrs. M. C. LEGGETT,
wW22-2teow Hoboken, N. J.

y > is ‘
A GREAT OR FER 1
Fiorace Waters, 481 Broadway,

will dispose of ONE HUNDRED PIANOS, MELODEONS, and
OrGanxs of six first-class makers, AT EXTREMELY LOW PRICES,
FOR CASH, DURING THIS MONTH, or will take from $5 to $20
monthly until paid; the same to let, and rent money applied if
purchased. W7-17

ENOCH MORGAN'S SONS’
SA POLIO ren ama thant rater
SAPOLIO <a taney Sit chats Weed:

vork, &c., &c., &e.
SA POLIO "iron, Steet ana all Metal surfaces."
SA POLIO— Tiizgian knives, Stair Rode, civing

Q APOLIO Will remove Stains from Marble, and
Vs for house cleaning and general uses

 

is indispensable. Try itand you'll }¥
&

i like i
Depot, 211 Washington St., New York.

Everybody uses it. Sold. Everywhere.
w22-eow-tr

TVORCES LEGALLY OBTAINED IN DIFFER-
i ent States. Desertions, &c., sufficient cause No publicity.
No charge until obtained. Address M. HOUSE, 78 Nassau st.
w5l-l3ieow

 

 

RUNKENNESS !—The Most HOPELESS Cases Cured. Send
jstamp for evidence C. C. BEERS, M. D., Boston, Mass.

aa

 

QRr A DAY!—40 new articies for Agents. Samples sent /ree.
Dao. 4, H. B. SHAW, Alfred, Me.
w22-13t

ROYAL HAVANA LOTTERY

$390,000 in Gold drawn every 17 days. Prizes cashed and infor-

mation furnished. Highest ne bo tor Aoubloons and all kinds

of gold and silver. TAYLOR & CO., Bankers, 16 Wali St., N. Y.
Feat w7-tf.

oe ne
1840. 1870.
Time tests the Merits of all Things.
BS FOR THIRTY YEARS !-ea
Perry Davis’ Pain Killer
Has been tested in every variety of ciimate, and by almost
every nation known to Americans. It is the almost con-
stant companion and inestimable friend of the missionary

and the traveler.on sea and land, and no one shoukl travel on
our Lakes or RIVERS WITHOUT IT.

Tr is a speedy and safe remedy for burns, scalds, cuts, bruises,
wounds and various other injuries,as well as for dysentery,
diarrhea and bowel complaints generaliy, and is admirably
suited for every race of men om the face of the globe.

Be sure you call for and get the genuine Pain Killer, as many
worthless nostrums are attempted to be sold on the great repn-
tation ot this valuable medicine.

pa Directions accompany each bottie .

Price 25cts., 50cts. and $100 per Bottle.
Soild by all Medicine Dealers,

w22-2t-eow

 

 

 
 

 

deer COLLINS WATCH FAC-
tory. The celebrated IMI-
TATION GOLD HUNTING
WATCHES, “Collins Metal”?
(Improved Oroide). These justly
celebrated Watches have been
so thoroughly tested during the
Jast four years, and their repu-
tation for time and as imitations
of Gold Watches is so well es-
tablished as to require no rec-
a ommendations, They retain

Aiheir color, and each ove is
fully guaranteed by special cer-
- = : tificate. Prices: Full jeweled
Patent Levers, $15. Equalin appearance and for time to gold
ones costing $159. Those of extra fine finish, $20. Equaling a
$200 gold watch. Also, an extra heavy, superbiy finished and
splendid watch at $25. This equals in apearance a $250 gold

          

 

    

one. Allour watches are in hunting cases, gents’ and ladies’
sizes. Chams $2 to $8. Also, Jewelry of every kind, equal to
gold, at one-tenth the price.

 

“The Collins’ metal is the best
seen.’°—WN, Y. Tribune.

“One of the $20 Watches is worn in our office, and we have no
hesitation in recommending them. ’’—Pomeroy’s Democrat.

TO CLUBS,—Where Six Watches are ordered at one time, we
send a Seventh Watch free. Goods sent by express to ail parts
of the United States, to be paid for on delivery. C. E. COLLINS
& CO., No. 335 Broadway, New York. wl7-tf.

> 2O (i x ;
$20 A DAYtoMALE & FEMALE
Agents to introduce the BUCKEYE $20 SHUTTLE SEWING
MACHINES. Stitch alike on both sides, and is the only LI-
CENSED SHUTTLE MACHINE sold in the United States tor less
than $40. All others are infringements, and the'seller and the
user are jiable to prosecution and imprisonment. Ovtrir Free.
we-lyr Address W. A. HENDERSON & CO., Cleveland, 0.

HINKGEY KNITTING MACHINE,
The wonder of the Age—wiih single, eye pointed Needie.
ple, Cheap, Reliable—for Family Use.
where to introduce them. Address

' HINKLEY KNITTING MACHINE CO., Bath, Me.,
wi2-13t Or 176 Broadway, New York.

7 : ~~
HOW TO GET PATENTS
IS FULLY EXPLAINED ina Pamphlet of 108 pages just
issued by MUNN & CO., 37 Park Row, New York.
SENT FREE.

MUNN & CO., 39 Park Row, New York,

(25 YEARS’ EXPERIENCE), have taken
PATZNTS.—More Patents 2nd examined More

Inventions, than any other agency.

Send sketcli and deseription for opin-

ion. NO CHARGE. W22-4t

ee ee a month with Stencil Dies. Samples
4 iree. S. M. SPENCER & CO., Brattleboro, Vt. wl3-13t.

imitation of gold we have

 

 

 

Sim-
Agents wanted every-

 

 

 

' AGENTS, READ THIS!

We will pay agents a salary of $30 per week and expenses, or
allow a large commission, to sell our new wonderful inventions.
Address WAGNER & C0.,
wl2-13t Marshall, Michigan,

HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.,
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD, HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOCLD.

HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU AND’ IMPROVED ROSE
WASH cure delicate disorders in all their stages, at little ex-
pense, little or no change of diet, no inconvenience, and little
exposure. It is pleasant in taste and odor, and immediate in its
action, and free from all injurious properties.

 

BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCAU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
_BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU,
BUCHU.., BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. ; BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCAU. t BUCHU.

FOR NON-RETENTION or INCONTINENCE of urine, irrita-
tion, inflammation or ulceration of the bladder or kidneys, dis-
eases of the prostrate glands, stone inthe bladder, calculus,
gravel or brick dust deposits, ani all diseases of the bladder,
kidneys and dropsical swellings

USE HELMBOLD’S FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.

} HELMBOLD.
HELMEOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
- HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. : HELMBOLD.
< " HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD.

HELM BOLD. ¢ HELMBOLD.

ENFEEBLED AND DELICATE CONSTITUTIONS, of both
sexes, use HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU. It will give brisk
and energetic feelings, and enable you to sleep well.

 

 

BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU, uéHU.
BUCHU, BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCBU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. e BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
BUCHU. BUCHU.
THE GLORY OF MAN IS STRENGTH. Therefore, the ner-
vous and debilitated s.onld immediately use HELMBOLD’S
EXTRACT BUCHU.,
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD,
HELMBOLBD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HIELMBOLD.
HELWBOLD. ’ HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD.
HELMBOLD. HELMBOLD,
HELMBOLD, HELMBOLD.

HELMBOLD'S FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU isa certain enre
for diseases of the BLADDER, KIDNEYS, GRAVEL, DROPsY,
ORGANIC WEAKNESSES, FEMALE COMPLAINTS, GEN-
ERAL DEBILITY, and all diseases of the URINARY ORGANS,
whether existing in MALE OR FEMALE, from whatever canse
originating, and no matter of HOW LONG STANDING.

Diseases of these organs require the use of a diuretic. If no
treatment 1s submitted to, consumption or insanity may ensue.

Our Flesh and Blood are supported from these sources, and
ne HEALTH AND HAPPINESS,
and that of Posterity, depend upon the prompt use of a reliable
remedy. © )
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCAW.,
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU,
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HRLMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU,
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUGHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU,
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.
HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU.

ESTABLISHED UPWARDS OE NINETEEN YEARS,
Prepared at

i. T. HELMBOLD’S
H. T. HELMBOLD'S
H. T. HELMBOLD'S
H. T. HELMBOLD’S
DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSE,
DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSE,
DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSE,
DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSE,
394 BROADWAY, NEW YORK,
AND
504 SOUTH TENTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA.
SOLD BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHERE,

PRICE $6 50 FOR SIX BOTTLES, or $1 25 PER BOTTLE, de-
livered to any address.

NONE ARE GENUINE

NONE ARE GENUINE

NONE ARE GENUINE
unless done up in steel-engraved wrapper, with fac-simile of
my Chemical Warehouse, and signed

ord

 

H T. HELMBCLD.

 

“On the contrary, sir, an old man.’? -« ‘

| ¢arriage-lamps

 

 

 

Saree

SONG OF THE LILY.

 

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE,

 

O, say not you're sorry to take me from this

Garden where I have breathed in such undisturbed bliss,
Where the angel of sunlight and seraph of dew

In an ecstasy thrilled that so perfect I grew:

For Iknow why youtake me—it is that I'll shine,

As was destined, upen the blest martail shrine,

The white symbol of Purity, welcomed by eyes

Of Love’s own missioned angels that lean from the skies.

I have felt Eden-joy ever since my sweet birth;

I will have even more though thus torn from the earth,
AsI glow en the altar in pure, spotless pride,

And at last heaven in the pure breast of the bride.

So, then on, so then on to the nuptials! I long

To be thrilled ere I die by the heart-sealing song:
Ere Idie? O, the lily dies never—her soul

Is a part of Love’s streams as united they roll!

Nor shall 1 only Heaven: the bridegroom will feel
Consummation of bliss through his phghted heart steal,
And they both to the Lord of creation will own

hat the Human should flowfrom true marriage alone.

 

THE

Locksmith of Lyons:
THE WEAVERS’ WAR.

By HOWARD W, MACY,
AUTHOR OF “THE BANKER OF CHICAGO.”

 

“Locksmith of Lyons’ was commenced in No. 18. Back nam
bers can be obtained from any News Agent throughout the

United States. 4 ee
in CHAPTER XIII.
RAOUL SEEKS HIS LOST WHIP,

The man in the cab had attained the end for which he
had followed the carriage. That is, he had seen the arti-
sah leave the carriage and couduct Blanche into the man-
sion, No. 147, Place Bellecour, He also saw the carriage
depart.

That there had been a struggle, or rather commotion in
the carriage a few minutes before it arriveg at No. 147,
‘the person in the cab was aware, as his head was thrust
from the cab window at the time, and his eyes were star-
ing after the carriage.

It appeared to this spy,-for such he was, that a man, or
a very large bundle, was tossed -from the carriage, and
he was confident that just before this something was
tossed out, he heard thecry ol a human voiceor the
scream and yell of a wounded beast.

But the clatter and rattle of the cab-wheels upon the
pavement, and. the distance between the tio yehicles,
made the ear of the spy uncertain in this matter; and in-
deed, he was not sure that his eyes had not deceived him
in the obscurity of the night-light.

When the carriage of Raoul Andre halted before No.
147, the cab also halted, fully three Squares.1n the rear.

The pavement before the residence of Dr. Planche be-
ing brightly illuminated by two ornamental gas-lamps
near the curbstone, and by two others in front of No. 145,
the residence of General Henri La Mothier, it was easy
for the person in the cab to discern the departure of those
in the carriage, and their entrance into any of the houses
near it.

The man in the cab, with his chin: resting on the edge
of the window, the cab being halted ina deep shadow of
a lofty house, said: :

“They have gone into a house?”?

The cab-driver replied: A

Yes, monsieur—into the heuse of Dr, Planche.??

“Are you sure, at this distance? Ithink you should
have driven nearer, or rather not have halted at all.”

“Oh, pardon, we are near enough. My eyes are very
good, and I am perfectly familiar with every stone in
Place Bellecour. They went into the house of Dr. Planche
—lam sure of that.”

“And my eyes are very good, too,’’ said the person in
the cab, testily. ‘I see, there before those gas-lights, two
houses very much alike. One has steps of white marble,
or white steps of some kind, leading upto the front door.
The other has dark steps, or the steps are in shadow.
They went up the dark steps, or the steps in shadow, did
they not?”

“Yes, monsieur. The front steps of Dr. Planche’s
house are of black marble. Those of 145 are of white
marble.

“Well, I am satisfied. I know where they are,’ mut-
tered the spy. ‘‘But perhaps they go there to remain but
alittle time. Ido not wish to remain here all night, and
yet the house must be watched. Driver!”

“Yes, monsienr.’’ .

“Who is this Dr. Planche?”’

“A very famous physician, philosopher and artist, and,
in fact, a man of great science.” ~

“4 young man, el?’

 

“And bas lived many years in Lys @iecourse?.

“No, monsieur. He has lived in Lyons put a year, But
the carriage has turned around and is coming this way.
I shall catch a drubbing if the driver discovers that I have
permitted my cab to play spy on his fare. I know him,
and he knows me. It is Raoul Andre.’

“Weare in the shade, and he will probably drive past.

without remark.”’

“Ha ! I know that voice,’ said some: one at the cab-
window, in the ear of the spy. ,

Tie speaker of these words seemed to have risen sud-
denly from the earth as he spoke. He came up from the
ground, asit were, a shadow within.a shadow, and grasp-
ed the edge of the cab-window with both hands as the
spy jerked his head back from the window,

It was too dark in that deep shade to discern features,
yet the man who had risen from the earth, thrust his
head into the cab saying in a low Voice:

“Barbe Rousseau |"

Instantly after, and in time to escape the thrust ofa
knife then being drawn to strike him, he imitated with
his lips the shrill sounding of a rattlesnake, a sound very
much like the sharp song of the locust.

“Le Scorpion !? muttered Barbe Roussean, for the per-
son in the cab was he. ‘I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, and Lhad the same belief as regard you, my
friend,” said Le Scorpion, still leaning in at the cab-win-
dow. “Come, it seems we are both alive, and in pursuit
of the same purpose.”?

“On ! then it was you that I thought Isaw tossed out of
that carriage not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Yes, Lhave lost an eye. How it pains. Curses on him
who struck me! Butlet me get in there with you. Since
we are alive we must renéw our alliance.”

“Get in there,’ growled Barbe Rousseau,
cab-door. “I do not know yet, that we are to be allies.”

“Ah l youareinarage. Youare meditating an as-
sault on me. Take care !’ hissed Le Scorpion, pausing,
with one foot in the cab.

“No, 1am notin a rage.’

“Pah! Whatis it then that smell ? Come, I have but
one eye left, and in this darkness if } had a hundred |
could not see your face, my friend. BotI have a nose
and ittels me Barbe Rousseau isina fume. Take care!
Remember the sting of Le Scorpion.”’ ¢

“Get in, fool !’ snaried Barbe Rousseau. “I was excited
by your unexpected appearance, I shall be in a rage if
you again allude to that infirmity of mine. Get in—per-
haps it willbe best to be allies again.”? ;

“] think so,” replied Le Scorpion, as he sprang into the
cab.

The cab contained two seats, a back and front. Barbe
Rousseau sat upon the former; Le Scorpion coiled him-
self up on the latter.

opening the

“IT have my knife in my hand, Barbe Rousseau. Re-
member that.”?

“Good ! And I have mine in my hand also. Do not for-
get that, Le Scorpion.”

“A seratch from mine makes an end of you.”

“T should live two seconds after the scratch, Le Scor-

pion. Inhalf that time 1 coulda split you as a fisherman
does a mullet.’’ °

It was in this amiable manner that Le Scorpion and his
brother-in-law, Barbe Rousseau, renewed an acquaint-
ance and intimacy that had been broken off for several
years. ;

While that related was passing between them, two ve-
hicles, coming from different Girections were nearing the
cab. One of these vehicles was the carriage of Raoul
Andre, driven slowly, as he was casting his eyes about
in search of two things, the two lamps of -his carriage
casting a broad halo of light around.ss he moved.

The two things for which honest. Raoul seught were,
first, the body of the man the artisan had hurled from the
carriage; second, the whip armed with needle-pointed
balls of lead. :

“The rascal must be dead;’’ thought Raoul. ‘A toss
like that ought to kill thearcl-flend himself. If I find the
body I shall not be far from the whip. The body is easier
to be found than the whip, so l wili keep my eyes well
about tothe right and left for the body, and having
found that, then look along in the middle of the street
for the whip. It is well that all the police have been sent
to look after the disturbances among the weavers at La
Cro’x Rousse, or the body and perhaps the whip also
would already be picked up. In truth, the streets of this
quarter are quite deserted. Therumor of impending
riots has made.eyen those usuaily late abroad, hurry to
their homes. Good ! for I shall have time and chance to
find that whip before any one else. Ho! is not that a cab
I seein the shade tiiere ?”

Here Raoul halted his horsesabruptly. Thelight of his
had revealed the vicinity of the cab;
and at the same instant, the vehicle which was driving
slowly from the other end of the street, also halted.

This vehicle was the cab which contained the bruised
and battered Esark Hasserbrek, captain in the National
Guard of Lyons.

“IIo! it appears the street is not deserted after all!’
muttered Raoul. ‘It was, 1 think, somewhere near this
that my patron pitched that rascal out.”

“Halloo, there!’ shouted the driver of Hasserbrek’s
cab, who had halted his horse some twenty paces from
the cab of Barbe Rousseau, and perhaps @ hundred from
Rasul’s carriage.

“Well?? called back the other cabman,
want?’

“Why don’t you drive on?”?

“What do you

“Because I am not sure of places here about. It is sel-
dom that I have business in this quarter of the aristocrats.
This is Place Bellecour?”?

“Yes, of course you know that, or you have not been a
cabman a month in Lyons,”’

“That is true, my friend, lam recently in the business.
How do the numbers run here? 1 wish to find No, 145.”

“Gen. Henri La Mothier's?”

“That is it. Ihave a fare, an officer of the National
Guard, for No. 145.”

‘Devils! Did you hear that name??? whispered Barbe
Reusseau to Le Scorpion. ‘Henri La Mothier! Does he
live in Lyons?’

“Arrived a few days since. I saw him the other day in
his carriage,’’? whispered back Le Scorpion.

‘‘And he lives at No. 145, and the girl is nowin No.
147.””

“Ho! yon have a suspicion?’ :

“Silence! Let us hear what these cabmen are chatter-
ing over,” said Barbe Rousseau. ‘Besides, it is always
Weil tolearn everything. I would like to know why an
otticer of the National Guard seeks Gen. Henri La Mothier
at midnight.*’

“Especially as the general is not in active service,’’ re-
marked Le Scorpion.

The conversation between the cabmen, however, rapid-
ly degenerated into mere gossip, and becoming impatient
of the delay, Hasserbrek thrast his head from the cab-
window and bawled out:

“Gabblers that you are, will you® never be done with
your abominable chit-chat. Has he not toid you that Gen.
La Mothier’s residence is not far away? Drive on, rascal!
1 am in haste to see Gen. La Mothier.”

‘‘Esark Hasserbrek!”’ exclaimed Le Scorpion, in a
whisper, and with difficulty, too, as his mouth and gums
were terribly bruised.

“Esark Hasserbrek I"? echoed Barbe Rousseau. “I
thought he was dead.’’

“Oh, then you imagine no one is to have long life but
yourself!’ sneered Le Scorpion.

“Bah! He is alive and has risen in the world, it seems.
And heis in haste to see Gen. Henri La Mothier. Why?’

“Rascal that he is,” replied Barbe Rousseau, “no doubt
he, being nowof the National Guard, has discovered
something of the intended movements of the weavers,
and is hurrying to inform a general officer.”

“Bah ! no such thing! said Le Scorpion, spitting out
atooth. ‘‘There—that makes five teeth in all that I have
lost—and an eye!”

“Curses on your teeth and your eyes !’? snarled Barbe
Rousseau, in arage. “That certainly was the voice of
Esark Hasserbrek.”’

“Ofcourse it was. He is in that cab.”

“He must know that iam alive, and on the side of the
weavers.”

“Bah! You think to deceive me with your fear for
the plots and plans of the beggarly weavers,’ said Le
Scorpion, sharply. “If eis going tospeak with Gene-
ral La Mothier, it is not about Weavers, but about the girl
who is called the niece of Mamma Grimo.”

“Ha! perhaps. In either case he must not see Henri
La Mothier. We must stop nim.”

Here Hasserbrek again bellowed at his cabman, who
had driven close up to the cab of Barbe Rousseau and
halted for a few more words of information.

‘Here !’? roared the enraged Hasserbrek, as he dashed
open the door of his cab, and scrambled to the ground;
“TI go no further with such an ignorant fool for a driver.
Beoby, Ipaid you in advance, or curse me if I’d give you
asous. I have your number, and I'll prosecute you.
Here, you other cabman— you appear to have some sense.
Can I have a seat in your cab as far as Generai La Moth-
ier’s ?’

“Certainly. Get in, captain,’? said Barbe Roussean,
answering for hiscabman, and in the voice of a very old

Mothier—-a child supposed to have been drowned some
fifteen years ago by this rascal Barbe Ronssean—for all of
which Esark Hasserbrek will receive an enormous re-
ward? That is what you thought, my friend, was it not?
eh?

Such had in truth been the intentions of Esark Haser-
brek, or rather a part of his reflections, Bat Esark Has-
serbrek was one of those thrifty rascals who always try to
kill several birds with one stone. He intended also to say
to General Henri La Mothier:

“I am sorry to Say that that beautiful young girl who is
called Blanche De Mounlaine, and who is no doubt your
daughter, has a passionate love for a low. fellow of a lock-
smith, one Robert Lackyille, once a galerien; and unless
you immediately secure her from ever being seen by him
again, he will make ber his wife, or worse.”

By this and other statements Esark Hasserlt.rek im-
agined it very possivle that first he would receive the
enormous price he should demand for his information;
second, that La Mothier would kill Barbe Rousseau with
his own hand, or have him executed by the law; third,
that Mamma Grimo would be imprisoned for life: and
fourth, that the man who had beaten him to a jelly would
have his heart forever crushed in, being deprived of all
hopes of ever wedding the daughter of so great a man as
Henri La Mothier, Counte d’ Aucre. :

These were the four large fat birds Hasserbrek had in-
tended to kill wit one stone in the shape of a single pri-
vate interview with General Henri La Mothier.

But his ill-fortune had now placed him in the power of
two formidable men, with whom henceforth he must act
as they pleased—at least until a chanee for his safe be-
trayal of them might occur.

‘It is not necessary for me to deny anything you are
pleased to suspect,’ he replied to Barbe Rousseau, “for
unfortunately you would not believe me. Henceforth let
us act together, and if anything is to be made let us share
alike. I amsure 1 can be of some service to you. Main-
ma Grimo, who saved the child, no doubt, when you cast
it from the bridge Pont-Neuf, in Puris, fifteen years ago,
is very cunning as you know, and if she once suspect
that we are even in Lyons, or in France, or alive for that
matter, will hide herself and the girl.”

“She has lost the girl.”

“Oh! Ldid not know that. That is bad.°

“That locksmith has the girl under his protection.”

“Since when.’?

“She visited his shop not long after he gave you that
beating, but we will tell you all about that hereafter—in
tact, Le Scorpion may know more about the matter than
Ido,” said Barbe Rousseau, who then thrust his head
from the window and called to the cabman:

“Drive to 48. Rue Denis, fauborg La Croix.”

“Oh—it is there that Mamma Grimo lives,” said Hasser-
brek.

“Yes, we are goingto see her. She is now one of us
again—the circle of the snake charmers, is—again in ex-
istence. Atleast, a very important part of it.??

“Drive fast,’ cried Le Scorpion, at the cabman, ‘my
eye, or the place where it was, is driving me mad with
pain. As for the rascal of a coachman who wounded me,
1 shall killhim. Perhaps this cab-driver knows him—
such fellows always know each other. When we leave
the cab I will ask him.”

Within an hour the cab halted in a miserable-looking
street in quarter La Croix, and the three men left it and
entered a house, but not until Le Secrpion had learned
from the cabman the nameof the man whose terrible
whip had cut out one.of his eyes.

“Raoul Andre,’”? muttered Le Scorpion, as he followed
Barbe Roussesu and Hasserbrek upon the stone stairway,
on their way to the apartments occupied by Mamma Gri-
mo, Barbe Rousseau clutching the arm of Hasserbrek
half to aid him and half to keep him with him, ‘Raoul
Andre, Barouche No. 17—residence 45, Piace Libault. I

 

man. “We are going in that direction—I and my friend.”

It was too dark to distinguish features. Hasserbrek
could barely make out that two persons were in the cab,
and he scrambled in, groaning, taking a seat by the side
of Le Scorpion, groaning, and saying:

“Thanks, gentlemen. whoever you are. I have the
misfortune to be very sore and badly bruised—thrown
from my horse this morning. It is not far, I believe, that
Lshall intrude upon you. Pah—whata strange smell !”
he suddenly exclaimed, and drawing his handkerchie!
from his pocket in haste. ;

In truth, at that moment Barte Rousseau was in a fe-
ver of excitement. The man he would not have see Hen-
ri La Mothier for a sack of gold, had stepped blindly into
his arms.

“Tam Barbe Rousseau, and if you so much as sqneak
you are a dead man,’ he whispered into Hasserbrek’s
face, as the cab began to moy¥e.

‘“‘Barbe Rousseau !’' gasped Hasserbrek, a chill of ter-
ror, freezing his blood.

“And Iam Le Scorpion,’ whispered the man at his
side. ‘You know how he stings, my dear friend Esark.”’

“Good Lord deliver me !"’

“You may well say that,’? growled Barbe Rousseau.
“You had discovered something and were on your way
to tell Henri La Mothier—something about the weavers.”

“The weavers! ASlamaman I know nothing about
the weavers.”’

“Then it was something about the niece of Mamma Gri-
mo,’’ hissed Le Scorpion. :

To this Hasserbrek made noreply. In fact he was una-
ble toreply His tongue was powerless from the conster-
nation of his mind. i :

To have blindly stepped into a cab already occupied by
two men of whom he stood in great cread—to be shut up
n that cab with the ferocious Barbe Rousseau and the
terrible Le Scorpion—to discover that these two vindictive
and desperate nyen had discovered his purpose in wish-
ing to see Henti La Mothier—made Esark Hasserbrek
quiver With terror from tie crown of his head to the sole
of his foot.

“Ita,” continued Le Scorpion, giving the arm of the
trembling man a sharp pinch, ‘it is true, then, that you
have discovered or suspected somethbing.’’

‘Discovered! Oh, Saints alive! I have made a charm-
ing discovery,” cried Hasserbrek, upon whom the pincn
of Le Scorpion seemed to have acted like magic.

“Goou! let us hear it.’

“My charming discovery is that my former comrades
and dear friends. Le Scorpion‘and Barbe Rousseau, are
alive and in my company.”

“Yes, in your company,’ said Barbe Rousseau. “In
the company of acaptain of the national guards, whe
will, of course, at first chance say to the authorities of
Lyons: ‘Here are two grand rascals—you have heard of
them—drive them from your city, or give them tothe
guillotine without delay.’ Rascal, if you are a captain of
the national guard, I am Barbe Rousseau!” and with this
the speaker seized Esark Hasserbrek by the threat with
both hands, as if about to strangle him.

“Oh! gasped Hasserbrek, ‘{1 am a dead man |?

 

 

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BRAND OF THE GALLEY-SLAVE

Esark Hasserbrek, quivering with his throat in the
fierce grasp of Barbe Rousseau, and imagining that Le
Scorpion’s poisoned knife was bared and raised to finish
him, was ready to give up the ghost in sheer terror.

Just then a flood of light poured into the cab through
the window, and the cabman halted.

“If you say a word or make acry, you will bea dead
man,’ snapped Barbe Rousseau, so close to Hasserbrek’s
ear that he for an instant imagined his ear was to be bit-
ten off,

Then thrusting his ugly head from the cab, Barbe
Rousseau exclaimed, to the cabman:

“The gentleman has changed his mina.
I tell you to stop.”?

The cabman, who had halted before the residence of
General La Mothier, at once drove on, caring very little
whither or how long he drove, so that he was paid for
his trouble, aml knowing nothing of the affairs transpir-
ing in his cab.

“Let us be friends and allies, as formerly,”’ said Hasser-
brek, finding that the grasp upon his throat did not grow
tighter.

“Now you speak sensibly,’ replied Barbe Rousseau.
taking his hands from the neck of his captive. ‘But you
must not imagine that you can deceive us. You were go-
ing to tell something to Henri La Mothier?”

“Vee!

“You were going to demand a great price for what you
might tell???

“Of course. Why do anything for nothing? That is
not my custom, nor yours.”’

“Good. Now, what were you going totell Henri La
Mothier, for which you would have demanded a great
price?”

‘A mere suspicion of mine, and being a mere suspicion
it is not necessary to Speak of it.”

“It is necessary to speak of it, my friend. If you do
not, it will be necessary to kill you.’? And with these
words the hands of Barve Rousseau were again upon the
throat of his captive.

“Oh, I will speak. I wished to tell Henri La Mothicr
that there is a woman in Lyons called Mamma Grimo.”?

“Go on,”’ said Barbe Rousseau, impatiently.

“And that this Woman who is called Mamma Grimo's
one who was once called Lissette Rousseau—remember
that I thought you and Le Scorpion were dead.”’ .

“T will remember that you say that. Goon.”

“And that this woman lives in Rue Denis, quarter La
Croix. And that she has 3 chest, in which I suspect are
certain papers very valuable to General La Mothier,”

“Go on.”?

“Oh! that is all, I swear that is all I had to tell.”

“Liar!”? said Le Scorpion. “Why have you lately fol-
lowed the girl who is said to be the niece of Mamma
Grimo.”’

“To get the impression of a key which shecarriesin her
belt. It was my purpose to get from the chest the papers
{think are init. I failed, and, to be frank, was half
killed for my troubie.

“Yes, by the locksmith,’ said Barbe Rousseau.
him beating you. I was gazing from a window at the
time. It was not because you failed to get a false key and
got a beating that you resolved to relinquish the design
you had in view, and go to La Mothier; it was because
you saw me looking from the window, and recognized
me,’

“Oh! I swear *

“Wait, or I must strangle you into respectful silence.
You recognized me. You may have until then believed
me to be dead. But having recognized me you then
knew I was alive. You said to yourself, after you escaped
from the locksmith: ‘Oh, Barbe Rousseau is alive and in
Lyons! I have no love for him. Since he is in Lyons it
1s useless any longer to plot against Mamma Grimo. He
will soon know as much and more than I suspect, if in-
deed he does not already. I must hasten to see La
Mothier and make what I can out of my suspicions, and
also seil Barbe Rousseau. I willaiso tell La Mothier that

Drive on untii

“T saw

 

 

Mamma Grin claims a beautiful girl as her niece, and
that I suspect this girl to be the infant daughter of La

I will remember you. Iwill find you. I will pay you fer
destroying my eye—ha!I will give you the sting of Le
Scorpion.” :

We must now return to Blanche and. the artisan, whom
we left as they entered the house of Dr. Planche, in Place
Bellecour. ;

The artisan opened the street-door with a pass-key, and
with Blanche on his arm, crossed the spacious vestibule,
and entered ahall magnificently furnished.

Such display of wealth and taste, and luxury had never
before greeted the eyes of the beautiful and artless girl,
and for amoment, her gaze was dazzled by the brillian-
cy ofeverything around her. :

Thore were two fcotmen, in rich livery, standing in the
hallas the artisan and his fair companion entered. It
was evident, however, that they had just been seated in
the carved oaken chairs, by which each each stood erect
as the artisan entered,

As his eyes met theirs they bowed with deep respect,
while their well disciplined features betrayed no surprise
at his appearance, nor the manner in which he came in.

“Madam Planche?’ questioned the latter.

‘Is in her own apartments, Monsieur George,’’ replied
one of the footmen, bowing again.

“She has not retired?”

“Madam was in the grand saloon a few minutes ago in
search of a book, I think.”

“No,” said the other feotman, ‘madam came down and
went into the office to learn 1f Monsieur George had been
in since morning.”

“And Dr. Pianche ?”?

“The doctor is in the office.”

“Conduct this young lady to Madam Planche, Guillot,”
said the artisan. ‘Ald you, Blanche,” he whispered to
her, “have only to say to Madam Planche, when you are
presented to her, these words: ‘I am Blanche De Moun-
laine, and ask your protection and care in the name of
George Herber:.’? Do you understand ?”

“Oh, Heaven! I understand nbothing!?
bewildered girl, trembling.

“Do not tremble, my dear ebild. Do:-ou fear to trust
in me?” whispered the locksmith, as with a gesture he
caused the footman to retire beyond earshot.”

“Oh, Robert, I trust in you asItrust ‘n heaven; but
they call you Monsieur George, and you called yourself
George Herbert. 1 know that is the name you are known
by in the schools of design, but oh, there is so much mys-
tery in all this—so much that I cannot understand.- This
Madam Planche, I do not know her.”

“She has heard of you, dear Blanche, and will treat you
asakind motner treats a beloved daughter. Trustin
her as you have hitherto trusted in me. Atl will be ex-
plained to you in good time. To-morrow we will meet
again, but now we must separate.”

“I did not suspect. that he whom I called my Robert
was aman of wealth and rank.”

“This wealthis not mine, dear Bjanche, It is‘the
wealth of my friends. I beg you to go to Madam Planclie
while J have taese burps and wounds dressed by the
doctor.”

“Oh, how cruel, heedless in me to forget those wounds,
dear Robert. There, 1 am ready to go anywhere you de-
sire,’ said Blance. ;

“The lady is ready to follow you, Guillot,” said the ar-
tisan to the footman.

“This way, if you please, mam/’selle,’”? remarked the
footman, who answered to the name of Guillot, as he
adyanced bowing, and then turned toward the hall
stairs.

Had Blanche worn a coronet and the garb of a duchess,
this footman'’s manner could not have been more respect-
ful than it was to her inher plain and simple garb of
coarse red stuth

With a parting glance full of love and faith at the arti-
san, she followed the servant.

“Antoine,’? said the artisan to the other footman, when
Blanche had disappeared, “your arm.”

The man was at his side in an instant.

“Ah, monsieur is wounded?”

“Badly; at least, Iam very faint. Iam_ bleeding fast
here. So, let me lean on your shoulder. Now let us to
the doctor’s office.”

The éxertion made by the artisan in hurling Le Scor-
pion from the carriage had torn apart the seared lips of
the large wound in his breast, and the renewed loss of
vlood was rapidly reducing a strength almost gigantic.
“So long as Blanche was with him, the artisan had
succeeded in concealing his fast failmmg strength; but it
was with staggering and feeble steps, and eyes swim-
ming in weakness that he reeled rather than walked into
the apartment to which he was supported by the foot-
man Antoine. i

An aged but vigorous looking gentl2man, with noble
and benevolent features and heavy locks of snowy-white
hair, was seated at a table reading, as the door was
opened and the artisan reeled in, :

He pushed up a pair of gold_ spectacles from his eyes
and gazed inquiringly for an jnstant toward the young
inan, and then sprang to his feet, exclaiming:

‘Ha! I expected it! wounded. Such imprudence! Risk-
ing your life among the vagabends of La Croix Rousse.
A guarter infernal!”? ,

“Check the bleeding, my friend, and then I will ex-
plain,’’ said the artisan, stripping his bosom. ~

“Take care,” roared the old physician. ‘Lie down on
that lounge. Good! Ha! Antoine—leave the oflice—go
at once. Lam able to attend to Monsieur George by my-
self. Do you hear! depart, Antoine.”

“Antoine has seen it,” said the artisan. ‘Antoine has
seen the brand and knows that I have been a galerien.
Antoine and I have worked at the same oar, yonder in
the harbor of Toulon.” '

‘It is not necessary to tell the world of that, is it?
It is well that you closed the door, or that long eared
Guillot ;

“Would have heard not a word,’’ interrupted the arti-
san, ‘fags he has gone to the apartments of Madam

Planche with—but you are not listening, doctor; you are
fumbiing at that cut.”

“Hear him. Fumbling! did I ever fumble at anything?
Silence! not a word until I have stopped this flow of blood.
Heavens! how is it that you have been stabbed and
burned? but don’t open ‘your lips until 1 tell you. Clear
through the arm too! You have been in a battle; it is
very plain that you have been in La Croix Rousse.”

‘‘Le Scorpion,” said the artisan.

“Le Scorpion! He wounded you,’ cried the doctor.
“Scipio Malus wounded you! Impossible! You would
never have lived to tell me of it had he done this.”

In a breath, as it were, the artisan told how he had re-
“ceived his wounds and how that a friend had soon after
cauterized them and plied him with brandy. ;

“That friend saved your life, no doubt,” said the old
physician. “Oh, when I was giving you a history of
those rascals, the snake-charmers, | Jittle thought you
were so soon to exchange blows with the very chief of
them ali—Scipio Malus, Le Scorpion. So he isin Lyons—
ah, if he suspects I am here also, I must keep my eyes
open night and day. Yes, I pointed out to you the old
woman the other day,” said the doctor, dressing the
wounds of the artisan while he talked, ‘the old woman
With squinting eyes. You said she called herself Mamma
Grimo, but I said I was sure she was one of the band of

exclaimed. the

 

 

infamous thieves, assassins and what-not—‘the snake-
charmers’—and that she was Lisette Rousseau, some-

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

THE NEW YORK W

aoe es

 

 

time the wife of Scipio Malus—known better ¢ >
pion. Having once been a city physician of Paris, and
connected secretly with the detective government police,
I know a great deal about the rascals and outlaws of
France. I hada creat share in breaking to pieces that
formidable band ‘The Snake Charmers’—and I have been
fortuuvate in escapivg the daggers of those who survived
wy faith. As 1t Was, SO many attempts were made to
assassinate me that I resigned my position, changed my
name and went to England where | resided for many
years, as I have often told you. Had I not believed that
Le Scorpion and all the others were dead I am very sure
that I should not have returned to France. Two of the
chiefs now in Lyons!—Le Scorpion and the sister of that
fiend, Barbe Rousseau! I must be on my guard.”

‘‘Barbe Rousseau is also in Lyons.”

“Impossible!” cried the doctor. “The rascal fled to
Hungary after the fearful crime he committed on the
Pont Neuf in Paris—after he hurled the infant daughter
of the Count D’ Aucre from the bridge into the Seine!
He fled to Hungary and was there killed in a village
braw].’?

“Have I not told you that there is a mysterious person-
age often alluded to as a secret chief among the lodges of
the weavers, under the sobriquet of ‘The Baked Crap’?”

“Yes; and a very ridiculous sobriquet it is. What of
that personage? Haveyouat length gained a sight ol
him ?””

“I have seen him, and from the description you gave
me of the man Barbe Rousseau, once head of ‘The Snake
Charmers,’ 1 Know that ‘Tne Baked Crab’ is Barbe Rous-
seau.”’

“Good Heavens! Are there then no less than three of
those wretches still living?”

“Yes; and in Lyons.”

“Barbe Rousseau, Le‘Scorpion, and Lisette. Three
chie{s—the three who were most guilty and most danger-
ous of all.’?

- “Ana Esark Hasserbrek.”?

“Yes, | Know he 1s in Lyons. I saw him yesterday. He
was in some way connected with ‘The Snake Charmers,’
but was pardoned for the information he gave secretly to
the government, and afterward given a position. It 18
not probable that he has now anything in common with
the others. But now tell me of this potent fellow among
the weavers, they call by that ridiculous sobriquet, ‘The
Baked Crab’.” a"

The artisan then related his encounter with Mamma
Grimo and Barbe Rousseau. :

“True, then, the rascal must be alive, and in Lyons,”
remarked the doctor, after he had heard the narrative.
“But who is this person of whom you only say, “My friend
did so ana so,’ ‘My friend seared the wounds,’ ‘My friend
who was present when Mamma Grimo came into my
shop,’ ‘My friend who told me the man who had stabbed
me was Le Scorpion,’ ‘My friend, who greatly fears Barbe
Rousseau, came with mein a carriage to this house’—
Come, that person must be somebody. I would like to
make lus acquaintance, Is he all this time leftin a car-
riace before my door? Go, Antoine, and——”

«7 have dismissed the carriage, doctor,” interrupted the
artisan, smiling. :

“J am sorry for that, my son. You should have brought
your friend in with you,” said the doctor, reproachfally
“J would like to know how he learned your assailant was
Le Scorpion—in fact, how he knew anything about Le
Scorpion.”

“My friend came in with me.’

“Oh! then he 1s in the parlors???

“No. My friend 1s now in the apartments of Madam
Plapche.”’

“Come ! you are hiding some mystery here.”

“My iriend is now being caressed by Madam Planche.”

“Oni? :

“At least I hope so.”

“Speak out. You are teasing me. Who is ‘my friend’?

“Blanche De Mounlaine.””

“What! the beautiful young lady you told me you sus-
pected to be——”

“Take care. doctor!’ cried the artisan, interrupting
him quickly. ‘Even the suspicion is a secret between
you and me.””

“Phe noble girl! And it was she who thrust red hot
irons into your poisoned wouvds! Whatnerve! What
courage! My faitn! itis no wonder that you love her.
Tnank Heaven! you have rescued her from the clutches
of Mamma Grimo, Barbe Rousseau. Le Scorpion, and all!
Fiends ! I defy them to take her from my house.”’

“But if Blanche is really the niece of Mamma Grimo?”

“She is not !’? thundered the excited old physician.
“You know I have seen the girl—you pointed her out to
me. No mortal with that face can have any kindred with
those wretches, ‘The Spake Charmers.’ Bah! Besices,
if any of that tribe of rascals learn that I—I, who smash-
ed up their infamous band—claim the girl as my daugiit-
er, they will not dare dispute my claim. Of course shie is
not my daughter. Whatare you staring at? I do not
mean that she is my daughter; but if I advance such a
claim, with the girl in my house, hows the tribe of Barbe
Rousseau, or any one else to dispute it?’

“In the courts.’

“Jn the courts ! and do you imagine the tribe of Barbe
Rousseau dare pit themselves in law with me? They
dread the courts as good men dread Satan. You are
drawing a very long face, my son. Do you feel sick be-
cause you have rescued a beautiful and innocent girl
from abominable association ? The girl whom you love,”

“No—but what if that which I suspect be true? What
if Blanche be the daughter of Henri La Mothier, Count D’
Aucre ?””

“Eh? What if she be ?””

“We must lay tne matter before La Mothier.””

“Of course; and if he claims her as his daughter, you may
be very sure that those wretches ‘The Snake-charmers,’
will not dare show their heads. La Mothier will exter-
mipate them. My faith ! lintend to exterminate thei
myself. They are outlaws, every one of them, except
that tufamous Esark Hasserprek, and he is a puff—a no-
body—a coward.”

“Ig it not any of the tribe of: Barbe Rousseau that I
fear,’ said the artisan, sadly, as helay at full length
upon the sofa, the old physician standing over him, and
the footman Antoine standing apart.

“What is it, then, that you fear, George ?”

“T fear La Mothier.”’

“On ! you fear La Mothier.”’

“If Blanch is proved to be his lost child. Do you im-
agine he—so great a man—a count snd a general. a man
of milions—do you for an instant imagine he could con-
gent to permit his only child te wed mie ?”?

‘On, and why not? Whatare you? Come, what are
u 2? :

“Simply George Herbert, a designer and—a locksmith
—a kind of jack-of-all-trades,” replied the artisan, bit-
terly. ‘

“See now,” exclaimed the old physician.’”’ You are a
man; what more in thatlight, is Henri La Mothier? Oh,
true, he is a very rich man. But you are my adopted
son, and perhaps I have millions also. He is of the an-
cient nobility—that is descended from the old feudal rob-
bers who used to trample upon the rights of the people.
Perhaps you are also. Who Knows? You don’t. You
cannot say who nor what your parents were. An honest,
intelligent, temperate, industrious, ambitious young man
is a fair match for any of the best of nobility.”

“Do you imagine Henri La Motnier would givé his
daughter toaman who carries this on his shoulder?’
cried the artisan, tearing aside bis shirt and revealing
the infamous brand of the gaitey-slave. ‘Ha! that stag:
gers you, Dr. Planche.”’

In truth, the ola physician was staggered, and sat
down with a bewildered air, staring at the artisan.

(To be Continaca).

PG

Jehial Slab's Remarks.

When conscience is awakened now-a-days, if don’t like
to say, “1s it 12? nalf so well as “it is you !”

Laziness, like disease, sometimes gets to be of so long
standing as to become chronic.

Because you are poor and humble do not conclude that
you are useless also. Cords can bind the strongest lion
helpless. And yet, how eusiy even the smallest mouse
can set him free.

If strong drink makes your friend fall, help him up and
start him again. You don’t lose faithin your mill-
pond because the head happens to go down now and then
in dry weather.

Aman can stand on both sides of a fence at the same
time. Butit is not pleasant to stay there long when the
fence is high enough to amount to anytning.

lt might do for peacocks and turkey-gobblers to strut

, about tne streets and show thei fine featners, if they
would always remember to keep their feet out of sight
and not say anything.

A poo! fellow begins to go down hill, and as is usual in
such cases, he keeps on till he reaches the bottom. Then
people »egin to say, “God’s hand is heavily on so and
so,” when in fact it is the feet of certain hard-
hearted rascals who ought to have been his friends, that
have been kicking him from step to step downward.

I don’t like your excessively formal and polite individ-
ual the best way you can arrange him. When in motion,
he always makes me think of a tip-up wading around a
sand-bar. When quiet, he gives me the disagreeable im-
pression that he has been used, in some past period of
his hie, to swallowing pokers and sleeping on icebergs.

Show me the man who mounted the- first step of his
business career when a boy, by saving up his pennies in
alittle red tin house—who skinned his playmates in
jack-Knife trades in school and never traded back, and
has kept himself steadily down to this saving and skin-
ning business ever since—show mesuch aman andl
wil show you more heartsinahill-side flint any day
than you can find in his breast after the age of forty.

 

TO NEWS AGENTS

Just Commencing Business!

 

News Agents who have but recently com-
menced business 2nd who have not yet re-
ceived circulars from us, will favor us by at
once forwarding their PULL addresses to
this office.

We are abent effecting arrangements that
must prove mutually advantageous, and we
desire to have on our books the name of
every News Agent throughout the Union.

PLEASE SEND PRINTED BUSINESS

ter as Le Scor-

 

 

sane RPE ad PLEAD AAP Oe

New York, April 28, 1870.

RAR I RII PRI FON EEO”

The Terms to Subscribers:

One Year—single COpy .......--- eee ee eee eeeeee Three Dollars.
a * Four copies ($2 50 each)..........-+-- Ten Dollars.
to t+ Bight copies .....-..essseeee ....-lwenty Dollars.

Those sending $2) for a club of Eight, all sent at one time,
will be entitled to acopy FRrrr. Getters-up of clubs can after-
ward add singic copies at $2 50 each.
All Letters must be directed to
STREET & SMITH,

Box 4896, N.Y.

Over 300,000 at Last!!

The good time which has been so long coming to us,
has arrived. We hope shortly to be able to announce to
our readers that the AMERICAN NEWS Co. of this City is
paying us for a bona-fide circulation of 360.000 copies
of the New YORK WEEKLY. We are printing over 300.-
000, including our mail circulation, but we want to
show that the News Agents throughout the country are
taking 300,000 every week—showing an increase dur-
ing the past year of nearly 100,000 copies, and if we keep
on increasing for the next two as we have the past two
years we do not see why our circulation should not be a
HALF MILLION. :

- And just here let us request those who. may have any
doubts as to our success to inquire of the first news agent
they meet how the NEw YORK WEEKLY is Selling. No
matter where you meet him, whether in New York,
Brooklyn, Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, or any other city,
ask him and see what he will say. :
——+-4+—____—-

Metropolitan Pen Pictures.
“ THOROUGHBRED &.,:’

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

Office 55 Fulton Street.

 

 

 

 

A certain class of men, and a very large class at that,
pride themselves upon being Thoroughbreds. Itis due
to the aristocracy of the equine race to make this state-
ment at the start, in order to show that we do not intend
to confound the four-footed hero ef the Turf and Field
with the mean-spirited, low-souled biped who would rob
him of the name which declares his blooded stock.

In no city upoh this continent is the human Thorough-
bred better represented than in New York. He is to be
found in bar-rooms, billiard-Saloons, hotel-vestibules, up-
on the Turf, at Boat-races, and even in ‘* good society ;”
and, wherever he is found, of whatever degree or station,
his general cvaracteristics are the same. He has a pecu-
har look of the eye—a searching. bullying look, which
almost gives it a squint, and which is meant to determine
whether its object is one of his own guild, or a “sucker”
—his usual term for one whom he can swindle, rol), or
victimize, whichever the case may be. He can generaily
tell very quickly—indeed, by a sort of intuition.

His ideas of being a Thoroughbred are to be “up” in
every scheme of low rascality, which approaches, bus just,
escapes the pale of the law, although he sometimes over-
leaps it mm his lofty, far-grasping zeal. His ideas of a
“sucker ”? are qualities embodied in a sjaan who is either
too honest, or too ignerantt to cheat at cards, swindle at
dice, “throw”? a game of billiards, poison the steed op-
posed to his own ina horse-race. bribe the crew of" the
boat he bets against, or, in one way or another, repudiate
his losses, and exaggerate his gains. a

The Thoroughbred is looked upon with envious admira-
tion by the would-be-sport of the rising generation ; with
easy, but understanding, familiarity by the perampbulat-
ing M. P.; and with a sort of respectful distrust by honest,
steady-going people. ;

The higher order of Thoroughbreds are to be found in
and around the great hotels and extensive gambling
houses of the upper part of the city. The lower crust 1s
plentifuly represented by the small rogues, blacklegs,,
swindlers, sharpers, rowdies, and semi-thieves, Who haunt
the corners of Broadway from Broome to Fourteenth

 

street, and lurk within the Grinking-dens and along tle”
sidewalks of Prince, Houston, Bleecker,and kindred stre
intersecting Broadway; although there are many ho
proprietors who are chary about permitting these gent
to harbor upon their premises. ;

If you happen to be simply a wide-awake citizen, a
go in or out of any one of the all-night broadway resta
rants, at a late hour, you will be sure to encounter’ 2
number of tolerably well dressed young men eyeing you
with the unmistakable evil of the thoroughbred squint. ,
It will encounter you, likewise, if you enter any of their
bar-room haunts in the daytime, froma dozen or more
loafers. If you-mind your own business, abstain from
any show of familiarity other than the commonest civility
to the lan@lord, and depart quickly, you will be Known to
be amanof city expericnuce, and be allowed to depart
unmolested, :

Ifyou discuss your liquor. bunglingly, look at the pic-
tures on the walis as though they afforded you pleasure, or,
unsolicited, ask one of the habiiues of the place to imbibe
with you, you Will be immediately set down as a “sucker”
of the first degree—that is, one whois not famillar with
the life in a great city—and be taken in hand accordingly.

If you affect a blase manner, converse Joudly with the
bar-keeper, or any one else in the room, about the virtue
of this or that actress, or cantatrice, as though you were
well acquainted with her, and expatiate upon sporting
matters aiter the manner of the stereotypea expressions
you have gathered from sporting papers, you will instant-
ly be put down as a “sucker” of the second degree—that
18. One ambitious to be what he is not, and can never be,
without a long and vicious experience,

The latter species of dupe is the favorite prey of the
Thoroughbred, who has the great leverage of an over-
weening and unhealthy vanity to work with at the out-
set. The conceited gull will not fail to find cone or two
agreeable gentlemen ready to agree with himin every-
thing, and he will be led to imagine that taney are actually
admiring him.

“Tsee you are pretty well-posted.” one of the new
friends will languidly remark; * but I will play you dom-
inoes for drinks any how.”

If the ambitions dure assents, he will lose, as @ matter
of course, for his opponent will be slight-of-hand, besides
knowing every five and blank in the pack. Money, if
pessible, will then be played for, in small amounts; for
the small Tnorcughbred has never much for an original
stake himself, and is content if seven or eight hours of
shainbling, cheating, and false-swearing rwill place him
four or five dollars in pocket.

Perhaps, the aspirant to worldliness will not understand
dominoes. Cards, in the shape of euchre, whist, seven-
up, poker, or what-not, will then be brought into requisi-
tion. If they are not available, then it will be dice’ at
any rate, the pigeon will, in one way or another, be pluck-
ed, and sent on his way rejoicing—in nine cuses out of
ten, to return again and again.

The Thoroughbred of the pulliard cue is quite as mean
as nis bretfren of any other specialty. He is generally a
first-class player—able to discount, or deuble discount, a
man Who piaysS a very creditable game, and never plays
uniess he is sure of his man. 1f heis playing a match game,
there is no conjecturing whether he will win or not. no
matter What may be the caliber of his antagonist. If he
can Wake more money oy losing than winnisag, he will
always doit. He can always be bribed by the opposite
party to “throw”? the game—tuat is, to purposely lose
it to the ruin of his own backers. He is generally over
the middle age, seedy in appearance, and mostly penni-
less; for he soon ioses caste, 80 that even his fellow thor-
oughbreds will not trust bim. He vegetates miserably
upon the small stamps which he can occasionally pick up
when fortune throws a peculiarly egregious gull into his
feeble talons.

The small thoroughbred aimost degenerates, in time,
to the actual criminal, or the penniless, semi-respectable
bummer.

In almost all the class of drinking and billiard-saloons
of which we have spoken, are to be found representatives
of the latter class, wi0 were once gports of considerable
repute, and who are “characters” in theirway. Seedy,
forlorn old men, they watch their younger and sprucer
iellows regaling themselves at the reeking bar, and think
sadly of the days when they could be pressed to take a
driak, instead of soliciting one, as now, With twitching
fingers and mutely-begging gaze. Or they sadly watch
the well-dressed heroes of the cue, from their high-chairs
at the wall of the saloon, and recall the day when courted
and admired, they stood undisputed umpires of the danc-
ing balls.

A particularly interesting and well-known character of
this sort may be met at the present time at one or another
of three or four English chop-houses, almiost any hour in
the @ay; and, gazing upen his dejected superannuation,
as be tremblingly turns over the leaves of Punch, or the
Illustrated London News, or dreamily counts the drinks
which are no more for him, Ole can scarcely repress a
sympathetic feeling for

THE OLD SPORT.

His face hath the hne of a billiard-cue,
The smile rarely visits bis thin, pale hp;
Bald is nis poll as a billiard-bail, ‘
And his pose is red as a Faro chip,
Sad and forlorn as a rainy morn
Is his dreary mien, dull Care's resort;
And the years go by’ with never asigh
To soothe the cares o1 the poor Oia Sport.

€&carce can he lift the hand, which so swift
The pasteboards shufied when i its prime,

His eyes ne’er glow as, with’domino,
They Fortune’s favor oft did court;

With “Muggins” and “Block” no more he'll stock
The pack, as of old, will the poor Old Sport.

The skill which so nice could ** cup ” the dice,
and trick the dupe, and chisel the guy,

Hath deserted the bead of the ‘horoughbred,
And Fortune gives him at last the ‘‘go-by”’.

She loved him well—a mere bagatelle
He made her, till once, when out of sort,

She turned the crank, and he snatched a “ blank,”
When she set her heel on the poor Old Sport.

The bright champagne and the foaming ale,

The laugh of the drinker, the clink of the glass,
He sees and hears, and then, if_the tears

Down his poor withered cheeks unknowingly pass,
Wecan pity bestow for the long ago,

‘Till Life cries, ‘‘ Keno,” and Death makes report;
When he hands in his “chips,” stil! murmar our lips,

Pity the woes of a poor Old Sport!

But a word or two, as to ‘‘suckers ’’—the vulgar, though
expressive name given by the Thoroughbred to his prey.
If tne sucker retains his respectable employment—that of
a clerk, book-keeper, or what-not—and persists in his as-
sociation until he becomes a thoroughbred himself—one
of the ring—an adept in all the mean, low, vile contempt-
ible tricks requisite for maintaining uniform success at
dice and cards, when dealing with one wio cannot or will
not cheat, the probability is that he will swindle his em-
ployer, as well, and come to moral and physical grief.

But even if his nonesty is incorruptible, even if he re-
mains an ignominious ‘:sucker” all his life, he can con-
gratulate himself on one thing, and that is that he
stands an infinitely better chance of keeping out of the
State Prison than bis acute and deep-minded superior,
the Thoroughbred! Shrewd as the latter gent.eman is, in
the majority of cases, before the close of his career he
finds himself a prison-inmate.

As he is generally a dabbler in local politics—either as
a ‘‘repeater’’ or leader of repeaters—he may save his
bacon two or three times; butas a general thing, the
prison-bars will check his daylight in the long run.

Theny invigorated by his luxurious diet of bread and
water, strengthened by compulsory boot-and-shoe peg-
ging, he wili bave the satisfaction of knowing that he Is
stilla Thoroughbred—a wretch without honor, without
name, without heart.

_ THE NEW SCHOLAR.

A SUNDAY-SCHOOL STORY.

BY NED BUNTLINE.

 

 

“Tf you please, teacher, may I bring a very poor, ra gged
little boy te Sunday-school? He cried pitifully when I
asked hitieand said he had tried to get good clothes, so
he could tome, but his father wasdead and his mother
drank whisky, and took all he could earn in selling pa-
pers, for that.”

She was a lovely girl—the blue-eyed little thing who
shook back her light-brown curls, and looking beseech-
ingly in her teacher’s face, used these words. Dressed
warm andrichly, it seemed as if she could not Know what
it was to suffer; then how cculd she feel for the soffering
of which, practically, she Knew hothing? Not more than
seven or eight years old, and yet so interested in a poor,
friendless boy! ’ :

“Yes, my dear little Lena, yes, you may bring him; and
we will try.and fix him up, it he will come regularly and
try to be a good boy. Our new superintendent is never
happier than when he sees a scholar bring in a new one.”

Lena went away very happy, so happy that her father
and mother both noticed the joy in her face when she
came home that afternoon.

Yhey inguired the cause of her pleasure, and when they
learned itshe received kisses of tenderness from both, for
though wealthy, they were practical Christians, and be-
lieved in charity of a pfactical nature.

“Do youknow where this little boy lives? asked her
father, as he pressed his lips to the white forehead of his
chila.

“Yes, papa—in that little old shed on the vacant lot on
Winslow street. If doesn’t look as if it was fit to live in,
but there is where I see him go in after ] pass.”

“Pot on your hat and cloak, my darling; we will take a
walk, even if it is Sunday, tor 1 feelasif 1 ougut to see
this litte favorite ef yours.” ;

“Oh, papa, you make me so happy!” :

Ana the little darling hastened to put on her things. »

Hand in hand the father and daughter moved along,
‘and Soon came in sight of the vacant lotoi which sne
had spoken. There wasa great crowd of people there,
hudaled around the shed, and the crowd kept increasing
while Lena and her father appreached. /

“What is the matter here?’ asked Mr, M. of a police-

  
 
  
 
    
  
  
  

man. is

“Nothing much, sir, only a drunken weman
here has had a fit, aud the doctor says she
aie.”’ me %

“She is dead,” said the doctor himself,
“Gin has made ove more victim, you can s8@
nerif youlike. Jtis the old story—the
ner.” : oe :
Mr. M. and little Lena pressed on, and there, over the
bloated body and discolored face of hi i mother, the
poor stood weeping in silence. The re plenty of

okers-on, but emed to care fOr Nim until Mr,

a oaching.
“the coro-
=must bury

 
      
  

   
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
 

  
 

au nndertaker
come home

: ba
the merchant,
is side.

      

    

  

UO W a UC td ™ O la ti
“Is tnat your father? asked the boy.

“Yes—my dear, good father,’? said Lena. “Mind him,
and come..keme with us, and you shall not be eeid and
hungry any nieve.’ ’

_ The boy wept more than ever—not for sorrow, but be-
cause God had sent him friends in his dark hour of need.
ae

Again it was the Sabbath afternoon. Lena entered her
Sunday-school with a beautiful boy nearly her own age
clasping her hand. His eyes were large, dark and full of
intelligence. He was well and neatly dressed, and looked
as fresh and clean as herself.

“Teacher, I have brought a new scholar,” said Lena, as
shé approached her usual seat.

“Yes, a noble-looking. little boy,’ said her teacher.
“But where is the poor, ragged, iriendless boy you asked
permission to bring?” re

“This iS he—famer has fixed him up, and he lives at
our house now, fer his poor mother is dead,”? said Lena,

And she led the little waif toward the seat usually oc-
cupied by her, and proudly sat down by his side.

Are there any other little girls, who. reading this story,
will follow the example of Lena and do good in the bright
world where they live? I hope so, and as sure as i hear
of it, I will write a story for them, too. -

———--—_ > § << ---——
Everybody will want ‘to know ‘Who.did Lady Viole
Marry”? which is the tile of Mrs, Fisher's new story.
—>-e<—

To Correspondents.

Gossip, wirh Reapers AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
J. D. BK. Association —We think the plan of the association a very
good one, indeed. Young men can take no better way of fitting
themselves for the parts they have to take in life than by giving
their leisure hoursto study. It isnot necessary that this stuay
sheuld be hard labor. Let certain evenings in the week be set
apart for oral instruction from a teacher, other evenings for
study, aud others tor conversation among the members, where
questions rélatingto the studies might be proposed and answer-
ed by members, the teacber acting aschairman. One thing all
such associations should determine on. that the members shall
be of good moru!s and temperate in habits, asone of the worst
features of many associations is the social glass, which at first is
taken for company’s sake, but in ume deteriorates into an over-
mastering passion...... Fred. Z. Ludiow.—ist. When you feel
tired by your studies, leave them, go out into the open air, and
if the weather be pleasant walk torafew miles. There 1s noth
ing better for bowily or mental health than labor, but too much
work is not beneficial The body when overwrought becomes
debilitated—the mind when too much taxed becomes sweakened.
The best course is.io give certain hours of the day to work,
otbers tostudy, and others to amusement. By this course the
health of the body is maintained and the brain is kept bright.
2d. Use nothing butcoid water...... Charles J, Myatt.—ist. Your
hapdwriting would be good did you give a little more care to
ge formation of the letters. 2d. Gep. P. H. Sheridan was born
in Albany, New York, and appointed to West Point from Ohio.
His parents were Irish, and left that country for America in
1829. .....Tadpole—ist. He is dead. 2d. Take out-coor exercise,
eat nutritious food, take regular rest, and avoid all debilitating
habits, and vour strength wili return to ycu...... Contributors.—
Ist. There are severai publicationsin this city devoted to music
—which is the best of them we do not care to pointout. ad, By
writing to the American News Co. you can get works on gar-
dening and etiquette...... Euchre.—You have no right in the
game of *‘euchre,” nor in any other game of cards, 10 discard a
hand because itis weak. Ifyou throw up your hand because
you have not anjace, a picture, or a trump, your opponent is
entitled to sc. re two...... C. Manning.—ist. You write a passable
hand, and thatisall. 2d. We knowof but one way to win a
woman’slove; treat her with kindness and consideration, be
attentive to her wishes when they are dictated by gocd sense,
and learn ner tors; ect you by your honest, manly actions. A
heart that is only to be won by trickery is not worth the pos-
sessing. 3d. Asking is the easiest wav to discover whether a
woman loves yen or not...... Roving Bob.—We believe none are
being anlaed ht .present...... Archimedes.—ist. The American
News Co. is an entirely retiable book and newspaper firm. 2d.
Your handwritingis not up tothe bookkeeper’s standard......
A, Weaver.—We are not in possession of the address of the Statf-
fordshire potteries. You shouldseek the information through
an imvorter of crockery,...... Henry T. Krause—The distance
from Chicago to San Francisco by railroad is 2,371 miles... S
Udo Brand.—ist, You must go through a course of preparatory
studies ata highschool. 2d. For terms of admission address
the officials ot the coliege........ Harry Bruce.—See No. 38 .....
J. K. W.—We cannot give you the information. By applying to
a dealer in law fe is you could easily learn whieh is regarded

e 7 1

 

by lawyers as file best work on conveyancing...... W. Mc€.—ist.
We do not find St. Thomas, Nevada, on any of our maps, conse-
quently cannot give its exaet location nor the nearest station to
it on the Pacifie Central Railroad. You cannot, however, reach
any part of Nevada for less than $100. 2d. A man who does not
like the life which he must lead in pent-up cities, cannot do bet-
ter than start yor the Far West, where, if he does not amass
wealth, he can dlway's earn a livelihood. As you are acquaint-
ed with the country of which you speak, you know better than
we can tell you what likelihood there is of your Goins well in
it..........4. Fy Dayton.—lst. Rutger's Coltege is situated at New
Brunswick, New Jersey. The namesot the offl-ers we do not
know; but a letter addressed to the President of the College will
reach him.—There is also a University at Fredericton, >Prov-
ince of New Brbiswiek, 2d. We do not know the names ef the
officers .......0 M. Wilkins.—We answer no theological ques-
UGNS 2.6.5.5. das Ai Reader of the Album.—N0O.......... Kutie Aliwishes
Stoles.—ist. *‘The Rugg Documents” have not been concluded,
bnt will appear occasionaliy in the “Pleasant Paragraphs’? for
soine time tocome. 2d. We cannot see the least similarity be-
tween the names, save that both commence with an A.”

 

 

 

When he “sleeved ” the ace, and turoed the face

 

CARD IF POSSIBLE.

AS Thee em ey

Of 1s counterpart, ia the olden time,
4

 

 

Me ke te mn Le ne eh eaten Rete ene oo ge he en eens

3d. The only things that will make straight hair curl are the
curling tongs and putting the hair in papers. Curliques and
;

 

paaeae ane pee

  
    

such stuff are injurious frauds...... Jessie Nathan.—\ist. We know
ot no seminary for young ladies where you could pay tor an ed-
ucation with your labor. 2d. The following is the way mm which
feathers are curled: Theribs are scraped with a bit of glass,
cut circularly, in order to render them pliant, and then by draw-
ing the edge of a ulunt knife over the filaments they assume the
curly form. . There is no permanent restorer of the hair.
The only thing you can get isa bar dye. We do not think the
use of hair dyes beneficial to the growth of the hair, ana they
sometimes prove injurious tothe general health. Several cases
of paralysis have occurred from the use ot hair dye. 4th. Your
penmanship is good. The only fault it has, is thatilis too small.
Ph ol keraep Liddoti.—\st. The way to gain tlesh 1s to eat farina-
ceous food, drink milk, take out-door exercise, use no tobacco,
and go to bed at an early hour. 2d. Your handwriting is not
quite up to the bookkeeper’s standard...... Euchre.—Your suppo-
sition is ali wrong, because you make one mistake—that is, your
playing “alone” after your opponents have ordered you to take
up the trump. That issomething you cannot do. It is often the
case, in Playing the game of euchre, that one side has but one
to go and the other four, the lauwer having the deal; the side that
has but one to go “order” up the tramp turned, preferring a
“euchre” to the chance of having four points against them by a
“Ione” hand. Thisbit of strategy is termed ‘ta bridge.”........
Louisvill-.—It is incorrect to call twochildren born at one birth
“a pair of twins,” because “twins’ means “double,” and is
from the Anglo Saxon “‘twi,’” two. It would be just as correct
to call three children born at a birth ‘‘a trio of triplets” as it is
to say “g palr of twins.”’...... Lizzie Knipp.—When your sweet.
heart calls to see you, he shoule retire at about10 o’clock. Still
you must not feel angry with him should he forget the lapse o’
time, and remain beyond that hour. You know, “time flies tof
swallows’ wings’? when a young man isin the company of the
“adored one.’’..... Ed. Schott.—lst. We know nothing of the
physicians named. 2d. The only way im which a cancer can be
cured 1s by the application of the knife. You should see a sur-
géon immediately...... William Holland.--None of the_ stories
published in the New York WEEKLY are issued in book form,
consequently you cannot get the stories named...... Charlie
Wentworth.—The first locomotive that was ever worked was on
the Merthyr Tydvil railway in South Wales, in 1804. But it was
not a success. Several railways were running coal and ore
wagons at the mines in England and Wales in 1814; but it was
not till 1829 that passengers were taken by steam from one pcint
to another. The first railway that had cars propelled by steam
was the Liverpool and Manchester line. The locomotive was
built by Messrs. Robert Stephenson and Booth...... Harry.-—-It is
net known who invented billiard tables, nor at what time they
were invented...... Reader.—Some ot the numbers are out of
print... &.. Lionel.—The affair is a good enough compass, but not
worth a cent asa watch...... Sherlock.—Start a news agency....
Johnston.—By taking time when conversing to enunciate the
syllables you will talk more clearly. If you find yourself una-
ble to pronounce a word, stop at once and inhale air into your
iungs, and you will find that you can utter the word with ease.
cate nage —-Oaenenine Von Bora, the woman who became the
wife of Martin Luther, wasan ex-nun.:.A. Dodin.—We canvot in-
form: you...... Pen Yan.—sinee the parties alluded to by you
left the New York WrEKLY to join a cotemporary, our circuls-
tion has increased one-third. It has run up irom 220,000 to
300.000. This you can rely, upon, and your wager 1s pertectiy
SRL on'es Adolf Fr. M.—It would be very wrong for a man of
24 to think of marrying a child of 13 years. The man who

 

Unhappy Being.—The best course for you to take is to Jeave home
and work tor strangers for atime. You will probably iearn that
clerking, or whatever other employment you may get, 1s as
bard work as “going of errands,” or carrying the mai). 2d. Your
handwriting is fair...... Anthony Lyle. —The numbers of the New.
York WEEKLY containing “Who Killed Anthony Lyle” are out
ot print......Chartie Herbert.—\st. ‘Ouida’ is proneunced, as
near as the sounds can be given in English, ““we-da.” 1t means
“Yes, indeed.” 2 uack...... Cora.—For ward, and if 1 does
not prove acceptable, the MS. will pe returned......... Ed. R.
Ackerman.—We could not use the articles...... John A Peters.—
Cannot add to our list of paid contributors...... H. R, R.—We
do not know.....- Bill Sykes.—Because the series has been con.
cluded.:.... Earl.—I\st. “Flowery Kingdom” 1s 2 translation of
the words ‘‘Hwa Kwoh,’’a name often given to China by the
inhabitants, who consider. themselves to be the most polished
and civilized of nations, as the word ‘‘Hwa” intimates, 2d,

You write but a poor hand...... _P. Brodevick.—It is impossible for
us to tell whether you are the righttul heirs or not, as we know
nothing whatever about you or the estate...... Cymro —A young

man who knows so little about investments as to have to ask
advice, had better let his money remain in the savings bank, as
there it is safe, which it would probably not be did he invest it
in railroad stock...... J. T. Fallon.—You should take the advice
ot askillful oculist. Theeye is too delicate an organ to treat
carelessly. Go at once to the pety best oculist in Washington..
. ....Jerrie /. A.—Iist. No. 2d. The hoop snake cannot strike a
tree and kill it. He would be more likely to kill himselt. 34d.
No paper vouches for the reliability of its advertisers..........
Architect.—Go to a book store where such works are soia, and
you can make your choice ovt of numerous works.......... L. S.
Hilderbrand.—The girl is bashful, and wants coaxing ere she will
receive vour ardent vows of love. Persevere, and, when the
time is ripe, she will drop for restupon your munly breast, and
accept ot tne protection of your stalwart arm unto death do
you part...... .Ldna Browning.—The lady members of amateur
dramatic companies do not pay dues. You should apply by let-
ter to the manager of the company for full information........
Jones.—Ist. When we have learned the cause of your nervous-
ness, we may be able to prescribe tor you. 2d. The best way to
cure the trouble isto avoid eating late at and your sup-
er should be of light, easily digested food, ere isno way
n which you can cure your father of drun against his
Wilk, si.) J. B. Ems.—lst. No. 2d. The feet of Byron are stated
to have been shghtly deformed; but you are the first that has
discovered that he had horns on his head and cloyen feet. 3d.
No; drawing cannot be mastered without oralinstruction, 4th.
We have neither space ner time to devote to the elucidation of
mathematical conundrums, ..... Washingtonian.--gt We cannot
say which of the Western States would be the Best for you to
emigrate to. 2d. Acouple of hundred dollars would be suffi-
Cleutiisk.. Despair.—Tnere are hundreds of schools 1m all parts
of the country where you can be taugat bookkeeping and arith-
metic.” 2d. Your writing 1s fair...... ee Lover.—The free lovers
are aclass of sensualists that think marriage wrong, and that
believe that the highest develepment of humanity leads to
nothing better than the manners of beasts..-.. Wm. Hutchinson.—
Ist. The only practical test is use. 2d. “Little Buckshot: or,
The White Whirlwiod of the Prairies,’ will be published on the
conclusion of *Squirrel Cap.” 3d. The Baron Rothschild.......
Blue Dick.—1st Both individuals named are quacks. 2d. We ad-
vise you, by all means, to follow some mercautile pursuit. Sd.
Your penmanship is good ..... Heart and_Hand.—Your sentiments

 

wouid propose such a thisg should be driven trom the society of
civilized beings...... E. S. K.—1st. We know nothing of the ma-
chine in question. 2d. A humbug. 3d. To remove freck!es mix
lemon juice with olive oil, and rub on the jxce when going to
MEGy oscc2 H. L.—The railroad turns from Houston street into
Lewis street, which is three blocks trom the Houston street fer-
rye An Orphan.—New Bedtord is the principal American
whaling port, ana New York the greatest of ports on this conti-
nent for general shipping. Your chances of getting a berth
aboard ship are very poor, as there is but little doing in shipping

are true, but your rhyine, measure, and rhythm are false.- You
must become acquainted with grammar before you can expect
to have your writings receive thé honor of appeariig in the
public prints...... Mrs, E. A. Cunningham.—ist.. The N. ¥. Heraid
would be the best paper for the purpose. 2d. The auswer we
gave concerning the bite of a dog was taken from the expe-
rience of our ablest physicians...... .... Leighton Homestecd.—ist.
We are not aware Whether the gentleman is still alive or not.
2d. Address your letter “Cape Town, Cape of Good Hope.” The

 

at present. ..... R. H. Mellor.—The poem was published in Harp-
en's Weekly. ....K. R. M.—We cannot give you the information.
You should apply to the master of a Jocge...... Augustus Dennett,

—Dr. Mudd was sentenced to the Dry Tortugas for jife........
Montauk.—There is no evidence of toads or serpents having ex-
isted in Ireland at any time..... 7. Eee Pee for informa-
tion to the Land Commissioner, Washington, D. C...... A Friend.

 

—ist. The individual whose circular you forward is a notorious
quack. Let your relative apply to a good docter. 2d. You can
born out the-corns with caustic. Get ten cents worth of stick
caastic, slightly wet the end of it and then rouch the corn with
it. Three or four vpplications will destroy the corn. Beearetui
not to touch the healthy flesh. 3d. Rubbing the face with glyc-
erin nightly will do it no harm...... Poe.—We think so........
T. Duval.—No note is payable till the third day after the day ex-
pressed for itspayment. These three days are called “‘days of
grace,” and if payment be not made, no suit can be begup till
tvey have expired. Notes payable ‘on demand” are not enti-
tled to this grace........ Cc. B. Atwood.—We cannot republish the
story, as it is not over a year and a halt since we published it.
...-Home Lover.—We think your husband 1s a very selfish indi-
vidual, who cares neither for your comiort por the tuture well-
being of your children, You have duties as « mother us well as
your wifely duties, and you are right in not shirking the re-
sponsibility of looking tothe welfare of your children. Too
many parents make home the place where children least like
to be—driving them 'or amusement to the streets, and compell-
Ing them téseek company abroad, too otten throwing them
among the vigious.. tyour husband growl, but continue to
reat your chil 1 away tomake thtm leve their home,
yeurself, ands f. Ralf Williams.—You should seek the ad-

i ; x Thalmer.—ist. You are right. “Tie

    
   

 

   
     
   

was based on the French story entitled
.” 2d. We shull soon commence the publica-
tion of a sea Stery by Ned Buntline. Ic isa screamer. Toe name
ot the storyas “Barnacle Backstay.” 3a. We shall publish
other store from the pens of aj) the writers named............
oe tee eee R. FP. Bowdish.—A letter addressed to the gentleman, care
y YORKEW EEKLY, will reach him.......Brother.—By direct-

ar, “‘“American Consul, Fayal, Azores Islunds,’’ it

will reach fm..-..... A,, Lincoln.—ist. It would cost you about
5125 to go from Detroit to San Francisco by the Union Pacific
ailroad, and at least’ $: by way of Panama. 2d. A set of

“DL affaire

 
 
  
  

humbougs........2ochport.—We have ro knowledge of tbe virtues
of the medicine; but haye very littie faith in any medicine
which is claimed to be a spetific tor consumption....... G. F. i.

—IiIn Rhode Island, Massachusetts, anv other of the Eastern
States_gna in most of the m e States there are factories where
cottow-goous are made. Stu eeouclusion of the war.cetto
factories have been start in Géorgia and other
States, and are doing well. Wed no way of |
places at which tactorics are MOWdiing erected.....
su should apply, at a navySyard. ge... Jeunie.—lst.
agood hand, and we see no neve
peramansmp. Were you to i
your wriling would be very
stalement that a person’s c
handwriting. We have B
ifhan a van write a bold, das!

        
      
 
     
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 

  

   

s immovable as the rocks in
on avy course of action, have “Wi
hand.... .....Jzke.—You should ap

Jacob Richards.—We know nothing w

 

 

  
 
 
     

the firm named...... J.C. M.—A\\ persons
resid-nt im this country beiore ;
advantage which those have Ww
they are eignteen years of age.
make @ declaration of intentions ears previo
ig fulbpapers eft citizenship......4. D. L.A set of humbugs..
ines 5 Nobby Boy.—1st. se cannot answer the question. 2d. The
Delaware river is as rich m sport for the fisherman as any riv-
er of the middie States; but its vicinity does not afford the same
game as some of the wilder tracts of country in those States,
such, for instance, as the Adirondack region im New York. 3d.
The London metropolitan district comprises an area of 122
square miles, and Philadelphia has an area of 120 square miles.
4th. Philadeiphia, iy 1860, with a population one-third less than
that of New York, bad one-third more houses. Sih. The New
York WE¥FELY has but ove rival in circulation inthe United
oe ee ep Lamp Lighter.—1st. The concern is conducted by
quacks and humbugs, 2d. The street lamps are not lighted by
electricity in either New York or Philadelphia .....#. #. Z—In
the city of New York........ George.—Ist. The Representative in
Congress for the district m which Harlem 1s located is Fernando
Wood. 2d. Your. handwriting is not upto the bookkeeper’s
standard. 3d. The only person who can appoint. you to West
Point is the member of Vongress ror the district in which you
live. 4th. Candidates for admission to West Point must have a
good English education, and they must be between 17 and 21
years of ages pth. We think you haa better go to school for two
years more, a8 your father wishes you to do. You wii find that
in uwo years you can learn many things that youdo not now
know.....- Jokn L. R.—\st. We know ot no way in which you
ean obtain the autographs of promineut Europeans. Men prom-
jneat in any waik in lite have something else to do than signing
their names for the benefit of autograph bores. 2d. All that is
necessary for you to write_on the fly-leaf is, ‘From John L. R.
to his friend Miss Emma Browning.”’...... egg e Corish.—Ist. It
may scem strange to you, but the gentleman has not taken
the public into his confidence in the matter, and we are not suf
ficiently impertinent to ask him his reasous. 2d. No. 3d.
“Sdeath” is pronounced with a lnssing sound tothe *s.”) 4th. it
is not proper to put “Mr.” toa gentieman’s name when “Esq.’
foliows it....-.. Inqguisitice.—Vessels spil from this port frequenuly
for Calcutta and other East Indian ports. The chances fora
young man to work his way out cn one of them at present are

 

 

 

poor, the suoply of sailors being much beyond the dewand....
B.. Reck.—Iist. We know nothing about the lozenges. 2d. A
quack. 3d. If you are unwell, why don’t you apply toa phy-
sician, instead of anxiously seeking for the nostruins ot quacks?
.. Ella J. Sagerty.—ist. The trans!ation is,“*A mountain in labor to
bring furth a mouse.” 2d. Damon and Pythias were Pytha-
gorean philosophers of Syracuse. who gained enduring fame by
their friendship. Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, having
condenined Damon to death, permission was granted him so re-
turn to his native place to seitle his affuirs,on condition that
Pythias remained in his steaa and suffered death for his triend
if ne aid not return at the appointed time, The hour fixed for
the execution ariived and Pythias was aboutto suffer the pun-
ishment:; but Damon arrived in time, and a generous contest
ensued between them as to whoshould be the victim. Dion-
ysius was so touched by this faitnial friendship that he pardon

ea Damon, and asked to be admitted ss a tnird friend, 3d. Mr.
Lincoin was an attendant at the servicesof the Presbyterian
church. 4th. To remove moles, touch them with stick caustic,
first slightly moistening the end of the caustic. After the appli-
cation or the caustic the mole wsll turn black, cry up, and fal)
off in a few days. If toe first application be unsuccessful, or if
the mole does not come off completely, a second trial wil: be
effectual. 5th. By a little caretul practice you can become a
good writer. You should nse better ink than you do, as the ink
with which yor note is written is almost too dim toread.......
Tex and Dora.—lst. We regard the expression “‘a something” as
entirely incorrect, though many people make use of it in con-
versation. Youcantake it for granted that where a word
mars the sound and does not improve the sense, as is the case
with the letter “fa” when it precedes “sometning,’’ it is incor-
rect to use it. 2d. Either “loan” or “lend” is proper...... E. B.
Metzel..—The only disposition you can make of the postage-
stamps is to Sell them to private parties. The government will
not purchase them. The fare is about $8...... Unfortunate.—

 

Give up the practice atonce and forever, eat nuiritious tood,
drink no alcoholic stimulants, use coffse only at breakfast, take
eut-door exercise, dv Dot use tobacco, take a bath three or foar
times a week, and avoid heavy or indigestible suppers. By
foilowing this regimen for five or six mouths you will find your
self completely cured ..... #ed-Head.—lst. The property cannot
be divided -ill all the heirs come of 2ge. 2d. A minorcannoc
claim his portion of the estate. Inthe eyes of the law a minor
isaninfant. 3d. The estate would be charged with the support
ofthe mmor children, of course. 4th. Your writing is but
poor...... Young Farmer.—Ist. Firemen and brakemen_on rail-
roads receive but poor pay, and have hard work. You had
better go west and take up a homestead. 2d. You write an ex-
cellent hand... .....Censtant Reader.—Ist. The southern part of
Florida is mosily an extensive swamp or marsh, called the Ey-
erglades, Which is uninhabitable by either whites or blacks.
Tne central district is the most productive. The climate of
Florida has been extolled as one of the finestin the world. In
the south the temperature scarcely changes the year round,and
summer 13 only distinguished by the copiousness of the showers.
The average temperature of the State 1s about 75 deg., and inno
part does the difference between summer and wint-r exceed 25
deg. 2d. None im the State. 8d. The betanical name of the
banana is ‘muss.’ The banana grows only in the tropies......
J. H. K —Tell the lady the offense of whicb you have been gutl-
ty, and rely upon her love for forgiveness. If she loves you,
fear not bat that she will forgive an offense so bitterly ‘repented.
..... Eureka.—A quack institution..... Ned ©.—We have no
knowledge of the virtues of the medicines inquired about; but
bave no faith in apy medicine for which it is claimed that it
will cure all the ills to which the flesh is heir.....-.... Reader.—
“Black Friday” (socailed in consequence of the number of gold
gamblers who came to grief on that day) was Friday, the atth
of September, 1869...... S. @. Fean.—It has been ascertained that
a body failing treely, and without resistance, passes through a
space equal to 16 feet 1 inch the first second of time. Leaving
out the Linch, the ratio of descentis as felilows: A body that
tails at the rate of 16 feet the first second, will fall 48 fect the
next second, making in all 64 feet atthe end of the second sec-
ond, 5 times 16 during the third, and 7 times 16 daring the fourth
second, and so on in this propertion..- . William S. F.—We know
nothing about the person......2. ¢. Wood.—We know nothing
of the character of the physicians named, nor of the infirmary
which they control P. A. Hogers.—We have no space in our
coiumns for mathematical or other puzzles... . 2 A Constnt Reader.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

would Ike to possess, then purchase it, and preseat itty her....

 

—Discover by conversation with the lady some book that she

postage on a letter weighing haif an ounce to Cape Town is 34
cents...... W. 4. W.—You can enter West Point if you receive
an appointment fromthe member ot Congress for the district
in which you reside—not otherwise. .....Mechanist.—The road is
merely in prespective as yet........ Esculapius.-You must at-
tend a medical college, the costof which would not be Jess than
$400 a vear. You would probably receive a diploma at the end
of three years...... 7. W.—You would receive tuition. board,
and washing in a boarding-school tor six months for about $200.
....Shoo Fly.—Many works have been pubiished on engineering,
any of which you can purchase at the book stores where i
works are sold...... Senoj.—1st. Moderately profitable. 24. You
write scarcely a passable hand...... F. .—Ist. Doc say
that consumption can be cored if taken in its ineipiency: bua,
that if it becomes seated, it cannot be cured. 2a. de-
ciding on a matter so important, it would be best to have an
examination by a competent physician. If there were any
seeds of consumption, it would be unwise to marry ve. We
W.—The coming cepsus is to be taken in the same way as that
o: 1860—the United States marshals having charge of it within
their districts........ Young Lover.—We advise you to desist. The
parents of the gind have given a good reasou why they cannot
permit their daughter te receive your attentions... .Zerw ,
All named are quacks....- H. 2.—The insurution named 1s a
quack concern. and the individual named isa very great hum-
Gist J. £ B.—\st. Your handwriting is excellent. 2d. A
quack..... ..-J. McGrath.—Water is the heaithiesi beverage... ..
C. E, McE,—the verse of poetry is grammatically composed.
The line to which he objects has elipses of two words, some-
thing very common in poetry. You can reduce the line to
grammatical prose by introducing “that? and “are” in the
line, which wou.d then read: “Own that their losses are gains
in.ephemeral strife.”......... “Millbank.—Ist. Out of print. 2d.
We have copies of No.7, Vol. XXIV...... ens C.F. Birch.—Ist,
Bookkeepers receive all the way from $500 to $5000 a yeur. 2d.
Your writing 1s tar below the standard of bookkeepers. 3d. Yes,
a plentiful supply. 4:4. It is injurous’ You should vary it
nightly....... Arcudia.—There would be no impropriety in your
giving the hint—indeed, a hint could not be more delicately
conveyed than one given in the languave which you quote.....
....Cooper.—Jobn Howard Payne wrote ‘Hume, Sweet Home.”
He was an American actor, adapted “Brutus,” wrote “Therese;
or, The Orphan of Geneva,” ‘Clari,” cte. The song “Home,
Sweet Heme” oceurs in “Ciari, the Maid of Milan.” which he
wrote when he was near starving in an attic in Palais Royal, in
Paris...............Gharles L. Warren.—\st Ben McCulloch was a&
daring Texan ranger, one of the caliantpand who tought and
achieved the ind dence of Texas. was killea in the bat-
tle ot Pea Ridge, during the late war. 2d. The ‘Magician of
the Lakes,” and “!be Boy Miner,” willshorily be publisbed. ...
‘»..-Aliss Lizzie H.— We cannot add to our contributors... .....-.
0. J. €C.—ist. We kvow nothing of the character of the’ firm.
. Toe fellow isa notorious swindler. 3d. Your frie does
pot want medicine. Let bun give up instantly the practice
which produced the trouble, stop the use of tobacco, drink cof-
fee only at breakfast, eat nutritious food, take out-door exer-
cise, do not let him goto bed till be feels sleepy, and jump
out of it the moment he awakes mthe morning. and he
should take acold bath at least three times a week. 4th.
No. Sth. We know nothing of the man or his pape .. Lira
There are people in thus world who will gossip anc “dank against
their neighbors, po matter, how pure and upright may be the
lives of those they assail with their venemous tengtes. It
would be useless to give scriogs heed to the talk of these
wretches. Live ip a way to meet the approval af your own con-
science, and you need not tear bui that those whese good opinion
is worth holding will rate you according to your tree merit,
notwithstanding the back-biting and slanders of a few evil-mind.
ed people...... The tollowing MSS, heave been accepred and will
be pub:ished in the New York WevkLy: ‘Over the Sea,” ‘Tis
Allis Vaio,” “The Fairy of Ouk Dell,” “The Brigrtest Hopes
Must Fade,” “The Stranger’s Grave,” “Alas, for Poor Alice,’
‘Romance Reading,” “The Unknown Knight,” “Conjectura.”’
‘“on the Death of Geo. F. Rogers,” “A Boid Stratagem,” “A
Woman’s Kevenge,” and “The Lest Jae ie: ... The foliewing

“My First Be “Gomg Home,”
“A Woman’s D

u

some Think ot Thee,” “To
My Mother,” “it All Ends in 8S pkey ho is to Bilame,”'
“Thoughts of Twihght,”’ “The Ba > “The Grave in
the Dell,” “Sonnet,” *‘Poetr, z,” “Jee Spiker’s
Serenade,’: “The Loss of tli ved U
Hate and Mercy,” ‘Appear
en’s Elopement,”’ ‘‘Must 1 8;
“The Oneida.”

 

 

 
 

      
    
  
 
 
  

 

     

DANIEL BOONE:
Bt oR,
The Thunderboli of the Border.
-A Tale of the Kentucky Wilderness in 1769.

Of all the daring spirits who have ranged the wilder-
ness since the white man first set foot upon the shores
of the new world, none, perhaps, everything considered,
could compare with the great

DANIEL BOONE,
the grand type of the American backwoodsman—the
vigilant scout, the daring hunter, the untiring explerer,
the desperate Indian fighter, the unwavering patriot.

The hair-breadth escapes and desperate adventures, of
this most wonderful man, have furnished more themes
for the historian, the romancer, and the artist, than all
other heroes of alike stamp. More than one novelist has
made him his hero and more than one painter has transfer-
red his daring deeds to canvas,nor has the biographer been
idle in putting on record his daring exploits, and yet the
half concerning him has not been told.

It has becn our good fortune to secure the services of
an author who has no equal asa writer of border ro-
mance, and who in his search after materiai has been
lucky enough to stumble upon certain documents relat-
ing to the life of Danicl Boone, which in ali probabiiity
would never have.seen the light, brt for the fortunate
circumstance which led the writer in question to tra-
verse “the dark and bloody ground” in search of ma-
terial for a romance.

DANIEL BOONE;

OR,
The Thunderbolt of the Border,

we think our readers will find such a literary treatas has
never before been given to the American public. Itis no
ephemeral work, but will last as long as the tales of
Cooper and James.

In it will be detailed Boone’s experiences in the howl-
ing wilderness, where no White man but himself dared
penctrate—how he at one time traveled over eight hun-
dred miles on foot without seeing the face of a whife
man—how he was again and again taken captive by thre
Indians, and how by his adroit management and cunning
maneuvers he escaped them—how he at one time turned
Indian, submitting to have his hair torn out all but the
scalp lock, and to have his face painted, and to don the
savage costume—how his daughter and her two girt
friends were stolen by the red man,and afterward recover-
ed—how he was thought dead and mourned by his wile
and friends till he suddenly made his appearance in time
to warn the garrison of danger, and how hereically he
fought the savage allies of Great Britain during the war
of the revolution. ;

All these incidents and many more are related, witha
power and pathos which only a true romancer can com-
mand, the whole going to make up a tale which holds the
reader as if in a spell from the first chapter to the very
end,

The MSS, of this great story is not yet all in our haads,
out it is nearly finished, and when completed we shall at

 

once publish it. \

ee | en a eee = ed Be,

m a

 

 

 

 

 
  

 
 

    

wy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

hear what catastrophe had befallen tie city.

“We must just right about face and get back to New
York,” said the captain ominously.
ashore.”’ ;

“What's up vee the gentlemen. -

«ts it the plague?” whispered thé ladies.

“Yellow-fever!” said the captain, ‘the whele city is ra-
ging, haifthe people are escaped to the main land, and
the other hali are dying.”

Madame Hessiein’s small eager face grew very pale;
the chevalier burst inte a heartfelt imprecation, and Mr.
Davenport clutched the white Marguret’s hand with a
shocked—‘“‘Heaven preserve us!"*

But shetore her hand away, and ran to the gaunt,
stranger, who had brought such dire news,

“] am going ashore With you,” said she.

He Jooked at her wild face, and shrank from her touch,
he hurried to the stern to gain tne boat.

“Don’t come nigh,’? whispered he. “I’ve had it.”

But she seized his arm aud clung to him—she wouid not
let him go.

Murnvurs rose from her fellow-passengers, Mr. Daven-
port’s eyes threatened to Start from their sockets; but
the captain interfered.

“No soul can leave the steamer,” said he resolutely.

“I must go,’’ retarned Margaret, in a frantic voice.

“Miss Walsingham, you can’t go,” suid the captain,
sternly. ‘‘You would only fall a victim; aid, mind, }
couldn’t take you aboard again to carry, the affection
here.”

“TY won't come back,” she cried; “but I must go.’?.

“Miss Margaret, I beg of you nottothrow your pre-
cious life away,’’? entreated Mr. Davenport next. “You
can’t find the colonel just mow; most likely he’s gone,
peor fellow.”’

“God forbid!’? ejaculated she, raising her passionate
eyes to heaven. “Surely Jam not so wretched as that.
Ah, sir, don't listen to them,’? she implored the man. ‘I
will give you any money to putme ashore. There isa
gentleman in Key West who may be dying for help, and
he is a stranger there.”

“Did you ever hearof a fellow called Brand being
here ?* demanded the lawyer, suspiciousiy.

“Oh, yes,” smiled the man. “J know him well.’

“Is he here?” whispered Margaret, looking piteously
up at bim.

“Yes, he is; at least, he was three days ago, for he was
nursipg me, and left me last Tuesday. Iam just getting
about again, and haven’t been in the town yet.”?

“There, do you hear that? cried Margaret, turning to
the lawyer witha wild smile. “Kird as ever, nobie as
ever. Surely yon believe now that we have found him?’

“Yes,’? groaned Mr. Davenport; ‘but tree days make
a difference: he may be dead now.”

“7 will find him and see,”’ said Margaret.

“The woman’s mad,” blustered the captain, and left
her to her fate.

“Nobody escapes, miss,’ said the stranger warningly.

Sne never listened, she wrapped her cioak about her,
and brougit ber traveling-bag from her saloon.”

“Good-by, Madame Hesslein.”’

She held out her steady hand. the calm light of heroism
in her eyes; and madame, trembling and beseeching, saw
that there was no remedy, and wept a last:

“Farewell, Miss Walsingham.”

She held out her hand to the little chevalier. who cast
an agitated glance from mademoiselle to madame, and
swore thatit tore his heart-strings to part from either,
but that vile fortune had decreed that he was not to see
“the band clasp” and the “happy hour,” and kissed her
hands in adieu.

And then she offered her cold hand to Davenport. who
kept it close, and walked with her to where tne little
boat lay.

“You must not blame me if I never return,”
Said she, eageriy, as he bent to batton her cloak
forher. “You know that if is my place to care for St.
Udo, for his grandmother’s sake. You will waitin New
York for news of me, won’t you ?’!

Mr. Davenport took herin his arms and handed her
into the boat, and swung himself after her.

“Think I’d send you off alone, Miss Margaret?” asked
he, with glistening eyes. “By gad, you must think
meanly of me.”’

For the first time her resolution was shaken, she looked
at him doubtfully.

“GO back, go back!” she cried, beseechingly.
must not peril your life for ours,”

The old man shook his head and sat cown in the
thwarts, and the boatman rowed away.

So they went to meet the peril which was worse than
the battle-field; and the crew. on the deck of the steamer
gave them acheer of admiration; and the passengers
waved them a dubious ‘God speed;” and the men sitting
in the pretty bark raised a feeble “huzzah!”? in return,
which, however, sank into hopeless silence ere it was
half expressed; and they melted from the straining eyes
which tellowed them, and went their way.

The boatman rowed into a wharf of the deserted town,
secured 1s Craft, and lifted Margaret out,

“Dye see that great huuse umong them trees?’ he
asked, pointing to a large mansion on the brow of a hill,
perhaps a quarter of a mile distant.

“Them’s tne officers’ quarters, miss, and will go there
first. There were a score or more of sick soldters there
fer their health. Icame here myself after the baitle,
where they most killed the colonei!’?

“Were you with the colonel the night he was stabbed?”
asked Davenport.

“Yes, sir, I never left him when I could manage to be
with him. Maybe you’ve heard of Reed, who served the

colonel fer awhile?”

“Yes,”? sighed Margaret, “he mentioned you in a letter
to Dr. Gay. Hasten, kind friend, and bring us to him,”

“Not & soul can go

“You

 

 

 

 

“Mon Dieu! 1 knew such a man.” x -

“1 do not. Thave yet to meet the man who is content
to love without one hope of recompense; Whe counts it
joy to Jay his allat the feet of the one w
lim—who rushes with a -willi v 4
the service of his enemy.” Ck ia eee

“Madame is sceptical, madame is cruel. Ah—conidshe
read the heart of Calembours——"” :

“Ha, ha hal’? m. cked madame, wildly, “perhaps I can.
Perhaps I have met with such before, and sifting 16 weil,
found it the heart of a flend. Bat enough, ‘tis’ a
lime since | have believed in love, and faith{n > a
such mawkish sentimentality; now, do you know what I
believe in, monsieur??? t , een

“Pardieu, no—cruel that thou art.” 1s

“Amoition is my god,” breathed madame, tauntingly.
“TY will climb to the highest step of the social ladder,
ubere Vil feel content.’’

The chevalier grew pale-with envy. :

“if madame would accept my p@or help to raise her to
her throne,’ sighed he.

“Yours!” she interrupted, scornfully.

“Madame, 1 am not what 1 seem.”

“Faith, 1 don’t think you are.’?

“Madame, on the honor of a chevalier, I possess some
fine titles and estates.”

“Foolish man, to cloak your royalty with this disguise!”

“Tam Count de 8. 8. Turin.”

“T salute you, count.”

“Tam Knight of the Three Sicilys.”’

“Receive my obeisance, Knight.”

Sth possess line vineyards in Hungary, and a jewel-
mine.’ ;

“My congratulations, illustrious sir.”

“And I am your devcted sluve, Madame Hessiein.’’
Tre luring, mocking, maddening face of tue lady lit up
with fierce joy. Sne averted it quickly. .*I will resume
these titles so dignified,” cried tie chevalier, “1 will re-
tura to my fatherland; ver’ good, mon ange, you shall ac-
company, you shall be my wife. You shall rule over
nine hundred vinedressers, aud seven vineyards, ma
chere; twey are worth seventy thousand florins in the
year; and you shall wear the gems of agate, of jasper—of
dlamonds as you how wear this leetel ribbon—niadame,
all | have siiwtl be yours.”

She heard with a cool smile, but a bitter puise beat in
her throat.

“You are flattering, chevalier,’ she remarked,
shall think of it.”

ife seized her Jair hands, and pressed them to his lips,
but she snatched thean away witli a ilash irom the smoul-
dering fire in her eyes.

“But first,”? said madame, with a keen glance, “you
must assure me that the station you offer me is not gilded
by imagination unassisted by gold.”

Monsievr sighed in h: artrending despondency.

“Incomparable woman, you doubt what is to the Hun-
garian novijesse dearer than life—my honor. But come, |
Wili give you my proofs.”

He escorted her to her stateroom where waited thetwo
maids of the charming lady, who always traveled with a
complete retinue of servants; and going to his own cabin,
presently he returned holding solemnly in his hands an
elegantly silver-mounted coffer, which he placed upon
the table.

Uniocking it, he drew from thence various parchments
of official aspect, with huge seals appended, and dis-
played them to the smiling inamorata.

“These are the rewards with which my country has
honored my poor,services,”’ he said, with humility. “fhese
papers atiest to my right to wear these tithes you lave
just heard, madame. Voila! ‘To the Count of Santo
Spirito, Turin,’ and ‘To the Knight of the Order of Three
Sicilys.’ Mon ange, what more can I say ?” ;

A wicked smile was playing around her mouth.

“I accept your statements, chevalier—and yourself i’
she murmured, with an exquisite side glance.

The little chevalier beamed with triumph, and bowed
low over the lovely hand which she extended, and then
she snatched it quickly from him, made a queenly obeis-
ance, and vanished like a spirit from his signt.

Madame Hesslein was seen no more until the steamer
entered New York; shé was cither ill or coy; in reply to
the chevalier’s tender reproaches she deciared for the
first named, although her flashing eyes and healthy ap-
pearance emphatically contradicted the assertion.

What a dream of joy tinctured with horribie doubts the
succeeding month was for poor little Calembours! To-
day she was amiable, gay, bewiiching; to-merrow ske
wouid be locked in her room, and would send down a
frantic entreaty to the good fiance to leave her in peace;
presently she would reward bis importanities by flitting
into bis presence, white, vengeful, and torturing him with
covert taunts and maddening allusions to his forgotten
past. :

And yet she was so beantiful, and so changefal, and so
reckless that the wild Boliemian fire blazed up in the
poor little man’s soul, and he could not help loving her
with a devotion worthy of a better object.

He expended his hoarded gains in loading her with
costly gilts; and with mad prodigality assumed a splen-
der of estate which drained his finances to the lowest
ebb; anxious only to win her for his own and calmly leav-
ing the denouement until after the happy day, when
Inucdame conld’not help herself,

How he hoped to obtain her forgiveness when she dis-
covered all, heaven knows; but love not seldom infatu-
ates men and goads them on to their complete ruin.

Not true love, though, of a worthy object; ’tis ofttimes
the only savior of a sinking man.

Presently the illustricus foreigner,.Joaded with his
titles, penetrated to the upper circle of society where
Madame Hesslein moved, a solitary queen among shrink-
ing ladies of Zaut ton, who with one accord admired, and

     
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“and I

 

 
 
 
 
   
 
    
  
    
 

 
 
 

months old, What couju the poor w sb

ex per

ee ches}

 
 

with pai Hat she then cailed—guilt,

“When her protector died, she murried an American
Who took her outto Washington; but by, this her heart
was so old, anu cold, ond weary of beating that it could
told no love for any man, and she dev herself to the

| pretty boy, and brought him up a httle ‘gentleman, al-

jwugh she never dared treat him as her son for fear sie
sheuld hate hia: someday for his wieked father’s suke.
‘She sent the boy to the north to gain a finished eauca-

‘| tion, and lived very wearily with her jealous husband,

finding er only amusement in atrycuung the homage of
tie men She inet, and repaying it with scorn.

“At last she grew tov restive under the yoke, and hav-
ing had experience before of the evils of jealousy in @ hus-
band, she declined .rebesrsing her bitter part a second
wae forestalied Ue humuaiion by eloping With a
Virginian planter.

“Hapless wretch! Can you blame her dear count? no,
no, We snall Diaine if all On that perfidous little tallor Who
broke her heart at first. 5

“She liked toe sumptuous life on the fine plantation
passably weil, her mansion was admirably arranged, her
menage Was tine, her slaves numerous aud docile; Dolo-
res reigned royally.

“Bul her Malevolent destiny could not leave her long
in comfort, peor soul; it swooped upon her when sie was
almost contented, and With inflexibie hand pushed her
into misery once more.

“Tne war broke out, the slaves fled, monsieur, her kind
friend, went to Richmond and gota company, and Dolo-
res was left in tue great house with only ene quadroon
girl and a couple of uld negroes to protect her from dan-
ger. 4

“In the second year ef the war, her fate was sealed.

“One day, a detachment of Federal troops encamped in
the plantation, and two colonels came to the mausion to
Genand shelter for their wounded. The terrified Delo-
rest was hastening down stairs to see tiiem, when a yoice
which she had not heard for eigiteeep years Sang a gay
French chanson, which she last had beard from Ladis-
laus Schmolnitz, on the pretty banks of Theiss,

“Friends, tuis wretebed woman recognized that voice
as belonging to ner once loved littie tuilor.

“All ner heart was not dead alter ail, it stirred in its
long death-sieep, and thrilled with joy. Oh Heavens! why
is love 80 deathless in @ Woman's breast when it is ever
her Curse, her ruin?

“Well, she fled to her room again, and disguised her-
self as well as she could, for sie yearned to meet her ren-
egade husband, and to converse wit him unsuspected.
She did so. She concealed her pretty figure with clumsy
padding, she browned her white face, she covered her
yellow hair with a wig, and entering, she bowed low to
hier renegade husband and spoke only Freneh, which he
had never before heard her speak. But he could not feel
atease, he gazed suspiciously again apd again at her,
her eyes recalled the old luve-siory by the banks of the
‘Theiss—he teared the French madame of mniddle age,

“What her emotions were, is scarce worth telung. She
was happy to know that ne was, alive, she exulted that
she hau seen pim, but she was bound to the kind pjanier
and feared to betray berself to Schinolnitz, so she jet him
go, not intending to reveal herself.

“But, ab the momentof parting, a volley of shot was
fired at the front of the mansion by some Coniederate
troops, Who bad surprised the encampment, and a com-
mon ball crashed In the doorway, almost in the midst of
the little group in the fall. : :

“Dolores wus startled out of Her disguise and clung
madly to the little tailor, crying out that she was his Do-
lores, and that she loved hiin still.

“Simple idtot! when she could live in palaces if she
chose}!

‘Dear friends, that abject little tailor had the brutality
to shake her off, toswear at her; to pretest that he rad
suspected as much, and to fling ner from him in @ dead
faint in the nall and escape with his comrade!

“Ati! count, could you believe that a fiend in man’s form
couid be so dastardly?

“But Dolores did not fall a victim to the cruelty of the
small Mephistopheles; her servants carried her out of the
house, Which was in flames, and she soon escaped to
Richmond, where she fell ill and ou recovering learned
that her friend, the planter, was Killed in battle,

“Some months had passed,but this insane creature was
so eusluved by her passion for that unworthy man that
no sooner was she recovered from her limess than she de-
termined to searen out the little tailor, and display her
true beauty, Which was singularly hightened by the
years which bad passed since they had purted. She seri-
ously heped to win back his worthless heart, and dream-
ed of nothing but of endowiog him with the wreck of her
jortune, Which was still quite a handsome possession.

“So she touk to visiting the nospitals and, prisons, fan-
eying that he might have been wounded or captured; bub
witbout success.

“No wouder, for the ineffable rascal had long since de-
serted from the North to the South, and was plyiug the
profession of spy, under the ostensible one of commis-
sary-general fur the stores forthe wounded. At iast,
Dolores chanced to ride out toa station where she had
pneard there were some Northern soldiexs lying wounded;
aud there she came upon her own soa, the dear consola-
tion of her wretched life, lying starving on ahanafal of
straw, and the place surrounded by Northern soldiers,
who had just come to rescue their comrades,

 

 

 
 
  

 

EDNA’S DEBT,
iD HOW SHE PAID IT,

BY MES. MARY J. HOLMES

 

“The Leighton Homestead” was commenced in No. 17. Back

“numbers inay be obtamed from any News Agent in the United
States, ‘ A
| OHAPTER XIX.
UNCLE PHIL.

Feeling intuitively that it would be better for Aunt
Becky to announce her presence, Edna made some ex-
cuse for stealing away up-Stairs where from the window
she had her first view of Uncle Phil as he rode into the
yard and round to the barn on old Bobtail’s back. He
was a siiort, fat, stubby man, arrayed in a home-made
suit of gray, With jiis trouser legs tucked in bis boots,
and his round, rosy Jace protectea by lappets ef sheep-
skin aitached to his cap and tied under his chin. Taken
as a whole, and at thaé distance, there was notning very
prepossessing in his appearance, and nothing especially
repellent either, bot Hdna felt herself Shaking from head
to foot as she Watched him dismounting trom Bobtail,
the ola fat sorrel horse, who rubbed his nose against bis
master’s arm as if there WaS perfect sympathy between
them. Edna saw this action and saw Uncle Phil, too, as
he gently stroked lis brute friend to whom he seemed to
be talking as he Jed him into the barn.

“He is kind to his horse, any way. Maybe he will be
kind to me,” Edna thought, aud then she waited breath-
lessly until she heard the heavy boots, first in the back
room, then in the kitchen, and then in the south room,
where Becky was giving a lew last touches tlie table.

Tne chamber deor was slightly ajar, and as Uncle
Phil’s voice was loud, Edna heard him distinctly, as he
said: :

“Hallo, Beck, what’s all this highfallutin for, silver
butter-kuile and them three-cornered hanakerchieis ana
ally What’s up? Who’s come—Maude?’’

Becky’s reply was inaudible, but Unele Pnil’s rejoinder
Was disunct and clear: ;

“Umph. <A poor relation, hey, come to poorer than her-
self. Where isshe? Where have you put her???

Becky was now In the-kitchen, intent upon her potpie,
and so Edna heard her say:

“In the back charmber, in course, till I knew yer
mind.’’

“allright. Now hurry up your victuals and trot her
out. i’m hungry 1s a bear.’

After overhearing this scrap of conversation it is not
strange if Edna sbrank from being ‘trotted out; but,
obedient to Aunt Becky’s cull she went down-stairs and
on into the south room, where, with his back to the fire,
and his short gray coat skirts pulled up over his hands,
stood Uncle Pvil. He did not look altogether delighted,
and his little, rourd, twinkling eyes were turned upon
Kdpa with a curious rather than a pleased expression as
she came slowly in. But when she stood before him and
he Saw her face distinctly, Edna could not help feeling
that a su@uven change pussed over him; his eyes put on
u softer look and fis whole face seemed suddenly to light
up as he took her off-red hand.

“Becky tells me you are my kin, grand-niece, or grand-
aunt, or grandmother. J’ll be hanged if she made it out
very clear. Maybe you can explain whatyou are to
me???

He held her hand tightly in his own and kept looking
at her with an earnest, searching gaze, before which
dna dropped her eyes, as she replied:

“[ can claim no nearer relationSuip than your grand-
niece. My mother was Lucy Fuller.”

“Who married the parson and died from starvation ?”’
Uncle Phil rejoined.

And with a hightened color, Edna answered quickly:

“She married my father, sir, an Episcopal clergyman,
and died when | was a few days old.”

“Yes, yes, ali the same,” Uncie Phil answered, good
humoreuly. ‘I dare say she was half starved most of
the time; ministers’ wives mostly are, the Episcopal
ones especially. ,' take it you are of the Episcopal per-
suasion, too.’?

“J am.”

And Edna spoke up as promptly as if it were her mother
she was acknowledging, .

“Yes, yes, Uncie Phil said again, and here releasing
Edna’s band, which he had been holding all the time, he
iooK a huge pinch of snull, and then. passed the box to
Edna, who declined at once. “What, don’t snuff? You
miss a great deal of comfort. It’s good for digestion and
nervousness, sufi is. I’ve usedit this thirty years,
Yes, yes, just as you like; and you are an Episcopahan,
and proud of 1, 1see; jestso. Pveno great reason to
like that sect, seeing about the only one | ever kuew in-
Umately turned outa regular hornet, a lucifer match,
the very old Harry himsgli; didn’t adorn the profession;
was death on Unitarians, and sent the whole caboodle of
us to perdition. She'll be surprised to find me settin’ on
the banks of theriver Jordan when she comes across,
paddiin’ her own canoe, for she will paddie it, 1 Warrant
you. Nebody can belp her. Yes, yes. Such is life, take
it as you find it. Maude is an Episcopal, red-hot. I like
her; maybe Vil like you; can’t tell, Yes, yes, sit by new,
and have some victuals.”?

During this conversation Becky, who had put the din-
ner upon tlie table, was standing in respectful silence,
waiting until her master wus reauy, and trembling for the
fall of her light, snowy crust. But her fears were grouna-
iess; the porpie was a great success, and Uncle Phil helped
Edna bountifully, and iasisted upon her taking more
gravy. and ordered Becky to bring a bottle of cider trem
the cellar.

“Cider was most as good as snuff for digestion,” he

“T was swearin’ a litthe. Such.a name as that! Jerusha
Pepper! No wonder she was hardon you.
back to her at all? and what did she say ?”?

He took four pincnes of snulff in rapid succession, and
scattered it avout so projusély that- Edna. recerved soine-
in ner face and moved a little further from him, as she
told him the particulars of ber going back to Auné Jera-
sha, and what the result had been. She intended to
spesk just as kindly and cautiously of Aunt Jerry as was.
possible, but it seemed as if Some influence she could not.
resist Was urging her on, and Uncle Pil was so much in-
terested and arew her out so adroitly that, though she
svitened every thing and Ginitted many things, tne old
man, listening so intently with his feet now on tep of the.
Franklin store, got a pretty general impression of Aunt
Jerusna Pepper, and guessed just how deselate must be
the life of any one who tried to live with her.

“Yes, yes, I see,’?? he said, as Edna, frightened to
think how much she had told, tried to apologize for Aunt
Jerry and take back some things she nad said. ‘Yes,
yes, never mind, never mind taking back. I can guess
what kind ofa firebrand sheis. Kuoew just such a wo-
man once, as pear like her as two peas; nnght have been
twins; picus, ain’t this peppercorn ?* et x

Kana did not quite like Uncle Phil’s manner of speak-
ing of her aunt, whom she began to defend as bemg in
the maina very good woman, who was greatly respected
in the church and possessed many excellent qualities.

“Don’t doubt it in the least, Dare say sue’s a saint;
greaton the creed and the catechism. Yes, yes. And
she is your aunt? He, Beck, conie here; or stop, Vii
speak to you im the kitchen,” Me said, as Becky came to
the door.

fhe woman recreated to the kitchen fire-place, where
Uncle Phil joined her, speaking again in a whisper aud
saying,

“Look here, Beck. Take that girl’s work-bag, or what-
ever she brought her things in, and carry it into the
north chamber.’?

“Maude’s.reem, sar??? Becky asked, with glistening
eyes. ‘ :

Ven, Maude’s room,’’ Uncle Pnil replied, and then
went back to Edna, who had but little more to tell, ex-
cept of her resolve to come to him as the only person in
the world who was likely to take her in, or cn Whom she
had apy claim of relationship.

“I don’t want tobe an incumbrance,” she said. “+E
want to earn my Own living, and at the same time be get-
ting something with which to pay iny debts. Mr, Bel-
Knoup, who brought me from the depot, thought 1 might
get up a select school, and if 1 vo, maybe you will let me
board here. Ishould feel more at home with you than
with strangers. Would you let me stay if i could get a
school?”

Here, certainly, was something the matter with Uncle
Phil’s eyes just then.

“The pesky Wind made them water,’? he said, as he
wiped them on his Coat-sleeves and then looked down at
the girl, who bad taken a stool at his feet, and with her
hands folded on her knee, looked anxiously up inte his
face aS she asked if she might stay.

“Let me be, can’t you. i’ve got abad cold. I’ve got
to go out,” le said, and rising precipitately he rushed in-
to the kitchen, and again Summoning old Becky. began
with, ‘‘I say, Beck, make a fire in the north chamber, a
goou rousing one too. It’s cold as fury. and fetch dewn
a rose blunket from the garret, and warm the bed with
the warming-pan; the suzets must be damp; and make
some creaim-toast in the mcrning, all cream, girls mostly
take to that, and then some cramobries to-morrow, and
Kill a hen.”

Uncle Phil seemed tothink he might as well complete
his list of orders while he w2s about it, and haviog fin-
ished it he went back to Edna, whiie Becky, who, in anti-
cipation of some such denouement had already made @
fire iv the north and best chamber in the house, went up
there again and added fresi fuel to the flames, which
roared, and crackied, and diffused a general warmil
through the room, which showed unmisteKably that it
Was the guest chanmiber, where the best company was
put, Maude, when with her big Saratoga trunk she made
a flying trip to the farm house where she was always wel-
come. Returning again to Edna, Uncie Phil, without di-
rectly answering her questions as to wheiler she could
stay there, sald to her:

“And it’s seven hundred dollars you owe, with interest.
Yes, yes, three to Mr. Leighton and four to tiut Peppery
woman, and you expect by teaching to earu enough to
pay it, child; you never can do that, never. Schcolma’ams
don’t get great wages round here.’

“Then Vil hire out as a common servant girl, or go to
work in the factory. I’m not ashamed to do anything
honorable so that it gives me money with Which to pay
tue debt,’? Edna said, and her brown eyes were alimost
black with excitement as sue waiked hastilyacross the
floor to the window, where she stood for a moment 100k-
lig out into the darkness of tue night and struggling to
keep back the hot tears, as she began to fear that she
had made 2 great mistake in coming to a man like Uncle
Phil.

lle, meantime, had regaled himself with two pinches of
snuff, and was about attacking the third, When he said:

“Look here, girl, Come back to the fire and let's have
it out.”

Something in his voice gave Edna hope that after all he
Was not going to desert ier, and shecame back,and stood
with her hand on the iron fire-piace, and her eyes fixed on
him, as he said: ;

“You- spoke of Mr.
name ?”?

“No, sir,’? was the reply.

“Did anybody inquire your name down to the depot %”

“No, sir.’?

Did you go

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- “OUT OF THE DARK,” | They sped through the deserted streets, where every | hated, and courted her because she was the attraction, “The unfortunate woman was just in time to see her | said, as he poured Edna a glass of the beverage, which
| window wes burred and every door jealously locked, aud | and it was “the thing” to say, “we had little Madame | brave boy die, and then, indeed, she thought that her cup | sparkled and beaded like champagne.
BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. a fey fainisned dogs broke the silence by long, wildy and | Hesslein here last night.” of misery was tull—butno, heaven is prodigal of its pun- On old Becky’s face there wasa look of great satisfae-
| ominous howls. What her beauty and refinement did for her, the che- | ishments to such as she. tion as she saw her master’s attentions to thé young lady,
“Out of the dark,” / A cart. covered with a white canvas cloth, rambled | valier’s applomd and verstility of genius did for him. Every “While mourning over her boy, the renegade commis- | and as soon as her duties were over at the table she stole
Tnto the light! heavily by, and then Reed took the lady’s bana, and drag- | one talked of the Clever, polished Frenchiman—in good so- | Sary rode up with his siaff, intending to remove the inva- | up the back stairs to the little forlorn room where Edna’s
Seeking the-day— ged her to Wie Opposite pavement, Whispering, “Mutile | ciety monsieur spoke only French, and wore tis Legion of | lids to Richmond, and was Instantly attacked by the | trunk was standing. ;
wee your face in your hanukerchief, miss, for heaven’s |; Honor auntingly—every one raved about. tle dazzling | Federals; Dolores filled with mad grief, draw her old-time “I know I kin ventur so much,” she said to herself as
Shunning the night! sake!”? witch ne paid such faithful court to; every one vowed | husband into the shed and bade him look upon his son, | she lifted the trunk and carried it into the next chamber,
Putting on garments, And with hated breath they let the dead cart rumble | that such a pair were expressly created for each other, | and the next moment beheld him struck down by @ ball | which had a pleasanter look-out, and was more pre-
Of sackcloth for sin— by with its ghastly burden. none else. . : oe at ner feet. AS _ | tentious every way than its small, dark neighbor.
Sanctified raiment, A funeral emergea froma court hard by—a funerai On the last evening of this intoxicating dream the che- “She thought him dead, poor wretch, and lifted his This done Becky retired to the kitchen until dinner was
As clothing within! which was composed of the clergyman, an old man weep- | valier attended a brilliant assembly which madame held } head to her jap, and toid him that she lovea him with a | over, and her master, who was something of a gorman-
ing over his dead, and tottering leebly alter, and four ue- | at ber hotel. : love that could never die, and swore that she would water | dizer, was so gorged that three or four pinches of snuif
Out of theshade, groes carrying the bier. They flitted by like phantoms— Magnates of the highest rank were there, to give hom- | the graves of her husband and her son with her own | were requisite to aid his digestion, and then like a stuffed
Into thasiine! casting apathetic glances after the old man, the boat- | age to their resistless hostess; and belles of tried skill | heart-blood. When the skirmish was over the Northern- | anaconda he coiled himself up in his huge arm chair and
ppengearss ‘ inan, und the young lady who were mounting the hill to | were there, to waste their ammunition upon the enthralled | ers moved on with the wounded man as their prisoner, | slept soundly, while Becky cleared the table and put the
Breaking the cup— that lonely house on its brow. They entered the grove, } chevalier; but Romeo and Juliet had no eyes for any but] and this woman rode beside him, leaving her dear son | room to rights.
Spilling the wine! and with one accord paused and gazed toward the house, | themselves, although their smiles were showered on ail. | dead in the shanty. The short wintry afternoon was drawing to a close by
Crushing the serpent und listened. and looked in eacii other’s faces for encour- Madame Hesslein, gorgeous as an Eastern houri, con- “At midnight, when the party stopped to rest, it was | the time Uncle Phil’s nap was over. He had slept heavily
Down under the heel agement. The door was ajar, the windows all open, and | vened her little court about her ottoman, singled the hap- found that Schmolnitz was not dead, and he soon recov- | and snored loudly, and the last snore awoke him. Start-
Fighting the bottle ihe fair white curtains fluttering low adown ameng the | py Calembours out from all his vexed competitors, and | ered enough to speak. — , . ing up, he exclaimed: ‘
With bnekler and steel? climbing grapes and budding roses were limp and yellow j threw him into raptures by addressing her next remarks “Dolores bent over him, bis head in her lap, and hoped “What’s that? Yes, yes, snored, did I? Shouldn’t
with nights of dew and days of dust, but hota living face more particularly to him. that be would recognize her; but he did not, in the gloom, | wonder if I got into a doze. Ho, you, Beck!”
Ont of the pit— looked out through the silent panes, not a sound broke} Fascinated, the gay throng watched that set, cruel face, | until she spoke, entreating him for the sake of her love His call was obeyed at once by the colored woman. who
Bie ? che deep and breathless silence. its glimmering, chrysolite eyes, 1ts wreathing, quivering | years ago to take her back to him. Most brutally he re- | came and stood deferentially before him.
Gite! thease These men were brave men, but which of them would | lips, ana its wild mischief as the fair dame told her little | pudiated her, assuring her that she could not be his wife, “J say, Beck, ’m ‘bout used up, what with eatin’ such
Into the path, venture within these desolate walls where death trium- | story to the Chevalier de Calembours: and that he would never own her as such. : an all fired dinner on top of jouncing along on Bobtail—
Leading “up higher;” phant resigned? “Dear Monsieur, your latest anecdote puts this good] . “Then indeed she sounded the shallow waters of his | might as well ride a Virginia fence and done with it.
Taking the friend— Suddenly Margaret shipped her hand from thelawyer’s | company in your debt, so I shall do myself the honor of | Soul, and desired revenge. Can’t you do the chores? Bobtail is fed, and the cows
And leaving the foe, clasp, and fled like aspnit mto the silent house, fear, | paying that debt with a narrative which is new, true,and} “She would have atabbed him to the heart even then, | too.” es
tiie bnciial tito: hope, and love giving her the courage which these others | pertinent. \ if she had not been prevented, but she swore beside the _ Becky signified her readiness to do anything her master
_ , eee could not summon. “There was living in the town of Raleigh, some twenty | heartless wretch that she should have vengeance; then | liked, and after bringing a tall tallow candle and adding
. In blackness below ! She traversed the passages, where all was wild coniu- | years ago, a remarkuble girl called—snall we say for the | she and her attendants rode back to Richmond. a stick to the fire, she departed, leaving Edna alone with
- “Out of the dark.” : sion, she looked into every room, but the drivers of the present—Doiores ? for that indeed was her fate. “Months passed, all trace of the man was lost to her; | Uncle Phil, who was wide awake now, and evidently dis:
% dead carts had been there before her, each bed was Va- “She was very pretty, they said, but execrably poer. | but patiently she searched for him until she found a clue. | posed to talk. ‘
Into the dawn ! cant, each chamber that used to echo to the careless jests | Her father was a blacksmith, you see, aud her mother “After many adventures, she found. him in this city, “Now ‘ell me all aboutit,’’ he said, suddenly facing ro-
Out of the night, of tne soldiers was dull and lifeless as they. Was glad to obtain !aundry work from her richer neigh- | and what think you were the titles whicn this litue tailor | ward Edna. ‘Tell me who you are in black for, and what
Into the morn! She fled up the staircase, she opened another chamber- | bors; so that poor Dolores started in life with the disad- | had assumed ? ; Seut you here, and what you want, and how you hap-
Climbing the mountains— door—it was the last. vantages of an undeniable beauty and apenniless purse. ‘Dear count, will you not make a guess? : pened to know of me, when I never heard of you; but
Touching theskies— It was a wide, dim chamber, whese close drawn cur- “When sixteen, she considered It quite a lift in life to “Friends, 1 believe our honored count is indisposed— | first, what is your name? I'll be hanged if I've thought
: i itains banished allthe lhght, and between her and the | be promoted to the situation of waiting-maid to the | how pale hehas become! Little wonder, for he sympa- | to inquire.” ‘
Sealing tho Hattements— | window loomed a great White object—a bed with the | wealtny Mrs. Maltravers, instead of trudging round the | thizes with every word I say. “Edna Louise Browning was my name until I was mar-
Seizing the prize ! } hangings drawn close about it. town with her mother’s baskets of clear-starched gar- *Do not, good Count de Calembours, forsake us until | ried.”
—--—__ > -@ ~~ j No breath, no sound—oh heaven! ishe not here? Is he | ments to the various houses which patronized her labor. j my story is completed. You must go? Then I shall “Married! Thunder!’ and springing from his ehair,
e | dead and gone forever? ‘Mrs. Maltruvers was old, and fanciful, and she good- uasten, Uncie Phil took the candle and, bringing it close to Ed-
e A long sigi breaks the blank silence; a moan steals | naturedly taught the girl how to speak well, and how to “Friends, the miserable little tailor, this renegade, das- | na’s face, scrutinized it closely. “You married? Why,
aut ll ; arg are helplessly from the great white mauscleum which en-| dress neatly, and gave her that perception of the true | tard and spy, had entered the highest circles in New York | you’re nothing buta child. Married! Where was your
9 tombs the man! vaiue of elegance which only the rich can give. _ under the title which this man wears—the Count de Cal. | folks, to let you do such a silly thing? and where is he?’
OR, THE She glides forward and draws back the shroud-like folds “Dolores liked to be well dressed, and to sway her hum- | embours!"” “My husband is dead, was killed the very day we were
‘ f from window, then from bet, and the yellow hght falls | ble court by the cleverness of her conversation, and Mrs. She swooped forward, she seized the arm of the re- | married—kuled in the cars—and I have no folks, no home,
upon a flushed and foam-fiecked face, and upon two toil- | Maltravers was surprised and amused at her aptness In | treating chevalier, and wheeled him round until he faced | no friends, unless you will be one to me,’ Edna replied,
Sleuth-Hound of Castle Brand ing, twitching hands, : such branches, and taught ner with pleasare. ee the company. f 2 } in a choking voice which finally broke down In a storm of
~ And, blessed be heaven! this is surely St. Udo Brand, “So Doleres thankfully made the mostef her position, He was frightfully pale, his eyes flickered ominously, | tears and sobs.
eee aud there is life in him yet! and became much too ine u lady for the feugh home she } he glared heiplessly at his tormenter, the beautiful bride- Uncle Phil did not like to see a woman cry, especially a
ou The jawyer enters and tries to drag her back, and fills | had left, and was fiouted at by her rude brothers and } elect. young, pretty woman like tiie one before him, but he did
BY ANNIE ASHMORE,. the room ‘with his beseeching clamor, but she breaks | awkward sisters, until she cut herselfaénft trom them,all.{ ‘What! has my fiance nothing to say ?”? jibed madame, | not know at all what to say: so hie took three pinches of
Author of “The Bride Elect; or, the Doom of the Double | wildly from him, and retarns to St. Udo Brand. —. “Mr. and Mrs. Maltravers went to Europe to travel for | with flashing eyes, green asa ugress’, “Is he choked by | snuff, one after the other, sneezing as many times, blew
Roses; “Beautiful Rienzi; or, the Secret Ven- And, heaven be praised! she thinks, that 1 amin time, ; two years, and the waiting aid went withthem. Dolores] askein of thread? Felled by a thimble? Stabbed by a | lis uose vigorously, and then going to the door which léd
hi detta,’”’ etc. and that this deur sou. may yet be held ou earth. liked the strange life, and learned more and more every | tuller’s needle? Fie, tie! Ladislaus Schmolnitz, to let the } into the kitchen, called out: 3
: So she lifts the het head to her arm, and lays her loving | day. : coat fit you so weill To stand dumb as your own goose! “fo, Beck! come here—I want you.”

“Faithful Margaret” was commenced in No. 11. Back numbers | hand upon the heart that is almost still,and she kisses} “At last the travelers came to Austria, and pleased with | Oh, cowardly little tailor!’ But Beck was watering old Bobtail, and did not hear
can be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United | tenderly the strunken forehead where deati fain would | the rich, warm summer of the plain tuey stopped in Hun- Surilly the scoffing denunciation rang out; stepping | him, so he returned to his seat by the fire; and as Edna’s
States. Boers, 6k Ta print his seal. gary forsix months. S back a pace she pointed her fingerin bis lace and laughed | tears were dried by that time, he asked her to go on and

CHAPTER XXIX. And she whispers from her noble heart: ~The name of the town was—Szegedin; you have some } wildly; and the good company, suddenly catching the re- | tell him her stery. Edna had determined to keep nothing

Three days afterward a steamer was entering the har- “Oh God! give me back his life! ob God, give me back | Acquaintance with it count; you will take especial inter- | Sistless drollery of the furce, burst into a long, convulsive, | back, and so she commenced with the house py the grave-

, bor of Key West. his life!’ and the old lawyer weeps, and repeats after her | eSt In @ narrative that unfolds its climax in your birth-} mocking peal of merciless laughter, till the reom rang | yard and the aunt, who perhaps meant to be kind, but

Margaret Walsingham, Madame Hesslein, Mr. Daven- | the half articulate prayer. place. : again, the glasses jingled, and the poor litile tailor threw | who did not understand children, and made her lfe iess
pori, and the Chevalier de Calembours stood on deck, One glance of anguish she casts at her poor old friend, “Our pretty Dolores had here the fortune to fall in love} himself on his knees before the ferocious Nemesis and | happy than it might otherwise have been; then she passed
Watching the fair white city grow larger, and breathing | and past him up into heaven, it says: with @ man of the barbarous name of Ladislaus | begged ior mercy. on to Canandaigua and Chariie Ciirchili, and wile teil-
the lamvent air which brought upon its wings the per- “Man cannot help us—but God will!” and then she turns | Sclimolnitz; and when you learn that added to his shock- But thegood company pointed their fingers in the |ingof him and his friends, and where they lived, she
fume of wild roses, orange-trees and tropic herbs, al- | her to the beloved one ing name, ve followed the profession of a tailor, you will | wretch’s appalled face and hissed him down; and the air | thought ence Uncle Phil was asleep, he sat so stili, win
though the month was yet February. He has wrenged her, hated her, maligned her; ne sin- | only wonder at little Dolores’ infatuation. seemed alive with ten thousand serpents, and the room | his eyes shut, and one fat leg crossed over tie other, and

Madame Hesslein had come, she told Margaret, to meet | gle throb has nis hushed hears ever beat for her; but she “But tnis little man, so handsome, clever and bland, | Swam around with eyes of mockery and ire; and deaf-|a pinch of snuff held tightly between his thumb and fin-
her future husband at Key West; but if that were so she | nas forgiven him long ago, u she has aught to forgive; | met her often on the oanks of the Theiss, and talked senti- | ened, horror-stricken, and utterly routed, the poor little | ger. But he was nvet asleep, and when she mentioned
chose a singular method to prepare her mind for the gen- | she is warming that chilly heart against her own, sie is | ment, and poetry and other pretty nonsense in the shock- | tailor fell forward on the carpet in a dead swoon. Leighton Place, he started up again ana went out to
tle thrall of matrimony. watching that disfigured face which can never ve disfig- | ing language of Hungary to simple Dolores, and made When he recovered his senses, the room was deserted, | Becky, who by this time was moving in the kitchen.

She was drawing the meshes of her secret net slowly | ured to her—she loves nim taithfully! 7 her forget that he was a wretched little tailor. the lights were out, and one small, airy figure stood at a “Tsay, Beck,” le whispered in her ear, as he gave his
round the unwary chevalier, even as yon secret reef en- When Reed comes back from his search for a dector, “And he taught her to prafttle in Hungarian, and then | distant door with a taper in her hand and looking on tne | Snuff-pox a tap with his finger, “move that gal’s band-
clasped the beautiful isles of summer, and lay in wait to | they find the old lawyer sitting by the window, with his | he asked ner to love him, and she did love him—ab, | fallen hero. : box into the nortiiwest chamber, d’ye hear 7?
wreuk the unsuspicious ship that might carry lnture cheer | wet eyes covered by his hands, and the woman kKueeling | !riends! Se passionately, so heroically, that I only wonder “Better, good M. Schmolnitz?’ mocked Madame Hess- Becky did not tell him that she had already done that,
to The prisoner. by the bed, with the sick man’s head on her breast. that her splendid love did not enobie his. lein. ; but simply answered, ‘Yes, sar,’? while he returned to

Her witchery, her diablerie was maddening the little “You must leave this place,’? says the doctor, in ai- *“Ladislaus Schmolnitz then, the Szegedin tailor, ran He rose unsteadily, and held by the back of a chair. Kuna, who, wholly unconscious of her promotion or the
man; his customary caution had forsaken him, his intui- | fright. ol with Dolores the Wuiting-maid, amd laughed at the ‘Beast! traitress! you are my wife, are you?” hissed } cause of it, continued her story, which, when she came to
tive presence of danger was unheeded—he loved the “No, I will nurse him best,’’ she smiles. pursuit of the shocked Maltravers, who grudged the giri } he, ina furious whisper. ‘I had my doubts of you ali the | the marriage and the accident, was interrupted again

i splendid syren. : So spe has her way, good, faithful Margaret. vo a little rascal of a Hun. While. But this shailruin you.” + with her tears, which fell in. showers as she went over
i The steamer anchored mid-stream, and waited for the . “But Madamé and Monsieur Schimolnitz lived together “Oh, no, my excellent tailor, 1am above your puny at- | with tne dreadful scene, the gloomy night, the terribie
} usual fleet of little boats to dart out from the city and tu for two years and were very happy, tacks. So, now that we have squared accounts, 1 will bid | storm, the capsized car, and Charlie dead under the ruins.
+ @arry the passengers ashore—not a sign or lile appeared. CHAPTER XXX. “Very bappy,dear frien _,noiwithbstanding the poverty- | you a leng adieu.” Uncle Phil, too, was excited, and walked the room hur-
i At last a signal-gun was fired in answer to their salate, Madame Hesslein, standing on the deck where Margar- | Stricken shilts Which they were at to Keep the wolfirom| She bowed’to the floor, rose, and gave him one long, | riedly, and took no end ol! snuff, and blew his nose like a
i and what was that tiny fluttering beacon which mounted | et had bidden her adieu—weepiog in her lace hancker- | the door, fierce, taunting glance. _ trumpet, but made no comment, except his inevitavie
} to a tall fagstaffin the deck-yard? | chief until it was wet, and waving It after her until it was “So.happy, dear friend, that foolish Dolores wished for fle drew a pistol from his breast, took deliberate aim, | “Yes, yes,” which he used indiscriminately. When she
f The captain, gazing through his glass grew, suddenly | dry, seemed so well worth losing a thousand pounds for, | no other heaven tan the heaven of we hitle tallor’s love, | and fired it full at her iace, just as she closed the door. — it | mentioned Mrs. Dana and her death, he stopped walking
{ silent, his face tei—the passengers curiously watching | that the Chevalier Calembours quickly overcame his sin- | a.id Lolled, iny heart how she toiled, 16 Keep the treasure | missed her by a hair-breadth. She looked in again with | and came back to his chair and said; ‘

; the limp, yellow rag, wondered mucin what it might | cere regrets at the mad Margaret’s departure into the | safe. ; 7 _ fa diabolical laugh, and vanished; and he, too, fled by the “Poor Sue, if she’d had a different name, I believe ’G
i presage. jaws of death, and, flinging ail uncomfortable emotions “A> last, Monsieur Schmoivitz saw a chance to rise in | opposite door, just as the hotel servants rushed in to quell | kept her for my own, though she wan’t over ciever. Dead,
' Presently a tiny boat shot out from the cedar fringed | into the lintbo of jorgetfulmess, he abandoned himself to | the world, and \ook Ins wife and baby-boy to Paris, where | the tumult. { you say, and lett five young ones, of course; the poorer
! -<sbore, with one man atthe oars, a painted toy which }the care of this fair creature who was left upon his | he energetically began to teacu languages,havinga Clever] . [To be Continued.} they be the more they have. Poor little brats. Vil re-
i moved upon the glassy sheet like some tiny bird, and the | hands. : ‘turn tlat way. } 8 Si ia ee get member that. And John wanted to marry you? Yes,
j man climbed aboard. “There they go, these doomed ones!" sobbed ma ie, “tTe begau also to neglect his Dolores, and to prove an yes. Youdid better te come here; but where was that

He was tall, and lank, and yellow-faced, his limbs trem- | with a gush of tears, ‘Farewell, farewell, poor, de ed inditferent spouse; even to uccuse her ol unlaithiulness— 8 é aunt, what d’ye call her? I don’t remember as you told
bled as he followed the captain to the eabin, and he | Griselda!’ alas ! she loved vim far too wildly for such maeness. Gi ton Omes Ga me her naine.”’

i shuoned the passengers with half fearful looks whenthey | ‘Be content, dear madame, I do not forsake thee—take;  ‘‘But he disappeared from Jittle Doloers one day, and wa'9 “Aunt Jerusha Pepper,” Edna said, whereupon some-
j would have questioned him. — comfort of thy siave!” ; : never came Yack to her, and the silly giri’s heart broke, ‘ or thing dropped from Uncle Puil’s lip which sounded very
{ in three minutes the captainand the stranger emerged | “Oh, chevalier, is thereever a man on this stale oid | slie despaired. s mucii like, “the devil!” i

i from the cabin; and the passengers pressed forward to | glove who can show a heart iike Faithful Margaret’s?” “Homeless, nameless, encumbered with a boy of twelve “What, sir?” she asked; and he replied:

G 0 ~ = *

i

i:

;

Belknap. Did he inquire your

 

‘Has Beck asked your name?!

 

  

 

 

 

 
 

ae ae Sen cae DB ha RITE VEIN INIT IR Ve

ici re gt ort

 

se”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

et

 

 

 

 

 

“No.sir. bet I think I told her; at least that it was Edna.”
“Thunder you did. Why will women tell ail they know,
and more too; ten chances theugh she didn’t understand,
she's sodeafl.” ;

And again Uncle Phil went into the kitchen, and while
pretemding to drink from the gourd, casually saidto the

Sorvaut:

«hh0, Beck, what's this girl’s mamé in
hanged if] want to ask her.” : ;

‘Becky thought a moment and then replied: “I don't

ijestly remember, 2's so hard of hearin’, but "pears like it
wes Ellen, orsemething mighty ltke. 1 ’spect t’other is
‘Overton, maybe, seein’ she’s yer kin.” .

“Yes, yes, ceptamly; «ll right,” and Uncle Phil went
ack to the south room with a very satisfied look upon
his face. “See here, miss,’? he began. “Your names
Overton, LOUISE OVERTON. Do you understand *”

Edna looked at mmf too much surprised to speak, and
he continned: oa f

“You are my ieee, Miss Overton, Louise Overton, not
Browning, vor Churefill, nor Pepper-pod, nor Euna, but
Overton, Loutse Overton. And so I shall introduce you
to the folks in Rocky Point.” ;

dna began, in part,’to understand him now, at least
she saw thatne meant her to take another name than
her own, and:she rebelled against itatonce. |

“My name'is not Overton,” she said, and he interrupt-
ed her with,

“Ins Doutse though, according to your own statement,
Edva Louise.”

“4; admit that, but it is not Overton, and it would be
wreng forane to take that name, and lose my identity.”

“Twe very thing | want you to do,” said Uncle Phil,
“amd jere-are- my reasons, or a part of them. I like you,
girl, for ‘various things. One, you seem to have some
Vim, grit,-spunk, and want to pay your debts, and that is
right; then, l-like you because yuu have bad such a liard
time with ‘that Pepper woman. I don’t blame you for
ranning away; upon my soul, I don’t, Some marry to
get nid of a body, and some don’t marry and so get rid of
Jem that way. You didthe first and got your husbana’s
meok ‘broke and got into debt yoorself, and seas of
trouble, And you are my great-niece. Yes, yes, and
iLuoy:Ruller was your mother, and Louise Overton was
your grandmother, and my twin sister. Do you hear
that, ay twin sister, that | loved as I did my life, and
syyou: must have peen named for her, tue Louise part of
you, ‘I mean, and there’s a look like her in your face, all
the'time, and that hair which you've got up undera nef,
but-which I know by the kinks is curly as a nigger’s, is
hers all over again, color and all, and just now when you
walked tothe wiodow in a kind of mat, I could have
sworn it was my sister come back again from the grave
where we buried her more than thirty years ago, Yes,
yes, you are a second Louise. Um an old man of sixty,
candnéever was married, and never shall be, and when
Mrs. Dana was here years ago I thought of adopting her,
‘put Vj} be hanged if there was snap enough to her, and
then-she took the first chap that offered, and married
Dawa, a clever but shiftless critter, and that ended her.
There wasn’t.a great many ef us, her grandfather and
your.grandmother, and for what | knew you are all the
kiml have, and | fancy you more than any young girl I’ve
seen, unless it’s Maude, and she’s no kin, which makes a
aitference. I’ve a mind to adopt you, to give you my
name, Overton, and if you do well and get that debt paid
up, lulremember youi my will. Miod I don’t propose
to pay your debts. Yes, yes, I want to see you scratch
reund and doit, but ll give you a home and help you
_get scholars, or if you can’t do any thing at that, lielp you
get a place in the factory at Millvilie, or in somebody’s
kitehen, as you mentioned.”’

. Uncle Phil’s eyes twinkled a little as he said this iast,
and jvoked to see what effect it had on Edna. But she
-hever winced or showed the slightest emotion, and he
continued: .

“Nobody knows that you are a Browning, or a Church-
dil, or a widow, and it’s better they shouldn't. I saw the
account or that smash-up in the mewspaper, but never
<guessed the girl was my Louise’s grandchild. Folks
yound here read it too; the papers were fullofit. Charlie
“Churchill hunted up in my woods one season; he’s pretty
well known hereabouts.”

“Charlie, my Charlie, my husband; was he ever here,
«and did you know him??? Edna asked, vehemently, and
“Uncle Phil replied:

“Yes, | knew him when he was a boy, though he
conldn’s be much more than that when you run oi! with

him. His brother owns the hotel in town. We are on
different roads, but ain't neither of us sucha very great
~ways from Albany, you know.”

Instantly Edna’s-countenance fell.

“Roy Leighton own the hotel! then he will be coming
‘here, and J don't want to see him.till he is paid,’ she
said. in some dismay, and Uncle Pail rephed:

“He don’t often bother himself to come to Rocky Point.
_ Never was here more than two or three times. His agert
does thé vusiness for him, and that agent is me. He was
here once that time Charlie was in town, and I believe
his mother was up the mountain at a kind of hotel where
city folks sometimes stay and make b'lieve they like it.
Bus this Cnarlie staid in. town at the tavern, and
folks :

Here Uncle Phil stepped abruptly, and Edna, after wait-
ing a moment fer him toiproceed, said:

“Folks did not fancy Charlie. He was not popular. Is
‘that what ‘you want to-say. If itis, don’t be afraid to

sayit. Ihave borne much harder things than that,”
and there came a4 Saad, sorry look upon her face. Sne
was thinking of her ljost-faith in Charlie’s integrity, and
_ Uncle Phil of tue scandalous stories there had been about
the fast young mar of eighteen who had made love to
the giris indiscriminately, from little Marcia Belknap,
the farmer’s daughter, to Miss Ruth Gardner, whose
father-was the great man of Rocky Poin', and whose in-
fuence would do mere to help or harm Edna than that

-of-any other persen in ‘town. But Uncle Phil.could not
tell Edna this, so he merely replied, after a little: ©
\ «No, he waw’t very popular, 1-guess. Young men from
the cities are different, you Know, and Charles was sow-
ing his wild oats about those days. He passed for rich,
you see; calied it 7 hotel, my tenants and all that, when
HK was his brother’s.”

A sound from Edna like asob made Uncle Phil pause
abruptly and mentally curse himself for having said so
omuch. The truth awwas he had never quite forgiven the

boy Charlie for inveigling him inte loaning fifty dollars
with promises of payment as seon ashe could geta
draft from home. The draft never came, but Roy did,

..and settled his brotner's bitls and took him away while
Uncle Pnil was absent, and a8 Charlie made no mention
of his indebtedness ia that direction, the debt remained
uncanceled. Several times Uncle Phil nad been on the
point of writing to.Roy about it. bat had neglected to do
so, thinking to wait until he.came to Rocky Point, whep
he would speak. te him about it. But after the news of
Charlie's tragical @eath was received, he abandoned the
idea altogether:

“Fifty dollars weuld not break him,’ he thought, and
it Was not worth while to trouble Roy Leighton avy more
by letting him know just what a scamp ‘his brother was.
So he tore up Charlie’s note and threw it into the fire,
and took a great deal of-snufftnat day and staid tillit was
pitch dark at the hotel where they Were discussing the
accident and commenting upon poor Charlie, whose vir-
Tues now were named before his. faults. Mention was
made of himin the minister's sermon the next Sunday,
and it was observed that Miss Ruth Gardner cried softly
under her vail, and that pretty Marcia Belknap looked a
little pale, and after that tne excitement gradually dried
away, and people ceased to talk of Charlie Churchill and
lus uniortunate end. But they would do so, and the
viole town would be alive witi wonder if it once were
known that the young girl in deep black at Uncle Phil
Overton’s was Char Ruth Gard-

‘tother room;

 

 

ie Churchill’s widow.
les pale gray eyes would scan her coldly and harshly,
whike even Marcia Belknap would, perhaps, draw back
from. one who ail unknowingly had been her rival. This
Uncle Phil foresaw, .and hence his propesiuon that Edna
should bear his hame. and drop that of Churchill, which
Was pretty Sure to betray her. And after a time he per-
suaded her to it. :

“You are already Louise.” he said, as Edna questioned
the rignt in the matter. “‘There’s surely nothing wrong
in being Louise instead of Edna, and inasmuch as 1 adopt
you for my daughter, it is right and proper that you take
my Dame, is it not?’

“Perhaps so,"? Edna replied faintly; ‘but sir, I shall
have to tell Aunt. Jerry, and Mr. Heytord, too. I prom-
ised him I would write.as.seon as I was located in busi-
ness.’

To this Uncle Phil did not object, provided Jack Hey-
ford was charged to keep iis Own Ccoulsel—i tuing Bans
vwas-sure he would do. @ sin vegard to Miss Pepper, le
made no remonstrance. He did not seem to fear er, but
_after a moment surprised Edna with the question,

“What sort of a looking craft is this Pepper woman?’

Edna, Wid still felt that-shbe might have told too much
that was prejudicial to her aunt, gladly seized the oppor-
tuflity to make amends by praising her personal appear-
-ADCE.

“Aunt Jerry dresses so queerly that.one can hardly tell
how she does 100k,” she said,
Glothes like other people f think she'd be real handsome
Jor her age. She was pretty ence, I’m sure, for she has
a nice.fair.complexion now, and her neck and arms are
piumper and whiter than a Mrs. Fosbook’s, whom I saw
:bare-necked and short-sleeved at a sociable in Canandal-
wzna. Her. hair, though gray, is soft and wavy, and she
Has-SO MUCK Of it, too, but will twist it into sach a hard
oe aiways, When she might make such 2. lovely water-
Tali.?? ;

-“Do you mean those things that hang Gown your back
Jike a-work-bag 7? Uncle Phu asked, laughing loader and
unger thaliana thought the oceasion warranted, espe-
wially.as he diggnot. know Mass, Pepper and hew out of
place.a waterfas? would be on her.

“What of hereyes?’ he asked, and Edna repliea—
“pright.and black as jet beads.”

vs. “‘And snap like a snap-dragen, I'l et,’ Uncle Phil re-

after

MRed, ACding, a@ moment, “I’d@ really like to see
fils Hiuswoman of yours. Tell her so when you write,
amid Say she’s wWeleeme to bed and board whenever sie
Gleeses to come, aud there’s an Episcopal meeting-house
over to Milbville and Sie can have old Bobtail every saiai’s
Gav in the culendar.”’ as

There Was a perfect shower Cisnugi after this, and then
Unele Phil questioned Edna as toe what she thought she
could teach awd NOW mach she expected to get lor each
5 thea ke suinmnunzed Becky and ordered cider, and
iad Jried cakes, and cracked butternults, and made
tnem all, and wold her about her grandmother
Louise enshe wasa girl, and then, precisely as tne
Cluck pointed to nine, called Becky again and told her
to show Jfiss Overton to her room. ’

“| breakfast sharp at half-past seven,’? he said, as he
fade Edna good-night; ‘but young folks iike to sleep,and
ji you feel inclined, lie as long as you please, though I

AU Say but |’d like to see a fresh young face across the
bje. Maude generally was up.”’

po.

  
  
 
  

 

9

os
\

ws

eo

  

“put if she only wore.

anne a

“J shall be up too,” Edna,said, as she stood a moment
in the door looking at her uncle; then, as she remember-
ed all the kindness he had shown to her, an entire stran-
ger, there came over her with a rush, the hunger she had
always felt for something niissed in childhood, and with-
out stopping to think, she walked boldly up to the little
man, and gaia, “Uncle Phil, nobody ever kissed me gooa-
night since } anremember, none of my relatives I mean,
will you ado so?”

Uncle Phil was taken aback. It was more than thirty
years since he had kissed anybody, and he began to gath-
er up his short coat skirts and hop—first on one Toot, then
on the other, and look behind him and toward the door m
a kind of helpless way asif meditating fight. But Edna
stood her ground, and put up her full, red lips so tempt-
ingly, that with a hurried “bless me, girl, bless me,
don't know ’bout this. Yes, yes, I feel very queer and
curis,” Uncle Phil submitted and suffered Edna’s kiss,
and as her warm lips touched his, he clasped both
arms about her neck and kissed her back heartily, while
with a trembling voice, he said, “Heaven bless you, my
child, my daughter, Louise Overton, I’m a rough ola
jellow, but I'll do my duty to you.”’

‘There certainly was a tear on Edna's cheek, left there
vy Uncle Phil, and Edna accepted it as the baptism for
her new name and felt more resigned to ‘Louise Over-
ton,” as she followed Becky up stairs, not the back, but
the front way to the pleasant north room, where the
bright fire was making shadows on the wali and diffus-
ing a delightfu: feeling of warmth throughout the apart-
ment,

bat

[To be Continued.]

 

BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR.

The Rose of Kendale.

By the Author of ‘‘Peerless Cathleen,’? and
“Lady of Grand Court.’?

 

(The Rose of Kendale’ was commenced in No. 20. Back num-
bers can be had from News Agents throughout the country.}

CHAPTER IX.

“Prophet,” said I, “thing of evil,
Prophetstill, it bird or devil,
Take chy beak from out my heart,
And take thy form from off my door,”
Said the raven, ‘‘Never more !” E. A. Por.

Evangeline stood in her white glistening robes among
the bridal throng, her heart beating, her color, coming
and going on her fair cheek, tears in her dovelike eyes.
She was not much noticed amid the excitement, the an-
ger, the eagerness of the company to find the culprit Eus-
tace.

There was a scarlet mark on the white wrist of Clari-
bel, where the fierce grasp of her slighted lover had com-
pressed it. Her husband was infuriated. He called upon
the servants to find the miscreant, for so he called Eus-
tace, and he offered a reward to the captor of ten pounds
down. It is needless to say what magical effect this great
promise had upon the domestics. They lifted the tapes-
try, they opened the doors, they looked under the velvet
sofas, which lined the side of the room, they took the
cloth off a large table, and peered beneath it; but there
was no trace visible of William Eustace.

Evangeline was alone conscious of 2 large standing-
place in the wide chimney, where Eustace had once hiu-
denasaboy. Theidea did not strike anybody else that
this great chimney was a likely refuge. She prayed fer-
vently that no one would approach the fireplace, for there
she felt convinced that William Eustace was concealing
pimself, and that should the notion strike any present, he
would presently be dragged forth ignominiously, to meet
with the contempt and execration of tlrose assem'led.
She trembled exceedingly, when all at once the old butler
cried out:

“The chimney—the chimney!
Giles!” addressing the footman. \

Another moment, and Giles had thrust his head and
arm, and a lighted lamp, up the wide chimney-place.

Evangeline sank all but fainting into a seat, but then—
ob, relief inexpressible!—Giles came from the chimney
with a sooty mark on his forehead, and a look of blank
disappointment in his eyes.

“He isn’t there,” he said, ruefully.

“Te must be Satan himself, to have escaped out of this
room!) cried Sir Egerton, stamping angrily on the floor.
“I saw him—I, myself—open that door and pass in, and
we were all upon his heels at once. There is no window
for him to have leaped through, and no otner door in the
place by. which he might have passed oat. He must be
tne Evil One himself.” .

“One hears of such strange things now-a-days,”’ said
an old lady in yellow satin and ametliysts, putting a jew-
eled eye-glass to her eye, and staring up at the ricivy-
painted ceiling. ‘I have heard such terrible stories about
spiritualism, and so on, that I am almost inclined to think
this presumptuous lover used some supernatural power
to alarm dearest, sweetest Lady Chesterton. Why, they
do all sorts of things by those agencies: now-a-days.”

“Stuff, superstition, and ignorance!—unwortly the age
of civilization in which it has found place,” cried a buriy
captain of Hussars, turning round upon the old lady, who
was his mother. with a loud laugh of disdain.

“T tell you, Lady Peterson, that you are right—quite
right,’? observed a bald-headed gentleman in spectacles.
“Wonderful things happen now-a-days—most wonderful
things. Itis not at all unlikely that this young fellow is
a medium. He has not been here at all to-night; but he
has influenced the mind of Lady Chesterton, and also the
minds of her sister and father, and he has made tuem all
believe that he has been here to-night.” ~ :

“Stuff and nonsense!” cried the captain again. “is the

 

Look up the chimney,

red mark on Lady Chesterton’s wrist the effect of imagin- | impulse, miak

ation? I wish some of you spiritualists would just talk
sense for five minutes, by way of a change!’ -

Evangeline listened and wondered. There had been:
something very singular in the manner and appearance
of the young monk who had spoken with the voice of
Eustace, and who had all along walked and held his head
as Eustace carried his. Whatifit were some spiritual de-
lusion of the fancy? What if——away with the vain, fool-
ish thought! It was Eustace! Eustace in the flesh!
Eustace with power, and muscie, and anger, and energy
to seize her false, cold, beautiful sister by the wrist and
leave the savage mark of his wrathful grasp upon the
sinooth, white skin.

Evangeline turned away from the skirts of the crowd
with a feeling, half of relief, half of strange, mournful re-
gret at not being able to see Eustace. Where was he?
Where was he?

To her excited and poetical fancy he seemed like a
spirit knight, who had fiashed. in anger before the faces
of those who had wronged him in his life, and now had
disappeared forever from earth and its vain pomps and
glories. The great mansion was eagerly searched from
cellar to garret by a troop of domestics anxious to gain
the golden reward which his lordship had promised; but
the quest was unsuccessful.

If that monk with stately gesture and noble figure, who
had spoken with the voice of Eustace, and cursed the
proud countess bride so strangely, was indeed the adopt-
ed son of Lady Stanfield, the rejected lover of Claribel, it
did truly seem that he must have owed his escape to some
supernatural agency, some dark, unseen power. Evan-
celine did not join once with the waltzers on that night
of fete and splendor. Once only she stood up ina quadrille
with a young naval officer who pestered her with his at-
tentions. She smiled gently, and answered kindly, but
soon the lieutenant found that the thoughts of his lovely
partner were far from the pomps and vanities of the
scene.

“J fear you are alarmed at the unpleasant occurrence
which disturbed the hilarity of the evening,” said the
young man at length. “I am inclined to think myself
that there has been a trick, a vile practical joke. One of
the guests must have simulated the monk, and, perhaps,
knowing something of the relations that once subsisted
between Lady Chesterton and that unfortunate fellow
Eustace, dared to personate the lover. It was a cruel
joke—cruel toward your sister, and cruel also toward the
unhappy young man, since it has dragged his secrets and
his misery before the eyes of the world.”

“You are right. You have pity; you have a heart,’
said beautifnl Evangeline, holding out her hand to the
young man.

lie engerly grasped It.

“Al, suldlie, “what pity dwells in that gentle spirit
for wiltne unfortunate! Will you deem me forward or
presumptuous if I venture to say, Miss Stanfield, that no
rejected lover will ever turn upon you as this unhappy
young man seems to have turned upon your sister? You
would never encourage wislies and hopes which you had
it in your heart to trample into the dust after they had
sprung up into vigorous, painful life?”

“No,” said Evangeliie, thoughtfally, ‘“‘that is not my
nature.”?

“Then,*’ said the young lieutenant, ‘“‘may I implore you
to hear me patiently while I express to you how long I
have hoped and waited for this chance, this opportunity
of telling you how dear and precious 7

“Ah, stop,-Mr. Hargrave!’ said Evangeline, sadly.
“No, no! | can never, never be anything more than your
friend. I a

And she paused.

 

 

The fair face of the young officer

flushed and then grew pale under this rebuil—for rebuif

it was, however gently worded.

“The greatest hope of my life is cut off for me hence-
fortn,’ he said, sadly; ‘and all my future days must be
gray, dull, wintry, cneerless. Stilll am not angry with
Providence, still less am I angry with you, divine Evan
geline, for you are no coquette. You have never musle¢
me, never taught me to hope for the impossible.’?

Even while Hargrave spoke so bravely his voice fa
tered, and his eyes moistened with unshed tears.

The soul of Evangeline was stirred with pity the mos
divine whiie she looked at the man who craved her lov
—that love which it was out of lier power to give him.

“Do not think,’ she said, pitifully, ‘that you are thf
only being who has to suffer from unrequited affection
It is a pain which must be hidden out of sight, crushed
kept down, smothered in its efforts to ery aloud and pr¢
glaim to the world its anguish.” ,

She stopped short, for, carried away by her compas
sionate sympathy, she had betrayed her own secret.

“Ah!” cried Hargrave, “is itso? Can it be that a man
lives who has awakened interest in that divine soul; and
is not his own lying at the feet of Evangeline Stanfield?”

“Nol? she said. “Do not call any linman soul divine.
It is blasphemy, Mr. Hargrave; but this is a world of
trial, and if we look at things rightly we shall learn to
eontess that our suiferings are meant to wean us from
the thiggs of timeexto make us less selfish, more eager for

 

other’s welfare,'?

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

79

2 DaX, S2gRQ
oe

 

“Tf I could serve you,’? said Hargrave, ‘‘I would do it
with my life.”

She paused, irresolute.

Should she make a confidant of this young man? Should
she beg of him to cast a pitying glance upon Eustace !—
to look out for struggling artists ?—to try and discover his
address?

They had entered a room rather apart from the gay
suite of salons where the amusements were going on.
Evangeline sat down, and invited Hargrave to place him-
self at her side.

The sound of music, of dancers’ feet, of laughter, and
the scent of hot-house flowers of rare perfume—all these
came to the senses of the two young people like the noise
of amighty ocean in the distance. With that world of
light, and pleasure, and fashion, it seemed that neither
o! them had anything in common. :

Then Evangeline tuld Hargrave how that Claribel had
deeply wronged Eustace; how that he was brave and gen-
erous, and trusting, albeit. passionate and headstrong;
and she implored Hargrave, by the love he bore her, to
keep his eyes on the alert, to look-out for the suffering
Eustace, and to find his address, so that she might send
him money. y

Hargrave promised—promised on his word, his faith,
his honor. The bond was sealed between them by the
young sailor pressing a burning kiss on the hand of
Evangeline; and then ne led her back into the ball-room.

It was daylight before the guests dispersed.. Evange-
line sought her chamber, and she felt at once that sleep
would be a stranger to her eyes for many hours. She
went into a corridor, wrapped ina large black mantle,
and while she wandered about, desolate, she suddenly
saw the monk of last night dash out of a side room, and
make toward the head of the stairs. She was upon his
steps in an instant, and, with a wonderful strength, she
found herself clinging to the skirt of his priestly garment.

“Eustace! William! You shall not escape me. I knew
you—l saw it all!”

With a desperate wrench the maddened young man at-
tempted to tear himself outof her grasp. But ‘love is
strong as death,” and Evangeline had the strengtn of a
strong man while she struggled with Eustace. °

“I will not bétray you,” she whispered—a soft, warm
whisper, close to his ear. Ah! would not Hargrave have
given ten years of his young life for such a look—for such
a whisper. ‘Hear me, hear me!’? implored Evangeline.
“Here isa roomclose at hand; come in with me, I will
lock the door. Tnisis just the hour of cold, gray dawn,
when all the world is buried in the deepest slumbers. 1]
have watched for you, Eustace. Eustace, does my being
the sister of Claribel exclude me from my rights as a hu-
man being? MustI not speakto youeven? Ah, how
you hate me!’?

The words escaped her before she was sensible of their
import, or of the deep tone of anguish in which they were
uttered, .

Eustace started violently as she uttered them. A light
burst suddenly upon his somber spirit and darkened mind
like an electric shock; the consciousness flashed through
him that the beautifal Evangeline loved him even as lhe
loved Claribel. Ue fell almost against the wall, and folded
his arms across his chest.

Evangeline could not see the workings of his features,
for the mask covered them, but she knew that he was
desperately agitated, and that her secret was betrayed.
She clasped her hands tighUy and lowered her head, wait-
ing for him to speak. She felt now that he would not at-
tempt to leave her until she had said her say. She un-
derstood that a feeling composed of gratitude, pity, won-
der, was swelling at his heart. She loved him too en-
tirely, and he was too desolate and miserable, for her to
have any fears, or scruples, or maiden shame. Shie had
passed that stage now. She knew he loved her not, that
his heart was cold toward her, that she ran no risk of ex-
citing him to warm embrace, or even tender speech. Her
love and his indifference were the two painful facts that
made the pathos of her life, the tragedy of her suffering
heart; and she was willing to face this grief, to look this
humiliation in the face—she, the lovely daughter of the
proud Stanfields, heiress in her own right to a great for-
tune! He, poor, and without employment, or friends, or
hope in the world; he, the scorned, trampled-on iover of
her sister Claribel! Truly Evangeline was great in her
humility, sublime in the depth of her love.

“Come into this room, William,’’ she said, calmly.

And then she walked into it, withont looking to see if
he was following her. She knew now that he needed no
second bidding.

In the room, which was a tiny oak-panelea parlor, fur-
nished in read cloth, with golden acorn border, she found
herself presently with Eustace, looking through the win-
dow at the autumn country, the near woods tinged with
red, the sweep of upland ineeting the faint blue of the
morning sky, the spire of a church rising from amid yel-
lowing trees, and long lines of ploughed land showing
ruddy against the distant horizon; there was the moan-of
the sea, too, at the righi, though the sea was nowhere
visible at Stanly Hall, but if you listened in the morning
stillness you could hear the lopg wash of the waves when
they ran high. And this morning was very still. There
was a hust over everything; over the great house and its
gay guests, over the green slopes of the flowered lawn,
over the landscape, and over the beating heart of beauti-
ful Evangeline, who had betrayed hersecret in an un-
guarded moment, and now stood with closed lips and
lowered eyes, waiting for Eustace to speak.

He cast down his mask, and the sight of his beautiful,
pale face, in its wrath, anguish, and despair, extracted a
sharp cry from Miss Stanfield. ;

“On, William,! how you have suffered !’’ she said.

“My suffering has only just begun,” replied the young
-man, with a terribly ironical smile. “My nights of wak-
ing, a host of tormented dreams, wherein she will mock
me and dance before my eyes, on the arm of her titled
husband; my days of labor, when I haye to toil to toil,
and talk of otherthings to péople who never saw her, or’
only know hername, while her image is burning every
day deeper and deeper into my soul, eating up every good
‘me into 8 madman or a fiend! I tell you,
gentle Evangeline, my suffering has only just begun.”

“Oh, Eustace! are you the only sufferer in the world ?”
she asked, softly. a ,

“Not the only one, gentle, beautiful Evangeline,’’ he
answered. ‘Dove sister to the cruel serpent, how comes
it that the glitter and the grandeur of that evil spirit glia-
ing about the glades and flowers is not anywhere reflected
in the pure being called Evangeline? And yet her tender
pity scarcely wakes my gratitude; nay’’—he dropped his
voice—“her love only wakens my distress.’’

She dropped her head still lower, and a great sob cut
short the words she would have uttered. — 5

“The vail is dropped between us, William,’ she said, at
last, mournfully. “Iam rich, and you are poor; I am
well born, and you spring from the middle .ranks of un-
titled people.. [am the idot of my home; you are an out-
cast, dependent upon chance almost, and then on- hard
labor for your daily bread. Why do I tell you all this?

3ecause I am infinitely your inferior, so long as my heart
bows down to you, and yours is turned to stone at men-
tion of my name. My love! ah! the words cost mean
effort to speak tothe man who values it less than the
fading leaves in yonder autumn woods—my love humili-

“Then I have yielded to evil,” lie said. ‘There is noth-
ing hut evil left in me now. All the good seeds and roots
have been torn up in the storm of the passions, and in the
night of my gloom and despair evil seeds have been sown
which will spring up into deadly and poisonous life.’ Let
me go now, sweet saint,” he added, with a faint smile.
“}] have no right to a place in that sweet heart. Fling me
out+cast me down, Evangeline, as the Jews were com-
manded to fling down their stone idols! fling me down
—trample my memory in the dust! It is the wisest thing
you can do. I must go—I must not accept any kindness,
Nay, 1 must not even thank you for your generosity, your
devotion, your noble conduct! lam going, andl will
ms hold your hand in mine one instant, not in a token of
adieu !"?

resolve, this icy varrier which Eustace had set up be-
tween her and himself.

“Good-by,’? she said, mournfally.
to pass out unobserved ?”?

“Ah, yes!’ he answered. “I know how to escape, trust
me for that— no eye but that of. ny

He paused.

“Of love?” faltered Evangeline.

“Yes, of love. No other eye could have discovered me
this morning. But love wakes, watches, weeps. Al! do
not I know?”

And she heard him mutter a curse.

Iie passed out of tlie little oak parlor without looking
at her, and when the door closed on him the beautiful
and miserable girl fell upon a couch in an agony of tem-
pestuous sobs,

“What willhe do? What will he do?” she Said.

After a time she composed herself sufficiently to find
her way to her room, undress, and lie down in bed.

She did not rise again all that day, nor for many days.
Cold and slight fever attacked her.

Claribel went off with her husband, and all the gay
Visitors left Stanly. Assoon as Claribel came down again,
her mother said to her, caressingly:

“Do you know how

 

 

oe

ae

.“I dream of her,’ replied Fanchette.in a low, tremu-
lous voice, ‘‘but never as dead, never as sleeping the last
| Sleep in a dusty London cemetery; always as waiking the
earth, with strange, sad eyes, looking for me, searching
eagerly for her child. Do you know, Elsie, I have odd
thoughts at times. I fancy that 1 shall meet my mother’s
spirit some day, and that I shall not be afraid. It seems
to me that she does not rest. Itis not as a bright guara-
an angel thatIl dream of her, sitting on a golden cloud,
and bending toward me holy eyes and a radiant smile.
No! it is as a Woman worn and Weary with toil and wait-
ing, and [ am unhappy when I think of my mother,’
“She was only an innkeeper’s daughter. Lady Fan-
chette,”? said Elsie, bitterly, ‘and when you remember
that, you must hate her memory. Has not grandmother

 

Evangeline was chilled for the time by this pitiless iron | taught you that?” with a mocking emphasis on the wore

grandmother.

“T love her memory,” said Fanchette, softly. “My
poor, poor mother! Was she not happy, and pure, and
good, Whien her beauty and sweetness,and grace won her
anearl’s love? And, after that, did she not suffer cru-
ou ? Ah! lalmost hate grandmother when I think of
ier.

It seemed to Duyal, who wasa curious observer of this
scene, that the strange gipsy trembled exceedingly while
the Lady Fanchette spoke; and then, al! at once, she ad-
vanced toward her, seized her hand, and covered it with
passionate kisses.

“She has a heart, she has, my beautiful lady bird!’ cri-
ed Elsie. “Jane the Countess has not been able to stifle

 

 

and crush it down—she has not been able to take it out
and lay a stone in its place. No! Only tell me, sweet
lady—will you suifer your bright beauty to be shut up in
that gloomy foreign convent? Will you, will you?”
‘Elsie,’? said Lady Fanchette, moving away a littie
coldly from the excited gipsy. ‘‘You presume too much,
Ever since I was a little childI have been fond of you.
When you used to follow me about with my nurse and
bring me toys and gingerbreads, which I valued, because
they were different to what 1 had at the castle—wherever

 

“My darling, you have received an invitation to spend
a fortnight at Kendale with the cld countess and her
granddaughter, whom you have never seen. The change
will do you good.”?

And Evangeline answered:

“Very well, mamma.”

 

CHAPTER X.
Hamvrt: Get thee toa nunnery!
OPHELIA: My lord, I have remembrances of you.
SHAKESPEARE.

The disguised earl waited with a desperate impatience
for five o’clock on the next evening, the evening that was
to bring his beautiful daughter to his arms. He counted
the hours, the minutes, even the seconds with an impetu-
osity younger than his years. On the morning of the day
he went down the river to fish, and he carried with him
a book of poems, for the earl was passionately fond of
poesy.

He had bad luck with his angling, and soon betook
himself to his book. While he read, two gamekeepers |
belonging to the old countess passed behind the thicket
near which he sat. One raised his gun to fire it in the air.
By some unskillful touch—by mischance, who can say ?—
part of the contents of the gun were lodged in the earl’s
shoulder, and he’sank down incensible.

The gamekeepers, full of regret, fear, and’consternation,
conveyed him between them to the village inn. He was
put to bed, and a surgeon was sent for. This gentleman, -
a young practitioner, who did not remember tne earl, ex-
tracted the shot, prescribed rest and sedatives, and finally
departed, leaving Duval in astrange confusion of thought
as to what he ought or ought not to do in regard tothe
tryst with Fanchette. |

At length, seeing that the poor earl slept, and that it
would be a sin to disturb him, Duval set off for the sum-
mer-house in the woods without asking the nobleman’s
opinion in the matter.

The sun was sinking in the west when Duval ap-
proached the fantastic summer-house, built in the thickest
part.of the castle shrubbery. His heart beat, his voice
failed, when he climbed up the steps and entered. the
littte room furnished and carpeted like a small drawing-
room. |

What a quiet place for a lover's meeting, with those
damask hangings and low seats drawn into the embra-
sure of the window. And then, outside, the thick, whis-
pering trees of the shrubbery. Presently he heard astep,
alight, firm step—not the step of a lone, lorn maiden,
halting, half timid, nervous, and anon rapid, with a
mingling of fear and eagerness to greet the beleved. It |
was the even, calm pace of the stately young Fanchette
coming forward to meet her unknown father.

Another moment, and the idol of Duval's heart stood in
the doorway of the summer-house, just where the red
sunlight developed her white form as in a mantle of
glory. ;

Fauchette wore her dinner dress. She had called her
maid to make her toilette so that she miglit be able to lin-
ger till the very last moment in the shrubbery with her
father. This dress was of rose-colored silk, with a half-
body and sleeves of rich black Jace, the upper part of the
bodice being composed of the rose-colored silk. A single
diamond, shaped like a heart, blazed at the throat, and
fastened the black lace collar; the glorious golden hair
was arranged with elaborate care, the exquisite face was
thrown into strong relief by the wonderiul glow of the
sunset. ;

The whole formed a marvelous picture. Outside, the
thick trees, the red sunlight piercing them and falling
upen the lovely girl as she stocd, half bewilderei, at the
door at the quaint little summer-house, and the timid,
anxious lover crouching in shadow by the fireplace, afraid
to come forward, yet burning with anxiety.

Fanchette stepped forth at last, and exclaimed:

“Ts the Earl of Kendale here?’

‘Duval went toward her then, bowing profoundly.

 

| Lady Fanchette drew herself up with all the alarmed

pride of herrace. — 2

“J came here, sir, to meet my father,’? she said, coldly. |

“Icome on his part, Lady Fanclrette,”’ replied Duval. |
“The earl has been wounded accidentally in the shoulder
by one of the park gamekeepers. Have you not heard of |
the occurrence? He lies ill at the Kendale Arms, and I |
have come here tg explain the reason that he cannot meet
you.’

Fanchette grew pale, but she maintained her self-pos-
session. Shewas proud; that was the fault which marred
the beauty of an otherwise noble character, and cast a
thin vail of ice over a warm, affectionate heart.

“J trust, sir, there is no—no danger,”’ she said, forcing
herself to speak firmly.

“No danger, Lady Fanchette.

serious. But the earl’s mind is troubled, and that might
cause this slight fever to mount to the brain.
you were willing to leave Lady Kendale and place your-
self unaer his protection, he would recover very soon.”

“It is scarcely a subject which I could discuss with 2
stranger,’’ said Fanchette.

“On, pride of race and constitution!’ thought Duval to
himself; ‘‘she will not speak to me; I must tell her at

 

ates me, Eustace; it is always humbling toa woman to
love unreguited; and yetinone sense itennoblesme. I
hate nobody ! 1 hate not Claribel, who won unasked
what I would have given worlds to obtain. I go among
others who suffer, and I try to relieve their pains. To-
ward you I experience a sentiment of devotedness, such
as you cannot comprehend. Why have I followed you and
betrayed my secret? Why? Because you are in sutfer-
ing, in danger, in difficulty; but if you were happily mar-
ried to one you loved, I could come and lift your children
out of their cradles, fondle them, leave rich giits in their
baby hands; I could watch and tend your sweet wife, if
she loved you. This is my love, Eustace.”

"it is the leve of angels,” he said, passing his hand
across his brow. *‘I am a demon, sweet Evangeline, upon
wlom it were a Sin to waste your pure thoughts; so heave
no more sighs for thememory of a man lost and ac-
cursed.”’

“Hush !?? she said, solemnly, ‘God is ready to bless you
this moment, Eustace, if you will ask Him. You are not
accursed.’

“I tell youthat Iam possessed by a demon,” replied
the unhappy young man; “and it is impossible to say
What lengths that demon will lead me to.”

«Eustace ! Fustace ! have pity upon me.”

She nung herself upon her Knees before him.

“Remember that you are young, gifted, strong. You
have a friend, a rich friend. You have me, who will ad-
vance any money to push you on in any profession you
may ¢cnovses You are anarust ! Weill, L will pay you an
iucume thabshad support you like a gentleman while you
are bringing that art to perfection. Whenever you need
anything, apply to me. Leave off that wild talk of being
possessed: it breaks my heart,”

“] cannot thank you,” he answered, with a laugh. “I
see you kneel there like like a saint, witha face likea
Madonna out of one of Raphael’s pictures, and your gold-
en hair falling on your black dress, and I know that you
love me, and that if I said, ‘Be my wife,’ that small fair
4+ hand would be given tome With a rich fortune, which no
proud rejatives can touch. All this know, Evangeline,
and yet I cannot thank you; I cannot take pleasure in
the golden hair, and the fair, pure face, and the deep,true,
holy woman’s love, burning like a lamp above that altar
of your heart, and filling those blue eyes with a heavenly
radiance. .No; I cannot take the money from that small
hand, the money to maintain me while 1 am trying to sell
my pictures. No, 1 must go away like a dream, likea
mouster of ingratitude, not even feeling touched as a man
should by all this sublime, pure, unselfish devotion. No,
to me you are a lovely picture, Evangeline, nothing else.
Allthat was passion, and admiration, and gratitude in
me, all that was enthusiasm and chivalry, and submis-
sion to your sex, allof that was burnt and consumed at
the shrine of Clarivbel. False goddess of my idolatry, she
has monopolized all my nobler qualities, ane of them all
there only remains, Evangeline, the ashes, the dust, the
cinders, the dark desolation after a great fire.

“In the place of my better angel, who presided over my
soul while yet love, hope, and charity lived within me,
there is nowa demon. Nay, weep not, start not! a—
demon, harmless—at least toward you—but let the Coun-
tess of Ciesterton tremble when her diamonds blaze the
brightest, Ha! the sword—the sword by asingle hair
hangs over her superb head. Oh, I only jive with one
object now—to see herin the dust, humbled, abased, ac-
: cursed! Do you think, Evangeline, that I would take
{ Sur you while | was plotting against your sister’s
very life??? y

Evangeline uttered a cry of horror.

“William ! William! It is true Satan is trying to tempt
$9u_to evil. Pray, pray!’ ‘

‘I cannot,” he said, gloomily. ‘‘Claribel has made me
witvt 1 am, and she must take the consequences.”’

‘She would have no power, alas! Eustace, if you did
eet ries to evil,” said Evangeline, who bad risen to her

eet,

 

least that I am a gentleman.”

“J wonld not presume to introduce myself to your no-
tice, said Duval, bowing again, ‘“butit may be some
satisfaction for you to know that the earl’s messenger and
confidant is a gentleman and a soldier. I am a captain
in the —th Regiment, and my family is that of the Cum-
berland Duvals, of Brockton Hall. My brother Cnarles is
the present owner.”

I believe if |

 

Lady Fanchette bowed in her turn; the color mantled
on her cheek, and her fine eyes shone.

“JT am glad to become acquainted with you,” she said,
holding out her hand. ‘I have read of your bravery,
your kindness, your noble conduct in India. I have of-
ten Said I wished that I could meet you, Captain Duval.”

He took her hand with a chivalrous grace, as one who
is permitted to hold some precious thing for a time in his
grasp. Then gently relinquished it.

“Then may I tell the earl, Lady Fanchette, that you
will consent to leave your grandmother, and to live with
him ??

She paused a moment in silence.

“J wish to do what is right, Mr. Duval,’ ste'said, ‘and
Ihave not yet made up my mind as to where my duty
dies. Ilove my father because he is my father, aithough
J] have never seen him in my life; and although grand-
mamma has always spoken of him She paused.

“Unkindly,”? said Duval.

“Severely,’? corrected Fanchette. ‘But then the Count-

 

{ went | met you, Elsie. Even at distant seaside places,
when I traveled with tie countess, | was sure to find you
a few days aiterward, while 1 was walking on the beach
with my nurse,” ;

Duval lifted up his head and listened with a strange,
thrilling sensation of wonder.

“T always liked you—loved you, Elsle; but you go too
far. I may enter a convent, I may take the vail for liie.’?

“Heaven forbid!’ broke forth Duval, involuntarily,

“T may,’? repeated Fanchette, holding up her head
Endy. “It depends upon myself and grandmother's
wish.”

“And the earl??? asked Duval.

“Ah!? said Fanchette, “nothing will be done by me
Without consulting him, depend uponit. And now, Mr,
Duval, I must say good-night. It is almost dinner-time.
Tell papa that I love him dearly, that I must see him and
talk to him soon, and to-morrow I will meet you here
again, and tell you what conclusion 1 have arrived at.”

“Cady Fanchette, the dusk has fallen. Permit me io
be your escort through the wood?” said Duval, respect-
fully.

Fanchette threw the dark Cloak which she carried cn
her arm over her head, and it eveloped her whole form.

“You are kind,’’ she said. ‘‘Good-by, Elsie!’

And after affectionately wringing the hand of the gipsy
she set forth with Duval. 4
The path was alittle rough. Fanchette tripped against

a stone.

“Permit me to offer you my arm?” said Duyal.

Fanchette accepted it with the frank grace of a young
duchess; but still Duval felt how far he was from the
girl’s heart, how proud and stately, and self-contained
she was, how she admired him asa brave soldier and
honored him as a poor gentleman, put he felt that any
idea of a tender passion on his part would meet with cold,
dignified surprise from her.

He felt all this, and accepted his fate with humility; he
did not curse her pride or her countess grandmother, as
unhappy Eustace might perhaps have done in his place;
bat he resolved to devote himself, heart and soul, to this
divine creature—to die, if needs were, in her service. Du-
val’s was a truly noble nature. ‘

Suaddeniy, in the pathway in the wood, the young pair
encountered the form of a woman, wrapped in a shawl.
A hood wasin herhand. She carried a basket on her
arm. She hurried by them, as if she had not seen them.

“Elsie again!’ said Fanchette.

“No! it was not Elsie,” said Duval.

Fanchette glanced behind her uneasily.

“One of the servants,” she sald, uneasily.
did not recognise me.”” .

“Tmpossible!? cried Duval.

Soon they were in the terraced gardens, and the great,
lighted window of the dining-room showed that the din-
ner was about to be served up.

“IT must leave you uow, Captain Duval; with many
thauks,” said Lady Fanchette, holding out her hand.

Duval held it one moment in his.

“What time to-morrow, Lady Fanchette ?? ,

‘ At half-past four, in the summer-house!”’

Then she tripped up the steps, and he watched her en-
ter the lighted Frenc® window.

Fanchette started back as she perceived the old count-
ess standing with her back to her, pointing outa large
oil-painting to a young lady dressed in wuite moire, Wuo
was evidently about to dine with them. To slip outagain
before she was seen was tlie natural impulse of Fanchette.
She had not thought her grandmother was already in the
dining-room. Stie found her way round by another door,
threw off her cloak, and entered the dining-room just as

> Wp

“JT hope she

| the soup was carried in. ,

Besides the countess and the governess there was pres-
ent a beautiful girl, in rich white silk, Whom the countess
presented as Miss Evangeline Stanfield.

“Now, I hope you two will be friends,”’ said. Lady Ken-
dale, vue her gold eye-glass to her eyes, and scanning
tire face of Fanchette in such a@ Way that the young girl
blushed and trembled. st A

What was there in her grandmamma’s €yes so terrible
that night, so sinister, so sad? She ate her dinner with
appetite, for she was hungry, but she ate in dread of she
knew not what.

Afterward, in the splendid old drawing-room, standing
before the warmth of a fire, for the autumn evenings
were chilly, she made the acquaintance of Evangeline.

At first the girls did not take kindy to each other. The
heart of Evangeline was mourning over the desolate ana
dreadful condition of the man she ioved, and Fanchette
seemed to her a being too full of life, and hope, and bright
ness to feel for the sorrows of Others.

People in love are in general unsociable, ungympathiz
ing toward the indifferent and the cheerful. lt seems to

I believe, if we can ward | the being occupied with a great passion that other peo-
otf fever and keep the mind easy, the wound itself is not |

ple’s pursuits are puerile, and thus it fell out that Evange-
lin@ was cool and silent, and Lady Fanchette thought her
dull, stupid, and beautiful. ;

The next morning at breakfast the old countess said,
saddenly:

“Fanchette and I are going to Paris next week. We
shall winter there, and inthe spring we shall go on to
Iraly, where Fanchette wiil enterthe convent of St. An-
nuncita. That will vein April. Would you like to win-
ter with us in Paris, Evangeline ?”

Evangeline believed that Eustace was in Paris. Her
heart leaped.

“I should be delighted,’ she said.

But the heart of Fanchette sank like lead. Never before
had the idea of the convent struck her with horror. She
turned pale. /

“Oh f grandmamma,” she said, ‘“‘must it be ?”

“As certainly as that I hold that little plate in my hand,”’
said the old countess, holding up a priceless Dresden
plate. “I have made preparatious lor endowing the con-
vent.”?

“How dreadful it seems, Lady Kendale !” cried Evange-
line.

Fanchette looked up at her, and loved her from that
moment.

“It matters not if it be dreadful or not,’’ said the coun-
tess. ‘‘I have decided.”

That evening, at half-past four, Fanchette entered the
summer-house with a great resolve in her heart. She
would leave her gradmether. Duval was waiting her ar-
rival.

“Tell papa,” she said, “that { will come to him as soon
as he likes.” She paused. “Oh! Captain Duval,” ina
tone of anguish, “here is grandmamma and lawyer
Clyde, and my governess. _I am lost—lost ! Hide—hide
there under that table. Let me pull down the red cloth.’

Duyal obeyed. The old countess entered. She shook

 

ess of Kendale is severe; there is no manner of doubt
about that. Still. she has protected me whenTI had no
other protector; she Hus been tle guardian of my child-
hood, she has educated me, she loves me in her fashion.
[ believe I should be basely ungrateful if I ran away from
her, left her without word or sign—should I not?’

“Oh, Lady Fanchette,”’ cried Duval. ‘I respect your
scruples, your high sense of duty. So will your father,
when I tell him what you say. The best arrangement, ia
my Opinion, would be an interview between the earl, bis
mother the countess, and yourself. Then—wno knows?
—peace might be restored, and n

“Never!? said a loud, clear voice.

Fanchette bounded to the other side of the summer-
house. Duval kept his ground manfully. Another mo-
ment, and Elsie, the gipsy, in her short blue cloak and
scarlet hood, entered the room, and turned toward Fan-
chette.

‘-For you see, sweet, one,” she said, gently, “Iam
breaking the stern law of Jane the Countess. Iwas told
never again to intrude in her domain. I was forbidden,
under threat of traps and spring-guns and county jails,
to speak to the Lady Fanchette; and yet behold me in the
summer-house, and even laying my hand on the lady’s
silken robe, and drawing her into the fading sunlight that
I may judge of her beauty, and find out if she has shed
tears lately.’ :

Fanchette came forward without reluctance, and Duval
Was surprised to see how gentle the proud girl was to-
ward the presumptuous, bold-eyed Elsie.

“Am I looking well?’ she asked, with a smile.

“Wellin brightness of beauty, well In health also; but
there are fear and anxiety in that faceymy bonnie bird. It
Is that you question whether your duty lies unto your
gray-haired, bowed-down father, or with your tyrant
grandmother, with the diamonds sparkling on her yel-
low, parchment throat, and her fierce hawk’s-eyes glanc-
ing about like the eyes of a jailor, whg keeps the keys,
and fancies every stir he hears is the noise of some escap-
ing prisoner. You do-not owe that crabbed countess one
crown-piece worth-of gratitude if you knew all; and
worse than that—you should hate her, since she killed
your mother. Do you never cast a look backward into
the dark, that forgotten land of naked, mysterious infan-
cy, when first you were cast up trom the ocean of eter-
nity, and found yourself upon the shores of the wilder-
ness of this world? Your mother, your poor, suffering
young mother—do you never think of her, Lady Fan-

 

 

cheete???

her gold-headed stick at her grandchild as & bad fairy
might shake her wand.

“What are you doing here, all alone, young lady 7” she
asked sharply. ;

(To be continued.)
—_—___>-©+__\__
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pcre ae JEM NG

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE NEW YORK WEE

 

 

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WHY WILL YE DOUBT?

EARTHLY BLESSINGS.

NHE human system, the most perfect of all the works
of the Creater, is so constituted that, to be entirely
healthy, it must throw off the waste, worn-out, and poi-
.sonous materials as fast os it takes on new materials
from our food and drink. The food is assimilated, and
made into nourishing and healthy blood, principally
through the offices of the stomach, liver, and lungs. The
worn-out materials are mostly excreted by the liver,
jungs, and kidneys; but all medical men have heretofore
failed to recognize the vast importance of the liver as a
vlood-purifying and excreting organ. The most learned
German physielogists, who base their assertions upon ac-
tual experiments only, state that the amount of BILE
which should be manufactured by the liver and poured
into the intestines each day is two and one-half pounds.
All persuns iuterested in knowing thus, and the experi-
ments to prove it, may see a resume of these facts in Pro-
fessor Dalton’s Physiology.

Remember one thing more: The bile is something more
than the natural physic of the bowels, as has heretofere
been taught by eminent medical men. The bile is mostly
made up of the waste matter of the blood ~‘tete, worn-
out, and injurious materials. If theliver due. © t make
this bile, and pour it mto the intestines daily, it remains
in the blood asa poison. It poisons the biood itself, and
circulates, as irritating and poisonous matter in the blood,
to every organ in the system.

The blood, poisoned with the daily-accumulated excess

of bile, returns from the liver to the heart, and the nerves
of the heart are affected.
_ Justso with the Lungs. The bile-poisoned blood goes
from the upper and right cavity of the heart to the lower
cavity, and thence directly to the lungs, circulating all
through these most delicate organs. The lung tissues are
poisoned and irritated, and they invite the scrofulous hu-
mors of the blood, because they are thus irritated. Hence
Cousumption, which is local screfula—so defined and
proved’ by LUGOL and all the most Scientific authors.

Catarrn of the head and throat, Dyspepsia; Constipation,
Neuralgia, Kidney and Bladder Diseases, Palsy, Apop-
ijexy, Rheumatism, Scrofula, Piles, Epileptic Fits, Head-
acves, Bronchitis, Heart Disease, Eruptions, Dropsy, Can-

 

RHEUMATISM.—CURES ARE PERMANENT.
James D. Pease, Esq., Trumansburg, N. Y., writes to
me this month:
may have full proof of the value of your treatment. My
wife has not had the Rheumatism since, but gained
strength immediately; and if you could see her now, you
would not know her, such a change has taken place since
last spring,” &c., &c. ;

HE DOUBTED, BUT WAS CONVINCED.

James Morrison, Esq., London City, Fayette Co., Il:
“These are simple facts. Llacknowledge now. Alldoubt
of you.as a saccessful physician disappeared with me with
the pains in my head and breast.”

ANOTHER RAISED FROM THE GRAVE.

Mrs. Jerusha W. Park, Pitcher, Chenango Co., N. Y.,
writes about her husband: “Our pbysician said he had
done allhe could for him. He could live but a short time.
He was very feeble. Nowhe is fleshy and hearty, and
his food sets well, and he can labor well. Our whole com-
munity are astonished on account of your curing my hus-
band, when all said his case was so hopeless.”

LIVER AND NERVOUS DIFFICULTY.

James C. Damon, Esq,, Elk Point, Dakota, writes:
“Dollars abd cents can never pay the debt of gratitude I
owe you. Wherever! go, 1 mention your skill and gen-
tlemanly deportment.”’

THE MEDICINES ARE POWERFUL.

“My reason for not writing you sooner is because I
waited to see the final results. lam happy to inform you
that | am asound man once more. Isttil have some of
your medicine left. ‘ They are so powerful, a little goes a
good ways. Yours truly, “A, J. NOBLE,

“Jowa City, lowa.’?
WORDS ARE TOO WEAK.

“] wish I had the ability to use, stronger language, as 1
could conscientiously make it still stronger. You can use.
my letter as seems best in your judgment, for the benefit
of alltne sick. Gratefully yours, J. bISSEL,
“Williamsport, Pa.’

 

A FEW WORDS MORE.
Dear reader, it is useless to ery A-vbug; for these pa-
tients HAVE BEEN CURED, as well as thousands of
others, and in gratitude have signified their desire fo fur-

 

cers, aud very many other diseases, are caused by de-
rangements ol the Liver.

SYMPTOMS OF LIVER COMPLAINT, AND OF SOME
OF THOSE DISEASES PRODUCED BY
LIVER COMPLAINT.

A sallow or yellow color of the skin, or yellowish-brown
spots on the face and other parts of the body; dullness
and drowsiness, with frequent headache, bitter or bad
taste in the iouth, dryness of the throat, and internal
heat; palpitation of the heart; in many cases, a dry,
feasing cough, with sore throat; unsteady appetite, sour
Stomach, with a rising of the food and a choking sensa-
tion in the throat; sickness and vomiting, distress, heav-
tess, or & bloated or full feeling about the stomach and
sides, whichis often attended with pains and tenderness;
aggravating pains in the sides, back, or breast, and
about the shoulders; colic pain and soreness through the
vowels, with heat; constipation of the bowels, alternat-
ing with frequent attacks of diarrhea: piles, flatulence,
nervousiess, coldness of the extremities, rush ef blood
tothe head, with symptoms of apopiery; numbness oF
the linvbs, especially at night; cold chills, alternating
with hot flushes; Jemale weakness and irregularities,
with duliness, luw spirits, unsociadility, and gloomy
ToreLodings.

THE REASON WHY ! :
WHY IS DR. HAMILTON SUCCESSFUL?

ist,—Because he has studied these diseases for a LIFE-
TIME—first becoming interested by his own sufferings,

2d.—Because he has investigated every remedy known
to science; and, in addition, be has new remedies, from
the tlelds und forests, of HIS OWN DISCOVERY, and of the
greatest possible efficacy and value.

3d.—Because he has noroutine way of treating all
cases alike, but treats each patient who sacredly commits
his health to his care according to the ACTUAL CONDITION
OF THAT PATIENT. A
4th.—Because having made aSPECIALTY of Liver,Lung,
and Biood Diseases, he has an experience which has ex-
tended to tens of thousands of cases—a greater experi-
ence, it issafe to say, THAN ANY OTHER LIVING MAN..

5t .—Because lie selects his remedies for each case with
such care, uses harmless vegetable agents, and’ devotes
duis whole life and energies to making his practice succes:s-
ful—to cure his patients THOROUGHLY, PERMANENTLY,
AND SPEEDILY. -

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by R
Leonidas Hamiiton,.M.D., in the Clerk’s Office of the District
oe of the United States for the Southern District. of New
York.

 

 

THE, WILLING WITNESSES,

There is presented below a Selection of a few (from
the many which are contained in my new work entitled
“Discoveries”) who have expressed, in giowing and
heartfelt words, their wish to offer testimony in behalf of
my system of practice and uniform success in mastering
the long catalogue of diseases engendered by faulty me-
elanical and chemical action of that most important or-
gan, the Liver --- UIE ao eae 2 (ra >

Space does not allow of these “noble. offerings to sci-
ence and philantrophy’’ being presented here in fall; but
tie “despondent in heart and weary im body’ can pro-
cure the entire work, free of charge, by sending me their
post-cflice address.

. igive below the names of many of the noblest, truest,
and purest men and women who haye rendered our land
illasttious by their deeds in the various walks of life.
Tuey indorse me unequivocally asa physician, a Iman cf
honor, and a philanthropist. I merely name some ef the
diseases of which Ihave been the humble means,through

the hands of a Divine Providence, of curipg them. Their
glowing words are in full in the book mentioned. Vrite

to apy of them, and get from their own pens the facts.
Any of them will answer all inquiries of this character.

CURED OF CATARRH AND LIVER COMPLAINT.

Rev. Joseph Jones, St. Joseph, Michigan, says: ‘You
may refer to me at any time, and I shall be ever pleased
to bear testimony to your extraordinary skill.”

GOVERNOR JACOBS, OF KENTUCKY.

His Excellency eXx-Lieutenant-Governor R. T,. Jacobs,
Westport, Kentucky, writes, in concluding his testimony:
“Last September i saw your advertisement again. | then
determined to try your remedies, for1 felt that 1 was fast
sinking into the grave, with all that the Allopathic School
could do for me, Death seemed inevitable. I wrote you,
giving my symptoms, and received promptly medicines
ald the assurance that you could cure me. Ihave taken
your remedies according to direction, and I now feel en-
tirely well. My blood circulates freely, my stomach is
strong, my liveris no longer torpid, my kidneys have
ceased to pain me, and now I do not Know what it is to
lave the headache or congestion. Neither do I feel
limbs cold and paralyzed.

 

my
I can cheerfully say that I en-
joy an energy and life that I have not felt for years, if 1
ever did. if this should come under the observation of
any poor sick wretch, racked with pain, who has been
rotted with calomel, quinine, tron, and such like medi-
cines, I earnestly appeal to him to try your mest valu-
able discoveries.”

LIVER DISEASE WITH FEMALE DEDILITY.

Mary F. Landrain (care 1. N, Alsop, Esq., Fredericks-
burg, Va.) writes: “May Heaven’s richest blessings ever
be showered on the greatest benefactor of his race, Pro-
fessor R. L. Hamilton, M. D.”

HAD QUICK CONSUMPTION.
he eminent divine and missionary, Rev. A. A. Con-
stantine, 48 Ann Street, New York City, ends lis offering:
“May God bless you in all your researches in his great
laboratory,.and make you his agent in restoring other
thousands to health.”
CURED OF CONSUMPTION.

Rev. J. W. Hinkley, Athens, Me., writes: ‘‘To you, with
God’s biessing, do Lowe my worldly existence.”

Tie forcible theological writer, Rev. HW. D. Kimball, 254
Broadway, New York City, adds to his epistle: **Dr. Ham-
ilton wiil counsel you wisely in the terrible battles you
may have with acate or chronic diseases,”’

CHRONIC DIARRHGA,

The eminent pulpit orator, Rev. George H. Jones, Boon-
tou, N. J., writes me: *] wish I had ihe voice of seven
thunders, and could assemble all the sick in the world, 1
would direct them to you.”’

MOST RESPECTABLE AUTHORITY.—RHEUMATISM.

Rey. Isaac Hugg, Pointville, N. J., writes: *Under the
blessings of Divine Providence, you have done great
things tor me.’’

STRONG CORROBORATION,
Lev. W. B. Jacobs, 113 Harrison street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

This widely-kKnown clerical editor aud divine writes:
“JT trankly express the hope that diseased humanity in
every part of our land may avail themselves of Professor
Hanilltows remarkable skill, and thus share the noble
blessings so kindly and freely bestowed npen ail.”

DYSPEPSIA, WITH HEART DIFFICULTY.

Mrs. Josephine s. Hatch, Provincetown, Muss., writes:
“My friends say to me, ‘He must be more than man who
has done this.” s

SALT-RHEUM AND SCROFULA.

“It is your medicines that have accowplished my cure:

of salt-rheum and scrofula.”’
Miss CHARLOTTE RHOADES,
Certlanat Centre, Kent Co., Mich.
- OURE OF ASTHMA.
“Any letter of inquiry | will cheerfully answer.’
JOSEPH LiTrLy, Afton, N. Y.
RHEUMATISM.—A GREAT CURE.

“In one month 1 was perfectly cured, after suffering for
seven years, and with conflnement to bed.”

Wa. H. NELLIS, Oliopolis, Venango Co., Pa.
EPILEPTIC FITS.

John S. Sharp, Buckhart, lll,, says: “I wish you to pub-
lish the cure of my wife far and near.”?

i ANOTHER.—FITS CURED.

Miss A. Kelderhouse, Guilderland, N. Y. remarks: “And
if any doubt the truth of my cure, you may refer them to
me, and will satisfy them.”

DISEASE OF TIE BOWSLS.

Rev. Augustus Alvord, Ridgebury, Conn., writes also:
“I deena ita duty and a pleasure to state the facts of my
cure of this bowel disease, which lasted for years.”

GIVES STRENGTH.

“I pronounce myself well. 1 have done more hard work
in the last eight months than before in thirty years.”
SAMUEL CURTIS, Dakota City, Neb.

nish ample TESTIMONY OF MY GREAT SUCCESS in curing
all Liver, Lung, and Blood Diseases. Write to them; ask
them for the truth; and, if satisfied with the evidence
presented, put yourself in my care, and I will give you
the benefits of my large experience. Below are a few
only. selected from my ‘Work on Remarkable Cures.”? I
do this to give the skeptical abundant evidence of my re-
liability and remarkable skill. THE PROOFS ARE OF-
FERED; Weigh them, and’act according to your judgment.

Rey. Washington Medaris, Sydney, Onio; Rev. A. C.
Shepardson, Three Rivers, Mici.; Rev. Isaac Crouse,
Galion, 0.; Mrs. L. M. Richardson, Ciebourne, -Texas;
Jaccb and Margaret Barnes, Arcata, Cal.; David Nor-
man, Yankton, Dacotah Territory; D. W. Russell, 13
Merchants’ Exchange, Boston; Mrs. Samuel Lee, New
York Mills, N. Y.; W.C. Porter, Miliwood, Mo.; J. A.
Young, Ravenna, 0.; Samuel M. Wagoner, Esq., Dills-
bury, Pa; Mrs. F. S. Whipple, Cambridge, Vt.; Mrs. S. J.
F. Barnett, Pacolet Depot, 8S. C.; Emily W. Reid, Ellicott-
ville, N. Y.; L. E. Fish, Esq., Moline, lll; Jas. A, Pickett,
Esq., Jacksonville, Fla.; Louisa O. Cobb, Hubbardton, Vt.;
Auvam Grubb, Louisville, Ala.; J. L. Higbee, Esq., Catta-
raugus, N. Y.; Francis E. Wood, Esq., New Road, N. Y.;
Mrs. H. A. Taylor, East Troy, Wis.; Mrs. M. E. Mitchell,
Jersey Shore, Pa.; J. H. Spencer, Sugar Grove, Kky.; Win.
Freeburn, Latrobe, Neb.; H. Hearlein, Esq., Alanta, Ga.;
J. M. Vansyckle, “Esq., Wallula, Washington Territory;
William. Walker, Esq., Wellington, Iowa; P. Schermer-
horn, Bloomville, N. Y.; Mrs. J. Laidlow, Box 703, Fort
Wayne, Ind.; E. Kate Reouney, Coatesville, Pa.; Mrs. E.
W. Chase, Warsaw, N. Y.; M.S. Hamilton, Pine Bluff,
Ark.; N. E.. Hicks, Wetumpka, Ala.; J. J. Bisel, Lock
Haven, Pa.; Mrs. Samuel sawyer, Grout’s Corners, Mass. ;
Cornelia A. Van Vieit, Jericho, Vt.; Mrs. H. Garrett, Kan-
sas City, Mo.; Benj. Berry, Esq., Matteawan, N. Y.; Alex.
Hughes, Esq., Poughkeepsie, N. Y.; Win. B. Betts, Esq.,
Norwalk, Conn.; 8. S. Parker, Esq., Alabama, N. Y.; Luke
Newell, Mason, N. H.; Moijlie A. Brooks, West Point, Ga.;
Mrs. S. E. Blackwell, Cokesourg, S. C.; Msi A. S. Childs,
Richmond, Missouri; H. Houghton, La Grange, Wis-
consin; Mrs. D. Eggleston, Lecust Hill, Missouri; Mr.
E. J. Ireland, Shattuckville, Mass.; Mr. W. W. Pence,
Indian Creek, West. Va.; Sarah Walker, Forest City, Mo.;
Mr. Moses Tewell, Elbensville, Pa.; Mrs. D. M.. Harber,
Mackvyille, Ky.; Cordelia A. Valleau, Portland, Wis.; Em-
eline E. Miner, Taylor, N. Y.; Mary E. Lecktness, Ains-
worth, Iowa.; Herman Gainer, Farmers Fork, West Va.;
G. Fairchild. Okoboji, lowa; Mr. Walter Cline, Pitcher, N.
Y.; Betsey Richman, Manlius Centre, N. Y.; Peleg S. Cur-
tiss, Deer Isle, Me.; A. H. Thambo, Lynchburg, Ohio; W.
G. Fowler, Wilmington, N. C.; Mrs. L. R.-Dyer, Grant,
N. Y.; Mr. Irwin Seward, New Providence, lowa; Han-
nal M. Coffee, Rural, Hi.; M. Ve Babcock, Auburn, N. Y.;
Miss Mary W. Perry, Sandersville, Ga.; Mrs. F. Ballaine,:
Pevely, Mo.; L. D. Colbert, Esg., Wasuington, Ind.; Mr.
J. N. Barnett, Shabonier, Ili.; Mrs. Phebe L. Vance, Sun
Prairie, Wis.; Rev. W. R. Black, Fredonia, Kan.; Mrs.
Joseph Valiett, Batavia, N. Y.; Mr. O. E. Russel, Miavle-
port, O.; Mr. A. Searies, Jr., Scuaghticoke,.N. Y.; if. M.
Clark, West Farmington, 0.; S..H. Burch, Hiawasse, Ga.;
Mr. David Holman, Stockton, Pa.; Miss Louisa J. Russel,
Gobus,. Dj. W. 2. Caurortage, Peboite Creek, Nev. ;
Mary Ann Lawrence, St. Johnsbury, Vt.; Harriet Briggs,
Brush’s M.lis, N..Y.; Mr. J. C. Prentiss, Ravenna, 0.; 5.
D. Lounsbury, Rensselaerville, N. Y.; Clara V. Lynde,
Killoway, N. Y.; Indiana Neville, Batavia, fowa; A. A.
Slater, Essex, Vt.; Mary Green, North Brookfield, Mass.;
Angeline Phelps, Pine Valley, Pa.; Rev. Thomas Sugg,
Waco, Ala.; Nelus P. Nelson, Bedford, lowa; James 5s.
McCall, Society Hill, 8. C.; Mrs. Marcus F. Spaulding,
Newark Valley, N. Y.; Mrs. Rachel Ott, Havana, Ili.; A.
H. Duncan, Sparta, Tenn.; John W. Keeler, Oakland City,
Ind.; Mattie ]. Thomas, Pottersville, N. J.; Rachel Mclsi-
roy, Millwood, Ohio; Edward G. Miner, Great Barrington,
Mass.; Albert G. Fay, Geneseo, lil.; B. F. Ward, Isdiau
Springs, Ga.

  
 

 

ANOTHER APPEAL TO THE INCREDULOUS.

‘So well knowing the general custom of the American
people to denounce all advertising physicians as *tlium-
bugs,’ without knowing anything in regard to their mer-
its, ln addition to. the wumerous and wonderful testimo-
nials from some of the thousands who have been cured
by me, I publish below the names and addresses of a few
reliable persons Who know me well as aman of reliabil-
ity and integrity: :

John Proper, Waterford, N. Y.; Timotby Cronin, Attor-
ney-at-Law, No. 161 Broadway, New York City; J. M. Em-
erson, No. 83 Nassau’ St., New York City; Norval M,
White, Clerk in New York City Post-Office; Dr. Palmer,
No. 78 Fourth Avenue, New York City; Edward Burlin-
game,-Troy, N. Y.; Harvey Wilcox, Riuge Mills, N. Y.; G.
W. Lord, Attorney-at-Law, No. 55 Liberty Street, New
York City; Charies Van Benthuysen & Sons, State Prin-
ters, Albany,, N. Y.; Joseph Anderson, No. 81 Adams
| Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Riley Merril, Sandford, N. Y.;
} Daniel Edwards, Otego, N. Y.; Martin Decker, Roxbury,
N. Y¥.; Thomas Colby,“Moresviile, N. Y.; Tnomas Fitch,
Prattsville, N. Y.; A. B. Sands & Co., Druggists, No. 141
William Street, New York City; Wm. Youngblood, No. 83
Nassau Street, New York City; John E. Van Etten, Attor-
ney-at-Law, Kipgston, N. Y.; Oscar Hamilton, Sandford,
N. Y.;. Henry Biers, Chicago, lll.; Coclidge & Adams,
Druggists, No. 108 Jolin Street, N. Y-; J. ‘lillitson, Clerk
in the New York Post-Office; E. Harmon, Gettysburg,
Pa.; W. W. Sharpe, Tribune Building, New York City;
Rev. Henry D. Kimball, New York City.

It must be remembered that ‘the above are all good re-
liable business men, to whom-any onemay refer, by letter
or otherwise, as to the reliability and honesty of myself
asa man of business.

 

 

CAUTION!

I hereby caution the public against certain persons who
have taken xdvantage of my extensive reputation and
the wonderful efficieucy of my treatment, in pulming off
upon the aiflicted worthless trash of various sorts, pur-
porting to. be remedies originated and prepared by R.
Leonidas Hamilton, M.D. For the benefit of the public
I will say once for all that! DO NOT PREPARE OR OF-
FER FOR SALE, IN ANY MANNER, ANY PATENT
MEDICINES OR MEDICINAL PREPARATIONS OF THAT
CHARACTER WHATEVER, AND I PRONOUNCE ALL
SUCH COUNTERFEITS. Those who buy them, do so at
their peril. Tne only remedies I compound, or authorize
to be compounded, arethose I prescribe for my patients
daily, with my own hands, at No, 546 Broadway, New
York City.

 

 

Write to me, all Ye Afflicted. .

AllI wish to knowin any case isthe most prominent
symptems; and they can just as well be written as told to
a physician, and 1 can treat the case as easily as though
the patient were present.

Allinvalids afflicted with the diseases referred to, or
with any form of chronic disease, can write me at once,
and I will answer you promptly and to the point, and
state fully the facts as they appear, and whether you can
or can net be saved. Do not give up, even though your
family physician has done you no good, for Lhave saved
thousands after all hope had fled and the graye was near.
The wisdom and goodness of a just Providence will not
withhold the noble means for the restoration and cure of
his suffering and erring children. é

Also, if you expect a full ana specific reply to your let-
ter, always inclose ten cents. Postage must be paid in
advance, and all persons under treatment who write for
advice, or any other purpose, must inclose with each let-
ter ten cents; for it must be borne in mind that, having
so many letters every day, it consumes time,

I attend to all correspondence in person, and the affiict-
ed public may rely upon my responsibility, and that they
will be dealt with justly and honorably.

ONE WORD MORE, DEAR READER, NOTICE.

The full history of all the above cases (besides many
more), my theory of diseases, and the only natural, sale,
and positive treatment for all chronic complaints, biogra-
phical sketch of Prof. H.’s remarkable life, and his steel-
plate likeness—a valuable work for every family—SENT
FREE, by giving your name and post-office address,

All letters must be addressed thus:

R. LEONIDAS HAMILTON, M.D.,
No. 546 Broadway,
Care of Post-Office Box No. 4952, New-York.
The number of the Post-Office Box mustbe put on each
letter to insure safety,

.

 

 

“Dear Doctor, I write again so that you |.

 

 

“uéot money, and hov

 

 

 

wwe

NIL DESPERAND UM,

 

Hold high your head, and ne’er be cast down,
Hold up your head though fortnne should frown
Storms may burst o’er, and false friends desert,
Yet hold-up your head, and your manhood assert.
True friends will gather ’round, and do all they ean
To assist in asserting yourself stili a man.

ONLY A PRIVATE.

 

FLORENCE'S TEMPTATION.

BY CONTENT WHIPPLF.

 

 

As Florence leaned there with these thoughts passing through
her brain, she suddenly heard a voice beside her, Randali’s
oe, He was just going in when he espied her and came to
ner side.

“Ah,?? was his first,ejaculation, ‘‘so you have come, have you?
I thought I could bripy you to it.”

At tne sound of his veice.she started upright, and in tones that
ought to have melted a heart of stone she cried out:

“Oscar Randall, I am starving, dying, ana it is all your work.
For Heaven’s sake, ccase your persecution, and help-»me to
gain an honest living.”

“My dear Florence,"’ said the young man, with all the old ten-
derness in his tones, ‘if I have done aught to cause yeu pain, it
was only because or the great love I feet tor you. L could not
give you up, darling, and I hoped when you had no where else
to look you would turn to me. Forgive me if I have injured
you. I will do allin my power to atone for itty my future kind-
ness. Come.in out of this piercing cold. Here, lega on me for
you are tired.” +

O, how the girl was tempted. She pictured to herself the
blazing fire, the delicious food, all the comforts and tuxuries
which would be at her command within that mansion, aud here
was the tempter himself, by her side, luring her om to destruc-
tion. One step and she was lost forever. But the angel within
her came to the rescue. She threw aside his arm as he was
about to encircle her torm, and with all her old spirit of inde-
pendence, but with a pure and lofty firmness that made her
voice, ber very attitude sublime, she said: .

“Say no more to me. The teipptation is past. Never will I
enter your door to lose.there my purity, my virtue torever.
No, I will die, if I must, with my soa: free trom this terrible sin.”

With these words she glided away, walking as rapidly as her
aching limbs would allow, her onty thought to gét as far from
that house and from temptation as possibie. .

The young man stood there for a moment half Paralyzed, so
unexpected and awe-inspiring were the words ot his fair victim,
then shaking off the spell that for a moment had bound him,
eo amuttered oath that his plan bad failed at last, he entered
the house.

But what of Florence Willard? On, on she sped, out of sight
of the stately mausion and the glittering lights, outof the reach
of the libertine who.so nearly had wrought her. ruin; and then
when she could go no further, she sank down on the cold pave-
ment. Benumbed and weary, she felt the langeor stealing over
ber that steals one’s life away as the blood is chilled at the
heart; and mu.tering a little prayer, one that she lisped at her
mother’s knee long, long years ago, “Now I lay me down to
sleep,” the tair girl lapsed into unconsciousness.

But God, who.is not unmindtul vt a sparrow’s fall, had not
forsaken her. A stranger had listened to the conversation be-
tween Florence and her tempter, a kind man, with a pitying
heart, and as she hastened away he followed her. He saw her
sink to the ground, he caught a word of the haif muttered pray-
er, and then she was raised in bis protecting arms and wrapped
in his own Warm overcoat, and afew moments later she was
resting on an bedin a humble, but very neat and cheerful room,
while an old woman with a pleasant motherly countenance,
bustled about, trying to restore her to consciousness.

“Now, Aunt Betty,” said the young man, “I shall send a doce-
tor here immediately, andif she needs anything; do you see
that she has it.”

nd he threw a well filled purse upon the table. :

When he first brought her in, the old woman had demurred
at his leaving her there, pial Hee that no doub— she was some
miserable tramp, and, perhaps, drank; bat wherhe had hur-
riedly told what he had heard while stanc ing in the shadow of
Oscar Randall’s elegant house, the. old woman’ss motherly
heart was touched, and her sympathies enlistéd at once.

It was long ere Florence could ve roused from that death-
like sleep into which she had fallen, and when atlast they had
roused her, delirium had stolen away her senses, and she knew
nothing of what was transpiring around her. She wasina
high fever, so the doctor’said when he came, and only the most
careful nursing could save her life. :

Aunt Betty was in Bar true sphere when ‘nursing the sick.
She was one of the kindest old women that ever lived, and this
Horace Weston khew when he brought to her door the insen-
sible form of the girl he had found in the street. He could not
take lrér to Wis own home, for he was a bachelor, and lived
alone in his proud, aristocratic mansion, with only his servants,
and so the first thought that entered his mind; as he litted her
cold form in his arms was acted upon. Aunt Betty had been
visamotber’s friend from childhood, and well he kuew the
kindness of her heart. He knew that her home, though hum-
ble, was comfortable; if anything was lacking for the cemfort
ot the sufferer it was speedily supplied by tne aid of his well
filled purse. ‘ } : ? ,

A noble man was Horace Weston. Young as he was—and he
was scarcely twenty-five—he had known much sorrow. His
early days were spent in poverty. for bis mother,a beautiful
girl, the daughter of a wealthy man, had turried against her
father’s Wishes, and he had cast her out from his heart and
tortune. Horace’s father was a poor mechanic, but an indus-
trious man, and while he lived he worked bard to supply his
family’s every want. Butwhen Horace wasasmail boy his
father was_ killed by an accident while at work, and ina few
years his wife tollowed him heart-broken to the grave.

Horace was only teil years old when his mother died, but her
pious teachings lived in his heart, and kept him free from all
evil company and practices. He wasenergetic and industrious,
apd he worked his way up from_a newsboyto a clerk, and as
he rose in the good ¢ his: * Wéead
clerk in a large merca
ing bed, Hor
to his daught

be

eel! ew-to- ;
fiis yeuts of labor and

 
  

    
   
 
 
 
  
   
   
   

  

to bless his name for ae
some person and prepos ; é
‘nis large fortune, an obieCLor yreat attention from marriageable
indies and managing mammas, but yet he was heart-whole,
atid seemed proof against every attraction. — _
Aunt Betty had always beena Bee tae to her kind-
ugh or” i

   
  

ness an@dencouragement Horace owed m1 his success in
sife, und he did not forget her when prosperrty smiled upon
him, She had no children; her husband had long been deag
and so Horace occupied the nearest place to the old Jady’s heart!
She scemed to love him quite as well asif he had been ner own
son, and well did the young man know that he had no iriend 50
true as kind Aunt Betty. 4 he

Weeks passed by, and still Florence lay delirious with the fev-
er, and as day after day the old lady bent over the sick bed and
heard the tale of distress which the young girl muttered in her
delirium, she felt a warmer interest grow daily into being, and
no mother could have watched over a child with more tender-
ness than did Aunt Betty over.the object of her chat. t was
many weeks before the fever had ‘spent itself, and the doctor
said she would live. But O, how wan—how pale wasthat once
bright face, and how like a mere shadow of lier former selr did
she look, as she one morning opened her eyes, shining with the
light of reason, and looked inquiringly about her!

At last her rovingeyes tell upon the form of Aunt Betty, sit-
ting by her bedside, with eyes of compassiomate interest.

“Where am?’ asked Florence. :

“You are with friends, my dear child,” said the motherly voice
of Aunt Betty. “You have been very sick, but 1 hope you will
get wellnow.”

“But how came I here? I can’t think,’ said Florence, with a
feeble effort to revive her treacherous memory.

“Never mind, dear,’’ said the ola lady s.othingly. ‘“‘It will all
come to you by-and-by.” :

And come to herit did, almost like a lightning fash, She re-
membered the days of toil, and want, and sorrow, and that last,
most wretched day of all, when she struggled with temptation
and overcame it, and cast herself down in the street, as she
thought to die. What had happened since, who had rescued
her, and where was she? These were the questions which were
puzzling her brain, and which must be solyed_ before she could
rest in peace. Seshe turned again to Aunt Betty and begged
her to satisfy her mind on these points if no more.

Thus importuned, Aunt Betty told her im a few words what
she Clivet to kuow and then with a prayer on her lips tothe
power which had so safely delivered ler from evil, Florence
closed her eyes, and soon was peacetully sleeping.

From that time ner recovery was very rapid. Every luxury
that the most fastidious taste could demand was at her service.

Aunt Betty had told Florence much ot Mr. Horace, as she
called him, who had saved ber life that bitterly cold night, and
though the old lady had not told her insomany words tliat it
was he that rendered her all these little attentions, yet some-
how, the idea suggested itself to her, and she often found_her-
self wishing to see the yonng man, who was becoming to hera
sort-of hero, s0 much did Aunt Betty tell of his kindness of
heart, and his many benevolont deeds.

With the improvement of her health came Florence’s beauty.
Her complexion, always fair, was réfidered by long con-
finement im doors, as pure andsott as an iniant’s; a pretty
pink fiush crept into her cheeks, her eyes grew brilliant with
the return of health, her form was rast developing into its natu-

‘rally beautifal proportions. .

When she had recovered sufficiently to sit up and be dressed,
and to walk about the room a little, Aunt Betty asked her one
day if she felt well enoogh to receive a visitor.

Frorence replied that it depended some upon who the visitor

Was.

“Why, Mr. Horace,”’ said Aunt Betty, “he’s been here every
day for a week, teasing if he migbt see you: but I didn’t think
you were well enough; so I wouldn’t let him come ft.”

“QO yes,” replied Florence, but with very evident embarrass-
ment: “I must see Mr. Weston and thank him for his kindness
to me.”

And so Mr. Horace was allowed to come in.

Mr. Horace was soon after admitted, and after the little em-
barrassment incident to Aunt Betty’s awkward introduction
was over, the two got on famously in their acquaintance. Hor-
ace was so kind and cordial, that before she Was scarcely
aware, Florence found herself talking with him as familiarly
as though he had been an old friend. She told him the story of
her life, and the tears tbat shone in his Kindly eyes, told how
his heart was touched by the ea. ot her sufferings.

‘After this his visits wére frequenf;'not @ day passed, that he
did not spend a portion of it at the humble dwelling of Aunt
Betty, and Florence grew to watch eagerly for his coming, and
to count the hours spent in his society as the happiest ot her life.
He spared no efforts to make her recoyery as rapid and as
pleasant as possible. Books, flowers, and luxuries of every kind
were provided bountifully, and every pleasant day he would
come with his horse and carriage and take her and Aunt Betty
out to ride. 7

Florence improved rapidly under all thiscare and kindness,
and into her heart grew adove, stronger and deeper than she
had deemed it possibie could find existence there: a love beside
which her fancy for Oscar Randall seemed like a mere breath
of wind. And O how dark and gloomy seemed the day when
she must leave him forever, and again go forth into the world
to battle with poverty, toendure roil, privation and suffering,
and she could «lmost wish, asshe thought it over, that he had
left her to die in the street, and not have saved ‘her life only to
render it more miserable.

One day when she had wholly recovered, she told him that
she conld trespass no longér upon his ownand Aunt Betry’s
hospitality ; that she was now well enough to work and must
leave thein to earn an independent living, but ever while she
lived she sbould feel that she owed him a debt of gratitude that
nae ey. could repay. , ’

“And so you want to leave us, Florence,” said the young man
reproachfully, “I hoped that we might make ¢t pleasant enough
for you, that you would want to stay.”

“But I could not do that,” said Florence with a weary sigh.
“Tt would notberignt. I have trespassed upon your kindness
far too long already.”

‘And so you will go and forget us, for I cannot hope that I
shall have a place in your thoughts after we are parted.”

Florence’s heart was too full for utterance, and covering her
face with. her hands she burst into tears. All at once she felt
a pair of strong arms around her, and she was held_ close to
Horace Weston’s throbbing heart, as he said in tones of passion-
ate earnestness:

“Florence, you are the only woman Fever loved, gr ever can
love. It would be like death to part with you. Will you nog re-
main and be my dearly cherished wife ?”’

And with herhead resting on his sheulder, Florence, whispered
her tremulous answer. .

A few weeks and. there was a quiet wedding in aunt Betty's
bumble dwelling, ava Horace Weston and Florence Withird
were joined together, im bonds never to be severed by anything
but death. ; i

When it was whispered abroad in the fashionable world that

.

Horace Weston’s bachelor home had received a mistress, many
were the curious conjectures vegarding her, and when the ebite
called to make her acquamtance, more than one whom 3
Weston had known in earlier days, saw that Florence Willa
had regained her place in society. And there were just as many
flatterers with honeyed words as of old,but Florence had learned
the value of their protestations, ana though she was kind to all,
the false friends of former days soor saw that it was useless to
expecl to gain an intimacy there. Bat of all this classnone was
more thorovghly surprised than was Oscar Randall, when at an
evening party, a triend wishing to intreduce him to Mrs. Weston,
brought him face to face with the girl he had left to perish in
the street. His face was pale as ashes and his knees smote to-
gether withagreat fear. The quiet glance of contempt be-
stowed on him by the beautiful lady, was the greatest punish-
ment he ever received, and rather than ruw the risk of again
nk Mrs. Horace Weston, ne embarked next day for
rope.

Florence's life wasa very happy one. In time,- beautiful little
ones called her mother, and aunt Betty, ber true and tried
friend, lived with her and shared in the care of them. She was
blest with the most Gevoted love and tenderest care from her
hasband, but she never forgot the one great temptation that
came so near wrecking her happiness for this life and in the
world to come.

 

+E EB)

Shadowed Altar:
Betrothed, Wedded and Divorced.

A Siory of New Yerk City Life.
By NED BUNTLINB, (E. Z. ©. JUDSON.)

 

 

(“The Shadowed Altar’ was commenced in No. 16. Back num-
bers can be had of all Newsdealezs throughout the U. S.J
CHAPTER XLIV.

“Mother—mother, my poor heart wii? break!
endure this agony of separation.
soul is linked with his.
me?

White, and cold, too, as snow was the face of poor
Anna, wlule with quivering lips, clasped hands, and eyes
almost stony in her set despair, she nioaned out her mis-
ery in her mether’s ears.

‘Anna, Where is your pride ¥’

“Mother, love will forget pride, forget everything but
the truth of its own existence. I love ]Nm—even if behas
wronged me,I lovehim. And my. heat refuses to be-
lieve he has wronged me.”

“Anna, I would reproach you for this weakness, if it
coutd recall him. Thank Heaven, it cannot. He and his
sister have left the house, the first stepSare taken for
your divorce, and the law will take its:course. Regrets
are aS weak as they are useless.”’

“Mother, the past 7s past, but I would:gi¥e all 1 possess
if. even now I could lay my head on his-vosom—and die.
His lips. neyer could lie to me—his eyes: never looked
aught but truth tomy soul. Ob,l love him as madly
now as I did when, pressed to his manlybreast, I mur-
Inured, ‘thine, thine forever!’ I will not believe he has
ever been false. Iwas mad, I was cruel’ tolisten to you,
or tO any one, for a moment to that effecti’’

“You will not say so, Anna, when the proof of his per-
fidy is laid before tie court.’

“Mother, do not talk to me of that.”

“I must, child, I must, for your own sakes I expect
the lawyer here every moment, for he says-it' is necessary
to have your own signature to some paper which he must
lay before the cour't.’’ ?

“Mother, | cannot put my name to anything: which will
injure the only man on earth whom I love.’

“Child, you will drive me distracted. Formy sake, for

the sake of your own good name, it is necessary to go on
in this case now. If heis innocent, he can:preveit. If
heis guilty, he is unworthy of another thought from
you.”’
“Mother, guilty or innocent, Ihave lost him forever.
He will not come back to one who was So wWilling.to listen
to accusations against him. On, mother, my. heart con-
tinually reproaches me. Jdrove him away by-my dowovis.
Oh, let me call him back before it is too late,.for without
J call, he never will come!”’

“It is too late, even were I to assent to your weakness.
The lawyer is here,’’ said Mrs. Marston, and Eldad Grump
hopped into the room, the everlasting grin upon his face
—a package of papers jn his hand.

“My most humble respects, my good Mrs. Marston—my
most humble respects. ‘And this is, 1 presume, your
much-wronged daughter, whom we are about to relieve
from the weight of matrimonial shackles? I congratulate
her upon her prospects.’

And the same lawyer made a pirouette, and: halting in
his usual position of attention, with the short leg. point-
ing down, bowed proretor before Anna Mansfield.

There was no doubting the evident distaste she felt for
his presence, in the look with which she regarded him as
she said :

‘What is your business with me, sir?”

“Only your signaturé-to the complaint, which is-drawn
up, madam a mere form, amountimg to but littie, but
customary—mierely customary!’?

+ J awill pat my name te nothing’ which will injure,
‘him—nothing that can give Rim more cause to hate me!’

Anne. this is folly. You wish to wake him proye"
innocence of this charge, orif hes guilty, to m m
do his duty to the hapiess woman wlrom I have
cried Mrs. Marston, ina fever of impatience. ~~ ~

“Oh, mother, I know not what to do!” 7

“Do right, my child—do rignt!” ak,

“It is what I want to do, mother!” ae

“Then sign the papers necessafy for this trial, Anna.
lf we wrong him now, the trial will prove It, and we can
afterward do him ‘justice!’ F ,

, “No, mother, even if he is proven innocent, we cannot
recall the past and make him forget our cruelty im pusnh-
ing a charge, which he may prove to be without founda-
tion. i will sign the papers because vow wish it, net be-
cause my judgment bids mé do sol” ' .

And Anna sat down by a table, a pen was placed imher
hand, with which sie mechanically wrote her mume
where she was'told to placeit. ;

There was a sardonic smile ‘on thdé*face of Eldad
Grump when he took up the papers, for he was, as-usual,
even in this case, playing a double game,

“The work will new be clear and speedy!’ he said, as
he refolded the documents and placed themin a great
leathern pocket-book. ‘The courts, when propelly mani-
pulated can be swift as winged lightning in their decisions
but if handled by unskilifal and empty-handed practi-
tioners they are as slow as thought in an iaiot’s brain.”

He now made his usual semi-circular retreat, bowing
at every whirl and grinning his final adieu with all the
grace ofa satan on the verge of paradise, as he leaves the
presence of angeis to join his own kindred below.

“Mother—mother how long will this agony of. suspense
last. How long mustI suffer before I know that he is
lost to me forever ?”’

““Anna—it will soon be over! Ihave feed the lawyer
well and I hear that he is one of the best in the ¢ify.”

“He looks like a fiend, mother—like a tlend.exuiting in
the evil he can do, or in the misery which teems about
me. He will not care if tne evidence in this case destroys
my every hope and breaks my heart.”

“Why should he child? Heis a lawyer—we are his
clients, and I am sure lis profession need nob make hima
friend that he snould share eitherin our joy or our sor-
row.?): ) '

“Yes—you are right. The world is full of selfishness
and £ haye no right to. look lor anything else. Loust—lost
—lost.”

“Child why do you moan out those wordsasif your
very heart was breaking 7”, ‘ '

“Mother, if I lose him it willbreak, Not until he was
gone did I realize how much, how very mucn | did love
him.
goue.”’ ‘ 4

“Child—I wish I could comfort you. Bepatient and all
may yet be well.” ; :

“Never, my mother—never. Ihave lost all hepe.’”

Poor, hapless one—could she see no light?

CHAPTER XLY. '

Belphor and Leslie Durant were in consultation in their
rooms. A week had elapsed since Miriam Volski hau
called, and yet when last there she had told them nota
day should pass without their seeing her, or, through
her brother, hearing fromher, Neither promise had been
kept.

ele is strange, very strange,’’ said Durant.
account for it. Ste must be ill.”

“lf that were the case Awnings, who is too tough and
two devilish ever to get sick, should have called. If she
had not kept her residence so mysteriously a secret from
us, we might unravel it all. Wehave important news:
for her which she should know. The separation between
Mansfield and his wife is complete, proceedings. whieh
he is too proud tocombat: have already began to make
the divorce final. And from Adaline we have positive
information that in the northeast basement corner of the
Merle Asylum there is a female in a room, who is never
yisited by any one but the doctor himself. She seems to
be sane, for sne sings with the precision of an artist,
beautiful songs, many of them new, Which she must
learn by reading the music, and she playsher own ac-
companiments. Books and music are carried to her by
Dy. Merle frequently, and she is guarded with more care
than any otherin the building. This is evidently the
one whose release Miriam Volski wishes toattain. But
we must see her before we take final steps.” :

“Yes,?? said Durant; “for without her recognition we
might be releasing the wrong one. I wish she could be
round.” J

“She must be. Ihave just sent over to the rooms of
Summerdown, the detective, in Bond street. If he is at
howe, he will be here, and we will soon have his ald to
find tier out,” replied Belphor. ‘Ah, there is some one
now ascending the stairs—two to one it is him,”

It wag indeed the quiet-faced, gentlemanly, private de-
tective who entered. But there was impatience in his look.

“Gentlemen, the compliments of the evening to you,”
said Mr. Summerdown. ‘Please make known your busi-
ness as soon: as you can, for L have a delightful little
musical party at my rooms to-night, and do not like to be
long away.”’ ; :

“| should suppose, Mr. Summerdown, that in your

I cannet
My heart—my very
Oh, Edgar, why did you leave

seen!’

“I cannot

 

 

|

|

business as in ours the motto would be business first. and
pleasure afterward,”

“In some cases, Where the pay is large, I grant you the
motto stands good withme., ButIenjoy music anda
social glass, and my better-half has gathered a party of
iriends to do honor to my birth-day, and I would not
jiave left at all, but for the earnest nature of Mr. Bel-
phor’s note. Now to business at once and then! wih
hurry back.”?

  

| Was connected with an angel,’? said’ Belphor. “I
‘met them together several: timesthey keep furnished
|rooms and take their meals out.

} her again.

He is my life—my life, and I lose all when he is.|

“Wave you eyer seen that face?? asked Belphor, pro-
ducing a }ikeness of Miriam’ Yoiski,

‘ “¥es, om the street, several times,’ said Summer-
dowk. P

He could have said, “and elsewhere as well?”—but at
that stage of the interview did net cheose to do ge.

A true detective, who understauds his basimegs thor-
oughly never sa¥s too much—the psint with Bins is not to
talk himsel!, bat to get others to taka.

“Well, She is missing, and we wisly to know where she
is. Wehave important business with her, se sieuld
have been here’ to attend to it, but she does mot. eeme
and we are ajarmed.”

‘Where dees she generally reside?” ,

“That we do not knot. She has kept #'a secret.”

“Undoubtedly for good reasons. Women as beautifoa
as she had best keep their loeal habitations a secret from
gentlemen of known proclivities to beauty, such as—but
excuse me, I will net even border on personality, Let
me understand you: This lady is to be found for what
purpose ?”?

“That we may communicate with her in regard tecer-
tain busisess which we are deing forher. Pothing racre:
on my honer.”’

The detective smiled. It was a sufficient cause, to hear
that gambler talk of Zonor. ;

“You have made no remark about compensation, gen--
tlemen, though itis an importamt considerations?’

“Bring her or her address-to: us and name yourfee: FE
Will be paid cheerfully,” said: Durant. : }

“Very well, gentlemen—very weli—I wilk af once set
my assistants to work. and, to: uge,a phrase wich you
Will undoubtedly understand;.I wilh take a hand in the
game myself, Good evening—1I will soon learns’ some-

 

oh

thing about Miss Miriam: Vols#i:”? ; .

“co0d Heaven—you know tie hame we did not, men-
tion!?? cried Durant. :

“Oh yes—1l Seldom see a-notable person that I do not
soon learn his or her name.. Llearned this lady’s+ name:
some little time ago and recognized her picture at-once.

} Good evening again.”’

“That man is in connection with te devil!’ said! Du-
rant. lie seems to know everything: aad everybody,”

“If you nad seen his pretty young wife, you’d say he-
have

   

I seldom sée as hands-
‘some *% woman, and | believe she is as pure and good@:as«
{sive 3S oeantiful.”’ =

“She must be if yov say so,” replied Burant, “for you
do not often acknowledge to purity ins eonnection with
beauty when you speak of women: this eity.”’

“I Know it, Durant, put there are cases where both are
combined and this is one ef them.” ~

“Well—we are through now—it is-time we -went down:
to the bark, for droppers in are there by this ioun”’

CHAPTER XLVI:

was:hurrying up the brown-stone steps-of the fashionabie-
mansion ta which he occupied rooms; when he wus con-
fronted by an old man in rather shabby attire, who at
once:asked if his name was not Summerdvwn, and his
business that of a detective.

The latter answered in the affirmative and self-pos-
sessed as he was, gave a little start on opeming the door
for the light falling on the old man’s face: revealed fea-
tures: which he knew weil.

sage in—and I[ wiil listen to your: busimess, sir,” he
said,. ; '

The-ola man followed him into the house and up two
flights-of stairs to the third story. Here he was ushered
into'a small‘room, where they coni@: converse freely,
though neat by they could hear a-granud piano making
furioussmusie under the pressure of some heavy hand,
while a.coupie of masculine voices were giving a popular
duet: in fine style. . :

“Never mind the noise. Go on with your business, °
Have you been robbed, Mr. Volski??

“My fathers! You know my name?”

“Yes—we detectives know almost everything, but never
mind that,.go on with your business,-for [ want to join
my friends.’’

“Well—well, I will be quick. Do you know one Horace
Blachart ??? ‘ : .

“Yes; As big a Villain as the world ever looked upon,
but rich enough to be successful in all his villainy.” :

“Yes—yes, but he must not succeed now. He Is rich,
but I Gan count two dollars where he. counts-one, for all
that, and 1 will spend all, but that I foihim, yes, and
ruin him too.”

“Anh—there 4s money where revenge is -sevght,’? mur-
mured the detective to himself. Then, Spesking out, he
said: “Has this man “Blachart aught te-do with the
business which brought you here?’

““Yes—all—all 1 expect. He is the one; .the only one
that i know of who is mterested either in @estroying or
hiding. away: one in whom I feel the deepest imterest—more
than a. father’s interest, for though not mpehilu she is
very, very dear to me.”

The old: man trembied with emotion and-tears stood in
his eyes as: he spoke.

“And what interest has this man in: theeencealment
or the destruction of her who is Known as-Miriain
Volski?”? :

“Fathers. 6f the just! you know her name;-t00?""

“Yes—andé that she has been missing formearly or quite

& week? wi eak ot,
“And I have told no one but him—but Horace Blachart,
who [ know is: deceiving me with false hopes of finding
it was to get you to watch him and hisevery
movement, so that she may be found ifalive, or her death
brought home to him if she is dead, that Leame.””

“Well—what will you pay me if she isfaamd?’

“Ten thousamd dollars in gold—if. she is- dead; fifty
thousand when he, when Horace Blachart és convicted of
her murder?’

“] will find her, old man—pnut your minéat ease, I svill
find her. He, and all connected with hina, shall be put
under surveillance.» And now let me go 3e.myfriends.”’

“De you want no money down?”’

to find you, too, in that shake-down looking.crib in Bax- -
ter street.’’

“leaven and earth— what do you not know?”

“A great many things that I would like to know, But
no matter. [have one question to ask you, and then.we
will part:: Hoay is itihat im talking tome here yowuse -
such goed: language, and when, disguised, I have:been in .
yourshop, | have heard you speak in the. broken shang
common, to the lower class of old-clothes-men;.anud
“fences”? that you represent ?”?

“Because, were I to appear other than that there, peo-
ple would know I was more than I seemed to be, would
suspect my wealth, perhaps, and I weuld be. robbed.
‘They think 1 am old, and not rich, amd: let; me.alone.
Tnose,. 1. mean, who could trouble me-if: they would, I
was net always in the business which you seem.to.know
me im... Lonee bore a proud title, and was-a happy man. .
Then my language was suited to my position, and now I.
forget myself when I am away from my business. Do.
you need: to: know more to guide you im your search?”

“No—for Ll know much already thas you are-not aware -
of concerning the parties. A Manin my-businesssal- .
Ways learning something. Good-nigt to you,’”:

 

CHAPTER XLVI

The head gardener in the employ: of Doctor. Merte was ,
a very peculiar character. He not only understood vegs.
etables and flowers, but he was, at least in his own opin--
ion, quite gifted in many other points.. He could write.-
rhvme, whien he believed to be poetry. He could spout
from Shakespeare, quote Byron, sing passably, and:
.though receiving a very fine salary where he was—for,
Doctor Merle knew enovgh to. pay servants so well that.
pribery would not corrupt them—be often sighed to reach,
a higher sphere where he could develop the taient wuich.-
/ he felt he possessed.

When Madam Adaline arrived, and he fermed her:ace-

quaintance—for sme was allowed free access-to all parts~
of the imelesed grounds—he was at first surprised, then,
delighted. She was even more at jiome than, himself;in
| Shakespeare, could do Juliet to kis Romeo, Ophelia, to: his.
| Hamlet, and very soon they were the best.ef friends... -
; Through him she learned, in 3 manner which: woman’s.
| wit. could only understand, all. that e° heel Communicat-.
ed to Darant and Belphor regardin’ a woman, evidently,
so sane that she could read, simg and playas-wellag-the.
most-sensible, was contined. ima particular: partof the-
Asylum, and that Doctor Merle allowed “ne one to visit:
) her but himself. She found out many other things.abous
the place, none of which, however, were-important to. the
object for which she went; there but thas: which has. beea
just named.

Ittook vut a lithe time for Madam A@aline to gain quite
an influence over Mr. Bathurst, the gardener, She waa,

| in spite of the ravages of dissipation, yeta.veryz fine look-

ing woman. Her voice was good, hor, figura. splensic,
hereye expressivey Im a little whike tie tone of, Mr.
Buthurst when he reheavsed with her, told: her-wonlan-
experience but too plainiy that he was in love. with her.

Of course this was pleasing, and the next: thought;was
‘to make it advantageous.

‘We have said that this woman ha@,one faglt, Andina
woman, especially, it was a fearful. fault, though in man
itis also as degrading: if the worid would only, think so.

Her thirst for wive vr strong drink.amounted ta.a erav-
ing, a continual longieg. '

Therefore, as soon as her intimacy wita. Mr,, Hathurst
would warrant the hint, she began to complain.af a con-
tinual sinking of tne heart, which an. oceasianal, glass of
wine would surely uelieve.

He told her of the strict rules of.the establishment and
she wept, for she must soon die, she said, ifshe was de-
prived of that which had aloneé-sustained: hersystem dur-
ing past years. .

Bathurst contd not bear to see one weep whom he had,
begun to love, and who seemed, with all) hey woman ng.
ture to love him, and he managed in ? little: while to gaé
a bottle of wine from the stome-room.

He was surprised and ovexjoyed to see waat effect a faw,
glasses had on the new idol of his afectiong. Color came
to her face. Her voice cleared up ana osshe recited pas-.
sage after passage from Ryron and Moore, he thought he
liad never seen or met sacha qneenly, magnificens. wo-
man. He did not regret the act which lad so enhanced
her beauty in his eyes. ke. realy liked a glass himself
once in & while, and soon a second and then a third bot.
tle found its wav toa room where the loving gardener:
and the gifted Madam Adaline could dispose efits com.
tents and enjoy new raptures in their forensic exercises.

Madam Adaline now cared little for the busimess. which

twas one of those matures, alas but [00 common, whick
can and do forgeteverything which shogia be remem-
bered, fulfilling ta the letter the old axiogy, ““wvner wine
is in, wit is out.’*

 

(To be Continued).

 

 

 

: . : > : . >
Whistling an air from the last opera, fer Mr. Summer--
down was decidedly musical in his tastes; the detective® ~

“No, your werd is good for alll want,. | know where ;

brought her there, though she never quite fosgot it. Hers .

 

 

 

PERN

 

dS eee

Lop

 

 

Se NR aA NE ay

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~y amt

 

 

 

\ @ffice, so far as.she was concerned.

 

 

 

RUTH RIVERS.

BY NATHAN D. URNER.

Ruth Rivers: Ah! we wondered long
What made her cheek so sad and pale.
She haunted the lonely and wild seashore,
And often, there, in the breakers’ roar,

She scemed to talk with the gale.

She seemed to talk with the storm, asa friend,
To counsel with it, and plead and pray;
But weirdly the storm must have answered her,
For wild and strange her dark eyes were
When she came trom the shore away.

Was she crazed with grief? did she mourn for one
Long pillowed from toil in the deep, sea-caves ?
Whispered the wind of a rolling wreck,
- Of drowning cries, and a vaeant deck,
And a swirling tomb in the waves?

Or moaned ii the story of castaways,
In an open boat on the lonely deep ?
Only the storm and she could tell;
’ Together they kept the secret well,
Though it made Ruth Rivers weep.

One day, a terrible gale prevailed,
’ ©” And guiis of distress boomed in from the sea;
And all day long, in the breakers’ roar,
Ruth lingered about the wild, bleak shore,
As sad a3 sad coud be.

‘She came in from the beach, with a hectic flush
Tinging her cheek, like an autumn spray.
But she slept that night to wake no more—
She died: by the cliffs of E!sinore
Glimmers her tomb-stone gray.

Just aiter gentle Ruth Rivers died,
We wandered down to the seashore bare,
And found a drowned sailor,dragged up from the tide
With the weeds in his hair, and his eyes dead-wide—
The storm had answered her prayer.

Sweet Ruth insta ! next to your grave,
We laid your lover, and closed his bleak eyes.
God rest you! Here, snatched from the thundering
surf,
Pillowed beneath the same green tarf,
Your ocean-wanderer lies.

WHY HE COULDN'T MARRY.

BY GRACE TERRY,

 

 

Some people are natural matchmakers. They can never
see two of the opposite sex conversing together who have
never-entered into the slightly uncertain state of matri-
mony without being seized by a strong and apparently un-
controllable impulse to decoy them thither.

Mr. and Mrs. Drum were of this persuasion. The match-
es they have made, the luckless individuals that they have
dragged togetiier, who would never have thought of any-
thing.so preposterous had it not been for their friendly in-
tervention, would make too long a list to enumerate
dere.

Because Mr. Drum so adored his “darling Eliza Jane,”
anu because Mrs. Drum so doted on her ‘dearest Charles
Henry,” they appeared to consider themselves in duty
bound to distribute their matrimonial felicity among their
unmarried friendS and acquaintances, and induce as
many of them as possible to “go and do likewise.”

And not all the curses—not loud but deep—that were
bestowed upon them by their wagrateful proteges could
induce them to relax their benevolent efforts. Why Mr.
Brawble, who, on’ his wedding-day, swore eternal grati-
tude to them for introducing him to what he then terised
“the angel of his life,*? should now direct toward tiem
such flerce glances of indignation, and even go so far as
te tell a mutual friend ‘that they were a pair of meddling
eid fools,” is a mystery to them to this day.

Aud why Mrs. Bramble, who formerly received them so
smiling should now regard them with such an injured,
repro fal 100 , is equally as incomprehensible.

‘ut itim nowise abates their ardor in the business ef
ene It is set down to the proverbial ingrati-
tude of mankind toward their benefactors, which it is
their Christian duty to forgive and forget.

This amiable couple occasionally received what they
called “inmates into the bosom of their family,’ by which
eur readers wiil please understand, to come down to
plain prose, that they took an occasional boarder, partly
to eke out their rather slender income and partly to afford
exercise to their ruling propensity.

Among those thus “taken in and done for,” were two
persons of opposite and too often opposing sexes, who re-
joiced in the euphonious names of Suliman Grunter and
Polly Ann Teazzie:

The former was a tall, lank, individual, with a long and
Tatucr Jugubrious cast of countenance. He had been re-
‘Gormminended to Mr. Dram, by an acquaintance abroad, as
“2 Tespectable and responsible gentieman;”? but this was

-all that could be found out concerning him, as Mr. Grunt-
er seemed to be rather backward in taiking about his own
‘atfairs,in spite of the various leadings that way by his
philapthropi¢ host-and 7

The fair Polly Amm was-a brown, black-eyed little wo-
man of the dumpling style of getting-up. As amatter of
vourse, She Cultivated a pensive and melancholy air; for
Whoever saw a short, dumpling woman with features and
expression as diversive as possible trom the sentimental,
that didn’t? And equally, as a matter ol course, she ad-
mired tall men, who wore a gloomy, abstracted look. In-
deed it was more essential that the successfal assailant of
the citadel of her virgin affections should wear a cloud
upon his brow than a smile upon his lips.

Miss Teazzle sat opposite Mr. Grunter at the table,
and so had a fair view of him, at least three times a day.
Mr. Grunter might have had the same privilege, had he
ghosen to avail himself of it; but candor compels us to
state that he was so upgallant as to keep his eyes fixed
‘Steady upon his plate, whose contents were rapidly
transferred to @ mouth which seemed to have no other

“Mr. Grunter’s grave and solemn appearance made
‘guite an impression upon Polly Ann’s susceptible heart,
who inwardly styled him ‘‘a love of a man,’ and who
was thereby Imspired to an invocation to ‘‘Her soul's
ideal,’”? which appeared the next week in The Bungtown
Bugle, to which she was a frequent contributor. We are
sorry that we cannot present this poetic gem to the read-
er, bul we have only space to say that the fair author,
after tenderly reproaching “‘her beloved” for his inexcus-

 

 

names, but if the young lady who sits opposite him at
the table don’t know, I’m sure I don’t.”?

“How you do talk, Mrs, Drum!’ exclaimed Miss Teaz-
ale, ina little flutter of delight. “It can’t be me; he
hasn’t said a dozen words to me since he came.”

“Still waters run deep,’? was the oracular reply. “Men
when in love always lose theuse of their tongues; and
their senses too, mostof ’em. Indeed, so far as my
knowledge of ’em goes, the deeper in love they get the
; Stupider they grow. ‘They need to be encouraged and
'dvawn out, aS it were. There’s my dearest dearest
Charles Henry, who isso devoted to me,he was the longest
time in coming to the point. I don’t believe he would
to this day, if I hadn’t kept all the time encouraging him
along. Bless you, my dear, half the meninlove don’t
know what ails ’em or what they want; nor wouldnt, if
we women didn’t tell ’em.”’

{Mem.—Common report will have it that Mrs. Drum,
piompted, no doubt, by the benevolent instincts of her
nature, did considerably more than her share of the
courting. And that Mr. Drum would hardly have “come
to the point” at all, had it not been for the strong and
repeated hints thrown out by his amiable lady.]

But Mr. Drum was not favored with so docile a pupil.
As we have before intimated, Mr. Grunter was hot re-
markable for his conversational powers; his most bril-
lant achievements in that line being confined to a few
profound remarks concerning the weather, or the crops.

It was in vain that Miss Teazzle, under the matronly
instructions of Mrs. Drum, essayed the ‘‘drawing out”
and “bringing to the point” process, that had been so
effectual in the case of ‘her dearest Charles Henry.”
Mr. Grunter declined being drawn out, and seemed to be
quite oblivious to the fact that there was any given point
at which he was expected to arrive.

Perceiving this, Miss Teazzle called her muse to her
aid. And weekly the ears of the unfortunate inhabit-
ants of Bungtown were assailed by what the fair poetess
not inaptly termed “Breathings from shattered harp-
strings.”?

But allin vain. There was no poetry in Mr. Grunter’s
soul; for though he read every other item that the paper
contained, he never so much as glanced at the tender
appeals which cost poor Miss Teazzle so much thought
and labor.

Nothing daunted, Mrs. Drum read one of them aloud
for his express benefit, which elicited from him the not
very flattering remark:

“That he wondered how @ woman who didn’t look as
if she was quite a fool, could; spend her time stringing
together such nonsense.”

Which had the effect of convincing the lady that though
he might be in love with Miss Teazzle, he wasn’t particu-
larly struck by her poetry.

But Mrs. Drum was convinced that bashfulness was at
the root of the difficulty, and, stimulated by her exhort-
ations, her husband determined, by one grand stroke, to
bring matters to a crisis.

He chose his time after dinner, when the ladies had
Withdrawn, at a hint from him, a little earlier than usual.
“I tell you what it is, old fellow,’ he said, contident-
ially, “you ain’t happy and what's more, yeu never will
be, ’uill you get a wife.”’

“True as preaching!’ exclaimed Mr. Grunter, with un-
usual energy. ‘And the fact is, l’ve been expecting ev-
ery day this week 7 : ’
“I am well aware of it, Mr. Grunter, interposed his
host, with a benevolent smile. ‘I profess to be a man of
some penetration, and have seen the stroggle that has
been going on in your heart during the last few weeks.
But I assure you that your fears are groundless. I have
it from the best authority that Miss Teazzte fully recip-
rocates your affection, and that an application for her
hand will not fail to meet with a favorable response.” :
“Miss Teazzle is—ve-ry kind,’ said Mr.- Grunter, as
soon as he recovered from the intense astonishment into
which this announcement threw him. ,

“She is a charming creature!’ exclaimed Mr. Drum,
enthusiastically; ‘‘and I congratulate you on your good
fortune in securing so valuable a treasure.’?

“My good sir, I haven’t the least doubt of it; but there
happens to be a slight obstacle in-the way of my marry-
ing her, forall that. A” obstacle? by Jove! tiree of ’em!”
“Of course; I am quite prepared to hear you say that,”
responded Mr.’ Drum, With an air of superior wisdom.
“There were all of a dozen in the way of my marrying my
darling Eliza Jane; but I surmounted ’em—and you see
What a happy man Iam to-day. Just reveal to me the
obstacles you speak of, and see how quickly I will knock
them In the head!’

“Heaven forbid’! exclaimed Mr. Grunter, witha horri-
fied look.

Then perceiving that a coach had stopped at the door,
with an ejaculation of joyful sarprise, he hurried from the
room.

He returned almost immediately, escorting, with an
air of pride, a young man and pretty woman, who had a
baby in her arms, aud an older Child clinging to the skirts’
of her dress,

“Mr. Dram, allow me to introduce to youthe three ob-
stacies I mentioned. You will excuse me for hinting that
Thad rather you wouldn’t knock them in the head, as
you kindly proposed doing afew minutes ago.” :
Before Mr. Drum’s astonishment could find audible ex-
pression, he was startled by a loud shriek from Lis wife,
who, together with Miss Teazzle, had been Lstening at
the dining-room door.,

Rushing to the rescue, he perceived that Miss Teazzle
had faimted in her arms.

Mrs. Grunter no sooner comprehended the cause of the
yourg lady’s illness, than she toek measures for her re-
covery in a very summary mauner. Seeing an urn of
hot water on the hob, she filled a teacup and dashed its
contents into her face.

This rather novel restorative had the desired effect;
With a loud:sereech, Miss Teazzle opened her eyes, *

Then perceiving that Mrs. Grunter was about to repeat
the process, with another shriek she broke away from
Mrs. Drum’s arms and fled to her own room. Where we
will leave her to pour forth her anguished spirit in poeti-
cal wailings over “betrayed hearts” and ‘blighted affec-
tions,’”’ which, if the reader has any curiosity to see, he
will find in the next issue of the Burgiown Bugle.
Finding herself mistress of the field, spirited little Mrs.
Grunter took her departure, but not until she had clearly
demonstrated to Mr. and Mrs. Drum, that if net the only,
she was a very convincing reason “Why Mr. Grunter
Couldn’t Marry Miss Teazzle.”

 

 

Loox out for “THE Sky TRAVELERS; or, The Magician
of the Lakes,” by P. Hamilton Myers,

 

NOT GUILTY.
A STORY OF WOMAN’S VENGEANCE.

BY JANE GRAY SEAVER,

 

 

able tardiness in making himself knowa to her, gives him
the consoling assurance that

: aon,  *' Whatever may betide,

eee’ T still wiil wait for thee.”

But the emotions of Polly Ann’s poetic soul would
doubtless have evaporated in this and kindred effusions
had 1b not-been fur the praiseworthy effort of the benevo-
jent Mrs. Drum. ‘

The very first time that Mr. Grunter and Miss Teazzle
made thetr aprearance at her table, Mrs. Dram glauced
from one to the othor, while her countenance lighted up
with Subdued enthusiasm as she thougnt of the splendid
Subjects they would make for the exercise of her peculiar

i ”

She winked across the table to her husband, who re-
sponded by a significantnod, And then perceiving Mr.
Gruuter’s eyes fixed upon*his countenance, with a stare
of surprise, lie exclaimed, hurriedly:

“My dear sir, allow me to help you to another slice of
Miss Teazzle—l beg pardon, another slice of veal.”

Mr. Drum was in tie habit of “slightly mixing things,”
$o this escapade elicited only another stare from the big,
solemn eyes of Mr. Grunter, and a smothered giggle be-
hing Polly Ann’s handkerchief. .

‘My love, What a b-e-yu-tiful couple they would make,”’
burst forth Mr. Drum, ag soon as they were by them-
selves. ;

«Wouldn't they, though ?? echoed her husband, strik-
ing the palms of nis hands softly together, and apparent-
ly overwhelmed with admiration for the penetration that
had discovered sucn a truly gratiiying circumstance.

“Poor Polly Ann !” sighed Mrs, Drum, ‘how often she
must eavy us our connubial felicity.”

“Poor Mr. Grunter ! how lonely he must be, with no an-
gel by his side, such as it is my privilege to possess,”
said Mr. Dram, gazing fondly upon said ‘angel ;’? whose
stoutfigare and rubicund countenance hardly comported
with the popular idea of such beings.

Whereupon, they both agreed to 4
heartand seul, to bringing together the unconscious
twain, that were to be made happy, in spite of tnhem-
selves. y

So Mr. Drum took in hand poor lonely Soliman Grunter
and Mrs. Drum performed the same friendly office for the
eqnaly as forlorn Polly Ann Teazzle. — ‘

Mrs. Drum commenced her strategetics by an enthusi-
astic‘eulogium upon the married state in general, to
which as it was in unison with her own private views of
that deeply interesting subject, Polly Ann listened very
complacently. .

‘rere is no real comfort to be found outside the mar-
ried state, my dear,’’ said Mrs. Drum solemnly. ‘‘Never
will you know what true happiness is until youtinda
<epgenial heart, into which to pour all your joys and sor-
rows.)

Miss Teazzle inclined her head on one side, and assum-
ed a pensive air.

Encouraged by this tribute to her eloquence, Mrs. Drum
now took another tack.

“What 3 fine looking man Mr. Grunter is |?

“Yes, I think he ies a rather interesting air,’’? returned
Miss Teazzle, trying not to look conscious, and failing, as
uiost people do in making that attempt. i

“ie isn’t a man to be contented without a wife,’ said
Mrs. Drum, nodding her head, with a positive air.

“I shouldn’t wonuer ifhe were engaged already,” sug-
gested Miss Teazzle tamidly. ;

“No, my dear, he hasn’t at all the airofa- man that’s
epgageu,’’ responded Mrs. Drum, with the tone and man-
per olf one not to be mistaken. ‘‘ButI shouldn’t wonder
if he had some one inhis eye; indeed, ’m quite sure of
1!

‘sia me, Mrs. Drum, who can it be?? simpered Miss
Teazzle, trying to blush, and succeeding only in looking
leelish,

“[T shouldn’t think yeu need to ask that,’ said Mrs.
Drug, significantly. ‘i'm not so id mannered as to call

devote themselves, |

Like everybody eise I went to hear the great Murdello
trial, the advent of which had been the topic of conver-
sation for the last month, with the rich and the poor, tiie
high and low. The day of trial had at last arrived; the
court reom was crowded to excess. The case was one cf
poisoning. The accused.a woman. The victim her hus-
band. <At every opening of the door all eyes were turned
expectantly in that direction. Again the ponderous oak
creaked upon its hinges. A dead silence pervaded, evéty
whisper was hushed as the prisoner came tottering in,
leauing upon the arm of her counsel.

She was dressed in deep mourning; a heavy crape vail
concealed her features, bul her bearing was unmistakably
that of alady. A heart-broken sigh pierced the hearts of
the twelve jarymen, as she sank into the seat -olfered, and
involuntary cast aside the heavy folds of crape, exposing
a face of rare beauty and intellect. The large sad eyes
took a hurried survey of the crowd, then the lids closed,
and a silent tear trembled for an instant upon the long
silken lashes, then rolled down the pale cheek and buried
itself in the foids of crape. i knew, or felt that she was
innocent, yet how that important fact could be establish-
ed, Icouid not foresee, for the evidence, though purely
circumstantial, was very strong against her, and as the
trial progressed the pilot thickened around her, and
threatened to submerge her in a vortex trom which there
seemed no Way of escape.

Alvin Murdello had been found socn after dining in the
library of iis elegant mansion, seated before his writing
desk, dead. His head had fallen forward upon the desk,
whilstin his hand he clutched a crumpled letter reading
thus (in French):

“ALVIN MURDELLO:—I1 pray you return to your deserted
wife and child. 1 hear you are married, but you know it
cannot be legal. Lam your lawful wife, and my child
your legal heir. Desert this woman whom you now call
wife, return to your rightful allegiance, and all may yet

be well. Refase and vengeance shall be mine.

} “Adieu. Your wile, ~ ANNETTA MURDELLO.”?
Before him lay an unfinished letter, also in French, as
follows:

“ANNETTA DE MANVILLE:—How dare you address me
‘again as husband? Uavel not told. you, girl, that you
‘are not my wife? You thought you were married, eh?
Ha, ba! lt was only a mock marriage. The man who
performed the ceremony was buta hired instrament in
my hands. You were only the ” é

flere the letter ended abruptly. ,

The inquest was over. The verdict, “died from the
effects of poison administered by some person or persons
unknown.” The unfinished letter forbade the suspicion
of suicide. Search was immediately instituted for Annet-
ta Murdello, or De Manville, but without success.

A bright and intelligent French waiting-maid in. Mrs.
Murdelio’s service was Called + to testify at the inquest,
Her evidence had been such as to fasten suspicion upon
her mistress. She testified to her mistress having given
her the letter to deliver to the deceased directly after din-
ner on the evening ef his death. Also that she had over-
heard a severe altercation between the parties on the
previous evening, when the wife had threatened the life
of her husband.

Search was then directed of the premises, when iy a
secret drawer of Mrs. Murdello’s bureau was found a pa-
per containing a smail quantity of arsenic, a copy of the
letter purporting to have been written by Annetta Mur-
dello, together with the last will and testament of Alvin
Murdello, bequeathing his entire estate to his wife, Mar-
guerita Murdello.

This document was immediately pronounced a forgery.
What more natural. than to presume that. tne letter had
first fallen into Mrs. Mardello’s hands, who had copied it,
then given it to her maid to deliver at a specified time,
then forged the will, and at dinner poisoned her hus-
band’s focd? The result was as we have already seen,
Mrs. Murcello was arrested and held to answer tlie fear-
ful charg:: of murder. The evidence had all been given.
| The maid’s testimony was a repetition of that given ct

 

 

Pp

brass jewelry, curtain calico, and red flannel! jackets to trade

-<mt THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

nt ce ne eterna sae ereremnitin tint

wren + cain

the inquest, with the addigon of a few stronger points
against the prisoner. ‘

The prisoner’s counsel had made an eloquent appeal in
his client’s behalf. ‘Tie judge had charged the jury te do
their duty in accordance with the evideuce which had
been set before them, aud with bowed heads they had re-
tired. % '

1 knew that her case was lost, unless by some strange
intervention of Providence she was acquitted.

The Jury returned.

“Poreman,” stentoriously called the judge, “guilty or
not guilty?”

“Guilty, your honor.’

“Prisoner, arise.”

Marguetita. Murdello arose, and stood erect, her face
was now Galina, her voice clear and distinct as she replied
to the question:

‘“Marguerita Murdello, you have been found guilty of a
terrible offense against the laws of both Ged and man.
Have you anything to say why sentence should not be
pronounced against you?”

“Nothing, your honor, save that 1am innocent of this
fearful charge brought against me by some designing
persons, of whom | believe my maid, Filletta Armanta, to
be a hired instrument to consummate the plot.” And
turning to the judge, bowed gracefully, saying, “Your
honor can now pronounce sentence.’?

The judge cleared his throat, adjusted his spectaciecs,-
and commenced:

‘You, Marguerita Murdello———”

“Hold!” cried a voice, as_the door swung hastily back,
and Father Paton entered in sacramental robes, holding
above his head a folded paper. ‘Hold, hola! Release
the prisoner, and read the dying confession of the guilty,’
he cried, waving the document still above lis head.

The judge, after calling the house to order, took the
document from Father Paton, and read aloud tue full
death-bed confession of Annetia De Manville, whom three
years previous, Alvin Murdello had married, as she be-
lieved, in Paris, after which he had deserted her and
come to America, Where she had followed hiin, and hav-
ing traced him out, and finding her efforts to reclaim him
futile, and believing herself still his wife, had managed
to get this girl, Filetta, employed by Mrs. Murdello, to
aid her in carrying out the horrible plot.

They had copied the letter and forged the will, then
placed them together with a small quantity of arsenic in
the secret drawer Where they were found. All being
ready the giri then dropped a portion of the arsenic into
Mr. Murdello’s cotfee at dinner, and then delivered the
original letter which she had received fromthe hand of
Annette De Manville. She also stated that it was her in-
tention that the will should be proven false, and was
placed there to fasten suspicion still stronger upon Mrs.
Murdello; and if she succeeded in fastening the guilt
upon her, she could-eome forward and claim her child’s
rightful inheritance, as she then believed it. But she had
learned, when too late,the invalidity of her marriage, and
now believing herself to be in a dying state, confessed her
guilt and begged the forgiveness of the accused.

Father Paton told in few words how he had been call-
ed to receive the dying confession, and administer the
last sacrament, and how she had died, leaving her child
to his care.

The judge now ordered the arrest of the girl Filletta

Armanta who still sat in the witness box. And as the of.
filcer stepped forward to obey the order of his superior, a
wild shriek rent the air, a knife ghittered for an instant in
the bright sun light, as the wretclied girl poised it above
her head, then sunk it deep into her heart, and fell for-
ward dead. —
“The child,”’ cried Mrs, Murdello. “Bring my husband's
child. The child of Annette De Manville shall be mine.”
“It is already here,’?’ answered Father Paton. “I an-
ticipated your desire,” and stepping to the vestibule, he
took from the servant a beautiful boy of two years and
laid him upon the lap of his adopted mother.

Mrs. wo bent over the little fellow ana touched

her li the velvety little cheek, tossed back the curls
from his brow, whilst the hot tears rained in torrents
upon the clustering curls, Then raising her head she
gazed earnestly into -the large dark eyes. ‘Yes,’ she
said, “it is my husband’s child, and here, in the presence
of these witnesses and before Heaven, I adopt him as my
own.
Of course, a nolle prosequi was entered by the prosecu-
ting attorney, and the mnocent victim of the deep laid
plot departed, carrying with her the sympathies of all
present.

 

Four new stories will be commenced in the New YoRK
WEEKLY during the next Four or Srx weeks.

DOESTICKS’ LETTERS.

DOESTICKS PREPARES TO VISIT THE NOBLE SAVAGE
: CF THE WESTERN WILDs.

Tye sold out my medicine store, ard I’m a drugger no more.
Ive got an appointment under government, and at present ’m
an Indian Agent, and I am going to start for the West immedi-
ately. Iam going ont to deal with the ignorant but nobie sav-
age in beha'f of our government, end I also propose to do a little
bit of trading with the noble savage on my own individual ac-
count. [rather flatter myself that I can make a little specula-
tion out of the nobie sayage. .
I go out animated by the most fine, generous, Christian feel-
ing teward the nobie * musvbe a grand Specimen of
Nature’s handiwork when she was in her mood to do-her best.
Does not the great Mr. 2, Fennimore Cooper teil us that the no-
ble savage is noble—that he is kind, and true-hearted, and frank
in all his deatings—that he is cioquent, that he is magnanimous,
that, m short, he possessés ail the virtues of one of Nature’s no-
blemen. i e
Iam going to fake an artist with me to sketch the noble sav-
age as he appears on the boundless prairie, in the grand old for-
ests, ‘rn the bread lakes and swift-roliing rivers of the

reat West. ~¥ %
m I shail also take with me a short-hand writer to note down
the giorious speeches of the red-skmned orators. of the Western
Wilds—these untagght Ciceros of our country,
Fitzphool, who has lived “Out West” tor the past six years,
here remarks: ;
“As to the noble savage, they consist of two parts—a deep,
unintelligiple, grunting “Ugh” when you willgive ‘em what
they wans; and a shrill yell of @ warwhoop when you wou’t.
Any more emphatic communications they desire to make to you
are generally conveyed through the universally-intelligible me-
dium of the rifle aad the war-club, with an occasional remark
from os tomahawk aud the invariable peroration by the scalp-
ing-knile.

“But, said J, “what does Cooper say about the noble savage?

Hie teils us—”
“Oh, yes. Iknow all about Mr. Cooper,” replied Fitzphool,
“he Knew just exactly ag much about the genuive Injunsasa salt
codfish knows about astronomy, or anearly spring cabbage
aboutmilking cows. He never saw an Injen except in a show,
if he haa he’d have rum away and hid his head ina haystack
till the Injun wentaway, and then he’d have retired tothe
quiét shades ot the Cow-stable and shamed himself to death on
account of the preposterous nonsense he nad invented about the
noble savage.” 7
“But the noble Indian is cloquent, and ” :
“Oh yes—the unadulterated noble can orate, just about as
much as a lapdog can talk Hebrew.”

“Remember the world-renowned speech of Logan.”
“T remember the world-renowned speech of Logan—I don’t re-
member “Logan’s” real name, but I could tell youif you could
give me the name ofthe man who wrote the ‘Juvenile School
Keader,” in which it first appeared. If you believe the reports
of the special reporter of the N. Y. Zrifune, you'll find that the
world-repowned speteh of Logan was spoken word tor werd at
General Sherman the other day, up at Fort Laramie by the big
Inj Turkey-Foot, or Toad-in-the-Hole or Blue- Blazes, or what-
ever he calls himself..
The way that little circumstance came about was this. That re-
porter had no news to putin his letter, and probably remember-
ing the days when he used to “speak pieces” he quietly put in
one of his schoolboy efforts, charging the Tribune six dollars a
column, and humbugging the world at large who believe in the
noble savage.”
“But, my dear friend,” said I, “don’t you believe there is any
good in the noble savage ?”’
“My cear boy,” he «tnswered, “don’t let’s talk any more about
it. The noble savage never yet existed who woaldn’t get drunk,
pick a pecket or steal a horse, every time he gota chance—
but Ishall never make you believe if, till you see ’em.”
But Istill have taith inthe noble 8. andIam soon going to
start. Fitzphool is going with me inspite of what he says, tor
for he declares that there is somewhere on the western plains, a
noble savage, whte stele his mustang pony a year and a half
ago, and that: he wants to get near enough to that gentleman
lo me with reyolvers, the propriety of that former larcenous
proceeding. :
My arrangements are nearly made Ihave got nine barrels
of blue beads, andseventeen cases of six-inch looking-glasses—
and a few, boxes each ot Cheap jack-knives, pinchbeck watches,

 

 

 

for land, as I intend fo go into the real estate business.
When I toid Fitzpliool what sort of currency I proposed to em-
ploy in my dealings with the noble savage, he smiled and

said:
“Old Doesticks, youw’re as green asa sprig of rcd cedar. The

EDWARD MUNTURN'S tegr story, “The Witch of the
Ocean,” should be read by everybody.
The Josh Billings Papers.

 

 

CHICKEN FEED.

Thare iz one kritter in this world whoze trubbles yu kant con-
sole, and she iz—a setiing hen. ;

Thoze persons who spend all ov their spare time watching
their simptoms, are the kind who enjoy poor health.

Vhenever a minister haz preached a sermon that pleazes the
whole congregashun, he probably haz preached one that the
Lord wont endorse.

Livry boddy seems tew be willing to be a phool himself, but
he kant bear tew hav ennyboddy else one.

Truth iz the edict ov God.

fhe philosophers, az a class, are a sett ov old grannys, who
possess grate knoweledge, part of which baz bin handed down
tew them, and the ballance they guess at.

About the fust and the last thing a human being duz in this
world, iz tew shed tears.

Thare iz no grater proff ov the power of love than that the
crimes committed in its interests are in a measure hallowed.
_i Kan tell exackly how mi nabors yung ones ought tew be
fetched up, but i aint so clear about mi own.

A loafer 1z a person who iz willing tew be abuzed for the priv-
ilege ov abusing others.

Thare iz sum folks in this world who spend their whole tie
RenpnE al ter rhighteousness, and haint got enny spare time tew
praktiss it.

Adversity haz the same effekton a man that severe training
duz on the pugilist—it reduces him tew his fighting waight.

Natur kan be improved upon often with good effekt, but to
alter it generally spiles the whole thing.

_ Affliktions are like the summers sun—they wilt for the pur-
puss ov ripening.

If yu want to find out a man’s real disposishun, take him
when he iz wet and hungry. If he iz aimable then, dry him
and fill him up, and you hav got an angel.

‘ The man who haz never bin tempted, dont kno how dishonest

e iz.

Thare iz nothing like asick bed for repentance. A man be-
kums so virtewous that he will often repent oy sins that he
never haz committed. —

Three skore year and ten iz the time allotted to man, and it iz
enuff. Ifa man kant suffer all the misery he wants in that
time, he must be knumb.

It dont take. mutch tew prove atruth. It iz only a lie that
requires grate argumentatiff ability.

Listen tew every mans opinyuns, disagree with none, but
confide in yure own. This 1z a kind oy flattery that wrongs no
one. ,

What.a man gains in cunning he alwus lozes in wisdum,

He who wont beleave ennything he kant understand, aint so
wize az a mule—tfor they will kick at a thing they dont expekt™
tew reach,

All ov as are anxious tew liv tew be very old, but not one in
ten thousand Kan fill the karakter ov an old man.

Money iz like grain—it iz never so well invested az when it iz
well sown. ‘

A bigot iz a religious coward trying tew play the autokrat.

Money never made a man disgraceful yet, but men have of-
ten made money disgracefull.

   

 

.
sued, but whether on account of the performance or the urchin’s
reinarks, has not yet been determined. After awhile the young
fellow ventured to remark to a cch\ipanion at his elbow: ° Tell
you what, Jimmy, it’s a pity to kill them poor fellows off in
that way. If you and I had a show, we'd geta lot of heathens

not—’cause if they keep on killin’ ’em, there won't be any bod
lett to play, Gu, Bras. *
MEDITATIONS.
To be or not to be, that’s the question,
Whether ’tis vobler for a feller
The bitter pills of life to swaller,
Or take a notion to arm against
A sea of troubies and end them.
To die—to hop the twig,
And by a hop to say we jump
To the conclusion of all our aches,
And kick the bucket in a brace of shakes.
To die—to peg out!
Aye, there’sthe rub. For who knows
But when we have pegged out
We'll not be taken down a peg or two.

.

For who would bear upon his back

The whips of every peity hack;

The cold shoulder; the cut direct;

And sich; when for a little cash

A green drug clerk would settle our hash.

But that we fear at Fiddler's Green—

That undiscovered country never seen

Or expiored by modern traveler,

We'd have to pay the piper there.

" : (Old Trinity strikes

‘Tis now the witching time of nigut, . tae!

(Which in other werds means twelve o'clock)

When tom cat squalls, and rapping sounds

Show that the “cops” are going their rounds;

When the wearied bummer, with stealthy pace,

Secks his usual snoozing place;

The aldermanic slumberer dreams

Of spoils, rings and other machines

Of party, power, and plunder.

Now could I drink hot punch and lay

Up a store of head aches for the coming day.

; : (eet a sriend who invites me to take a drink.)

My friend I thank you for these cheering sounds:

You cheer me up, my heart rebounds.

Hencetorward in our realm ali care we’ll banish

And bid the troubles of life walk Spanish.

And now in merriment let the night pass by, “

And say to every hour—‘Shoo fly.”’. Hank ©. Dugg.

BRIGHT GIRL. :
In the District School ot Sandwich, last year, the master in-
formed a little girl that Sunday was the first day of the week,
and inquired of her, What day is Monday ?” “Washing-day,
sir,’ she promptly replied, G. E. Gooprye,
THE TAILOR AND THE INFERNAL MACHINE.

Last summer a tailor by the nameof Smith had a quarrel
with a vicious character hamed Hughes. The latter had threa-
tened dire vengeance ou Smith, and among other things had

'

 

portunity presented itself. Smith, who isa peaceable citizen,
was really alarmed at Hughes’ threats, and began to think they
might prove true. So he was alwayson the alert for a hostile
demonstration from Hughes. Smith’s younger broth, who is
also a tailor, and worked onthe board with him, eeuld not let

 

How menny peru thare iz who only go into society just for
the purpose ov telling over their akes and pains, their gripes
and grunts! Such people ought tew be sent at once to the pest

Health can be bought, but yu hay got tew pay for it with tem-
perance, at the highest rates.
Give me warm friends and bitter enemys about baff and haff.
He who haint got an enemy on arth, kant show a triend that
will stick to him thru thik and thin.
Every time a man laffs harty, he takes a kink out ov the
chain that binds him to life, and ‘thus lengthens it.
Beauty iz the melody ov the features.
I hav alwus bore it in mind that, jist about in rasho that a per-
son or individual iz proud and hauty, they are ignorant.
Beleaving and disbeleaving iz oftner’ an effort ov the will
than ov the understanding. t
It iz a Jucky thing that epitaffs dont appear on a man’s tume-
stun until: he haz gone dead. If they were published -while he
waz living, what an insult most ov them would be tew hiz rep-
utasbun!
I think Adam waz the weakest man i ever read ov. He com-
mitted the most sin, with the least amount ov temtashun, ov
enny person history iz familiar with.
One ov the surest sighns ov an intelligent civilizashun iz tew
see See the masses a bekuming respekt and reverence for the
aged.
Before yu undertaik tew change a man’s politiks or religion,
be sure yu hay got a better one to offer him. ‘
Altho the world iz chuck full ov liars, thare iz but few men
who dont prefer tew listen tew the truth.
_ No man ever got hiz bread by preaching wisdum. Philosophy
iz a good thing tew preach, but a cussed poor thing tew liv on.
ane be forgiven, weakens us; but tew forgiv others, weakens
nem.
I hav lived in this world jist long enuff tew look karefully the
acne time into things thati am the most certain ov the fust
ime.
Great men are seldum intimate. They are too jealous to love’
or esteem each other.

—_——_-— 0+

Mrs. Mary J. Holmes writes only for the New Yorx

WEEKLY.
Oe

Pleasant Paragraphs.

{Most of our readers are undoubtedly capable of contributing

toward making this column an attractive feature of the NEw
York WEEKLY, and they will oblige us by sending for publica-
tion anything which may be deemed of sufficient interest for
general perusal, It is not necessar¥ that the articles should be
penned m scholarly style; so long as they are pithy and likely to
create amusement, minor detects will be remedied.|

— Kanst du Deutch gesproken? Perhaps the most of our readers
will answer, “No,” and inform us that they cannot even read
Dutch. . Well, that all may comprehend, we have induced our

 

so good achance fora practical joke escape him, so he pro-
cured a couple of mammoth fire-crackers, which he stowed
away until an opportunity to use them should occur. He had
not long to wait, tor scon after Smith, getting re. for a piece of
cloth, left his seat vacant for a moment. His rother sceing
the opportunity lighted the crackers and: placed them on the
seat just as Smith resumed his position. He had no sooner done
so than a tremendous report was heard, and Smith was seen
rushing wildly from the room. It was some time beiore he
would be convinced that he was not the victim of an infernal
machine, bat when he found it wasa joke he was wrathy.
After that if you wished to rouse his ire all you had to do was
to him about that “infernal machine.” AMERIGO.
’ AND YET ANOTHER “‘SHOO FLY.”
Isre, I see, I see,
Still the Week ty takes the lead;
Each week there's something new
For ull its friends to read.
Hs prose and verse are good,
And suit the young and hoary,
While best of ail we have |
Ned Buutline’s “Temperance Story.”
Shoo fly, don’t bodder me,
The *‘iemperance Story” is the ene for me.
E ILBUR.
THE IRISHMAN’S BEE,
One fine day an Irishman was strolling through a farm, and
observing a flower that pleased bis fancy, h¢ was about to pick
it, when a bee stung him on the hand,and flew to its hive which
was not far off. Pat watched the bee going in, and then shouted
“By the piper that piped betore Moses Ill have revenge; lufting
a stick, he plurged it into the hive, and commenced. stiriag up
the bees, which flew out in swarms, and stung him so badly
that he socn dropped the stick and ran away. Some ‘t af-
terward, as Pat was sauntering through the wooos, he became
tirea and sat down on a log to rest himself. At the other end
ofa log there was a Junebug, which he nouced crawling to-
ward ai. Instantly jumping up, he exclaimed, as he started
to run off:
“Be jabers, I know ye, even if ye have yer overcoat on.
Josse Fox.
A POSER.
Alexander C. was wounded in the Gettysburg fight, ané
while lyiog in the hospital, the chaplain commenced arguing
with him about negro blood. The chaplain said thatifa negro
woman would suckle a white child it would have negro bi
in its veins. Alexander said he did not believe it. A ‘man lying
near heard the discussion, and said to the chaplain:
“Suppose a cow should sucklea child, would it haye cow’s
blood 1n its veins ?” ‘
The chaplam answered: “Certainly 1 would.”
Alexander raised himself in his bunk, and quietly asked:
“Chaplain, now how long would it take the child. to have
horus?” E :
The chaplain left.
“COULDN'T SEE TO GO TO SLEEP."
Charlie is four years old and a cute boy he is. One night his
elder brother was telling chost stories, and Charlie had had his’
superstitious fears aroused. When bed time came he was disin-
clined to go without a light: “Are you afraid 7” asked his
mother. “No!? “Whatdo you want then?” “I wanta light

 

intelligent translator of foreign tangaages to put inte the best
English at his‘;command the appended nique -
DESCRIPTION OF THE PLAY OF “LEAH.”

Ivont to dold you vot itis, dots a putty niee play. De first
dime dot you see Leah she runs across _a pridge, mitsome fel-
lows chasin her mit putty big shticks. Dey ketch her right in
de middle of der edge, und der leader—dot’s de villen—he sez of
her dot its better ven she dies, und dot he coodent allow it—dot
shé can lif; und de oder fellers elers ont so—“Ve vill gite He? |
some death!” “Kill her_puity quick!” “Shmack her of der
jaw!” und such dings. Und chust as dey vil kill her, de priest
ml of dem, ‘“‘Dond you do. dot!” und dey shtop dot puity

uick. :
% In der nexd seen, Leah meets Rudolph (dots her feller) in de
voods. Before dot he comes in, she sets of de bottom of a cross,
und she dond look putty hfe y, upd she says: *‘Rudolph, how is
dot dot you dond come und see about me? You didn’t shpeak
of mesome luf. Idond like dot.” ,
Veil, Rucoiph he dond vas dere, so he coodent sed something.
But ven he comes in, she dells of him dot she luts him ortul,
und he says dot. he guess he Iufs her ortul, too, und vonts to
know v she leef dot place, und go eud in some oder country
mit him. Und she says, “1 dold you I vill.” Und he says,
“Dots all right,’* und be tells her he vill meet hersoon, und dey
vill go vay dogeder. Den he kisses her und goes, und she feels
honkey dorey boud dot. :
Vell, in der next seen, Rudolph’s old man finds oud all aboud
dot, und he dond feel putty goot. Und he says of Rudoiph,
“Vood you leef me und go mit det gal?” Und Rudoiph feels
putty bad. He dond know vot he shall do. Und der old man
Ne says:
“IT dold you vot Tlldo. De skoolmaster (dot’s de villen) says
dot she might dook some money to go vay. Now, Rudolph, my
poy, P’li gif de skoolmaster sum money to gif do her, und if she
dond dook dot money, Vil let you marry dot gal.”
¥en Rudolph hears dis, he chumps mit joyness, und ses:
“Fader—fader, dots all righd. Dot’spuliy! 1 bade you any-
dings she voodent dvok dot money.”
Vel, de old man gifs de skooimaster de money, und dells him
dot he shal! offer dot to her. Vell, dot pluddy skooimaster comes
back, und says dot Leah dook dot gold rightd avay, ven she
didn’t do dot. Den de old man says, “Didn't I told you so?”
Und Rudolph gits so vild, det he svears dot she can’t hat some-
ding more todo mid him. So ven Leah viil meet him inde
veods, he don’d vas dere, und she feels orful und goes avay.
Bimeby she comes up te Kudolph’s house. She feels putty bad,
und she knocks of de door. De old man comes eud und says:
“Get oud of dot, you orful vooman. Don'd you come around
after my boy again, else 1 pul you in de Doombs.”’
Und she says:
“Chust let me see Rudolph vonce, und I vill vander away.”
Se den Rudolph comes oud, und she vants to rush of his arms,
but dot ploody fool voodent allow dot. He chucks her avay,
und says:

*‘Don’d you touch me, uf you please, you deceatfulness gal.”
Und she is extonisned, und says:
**Vot is dis aboud dot?” ; :
IT dold you vat it is—dot look ruff, for dat poor gal. And Ru-
dolph, orful mad, says, “Got oudside, you ignominus vooman!”
Und she feels so orful she coodent said avord, und she goes
oud. Aftewards Rudolph gits married to anoder gal, in a
sburch. Vell, Leah, who is vandering eferyvares, happens to
go into dot church-vard to_cry chustat de same dime of Ru.
dolph’s marriage, vich she don’d know somedings about. Putty
soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some peeples git-
tin married, und dot it vill do her eon goot if she sce
dot. So she looks in de vinder, and ven she sees who dot is—
my graciousness, don’t she holler und shvears vengeance !
Putty soon Rudolph shumps outinto der church-yards, to git
some air. He says he don’t feel putty good. Putty soon dey see
each oder, und dey haf a orful time! He says of her, “Lean,
how is dot you bin here?’ Und she says, mit big scornfulness,
“Gut oud of dat, you ‘beat? How is dot, dot you get cheek to
talk of me atder dot vich you nafedone?”’ Den hesays. ‘Vell,

 

 

 

days have gone by when youcan fool the noble savage with
beads and giass—there isn’t an N. S. on the plains but ean and
will make a sharper bargain than ever you Gidin ali your life.
Ifyou really want to trade you’d better take silver dollars,rifles,
powder, and whisky’”

When I looked at,Fitzphool’s baggage Isaw a dozen or so very
heavy boxes, and when I asked him wlint they containea, he
said they were full of hammers and shingle-nails to fasten our
scalps of With as soon as we struck the prairie. He advised me
to get a Spencer rifle, two pairs of revolvers, a bowie-knife, a
couple of temahawks and plenty of ammunition.

Isaid, “No, that I should go among the noble savages with
peaceful mtenfons, and trust to my oratory to get along with
their magnanimous natnre.”

“Very weil,” said my friend. ‘Your ‘peaceful intentions’ will
probably astonish the noble savage so much that he won’t rob
you of quite all your goods under four days, and your eloquent
orations may 80 affect his magnasimeus nature that he won't
scalp you under a weck, aud will feed you three days after that
little agreeable operation before he proceeds to the grand cere-
mony of roasting you alive.”

But I was not to be trightend.

As scon as it was knewn that we were going west, a connie of
men came to me and said, “We learn you are going peacefully
among the savage heathen—we admire your Christian spirit—
we hereby present you with a hundred Bibles for gratuitous
distribution among those benighted ones.”

Ithanked them in behalf of the noble savage, when one of
them continued, —

‘Brother Snitkins and myself hope to go on a mission among
the heathen some day ourselves, but at present we are found at
home. Buc we would like to have our names made known to.
them in the way of honest trade. We think it would be wrong
to furnish the heathen with guns and powder to siay the white
men, but you know the poor creatures must have the means of
Killing their game, and, as we hear the worldly profit on such
articles is Very great, We would like to have you take charge of
a consignment of rifles and powder, (iving us security for the
value) sell them to the heathen, and remit to us.

Then, though we hold it to be very wrong to furnish the In-
dians with ardent spirits, yet they are subject to sickness even
like unto men, and medicinally, spirits must be good for their
poor bedies. But, as we would not like to 1ay on our own souls
the guilt of putting the cup to our neighbor’s hps we ave con-
cluded to ask vou to take charge, (on the terms me med be-
fore,) of sixty barrels of whisky belonging to Brother Jenks.
We have already watered it so that a quart, yea, even halfa
gallon would not make the drunk come to astrong man. but
you might put in more water, if you think tae ignorant heathen
would not discover it. That extra water would be all your own
profit, unless your tender conscience should admonish you to
share with us.”

I didn’t give my friends an answer then, preferring to lay the
whole matter betore Fuzphool, but we are certamly oif for the
plains in a few days, and [ shal! scon write again

Conscientiously,
Q. K. Purranper Doxzsticks, P. B,

 

vot fordid you dook dot goid, you false-hearted jeedle gal?”
Und she says, mit much extonishmecut, ‘‘Vot gold is dot? I
didn’t dook some gold. Vot gold isdot?” Und den Rudolph
tells her all aboud dot. Und she says, “Dot is a awfullie! 1
didn't see some gold!’ Und she adds, mit much sarkasmness,
“Und you belefed Jdook dot gold! Dot’s de vorst I efer heerd !
Now, on account of dot, I villgite you a few gurses.” Und den
she svears, mit oriut voices, dot Mister Kain’s gurse should git
on him, und dot he cooden’t never git any happiness everyvere,
no matter vere heis. Den she valks off.

Vell, den, a long dime passes avay und you see Rudolph's
farm. He has gota niee vite und a putiful leedle ehild. Putty
soon, Leah comes 1m, being shased, as uswal, by fetlers mit
shticks. She looks like she didm’t ead someding for 2 monds.
Rudolph’s vife sends off dot mop, und Leah gits avay again.
Den dot nice leedle child comes oud, und Leah comes back und
she sees dot ehild—don’t she feel orful aboud dot—und she says
mit afiectfulness, “Come here leedie child, 1 voodent harm
you;” una dot nice leedle child goes righd wp, und Leah chumps
on her und grabs her in her arms und gries und kisses her. On!
my graciousness don’d she gry aboud dot. You god to blow your
noses righd away. 1 vonttodold you vot it is dot looks pully.
Und den she says, vile she gries: “Leedie child don’d you gob
some names.’ Und dot leedle child ee oud so nice—pless
her leedle hart, und says: “Oh, yes. My name dot’s Leah, und
my papa tellsmedot [shall pray for you efery nighd.’ Oh
my goodnessness den’d Leah gry orful ven she hears dot.

t dola you vot itis dot’s a shplainded cing, und quick comes
dem tears in your eyes, und you look up ad de vale, so dot no:
pody can’d see dot, und you make oud you dond care about it.
But your eyes gits fulled up so quick dot vou could keep dem
in, nnd den you don’t care atam if eferybody sees aot. Und
Leah kisses her und gries like, dot her heart’s broke, und she
dook off dot guise from Rudolph, und goes avay. De child cen
de}'s her fader uni muder abont dot, und de pring her back.
Den det mops comes back und vill kil her again, but she expo-
ses dot skoolmaster, dot villain, und dot fixes him. Den she
failsdown in Rudolph’s arms, und your eyes gits fulled up
again, und you can’t see sometding more. I'd like to haf as
many glasses of beer as der is grying chust now.

Und if 1 see a gai vot dond gry, I voodent marry dat gal efen if
her fader owned a piz prewery. Und if Isee a feller vat dend
gry, I vocdent dook a drink mid him. :

But I told you vot it is, dot’s a pully pieoe, I bacd you.

si SHoo Fry.
Re COUNTING THE DEAD.

Efiwin Forrest recently played an engagement at Fort Wayne,
Indiana, and among the thousands of spectators who went to
hear*the eminent tragedian, was a preeocious little juvenile,
who was on hand evidently for the purpose of ‘taking notes.’
The play being represented was “Jack Cade.” Marianne had
just tainted, when the little rascal, who took everything in dead
earnest, and had been chalking down all those who were killed,
died, or came to death ina violent munner, upon the stage,
yelled out, as only such youngsters can: “Tiere goes another
one—oh, she’s only fainted; bet VI put her down among the

 

| on them.

w cap Tsec to £0 to sleep wiexonrn jight?™ A liehtwas given
royitn and he went to bed, happy that Head ghines his pole.
J. B. ENos.

HOSE AND RAKES.

A young man in a country store was told by his employer to,
“never let a customer go out of the store without showing them
something—if we have not the goods caHed for, show them
something else as near like it. as possible.” One day, while his
employer.was absent at dinner, sume ladies eame in. Le m-
‘bering his employer’t instructions, he went forward to wait up-

One of the ladies, with an amiable smile, asked to
see some hose. Now he did not Know that ladies calied stock-
ings by that name, but was only thinking of an agricultural im-
lement of that name, and which they were just then out of; so
ie replied: “Weare just now outoi. hoes, but we have sor
darned good garden rakes.”’ The eldest of the party replied
she arate thought they would do—they would cali again; and
with blushes and smiles they bowed themselves out, and it was
not long until the joke was out, too. Mavp Carrox..

A SMART RETORT.

“Now children,” said a school inspector, “who loves alimen?”
4 little girl notsix years old, evidently not quite weil up in the
catechism, answered quickly, “All women |"

Lypia THOMPSON.

: _ HALF TRUE. " :
“How this worid is inclined to slander!” said a maiden lady
to an oid bachelor. ‘Can you believe it, sir, some of my matlic-
fous acquaintances reported that I had twins?” “Madam, I
make ita rule to believe only half of what I hear,” ~ ae

FALSE TEETH.
“Why, mamma!’ exclaimed a bright six-year-old child, in
the presence of her aunt and uncle—“why, mamma, I thought
you hadn’tany teeth! You hadnt any yesterday!” On the
previous day the mother had had ‘a new set inserted.
BRUNER.
CONUNDRUM,

Why is finding out the answer to a good eonundrum like tray-
elingon a plank road? Because you have to wait to be tolled.
To P. P. Conrrisutors.—L. H. Ruliman.—In Phunny Phellow.
hte I. Evranisse.—Your sketch will appear in the next number
of the Phunny Phellow........ The following MSS. are accepted:
“Knocks Down,” “Broke his Pledge,” ‘“Shoemakers,’ “En-

aged,” “Fourteen Years,” “Rain, Dear,” ‘‘Drammer Boys in
Panger” “lo a Half Dime,” “Minister and Painter,” “Pup-
py’s Last Werds..5. 2.55522. The foliowing are respectfully ce-
eiined: “Sham Fight,” “Stealing a Shirt,” ““Choleraw,” ‘Aunt
Betsy,” “Flour Barrel,” “Jonathan's Courtship,” ‘Salty Su-
gar,” “Green Tom,” ‘‘Hunting Music,” “Golden Hair,” “Epi-
taph ona Lawyer,’ “Fasting Forty Days,” “The Poor Men’s
Lou” “Irishman’s Scythe,’ *“Makipg a Raise,” “Plantation Bit-
ters,” “Change of Time,’ ‘Striking Llustration,” ‘broker's
Game’ “Negro in Court,” “Measurme a Well,” “Country Koy’s.
Dream,” “big Bill,” “Going Back,” ““Shust Shlide Down.”

 

NED Buntline’s new story “LITTLE BUCKSHOT, The White
Whirtwind of the Prairie,”’—a wild story of the Far North-
West, will be commenced as soon as possible.

THE WITCH OF THE OCHAN.

Our well-known contributor, he who made his first and
greatest mark in our columns, with his Australian story
of “Red Douglass,’ and who in lis tales and sketches of
sea and land has preven a knowledge of both which
shows that he has seen service and traveled far and wide
with his eyes open—in short,

EDWARD MINTURN,
is about to come before our readers with a wild and thril-
ling historical sea story, entitled as above, and froma
perusal of the manuscript not only tne editors of this paper,
but other critics are satisfied that he has .
Excelled all Pormer Efferis,
and while blending fact and fancy With an artistic hand
given to both a point and color which will hold the reader

Spell-bound

from the first chapter to the last. He has drawn some
characters rather after the style of Cooper in the Pilot,
yet there is no imitation, for the ferte of this writer is his

bold and

Dashing Originality
both in plot and narrative. Our readers may expect a
rare gratification in this new work which will be placed
before them in a very short time, thus carrying out our

 

 

 

 

our patrons that they are forever picking up new flowers
of fragrance from our BOUQUET OF LITERATURE,

Some ask why we publish so many stories. Our answer
is brief and tothe point. We have engaged exclusively
for our columns

The Best Writers in America. :
We wish them all to have a chance to please our readers.
Next we believe that
Variety is the Spice of Life
and we intend to give our patrons a variety which ean-
not be surpassed in either quality or quantity.

Our success proves that we are on the right eourse, and

unsurpassed as unsurpassable we move on from triumph

 

 

dcad—'cause she'll die any how!’ Tremendous applause en-

to triumph !

to kill, so it wouldn’t make any difference whether they dicd or:

hinted that he would set fire to Smith’s house it a tavorab/e op- :

plan of so throwing novelty after novelty into the laps of :

.

eaten arate ne

grr mint ma to

 

emg

 

 

 

ee