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Vol. XXV.

CONTENTED.

BY CLIO STANLEY.

 

The red breath of the sunset
Goes up to God again,

And twilight softly tarries
At our window-pane._

Out in the chilly distance
Our glances wander far,

To greet that cheerful token—
The happy, evening star.

My thought needs not the telling,
Fond love denies us speech,

While in the gathering darkness
Your dear hand I reach;

Yes, life has been in sunshine,
Been oft in twilight grey,

Yet never bave our hearts rebelled
At God’s appointed way. .

How dark the night has falien .
It matters not, for still —
We gather, from the shadows
That our pathway fill,
A ray of light,—the evening star
‘Hangs o'er us, warm and bright,
Cheering us with her token
Of never-fading light.

Sorrow may overtake us, eee

May take thee’from my side fees
Then—nearer to the angels

I shall be allied.
Sweet mercy never faileth,

So do not let us doubt,—
For always in the wisest way

Hiis love will find us ont.

 

THE

the Ocean:

OR,

The Lady of the Silver Spray.

By EDWARD MINTURN.

{Witch of the Ocean” was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers
can be had from News Agents throughout the United States.)

CHAPTER X.

For a little time Ferris raved fearfully, for the agony of
compressure around his body and limbs was iotense, Ad-
eased sie W its

whe’
“tightened its bonds, he tried to excite it to break away.
For he knew if he could send it to the rendezvous of the
Hawks, they would know he was in peril and start out to

 

him.

“Home, Satan—home, and get help for me !”’ he shout-
ed. ‘‘Home, old horse, home to your stable.”

The horse at first neighed in a low, whinnying way,
as if it saw its master’s sufferings, and mourned that it
could not help him.

Then, as he again cried out, as he was wont to do when
urging it toits utmost speed, the animal snorted, and
Teared, and age oe until it was almost throttled with
the noose. By thus plonging it at last got the rope en-
tangled about its powerful chest and fore legs,and throw-
ing its vast weight on the rope, itsnapped asuuder.

And now ‘the difficulty with Ferris was to make the
faithful animal leave him. It.came under where he hung,
and looking up, whinnied and neighed, and rearing,seem-
ed to strive to reach and heip to liberate him.

‘Home, Satan, home for help!’ he cried, again and

in.
ot last the horse, almost seeming to understand his
words, bounded off in the direction of the old quarry.

**J shall besaved nowif they only come to look for me!”’
groaned Ferris. “But if they don’t, I can’t stand this till
daylight. The blood seems dead in my arms, and it
seems as if I grow heavier and heavier every minute.”

Now he listened with every sense on the alert to hear
some sound or see some object which might give hima
hope of rescue. The darkness became intense, and the
roll of distant thunder swept along, ominous of a coming

torm.

*T°ll never live through a storm!’ he groaned. ‘That
accursed dwarf might better have shot meat once. Itis
awfal to die this way.”’

The wretch groaned in his agony. Perhaps he thought
of some of his victims then—perhaps he remembered
some of his deeds of crime. But the most wicked are
generally the least thoughtiul, and it may be that he look-
ed into the dread future, forgetiing the dark past of his
evil life. :

For an hour more perhaps he suffered, his limbs be-
coming, however, more numb and less sensible to pain,
when at last he heard the distant neigh of a horse.

“It is Satan !?? he cried. “He is either bringing me
help—or else coming back to watch over me while I

erish.*? F

_ He listened eagerly, more eagerly perhaps than he ever
had done before for any sound which might reach him.
At last it came. The sound of steel-shod hoofs on the
rocky road. The sonnd of more than one horse too.

“Help is near—help is near !” he groaned, and then he
fainted.

When he came to himself he was on the ground, with
Alva Dunning suppor:ing his head while he endeavored
to force some ram between his lips.

“What in thunder is the matter, cap’n? How came you
strung up there like a slaughtered pig as we found you?”
asked Dunning.

“That cursed dwarf! Why didn’t you kill the hideous
wretch ?’ groaned Ferris, as he found that he could not
yet use his benumbed limbs.

“For the best reason in the world—we couldn’t catch
him |? said Dunning. ‘‘By the time we got around the
cliff yesterday, he was mounted on a white horse, which
went off as ifit had wings. Werode a short distance af-
ter him, but he was out of sight in less than no time. He
tet the imp of darkness himself, or a cousin to old

ck |
- “Whatever he is—demon or mortal—I’ll hunt him
down now if I die for it!’ said Ferris, fairly gnashing his
teeth in his rage.

“Here comes the rest of the boys,” said Dunning. “I
was first off, and my horse had all it could doto keep up
with yours.’’

In another minute nearly allofthe Hawks were gath-
ered around their leader, listening to his narration of the
adventure,

“That dwarf isn’t human,’ said one. “I had a fair shot
at him yesterday, and had he been human he would have
died, for when1 raise my rifle I send the ball to the spot
I aim at.”

“Human or not, I'll have his head at my feet before an-
other week goes by,” cried Ferris, sealing his threat with
a terrible oath; ‘‘and now lift me on the back of my horse
and get me home. Ihave work for you to-morrow, boys.
The dwarf robbed me of a hundred guineas which would
have been yours. But the hard dollars of old Hans Van-
derbilt shall make up for the loss. Get meon my horse,

The tories lifted their leader into the saddle, and then
the party rode slowly back to the quarry, one on each side
supporting Ferris in his seat, for he would have fallen
without such assistance.

 

CHAPTER Xi.

‘Well, Katrina, mine goot gal, what you dinks when
ou don’t dink nothing, dis morning?’ asked Hans Van-
rbilt, of his beautiful daughter, on the morning which
opened clear and beautiful after a heavy night-shower,
being the dawn of thethirdday since shehad parted with
Captain St. John.
For she seemed more than usuaily silent and thoughtful.
“I was thinking, father, about the Sea-Witch; whether
or not she has got safelytosea. I hope she has, yet it
Will be a week or more before I know !’’ replied Katrina.
«How shail you know mitin der week?’ asked Hans.
“He is to let me know by sending a messenger overland

 

 

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“PD JEST AS QUICK CUT YOUR THROAT AS I WOULD STICK a PIC-SO DON'T CUT

from the Sound,” replied Katrina. “The east end of the
Sound is not even a ee leets, SO so
: 7

it will be easy for him to let us know what He has done.
if we do not ene Seth Enaae or a week I shall feel

sure that he has been tared, or else that his ship has
been destroyed. Heaven be merciful if he should be made
a prisoner. The British might spare his men, but him—
never! His doom would be only too sure !””

“Yes; but you mind whathe said, mine Katrina? He
said when dey shall make him a brisoner, dey shall make
him dead before-times !??. |

“Yes, father, and better had he die than to fall into
their hands alive. Al! look father, yonder aresome men
riding this way.” : a. Sid

And Katrina pointed to a body of men, enveloped in a
ie of dust, riding swiftly up the road toward the

Louse.

“Yes; soldier mens, Maype. Not mit red coats, I dink.
Washingdon men, I dinks !” :

‘“‘No—too well I know that black horse and its rider !””

said Katrina, turning pale as she recognized the tory who’

headed the approaching band. ‘J only wish’ some of
Washington's men were near, for this visit means no good
to you or me. I must be ready for that wretch !’’

Hurrying into the house she got the pistol which she
had taken from the belt of the renegade, at the time the
dwarf knocked him down, aad concealed it in the pocket
of her dress.

By the time she had done this, and rejoined her father
in front of the house, where he stood, the tories, shouting
and yelling, half-maddened with that curse of all curses,
strong drink, had halted in front of the door.

Leaping from the back of Satan, his face flushed with

passion, and his eyes glowing with a fiendish fire, John
i foliowed by his band of miscreants, strode for-
ward.
“Well, old Deitcher Spriken, we’ve come to eat break-
fast with you. So out with your sour kraut and spec, and
draw us a bucket-full of apple-jack too, while I make love
to your gal !’’ cried Ferris, as he confronted the old far-
mer. A

“Go to der duyvel mit you!’ cried Hans, angrily: st
don’t want you here no ways! Clear out mit yourself!”

“When I get ready, you Dutch hog, not before !’’ said
the renegade.

Then turning to his men, he cried:

“Make short work here, my boys! First get together all
the live-stock on the place; that is for the King’s army.
The chest of hard dollars is in the back room; that be-
longs to you. Hereis my prize. Get out her horse and
put Wc side-saddle on it. She rides with us when we
leave

“Never—wretch, never |’? cried Katrina, indignantly.

“Easy, girl, easy over the rough road as you go. The
less impudence you give me, the better it will be for you.
There was a time when you might have been Mrs. John
Ferris, with a ring on your finger. That time has gone
by. Now, you shall be mine on my own terms!”

‘Never! you miserable wretch—never yours on any
terms ! cried the spirited girl. “I would die a hun-
dred deaths before [ would be contaminated with a touch
from you!’

har ican alc What you want mitin mine house?”
cried Hans, attempting to check a burly ruffian as he
strode past him.

The reply of the wretch was acruel blow which sent
the poor old man reeling and bleeding to the earth.

Maddened at the sight, Katrina, not thinking of her
own peril, drew the loaded pistol from her pocket, and
with the muzzle of the pistol actually pressed against the
body of the wretch, fired. He uttered a horrible curse,
and fell dead in the open doorway.

“Kill her! Kill the infernal Jezebel!’? shouted a half-
dozen of the party.

And swords, Knives and pistols were instantly flashing
all around her. —

“Hold! She is mine! Death would be a thousand times
preferable to the fate 1 have in store for her!’ shouted
Ferris. ‘Hold, {say! The man who raises a hand to
her now, dies! You shali all have a hand in her torture
when my vengeance is complete. In, and plunder the
house. Get the dollars from the old oak chest, and every-
thing else that you see worth taking, and then fire the
shanty. Drag the old Dutchman out of the way, so that
he can see the fire when he comes too. It will be worse
than death to him to lose his money and his girl.”

“Oh, man, have you no heart?” cried Katrina, as she
looked her utter agony.

“Heart ? Lots of it—lotsof it, my beauty, as you’llsee
whenI get you home, by-and-by. Get me some rope
here, one of you—I want to tie the hands of this lady, or
she may scratch herself, and spoil her good looks.”’

Poor Katrina moaned in her wretchedness as she was
seized and bound, while her father, yet insensible, was
dragged a few yards away from the house, which was
bow being plundered of its most portable valuables, be-
side the long and carefully hoarded money of the old
nan. .

Meantime some of the men were gathering up the cat:
tle and horses on the place ready to drive them down to
aa British lines, where a round sum would be paid for
them.

“All ready, my hawks, all ready?’ cried Jobn Ferris,
as the favorite horse of poor Katrina was brought to tie
door with her side-saddle on its back.

“Aye, we’ve got all out of this crib that we want,” re,
plied Alva Dunning.

“Then set fire to it and we'll be off before the smoke
draws notice to our visit,” said Ferris.

What shall Ido with Oc. Freenburgh’s body?’ asked
Dunning, as he pointed to the corpse of the man whom
Katrina liad shot,

 

 

janet "twillsave fue Moule of” 1

 

“fet it lay where it is. He is

“So it will He was pnt out of his misery in a hurry.
Well, he isn’t any very great loss to us, though the jug
will miss him. He was the hardest drinker of our whole
ie said Dunning, as he proceeded to set fire to the

uilding. Boa

Ten minutes later the house was all ablaze, and Ferris,
with his troop, and poor F.atrina bound upon her horse, |
was speeding away from the spot. — ;

CHAPTER XII. ~

“Himmell! Himmell! Mein house is on fire!’ ¢ried
poor Hans Vanderbilt, as, scorched into consciousness
by the intense heat, he rose to his feet and staggered
back. from the burning. building. ‘Katrina! Katrina!
Got! Where is Katrina?” . ii
Again and again he shouted the name of his child, but
no answer came.to cheer his agonized heart. -Not a liv-
ing thing could-be seen anywhere about. The old watch
dog lay dead near the gate—not a chicken, or a cow, or
a horse had been left on the place. ji

The sound of a horse galloping swiftly up the road
reached his ears, and turning, he saw a suow- white horse
with a dwarfish hunchback upon it, coming swift as the
wind toward him. :

“What means this, old man, what means this?’ cried
pe dwarf, as he reined in his panting horse by the side of

 

ans...
“Mein Got, I knows not all what it means!’’ groaned
the old man. *Dat Yolin Ferris he comes mit a whole
crowd of odder rascals, und one of dem knecks me over
de head, uad ven I vakes up mit mineself I finds mine
house all on fire, und [ finds mine Katrina nowheres!”’

“This is the.work of Ferris, eh? Which way did the
scoundrel go?’ cried the dwarf.

“IT knows not. I was knocked all wild on de head, und
I Knows nothing more,” groaned the old man.

More men, soldiers in the uniform of the Federal army
now came riding up—a dozen or more in the party.

“Sergeant, here has been foul work!’ cried the dwarf,
as he pointed tothe blazing ruins. “This old man has
been nearly murdered as you see, and his child has been
carried off by taat wretch, John Ferris, and his gang.
They undoubtedly robbed the house before they fired it.’’

“What a pity it was, Martin, that you didn’t put that
rope around his neck last nignt instead of his body,” said
the sergeant. Z

“I know it. But we have no timeforregretsnow. We
must track the tories, and rescue that girl before the in-
fernal fiend carries out the evil he means her. Set your
best scouts on the trail at once, sergeant.”’

The latter picked out a couple of men and gave the
necessary orders, and in a little while the trail of two
parties was found. One was evidently taking off the cat-
ile to the southward, the other, riding more rapidly, kept
the road toward the river.

“How many were in the party?” asked the dwarf of
Hans Vanderbilt,

‘More as thirty or forty, I dinks, mit guns und pistols,
und swords,’’ groaned the old man. ‘Oh, try to get me
pack mine Katrina.”’

“T will, old man, I will,” said the dwarf. ‘Butwe have
two few men I fear—only fourteen all told—to meet such
a body of villains, well armed and desperate as they are.”’

“Oh, if you only finds my gal den I cares not for mine
dollars, or mine house, or mine cattles und horses,’’
groaned the unhappy old man. ‘Get mea horse, and let
me ride mit you to find her, und to killdat Yohn Ferris.”

“You shall have a horse, old man,’ said the dwarf.
“And if the wretch harms your daughter before we res-
cue her, he shall die by inches, and be days in dying!
Henry Dean. let the poor old man have your horse. You
and Hat. Fowler can ride double, till we find another
horse tor you.”’

The man to whom he spoke led up a horse for Hans,
and then mounted behind one of the other soldiers as the
party prepared to ride on.

“Here, Merve Smith; take this note to the camp of Gen-
eral Washington and ride us if Old Nick was after you.
You know where the old quarry is, a couple of miles above
the mouth of the Neperan, on the river. Guide the men
who will be ordered out with you, to the pine grove, jast
east of that, and meet me there. Spare neither whip nor
spur, and get a fresh horse at camp. I shall await your
return unless I see some chance to act with the men I
have. Ride now—ride at your best pace.” i

The soldier bowed and, dashing his spars into the flanks
of his horse, rode away toward the east as swiftly as he
could go.

Now, with the’sergeant by his side, followed by the old
man and the rest of the party, Martin the Dwarf rode oif
in the direction of the river.

Poor Hans only looked back once, when the crash of
the falling roof of his house reached his ears.

CHAPTER XIII.

Having seen the party with the stolen stock off on its
route toward the British lines, Ferris, with the rest of his
men, took a more westerly route toward the old quarry
rendezvous.

Poor Katrina, with her hands bound behind her, and
also tied with strong cords to her saddle, her horse led by
one of the tories, rode on, her heart filled with agony and
despair. She dared not hope for any mercy from the
coarse and pitiless nature of John Ferris, nor yet from
the desperate and heartless character of his thieving,
murderous associates. Fearing everything,. daring to
hope for nothing, she rode on in silent and utter wretch-
edness.

UP ANY SHINES WITH ME |”

  

 

John Ferris and his party reached» the pats f the main
road where @ sbort turn toward. the river
then to the quarry. Oe ae Fe

“Go on with the Hawks to the old place, Alva,” said
Ferris here, taking mto his own hand the halter of the
horse on which Katrina rode. ‘I will be with you some
fime to-night. I must take my lady-bird here to better
quarters for the present.”

oe right, cap’n. Any other orders?” replied Dun-
ning. ;

“No. Remain there until I come. Divide the plunder

'|equally. I take no share of this, remember. I told you

the girl was alll wanted,”’

“Yes, and may she soon learn tolike you, cap’n,” said
the man, with asly smile. ‘But be careful how you let
her get hold of edged tools, or you may lose your appe-
tite in the way Oc. Freenburgh lost his !?

“No danger,” said the tory, witha taugh. “She knows
me too well to try trifling. 1 would as soon put a woman
out of. the way as a man, and itis twice as easy, the dear
creatures have such a habit of fainting away and laying
helpless in your hands.”

“Never will I permit him to thus have mein his pow-
er!”? ejaculated Katrina to herself, as she comprehended
the meaning of the wretch’s words. “I may be his vic-
tim, but resistance to the death shall meet him. Heaven
may yet aid me. Wrong cannot always triumph. Oh!
where now is the noble man whose strong arm would
protect me, did he know of my peril? Henry! Henry!
why cannot mycry of distress reach your ear? Alas!
perhaps even now your ears are closed in death. Misfor-
tunes seldom come singly!”’

The band now. rode on toward their rendezvous, but
John Ferris, with his hand on the bridle of her horse,
took the road leading east, and, increasing his speed toa
sharp gallop, he pressed on for several miles. At last,
leaving the road, he turned into a narrow pathway, ap-
parently seldom traveled, for tangled grass and weeds
filled the way. Along this into a scraggy forest, fora
mile or two they rode, and then rested before a wretched-
looking old stone house, apparently uninhabited, for in
the two windows fronting the path there was scarcely a
whole pane of glass leit. _But asharp shout from Ferris
brought a faceto the window—a face at once wild and
repulsive, scarcely looking as if it belonged to a woman.

“Mother, open the door. I have brought a bird for
your cage,” cried Ferris, as he dismounted from his
horse,

The door, heavy and strong, was opened after a littie
delay, and an old woman—she of the hard-looking vis-
age—coarsely dressed, made her appearance on the
threshold.

“Who've vou got there, John, who’ve you got there?”
she asked, in a shrill voice.

“Old Vanderbilt’s gal—the one who thought herself too
good a malry me. aybe she’ll be glad of such an offer
now.

“Ha! ha! Too good for my boy, with all his gold and
silver—too good for my boy, that is cap’n of the Hawks,
eh? The hussy! Ill take care of her, John. Can she
wash and iron, and sew carpet rags and weave? ifshe
can’t, she can learn—and she sfal learn, as sure as my
name is Meg Ferris. Get off your horse, hussy, and come
in here where I can get a better look at you.”’

‘otene can’t get off till I cut. some of her fastenings,”’ said

e tory.

He commenced undoing the lashings which bound poor
Katrina to the saddle, then he cut the thongs which had
bound her hands behind her back. Lifting her from the
saddle, he carried her in on the dirty floor of the house,
and set her down; but her limbs had been solong tied in
one position, that she could not stand at first, and she
would have fallen to the floor, had not the old woman
pushed an old rickety chair under her,into which she sank.

“Now mother,’ said Ferris, “I want you to remember
if the gal attempts to leave, yon’re to shove your long
knife right through her heart. If she should get beyond
your reach, the gun is always loaded. Let her have its
contents.?’

“That willl!’ cried the old hag. ‘See here,’’ she con-
tinued—addressing herself to Katrina, as she drew a long
horribie-lookiug knife from under her apron and brand-
isned it before the miserable girl. “I’d jest as quick cut
your throat as I stick a pig, and I’ve done the likes before,
so don’t you cut up any shines with me. If you’re quiet
and behave, you may eat and drink, what Z eat and
drink, and when John is away, sleep in the room where I
sleep. . If you’re ugly, I’ll put you tosleepin a way you
won’t like, for you’ll never wake upin this world. And
now, Jolin,” she continued, after a pause, “d’ye want a
drop, my son?’

The old woman arose, teok a square, black bottle from
an old Goorless corner-cupboard and poured a teacupful
ef red liqnid.

“What is it, mother?’ he asked, as she emptied the cup
with evident relish.

“Rum, my son, good old Jamaica, strong and fiery.”

“T don’t want any just yet, not tiili see to the horses.
Then Vil warm up. But give her some. Her face is as
white a8 snow.”

The old woman poured out another cupfol, and as her
son went out to take care of the horses, she approached
and offered it to Katrina.

With a low moan the poor girl refused the intoxicating
dranght.

‘Drink it, Tsay, drink it!’ cried the woman angrily.

“Please don’t 1 I never drank liquor in my life,” said
Katrina, 1n a piteous, pleading tone.

“Then it is high time you learned how. Drink it and
get some kind of life into you before John comes in.”

“I will not,’? said Katrina, firmly.

 

The pace was a fast one, yetit was near noon when

“You shail! You SHALL !’ screamed the old woman,
and she backed her words with a fearfal oath,

Three Doliars Per Year.
ee {Two Copies Five Dollars.

 

 

aac Me a

She put the nauseous cup to the lips of the unhappy girl,
but Katrina pushed it away, gently.

Maddened by tie resistance offered, the old hag dashed
oe fiery liquid in the face of the wretched, helpless
girl.

hough the pain was terrible, sven as if molten lead

ad been thrown upon her eye-balls, not even a groan es-

caped the lips of the agonized girl. But her first glance

was toward the gun which she had heard John Ferris say

was loaded. It hung on wooden hooks in the back part

of theroom. The old woman saw the direction of her
glance and seemed to read her thoughts.

“Just you try it, hussy! Just you try it ! she cried.
“One wrong motion and [ll stick my Knife through and
through you.”

“What’s the matter, mother—what’s up now?” cried
Ferris, himself coming in.

“Why, your fancy piece here is too delicate to taste
rum, wants wine, I suppose. But 1 gave her rum in the
face and eyes. She’s been looking wistful at the gun over
there, but ifshe moves to put a hand on it, it’ll be the last
move she’ll ever make.”

“That's right, mother, keep both eyes on her. And now
get something to eat. I’m as hungry asa wolf. Ill take
a drink, but my appetite is good without that.’

“Well, keep aneyeon the gal. I'll have something in
the way of fodder ready in a little while.”?

While the son was pouring out a cup of liquor, his
moar set outa table and began the preparation of a

Having drank, Ferris lighted a small, stumpy pipe and
began to smoke, keeping nis eyes fixed on the face of
Katrina all the time, as if he would read her thoughts in
her countenance.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
The dawn of the very next day after the Sea-Witch got

 

onld take.

 

 

 

outside in safety, found her rigged as a brigantine—square

| forward, and schooner-rigged aft—standing in past Mon-

, tauk Point, toward the Connecticut shore.

| . With look-outs aloft, Captain St. John himself keeping
keen watch below, there was no chance of a sail showing

| itself in any quarter unseen.

| “How far down the sound d’ye want to be afther run-
nin’, captain,dear?? asked Dennis, the pilot, after Gardi-
ner’s Island was open broad on the lee Bow.

| “Down to a point where one may ride speedily across

| to the Hudson. at the locality where we launched this
ship,” replied St, John.

| “That would be Fair Haven, or there away,” said the

pilot. “Luff a point!’ he added to the helmsman. é

“Do you want the lead kept going?’ asked the captain.

| hace sir; not while I’ve got daylight to see wid,” said

| Purser, a word with you !”’ said St. John, on taf

| Old friend, Zenos Bangs, to one side, on the quarter.

| “Sartin! Twenty, or five huadred, cap’n, if you like,’

| Said Zenos, looking proudly at the bright, yellow buttons

‘on the cuffs of his new uniform, gotten up in the best

Style by the ship’s tailor,

“How weuld you like to run over as far as the house of
Hans Vanderbilt, to carry a letter for me?’ asked the
captain.

“Jerusalem! Do you mean it, cap’n?’ exclaimed

Zenos.

be not speak of it, if I di@ not.” ¢ :

“Then ll go, gladly. Why, how Katrina will stare
when she sees me in my spang new uniform—and its.
toc! His first question will be—what did it cost? hen
will I start, cap’n—and how will I go?”

“AS soon as we get to the point which the pilot deems
nearest to the part you wish to goto. Yeu will get a
horse, after landing, and ride over.”

“I’m not much at ridin’ straddle-back of a horse,” said
Zenos, doubtfully; ‘‘but I'm great in a chaise. I tried to
ride a horse once. Jerusalem, what a horse he was!
He’d rare up behind and before, and kick and bite like all
bewitched. I wanted to get off in less than a minute
after I got on, and he accommodated me. His heels went
up, his head went down, and I[—oh, Jerusalem ! you
ought co have seen mego! I went forty feet, more or
less, straight ahead of kim, into Aunt Keziah Scofield’s
parlor winder. She had a quiltin’ bee that day, and I hit
a little bit of a woman, called Sally Weeks, right in the
bosom, and knocked her eendways over Aunt Keziah.
The wimmin screamed; Sally yelled, and catched mea
whopper under the ear with the fiat of her hand, and I
crept out of that quicker than greased lightnin’, feelin’
meaner than dirt.”

“You had a terrible time, indeed,” said St. John, laugh-
ing. ‘But if you get a good, steady farm-horse, you can
ride if well enough, I think. I would rather have you go
than to send a stranger.”

‘“Sartin; to be sure; I'll get over there some way, and
get back as soon as I can.”

“Very well; that is seltied. I will prepare my letter,
and have it ready by the time we are near the landing-
place. When you come back, if we are not in sight, do
not be alarmed, but wait where you landed, and we will
soon make our appearance.”?

“Yes; I understand.”’

And Zenos again looked admiringly on the bright, cuff-
buttons of his coat,

“Sail, ho!’ sung out the look-out in the fore-top-mast
cross-trees.

ee away?’? cried the lieutenant of the wateh,
quickly.

‘Well under the land, on our lee bow, sir—by that
island, I mean, sir,’? replied the man aloft.

“What is she?? asked the officer.

i A ship at anchor, sir—armed, too, and the English flag
ying.

“Beat to quarters! Tend sheets and braces !’ cried St.
John, hurriedly. ‘I will take charge of the deck, Mr.Wan-
ser. Luff there—luff !”’

‘Aye, aye, sir; lufritis!’? cried the helmsman, as the
ship began to come to the wind. :

“Brace up the yards, and haul aft the sheets !? contin-
ued St. John. And this was done while the drum and
fite, beating to quarters, echoed over the waters.

And now, while the Sea-Witch, under full sail, stood
swiftly toward the strange ship, which, coming into plain
ee as the island was passed, was seen, not a mile dis-

ant.

Evidently taken utterly by surprise, the English vessel
seemed to be making hurried preparations to get under
way, and men were seen hurrying aloft to loose her
sails.

“Ready with the two bow guns in the bridle-ports!’’
cried St. John. “Open fire the minute youare ready,
and cut her up aloft before she can make sail. Sheis
heavier than we, and must have nochance if we can help
it. We are in grape and canister range—let her have
it!

In less than a minute both bow guns were playing into
the English man-of-war, which, having slipped her cable,
was trying to get’ headway under her jib and spanker,
which had been partially hoisted.

The topsails were’ soon loosed on board the English-
man, but they were riddled with grape before they were
sheeted home; and as the American ship dashed swiftly
on, throwing in her terrible fire as she neared the Eng-
lish vessel, it was evident that the crew of the latter was
utterly démoralized by the sudden attack, for the top-
sail yards remained on their caps, and the sheets were
not half hauled home,

“Ready with the Jarboard broadside!’ thundered St.
John, as, within a short musket shot, he veerea his ship,
so as to bring all the guns on that side to bear. ‘“‘Double-
shot every gun! Ready, there ready! Fire!”

Terrible was the shower of shot thrown then into the
doomed ship; for, already drifting unmanageably in to-
ward the island, the Englishman only returned a harm-
less, scattering fire, hurting not even a single man on
board the Sea Witch. :

“Pour in your fire lively, lads! Give them no time to
recover their senses !”’ cried St. Jolin. “In ten minutes
she will be ours!”

In even less time, the flag of the Englishman was seen
coming down; for the most of the crew, not already
Killed or wounded, had run below, and her captain, him-
self wounded, saw that it was madness to continue the
fight when he was literally at the mercy of his oppo-
nent,

“What ship is that?” cried Captain St. John, as he
ranged up on the weather beam of the enemy, and threw
his main-topsail aback.” ;

“His majesty’s ship, Vixen. To what ship do I sur-
render?’ replied the Englishman.

“To the American ship-oi-war sea Witch,*’ was the re-
ply. “Let go an anchor, and | will send an officer to take
charge of you—a surgeon, too, if you need one,”’

ed men, and but one surgeon; his assistant is killed.”
“What do you think of that fight?’ asked St. John, of
Zenos Bangs, after a boat, with the’ first lieutenant and

 

surgeon, had been sent to board the prize.

 

 

 

“Do, if you please, sir, for we have a good many wound- ,

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I think ‘twas wonderful one-sided !’? said Zenos.
“There’s her scuppers running red with blood, and we
haven’t Bary man hurt.’

“That was because we took her by surprise, and opened
on her before her crew were fairly at quarters,” said St.
John. ‘If they had been all ready for us we would have
had our hands fall.”

“I s’pect so. Won't this be news for Katrina? Jeru-
salem! How Der_eyes will fash. Stars won't be no-
where, to thet . a what will-you CBee shia Mier

“Send her into New London. “‘That.port is ours and is
handy. %t will h the cause and cheer the great Wash-
ington himself, when he hears of this success |’!

“Jerusalem—but) it wil |" Cap’n, l'’m proud to be here,
{tell you. School-téachia’ is a disgrace, 40 Sich a life aS
this. Vd rather bet ;
teach forty scholars, all gals, and full growm at that. Je-
rusalem, but iti¢ glorious! See they’ve come to anchor.
Aren’t you goin’ to dé $0 too?” Y : i.

“No; as soon as I transver the officers and principal per-
sons to this ship, [Shall put a prize crew into the Vix
and then stand on down “he Sound to the place where we
were to land you.’

“Good again! I’m twise as anxious now as I was be-
fore togo. Such news as this, is worth the carryin’.”

It took some hours to repair the spars ana rigging of
the prize, and to bend new sails aloft, but it was done
after a busy time, and then, the prisoners» having been
transferred to the Sea-Witch, the two ships parted.com-
pany, the prize sailing for New London and the American
again headipg along the western coast of the Sound.

St. Jolin now prepared a detailed account, official of
course, to send to Philadelphia, then the seat of Govern-
ment, and also got his letter ready for Katrina.

Tocarry the first he detailed a young, active, and very
trusty man—the second, as we already know, was to be
carried by the hands of Purser Zenos Bangs, or old Je-

rusalem, aS he was called in the ship.
CHAPTER XV.

Fair Haven, where Purser Zenos Bangs was landed
was not much ef a place then. A few plain and humble-
looking. dwellings, the homes of fishermen, as was. deno-
ted by buats and nets hung to dry in the vicinity, and a
smalltayern, constituted the village. Before thistavern,
from a high pole, which aiso served as a hitching post for
horses, Swuhg @ Wooden sign-board, on which was paint-
eda very rade resemblance of aspouting whale, at sea.
Under it, in letters full six inches long, was tue landlord’s
name—Duke scofe!’,

Zenos stood on the beach and watched the beautiful
vessel until the boat, which had brought him asliore, re-
turned. and was hoisted up, and then, as she braced in
her yards and squared away to run down the Sound, he
heaved.a sigh. ;

Jerusalem! but I shall be lonesome till I get aboard of
her again !” he muttered.

Then turning slowly and sadly he. walked up toward
the little tavern. In front of this, leaning against the
sign-pest,. Was a tall, Jazy-looking man, with tangled, yel-
lowish hair and whiskers, who regarded Zenos, as he ap-
proached in his new uniform, with a look of curiosity.

“A whale a. spoutin’, eh??? said Zenos aloud, though
speaking to himself, as he looked up at the sign. “Anda
Duke.for .2 Jandlord!. That'll never do in a Republic,
Dukes and Kings haven*t no more business on this side
of the Nerrin’ pond,’

“I reckon this Duke has, neighbor !) said the tall, lazy-
looking rnan, as he straightened his back into a perpen-
dicula ‘avith the Jamp-post, ; ;

“Cuusc, why?’ asked Zenos, regarding him intently.
“Be you the boss there ?’’ and he pointed to the open door.

ofthe house, ; pha Ad :

“No—l’m not exactly boss, though that’s my name up,
there. My Jemima bosses me as a general thing, and
everything else that runs in her way. Be you lookin’ for
lodgin’ or somethin’ to cat?’?

“No—l’m lookin’ for somethin’ in the shape of a hoss !"?
said Zenos;; ‘Somethin’ steady and quiet, like myself, to
travel over to the North river and back on }’

“A hoss, neighbor? You belonged to her, didn’t you 2?
Duke Scofield pointed sto the ship now fast receding in,
the distaniceac: io ’ bi i

“net only.did) bubs do) said Zenos, with a pompous
air, as he glanced at all that he could: seeel his new uni-
form. “But that: is nothin’ to nobody but, me and my
commander. . [ needa hoss, and have, money vo hire one:
with. Can you get one?’

Hosses is a scarce article here—that is hosses that go:
Now I’ve..a saw-hess. yonder, and Jemima, she’s got a
ciothes-hoss 1’! %

*Look’ee herve, Mr. Duke Scofield, if that’s your cogno-
men, l’m not inthe humor of foolin’ or standin’ nonsense,
so you and your Jemima can keep them sort of hosses to
humand be,darned toyou. Butif GeneralGeorge Wash-
ington knew that his friend Bangs, Parser of the Federal
cruiser Sea-Witch, found a difficulty in gettin’ ridin’ fa-
cilines in a place like this, he’d send orders to blow it to
kingdom come |? }

The angry tone in which Mr. Bangs said this, had a
marked etiect on the landlord.

“Jest cone in, Mr. Bangs!’’ he said, ip a tone marked
with increased respect. *There’s Dominie Hoxie has got
a, hoss, a clean goin’ creetur, slightly telicted with the
heaves, Liisend and seeif you can’t have that hoss |!

*That’s talkin’ somethin’ like,” said Zenos; with an air
of satisfaction, as he entered the tavern.

“Tukeysomethin’ to take, gin shing, or rum tgddy, or
crab-apple cider?’? asked the landlord, glancing at a bar

with a couple of shelves, located in one corner of the big
room which they entered.

‘“Nary drop. Technot, taste nof, handle not! Them’s
my principles. .Batef 1 hada drop 0’ strong tea and a
leetle biteof pumpkin pie and a .sassage or two afore I
started, it wouldn’t go agin natur.”

“You shall have ’em right. speedy,” said the landlord.
“TH goand tell Jemima, and then i'll. see about gittin’
thie foe Lh esiers , rat ; :

The, landlord went in search of the real boss of, the
house. Having found her and,toid what Mr. Bangs wanted,
he went in person to see if he could get the horse.

In.a few minutes a lean-faced woman, with that pecu-
liarly’sharp nose whicn indicates. temper, looked in from
a back room. oh aha ;

“Be you the human creetur that wanted somethin’ to
eat?’ she asked, in a shrill, high Key, as She looked sharp-
ly at. Zenos.

“7 jest be that same human creetur, ma’am,’ said
Zenos, ,

“Then come in here and fall to, said the woman. ‘My
man sald’ you looked like a mighty feeder, and so I’ve
put on cnough. Eat all you like and we'll charge ac-
cordin’.?” . Fak

“That's jest, the way to talk,” said Zenos, as he followed
the‘landlady inte the next room, where a neatly laid ta-
bie was well filled with substantial food, of which a huge
pumpkin pie and a large platter of home-made sausages,
coustituted apart... ;

“This looks like hum doin‘'s. I haven't seen the like
since I left Salem,’’ said Zenos, with an air of satisfaction,
as he sat. dewn to the table.

“Be you from Salem, Mr. Man?’? asked the woman,
quickly.
eM ae to be, ‘Them that knew all about it say I was
born there,’ said Zenos.

‘Maybe. .youive heard of Jerushy Spratts down there
away,’’ said the woman. :

‘“Jerushy Spratts? Why she was my own mother's
half-sister, by Granny Bevins’ second man,” said Zenos,
in-surprise. . - ,

“Way who be youl
the woman. :
‘Ibe, and-Zenos is my name,’’ said the purser. | |,

“Then we're cousins jest aS sure as preachin’,”? cried
theavoman. ‘For I was a Spratt afore [ got married to
that lazy, good-for-nothin’ mano’ mine.’?

“Jerushy Spratt?” asked Zenos, as he put the half of a
hot- sausage into his capacious mouth.

“No—Jemymy! That’s my pame,”’ said the woman, as
a smile flickered over her thin face, caused by the haste
with which Zenos raised a glass of water to cool his
mouth with.

‘I've hearn tell of one Jemymy that went away to Bos-
ton to larn a.trade,” said Zenos.

“Tm that gal,’ Said the woman. ‘] met my man there,
and thought ie Was Somebody, and got married to him,
like a tarnal feol as I was, And havin’ broke up there,
he come here for me to work and slave and live mis’ble,
But I keep him in his place—he knows better than to fool
with me now. If I'd known ‘twas you that wanted a
hess,.Zenos, he’d been back here afore this time, for when
Ttell him to hurry, he scampers or [ know the reason
why. Now eat hearty, Cousin Zenos, don’t mind me—
eat hearty. He'll be back afore you get through.”?

Zenos needed no further pressing, and as the sausages
began to cool he went at them with an appetite of the
most destructive nature, while Jemymy busied herself
about houschold matters, .

‘Zenos had just concluded a ‘square meal,’? when his
‘néw-found cousin looked out and said:

“There he comes, the lazy creetur, and he’s got the
hoss. You'll peed a whip and spurs too, to gitit along,
for it’s a preacher loss, and it’s their natur to be slow.
Ul get ’em for you, Zenes.. How cur'ous ’tis you should
ha’ come here. If you ever git back to Salem, jest. tell
’em. where I be and where I s’pose I shall be til 1 die, for
we can't get nothin’ ahead to go nowhere with, my man
is so all created lazy!”

Tre landiera'’s entrance now put a stop to this cousinly
conversation, aud ina short time Zenos Bangs mounted
on a horse too old aud too gentle to. be dangerous,, was
on his way to see Katrina,

(To be Continued.)

FALSE HEIR.

CHAPTER LY.

It was the evenirg of the ball.

Vbe Montford mansion presented a magnificent appearance,
the large apartments, thrown into one, being ate lighted,
and ornamented with a prolusion of fragrant flowers. The beau-
tiful conservatory, with its flowers and fountain and clustering
lights, had never appeared to better advantage, and seemed a
fairyland of light acd perfume. J

The noble guests were already thronging the vast apartments,
the corridors, &c.; and the earl and countess were doing the hon-
ors with peculiar ease and grace, assisied by the Lady Gerald-
ine Suminers.

The earl seemed unusually gay, asif he had flung off the last
vestige of fear or apprehension, as if illness were unknown to
him, and he had a perpetual lease of life.

The countess was aitired in a dress of a scarlet material, which
contrasted well with the black of her eyes and hair, and the
Tamily diamonds flashed trom her arms, neck, and bosom.

The Lady Geraldine was rebed in white lace of priceless value
and wore no ornaments except fiowers. The lustre of her eyes
outshone the countess’ diamonds, and her every movement ex-
pressed happiness and joyful expection.

The countess was surprised at the animation and health of the

 
 
  

You ain't a Bangs, be you?" cried

  
  

 

foremast hand with you, than ‘to |;

  
  

He found
time to whisper a few words to this effect to his wife, who seized
the first opportunity of communicating with the Lady Geral-
dine.

“How brilliant you are this evening, my dear niece,”’ she said
with pretended fondness. “By the way, did you eat the fruit I
leftin your room?” : a

“I did not,” said the maiden, quietly. ’ ¢

“And why not, my dear?” oe
“Because I did not think them good for me.”’ ;
The Italian bestowed a searching glance upo! ady
aldine; paled under her vering 100k, ul seemed to\
ence a sudden and wild alarm i “a Gp Ay

 
 

“Not good ? she faltered, “Ex plain |” \y “ 2
“Phe explanagion is sim Ido not eat frait—or ha ve
ver i

  

‘Tately—e poplat ta me?
@ countess €ndeayored to smile, compreh
\ from the maiden’
been taken by her (
c sr further) to leara ¥

drugs, &¢., but the Ls
ngaged With some

    
    
 

     
    

    

   

a re des h
not eaten the fruit I'gave her, nor any fruit from my hands!” ©
“Oh, she can’t suspect, Justina. We have been too clever
sive ground for suspicion. You can give her wine or Howe ;
instead of fruit. Don’t be alarmed.” on
Further conversation was prevented between the guilty cou-
ple by new arrivals, and eacn shook off their apprehensions and
entered into the general gayety. aaN Y
The drawing-rooms were nearly filled with ‘fair. women and
brave men,” when Lady Rosenbury and Lord Rosenbury were
announced, i
Although the earl had resigned all intention of bestowing the
hand of his niece upon Raymond, he still wished to keep up his
triendly relations with the latter, for reasons which have been
stated.

With asmile, therefore, he prepared to greet the false heir.
Lady Rosenubury, magnificently attired, entered the room,
leaning proudly.-upon Walter’s arm. . practi
Her entrance wasgrected witha hum of busy inquiry, and
wonder at.the title applied to Walter, but. many.of..the. guests
had already obtained an inkling of the truth through the attor-
wey nag turough ladies who had called at Rosenbury House
that day.

The earl and countess had not heard even the faintest rumor
of the truth, and the former drew himself up haughtily at the
upproach of his lordship, not deigning to touch his hand». ‘
“Mr. Loraine presumes on the triendship of the Rosenburys
and Montfords,”’ he said, in a low tone, meant only for Walter’s
ears. “My guests are all noble——”

He paused; a flash in Lady Rosenbury’s eye showing that she
had heard him.

With a proud dignity she introduced Walter as her son and
Lowd Rosenbury; and briefly explained why he had so long been
known under another name.

The earl and countess forced themselves to offer their con-
gratulations, and Lady Rosenbury and her son ‘then joined tbe
Faron of guests, her ladyship introducing Walter to ali her
irtends,

Not many minutes elapsed before Walter's history became the
theme of every tongue. His mother and himself were over-
whelmed with congratulations. Old friends of the family de-
clared that they had always suspected the truth, from Walter’s
resemblance fo the late Lord Rosenbury; ethers—many of whom
had once smiled upon Raymond—asserted that they had always
believed Raymond a very unwortby representative of the fami-
ly. Bright eyes grew brighter at Walter’s approach, his roman-
tic history having captivated every youthful imagination, and
he found himselt the lion of the evening.

He bore his honors with the grace that might have been ex-
pected of bim; and Lady C!air lamented to Laay Rosenbury that
she had not a daughter, for Walter was ner ideal of a son-in-law.
Geraldine was delighted at the reception of her lover, and
was unusually brilliant, attracting about her an admiring court,
into which Lord Rosenbury eventually found his way, devoting
himself to her 1a manner that excited the anger of her rela-
tives. f ; ;

The festivity was at its hight, every face was wreathed in
smiles, every heart throbbed joyously, when a sudden hush of
expectation fell upon the assembly, and every eye was turned
toward the door, ‘

The host .and hostess looked with the rest, scarcely knowing
whyithey looked; but all were not sofgnorant as they.

A whisper, started by Lady Rosenbury, had been cireulat
among the older people, that a Gistinguished, but unexpe +]
guest was about to arrive; and some imaginative person Y
surmised that royalty itself was about to honor the earl’s se
tality. In the midst of the h came the loud announcement:

“The Earl of Montford!” | — : eo

And then the fugitive—fugitive no longer—but stately, digni-
fied, and joyous, eutered the grand room, leaning upon the arm
of Lord Clair, and followed by atrain of ieblepaen who had
known him formerly. ' : lA :
He paused néar the head of the suite of rooms, contemplating
the assemblage. ~The fuli light of one of the g ers fell upon
him, and he presented a noble and commanding jppearance.

His guilty brother looked at him with a faseinated and horri-
fied gaze, unable to move, or withdraw his glances.

The countess could only stare at him in i
Before a moment had elapsed, a genera
earl took place, and his old friends thro
dering and startled. at the mystery o
Lord Rosenbury.conductea his m
1dé earl, and a pe
as rendered the returned lord
€ joyous Scene a sudden cry

 
 
 
     
 

     
       
     
 
 
 
  
 
  

     

     
     
  

 
   

 

 
  
   
   
  
   
  

S|
ed b
closed the guilty
to the fioor. ; :
When they lifted him, he was dead! fan
His hand was found pressed against his heart,,showirg that |
the violent shock Ne had received~had eccelerated his mala-

dy, killing him instantly. Pita Side
The servants who had gathered full of specu-
Jations in regard to the earl’s return, oxe.{he less form 0
the guilty promer ant the dark and’silent library, where he
had passed any hours of the most terrible remorse, and

tears of the catastrophe that had finally come upon him.
The Italian—countess no longer—found her way to the body of

ther of the eail gave way, and Egbert fe:

    

-in the corridor,

Pa

  

 

    

 

urn.
other and the Lady Ae}
‘xfect ovation from all the
: rent the air. It} ,
oman’s shrieix, and the throng that had fai hi

     
  
 
 
   
 

 

 

AU

aloft and

with rage

‘ing in his
‘question:
ha Ee® my

 

em

  

 

her husband, and filled the air with her lamentations, Jess on
account of his death, than because her’ newly-acq uired wealth
and honors must be torn from her. Strip nil}
diamonds from her person—the sight of them
her, now that they were no longer hers—she we
alternately, unfil 2 by exhaustion.

Meanwhile, the returned earl received his ol¢
them as litfle of his story as possible, now th
bert was dead,‘and endeavoritig, though vainly;
of charity over his wickedness.

In bis own soul the earl knew that nothing cou ;
uilt of his late brother, who, not content with depriving him o
treedom, had attempted to poison the innocent Geraldine.

The ball, therefore, became a grand reception, dancing being
deemed inappropriate, when the s¢erie transpirimg in the libra-

ry was considered.
fledrand
id

 

  
  
  

 
    

When at lengthit,
with the Caran ad thes
were left alone, ‘Geraldine
“Papa, do you wish to look at my uncle?” E

“No, my daughter,” ‘replied the earl,solemnly. “He is dead,
and I have forgiven him all his wickedness; as I pray God may
forgive him; but never wish to look upon him, again.. I have
dismissed forever all painful memories, and live to rejoice in
your happiness—yours and Walter's.” :

The tamily servants were summoned to the hall, and the earl
addressed them, stating, simply, that he had been supposed
dead; but the truth had reached the servants, and it was vain
to disguise it... Ua

When the Rosenburys had gone home, and the earl. had re-
tired to his bed, the Lady Geraldine, her heart full of generous
pity, stole down to the library, at the door of which, ina mourn-
ful attilude, was seated Julian, hér late uncle’s page. ,
“Why do you stay here,’ my poor boy?” said the maiden,
touched at his fidelity: ‘‘Your master will never summon you
again. He is dead.”

“i know it,’ replied the lad. “But he was good to me, and I
cannot leave him in there without some one to kcep guard for
him. He was always afraid some dreadful person would come,
and that was what made him so i

carriage after carriage departed
Geraldine, and the Rosenburys

 
 

il.”

Geraldine .understood that her late uncle had always feared
her father’s return, and that his illnesses were when her father
had escaped from his prison, and was free.

“I don’t know where I shall go now, my lady,” said the page,
tearfully. “I have got no one to care for me now.”

“You shall live with me, Julian,” responded the Lady Geral-
dine. “Your fidelity to your late master will be an assurance
ot your future faithtulness.” ,

} SBS page kissed the hem of the maiden’s robe. in earnest grat-
itude, and she then entered the library.

The body of the late master of the house lay upon a long table,
aud beside it sat the Italian, her head covered.

Forgetting how Justina had injuréd her, Geraldine approsch-

ed her, and addressed her with sympathy and kindness; bat
the Italian turned upon her fiercely, exclaiming:
“You needn't offer me your sympatby,, I won't have it. I
wish I had succeeded in sey you! Oh, if Egbert had only
told me bis secret! He ight have been living and happy now.
You will marry the new Lord Rosenbury, be honored, and joy-
ful. |Go away! Lwantno such contrast to my misery.!”

With tears, the Lady Geraldine left the room, retiring to her

wn chamber, . And there she forgot Justina and her late hus-

and, in happy dreams of a future with Walter, Lady Rosen-
bary, and her father. : 5
The death of Egbert did not cloud the joy of the earl or Geral-
dine. His funeral was very quiet, and no one indulged in the
yain show of mourning forhim, unless. it were his wife. The
earl would not seclude himself, nor permit his daughter to don
the habiliments of a grief that was unfelt; and the death of
Egbert cast no shadow upon their home, no cloud Ary, their joy.

fhe day after the funeral, Justina departed for Milan, her fer-
mer hoi, full of bitterness at the prospect of again conSning
herselt within the beundsof her very narrow income, which
soomed narrower than ever by contrast with her late expendi-
ures,
On. looking over the business affairsof his brother, the earl
speedily saw that a sixillful hand could free the family estates
from all embarrassment, and he set himself to the task with
energy, succeeding beyond his expectations.

Montford House, before the close of the season, was again
thrown open for a grand festivity—io other than a bridal break-
fast to Lord and Lady Rosenbury, the bride being, of course,
the lovely belle, the Lady Geraldine Summers.

As the bride proceeded to don her traveling bonnet, after her
change of attire, she said, with smiles and tears:

“Dear Walter, I relinquished this morning my title of the
Belle of the Season, while Ishall not neglectsociety. The sphere
that I shall delight henceforth most to adorn shall be our happy,
loving home.”

“My sweet wife! exclaimed Walter, with passionate tender-
ness, folding her to his heart. ‘‘Your title henceforth shall be
the angel of home! Sweeter than all the scenes of your bril-
liant tHiumphs shall be our own. fireside, and there you will al-
ways find one devoted lover who lives but in your smiies.”

The happmess of the youthful Lord and Lady Rosenbury was
shared by the Earl of Moniford and Walter’s mother, both of
whom declared their dreams realized in the union of the lovers.

Lady Rosenbury—the dowager, as she humorously called her-
seli—earrying out Walter’s benevolent idea,’ gave to Colt
raine a sufficientsum of money to transport him to New Zea-
land, and there begin life anewasafarmer. The only condition
upon which her generosity was based, was that he should give
up his dissolute habits and endeavor to render himself worthy.

The fate of his son wasin keeping with his life. He lingered
about town—finding himseif shunned by all his former acquaint-
ances, abhorred by ali who came in contact with him, refused
acmittance to his club—until the marriage of the Lady Geral-
dine Summers to Walter, Lord Rosenbury, ‘

The day after. the Jengthy announcements of that happy
event, the morning. journals contained a brief account to the
effect that a young'man, rather shabbily attired, and who had
evidently seen better days, had engaged an apartment ata West-
end hotel, the previdus ¢\ ening, and locking himself in, had dé-
liberately shot himself through the head. When assistance ar-
rived, life was found to be extinct. From the evidence given of
his singular and incoherent manner inengaging the room, the
coroner’s jury rendered a verdict of suicide when in a fit of in-
Sanity. Papers were found on his person proving him to be
Rayinond Loraine, and, by Lord Rosenbury’s orders, he received
a respectable burial. :

Dr..Mure and his brother fled to the continent on learning the
turn affairs had taken,and ag their permanent absence trom
England was secured, the Earlof Montford took no steps to pur-
sue them, knowing that, sooner or later, ajust retribution would
overtake them.

Parkin continued, of course, in the service of Lord Rosenbury,
who valued hus services and faithfulness too;highly to part with
him, and the valet considers himself personally aggrandized by
the elevation of his master. ‘

ane other characters of our tale all met with their true re-
ward.

Without an enemy, therefore, possessing rank and wealth,
dowered with beauty and goodness, surroanded by admiring
friends, loving each other almost to adoration, who can fail to
predict for Walter, Lord Rosenbury, and his lovely and youth-
a bride, a joyous and cloudless tature—such as. they so richly

eserve.

 

Lady Geraldine, and the earl was quite alarmed, seeing how
compleiely the maiden’s appearance would contradict any as-

 

   
 
     
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 

the pav
_ The

a

 

 
     
 

was dead;
an
their brut

witnessed

face.
features.

“Andre

dre.”?

“Yes 14
“Hsark
lips.

“Esark

hang me,

that but o
“Oh!” ¢

are ——”’

“There
and callec
“Come.
“Mercy

ance.
serbrek.

comer.
speaker,
“And £

san, in a

you have

now, eve

ed man.
a plot to

me !”?
“Lift h

 

THE END.

 

raised.

 

But sighs from man

 

yoUs wish to Linger here. °

*On the death of George F. Rogers.

Locksmith of Lyons.

With both tng off at the wrists, the stumps held

Barbe Rousseau plu
Rousse, gasping and grinding from his teeth, hard set

“A surgeon! AS ;
This mutilated wretch no longer thought of the war-
cry he had often yell
“Liberty! Equa
now, as’ he plung
/ surgeon. ee £3
_ At that, moment the loss of his hands was not appalling
to his mind; he

As yet Barve Rou ¢ think of any
thing else, and so rus! g for rungeon, y
_ A crowd was soon ecognized leader

the intended omen, and children

Just before the great stone.stairway that led 1

Golden Loom, he ran against a man who yas coming from.
an opposite direction. n and ¥.
caused Barbe

drew lis Sx#b 200 DTranuisne a” tT.
suing mob swept around the spot.

A shout went up that “The Admiral—The Baked
-—had been attacked by a captain of the national guard,
‘and blows fell upon Hasserbrek. lik
clenched fists, heavy wooden shoes, sticks, stones, any-,
thing at hand, until the mob thought tu. miserabie wretch

body away into another s
intending to hurl if

hey |
dragged the body into a dank hey and left it there.
A person driving a carriage}; Raoul Andre’ in’ fact, "had

his carrluge when the ferocious 8!
their victim, to take a near view of
seen thus horribly treated. ~~" *
Taking one of his carriage lamps'lie ‘entered the dark
‘alley and examined the body, . whieh
be without a spark of life.

Raoul could scarcely distihgtiish
The face was a crushed mass of what

of the face had worn the unifor
Thére was, scarcely a slired of @lothes upon the upper
‘part of the beaten man.
upon it alone told of what the wretch had worn.

bruises, as the driver gazed at it in horror.

“My Heaven ! He is alive !”
after all that,” :
“Raoul }??

“7 did not hear,” said Raoul, Kneeling over the man,
and inclining his ear close tothe mangled and muttering

I
“T did not hear.”

“Good Heaven !” said Raoul, to whom the luckless
captain was slightly known.
this plight?’

“Save me! They said they werecoming back soon—to

ready coming back | :
Some one hiad entered the alley,'and’ Raoul Soon saw

side in a moment.
to the new-comer’s face.

“Silence.
a heavy siouched hat and a cloak. :

The stranger turned toward the entrance of the alley

pearing to recognize this voice of power and self-reli-

There was a heavy, quick tread at the entrance of the
alley, andin a moment after another man stood near Has-

This third comer also wore a slouched hat and cloak.
“Give me the lamp, Raoul,”’

“Oh, I know you!” groaned Hasserbrek, staring at the
vealed his features in full.

the locksmith.
“And aswe have found you thus,’* eontinned thé arti-

return and burn you.”’

“Burn me???

“They believe you atfacked and mutilated their chief—
Barbe Rousseau.”

“But—I aid not—l am his best friend—I 4m his ally—1I
am in—oh, what amI saying! Saveme! Carry me from
this place, I can tell you something, Robert
something of which you know nothing.” ©

“Speak fast then, or 1 leave you.” ry

“But carry me away on the instant—they may return at
any moment—save me, while
will tell you all.”

“There is a chance, a very fair chance for your life,’
said the artisan, not replying directly to this prayer, ‘if

lived, Esark Hasserbrek,

“T am sure of that. I feel that—I shall live if I be cared
for,”? gasped Llasserbrek.
A roaring,'a howling, a yelling in the streets, some-
where, and the clamor swept hoarsely into the alley,
“Oh, mercy ! they are coming back !’’ gasped the wound-

cret, a mystery to you, Robert Lackville.

riage, Raoul.
ed the artisan.
“My legs are broken |’ bellowed Hasserbrek, as he was

 

°TIS BETTER THUS,.*

 

BY A. H. C.

When fate’s decrees remorseless call

suddenly from life away—
‘sickness, death, corruption fall,

re truth, and health, and

~ Which can theyg:

 

But still the heart must bleed to sce
A mind, which every promise gave

Of talent, worth purity,

Recalled so soon, oh! God ! by thee,
To realms beyond the grave.

Yet better thus in death to break
From every tic we hold most dear,

Than live till all we love forsake

A world, where nothing’s left to make

And better thus the world to"leave,

When hope within the heart beats high, ,
Than live to learn that hopes deceive—
Thatall of which we joy or grieve,

Atlast is vanity. ~ Siewes

Farewell! ‘tis vain to linger more
On what thou wert, and now art not,
Thou,h time can ne’er the form restore,
We loved in life—in death deplore, f
Thou wilt not be forgot.

 

WHE

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

CHAPTER XXIV.
TOWARD. THE GOLDEN LOOM.
dripping blood in great gouts at every leap,
ged through the streets of/ Le Croix

and pain, two words, thus:
A surgeon!” '

in the incendiary quarters:
| Fraternity! or Death!’ His cry
along at headlong speed, was for a

t I was,» Bi J shalbget square with him yet.- Now

ae anne i wag oe, ones eet teas re: had |.todook aft Rousse no, they say, has been car-
er loss; ‘ othing. Burn~} tied into . or dying.’ So mutter-
brain, like a red-hot and writhing coal, was the |j oom

inn Pe

       
   
  
  
  
  

 
   

suo, me

 

den Loom, and,

‘sped in that directi , the ero} 5
asing. : ? F La
to The

This collision, st:
Rousseau and the man to fall heavily on

 

   

ding, he hurried a -
pthc which e had heard, from the mob of shiuttle-boys

ies of wonder and in-} 4

ee 1 i ? said those who bore the body. “The doctor al-
mall could not keep pace will ways arries his instruments with him.”
8, spurred by the sharp} “Besides,” says the first speaker, “the doctor's legs are
eath, devoured distance with | drunk, and hepeannking hard,’ a
e Most famous surgeon of, _, “It is well for his patients his practice that his head
ear the great drinkin 8 d hands. are never drunk,’ replied one of the bearers, as

2 | they struggled up the stone stair-way with the

lolent, |

 

+ NE

“Come, I think heis dead now,” said Raoul, as he and
Antoine emerged from the alley with the luckless wretch.

“That may be—or perhaps he has only fainted from
pain. Men with broken bones often faint when they are
moved. But weare in for a delay !"

A swarm ofJanciers, or shuttle-boys, swooped down
upon the group and around it, yé :

“Burn hink! tape] :

petted

  
      
   
 

  
 
   

Af} shrieked ‘mere

atiger. \ “Chop hi
With my hat@het "> )
ei) |
’

 
  

    
 
           
  

“Let
“Good | it will be’a sen=
us!’ “Long live the weav-

      
 

sation!” “There isqwort

ers!” “Higher wag

      
   

 

——————

 

Antoine continued:

“There was the sound of a bugle in the distance, and
the stranger hastened away, no doubt believing his pur-
Suers were at his heels, I never sawhimagain. I never

      
   
    
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
      

heard from him. Wé6 called the t ret

heard his father callfiim, What oth og nie
we did not know, ass father had omitted/to tell us—
perhaps because he fear le name might be a guide to

the pursuit of his foes. But around the neck of the child

    

was den necklave, upon which was engraved one
word ly—‘Lackyille.’ 5 the infant Robert
Lacky My child, a ginl, di ng the following
year, aid Robert jbecame, v arto us. My wile’s
father Cameo live with us, rhed. man, once a
professor in an Univ @taught Robert—
he made R arned man Mile [made hima
famous We heard nothing

ie trade,’ said my
ban should learn a

    

    

  

bgp sags bi ides. There was
le poor Louis XVIoor head the people
cut off—he had a trade ious locksmith.’

‘Good,’ said Robert, ‘I rade.’ And he

 

“c

f “ess work!) “Equality !’
“Down with the rich Share all and share alike!”
‘Whoop !? 7 A

Yelling and screaming, the ferocious Shuttle-boys were
gone in a moment, leaping, whirling and spinning around
each other, back toward “The Golden Loom.» r (e

Raoul and Antoine soon placed the senseless Hasserbrek
in the carriage, disposing his bruised and broken body as |
carefully and tenderly as possible.

The artisan and Antoine got into the carriage, to attend
to the wounded man, and Raoul mounted the box.

“To Dr. Planche’s, Andre, and as fast as you can.”

“1 think the-mamis dead,’ muttered Raoul, as he gath-
ered up his reins, and hung his lamp back upon its place,
“He willnever speak again. On, Jessie,» he added, in
terror and surprise, as a man rushed at the carriage,
made a furious, tiger-like leap to reach the driver's seat,
but failing by a mere chance movement of the horses,and
falling across. the. righu..vre-wheel, and. thence to the
ground, dragging witn him the lamp Raoul had been in
the act of replacing.

_ Down but a fraction of a second, and up at Raonl again
like a desperate wild beast in fury. The man’s face had
been Clearly revealed by the light of the lamp, and as the
Startled, but stout-learted driver swung around the
heavy loaded butt of his whip, and struck fiercely for life
at the assailant, he cried:

“Le Scorpion ! Heaven save, me! Le Scorpion.”

‘Ha! villain that destroyed my eye !? snarled Le Scor-
pion, for the assailant was he, as he struggled to plunge
his Knife into Raoul’s legs and feet, they being, at the
moment, nearest to him, ‘‘Have I found you at last ?”

“You have |’ roared Raoul, in triumph, as the butt of
his whip fell like a thunderbolt upon the side of Le Scor-
pion’s head, and hurled the miscreant to the ground,
where he lay for a moment stunned,

Fate was against Le Scorpion in this sudden attack. A
nail, a spike, or the head of a screw, or some buckle-
point of the carriage furniture had caught in his trousers
as he strove toreacn Raoul, and thus it chanced that the
Laceot in that goo@.and telling bluw with the butt of
us whip. at ; ;

Le Scorpion was not stunned longer than a minute, yet
When he sprang to his feet to renew the attack, the car-
riage was too far away and flying too swiftly for him to
attempt to pursue, 4 s pia

1"

“My curse upot my luck,” he said, as he rubbed his
battered head, ‘I should have done better had I kept on
my way to’The Golden Loom,.as I started. But I wished
to see if it were really Esark Hasserbrek the mob had
killed. I came just in time to recognize that fellowas the
rascal that put out 3; curse him! he canzuse his
whip betver than ife—or I am less active than

   
  
   
  
    
  
 
      
   
     
   

 

i, Still senseless from his vio-

  

dup by many strong arms, and
y toward the office of the surgeon
to reach, when one of the crowd called

Vitat is not in his office—he is in The Gola-
mM there ten minutes ago, chatuing

fo! then we will carry the Admiral right up into The

 

 

Barbe Ronsseaugi= 6) So eee
“Hi! hi?? cried a shrill voice, the voice of a woman who

was coming down the steps. ‘What is this !"

« “Give way, Mamma Grimo! It is the Admiral, badly

 

did, and I tried my handat it with hi the

Village. We little imagined we were afterward a eein
our bread by that calling. Robert soon excelled all the
locksmiths in the yillage. Iwas but an ordinary work-
man. 1) n the trade when I wastoo old. I was a
famous chamois hunter, but a poor workman.”
“Good Antoine,” interrupted the artisan, smiling “you
equalled me except in invention.”

“You are pleased to say so, my son,” replied Antoine,
his grave, benevolent face a’so smiling. ‘Well, after.a
time misfortune began to fall upon us, First my wife’s
father died; then my wife diced; then a land-slide carried
my possessions all away, leaving only my cabin, my dear
cotvage; then fire consumed my cottage; then and
Lleft Switzerland. Wetraveled in many countries, It
W:s then we found the use of a trade. _We never pre-
tended to be father and son—simply companions. But
after a time it came natural to me to regard Robert as my
superioy.. Ile gid notaskit, He was unwiiling that it
should be so. But I insisted upon it, We went to Eng-
land, and there met Dr. Planche. He heard my story and
Wished to adopt Robert as his son, uncer the name of
eres Herbert—the name of a favorite brother of Maa-

e Plapche. Then to adopt him under his own name,
his true name, Alphonse Abat. But Robert desired to
seek tor his father, and we came fo ‘France.’ This I told
‘hin Hasserbrek. Now he may tell why he sought our
rpin. “ ;

i*The story you told me,” said the wounded villain,
‘proved to me that the young man was the son of the
man who had caused me to becemea galerien. 1 resolved
that the son of the count should be made a galerien. As
I,could not find the father, I] resolved to take vengeance
upon the son.”

'“Diaboiical hound !? muttered Dr. Planehe.:

“It was necessary in my plot to involve Antoine,’* con-
tinued Hasserbrek; ‘for the two were inseparable. I con-
aoe to have a charge of forgery fixed upon them, They
were condemned to the galleys for three years, J, then
an officer of the galleys, branded them.”

; “And simply because you believed this unfortunate *
young man to be the son of ‘Count Robert 1’ exclaimed
Lia Mothier, in horror. t Yih

; The wretch groaned an affirmative.

“And therefore, also, you brutally: beat vhim while he
was in your power! O, malicious wretch, know that you
chn live only to behold the happiness of the man you
hated—the man whem you hated only because he was the
son cf the man you hated !” said the general, who then
opened a door leading into an adjoining apartment.

| From this apartment advanced a tall and noble-looking
man, in the undress uniform of a Russian Officer of high
rank. His hair, close cut, was silvery white, as was his
heavy, drooping mustache. He was spare, but erect, in
figure, and his clear cut features were impressed with an
expression of iron-like firmness. His eyes, black, keen,
and brilliant, swept rapidly about the room, and then re-
mained fixed upon those of the wounded man.

|Esark Hasserbrek stared at this man in ‘surprise and
consternation. ; ;
“This is General Joan Shutyoffski, of the Imperial army
of Russia,” said General, La Mothier. . ‘‘He arrived in
Lyons, from Paris, five hours since, seeking me. Having
seen mein my house, and while there being told that
Hsark Hasserbrek was in this house, he expressed a de-

   
 

sire to see him. With Dr. Plancne’s consent, he has re-
mained in the adjoining room, Waiting your return to
consciousness, llasserbrek.

He has heard all that you
have said.” . j T -. hive
“And why does he, a Russian general, desire fo see me?
Ido not know him,” replied Hasserbrek, still staring at
the stranger, who continued to negara him in silent and
severe calmness.

Antoine, whe had not been aware of the presence of the
Russian until the latier eutered the room of the wounded
man, Was also steadily gazing at him, aS was the artisan,
who had never seen him before.

‘But the stately Russian gazed only at Esark Hasser-

 

wounded. We are taking him into The Loom, that Dr.
Vitat may attend to him.”

 

t

  

en

h amt instau
n another instant,

chief '

hail—a hail of

and then a party of shuttle-boys uragged the
ror howling, an reviling if,
into the'river. But, tiring of

al sport before ched ‘the quay, they

apart of this scene, and led by curiosity, left
shittle-boys had quitted
the Wigtch he had

 

‘Supposed must
4 feature of the man’s’
had been
It was scarcely to be perceived that the owner
of the National Guard.
The sabre-belt and the shield

!) gasped this mass of mud, dust, oan and
“Raoul An-

exclaimed Raoul. ‘Alive,

good Heaven ! whoare you?”
Hasserbrek."?

Hasserbrek."?

“How came your honor in
orto drag me to the river.’ Ah, they are al-
Mercy !?

ne had done so, for the new comer was at his

ried Raoul, raising his lamp, and holding it close
“I think I have séen you—you

Is he dead ?*? demanded the other, who wore’
is life in him, sir—scarcely more.” ‘
l out in a commanding voice:

Hie is alive.” :
? groaned Hasserbrek, even in his agony, ap-

Said the first cloaked

who had lifted his hat from his head, and re-
“Robert Lackville.’’

am Antoine,” said the other, the companion of

cold tone, ‘‘we will leave you. The mob will

Lackville—
you can—and elsewhere I

received no great internal injury. You are hard-
If you were well-cared for,
n how, battered as you are, you might live.”

ican reveal
On! I can explain a se-
Save me! Save

“Carry me away—carry me away.
sack the city of Lyons.

im, Antoine and Raoul. Bear him to your car-

Haste—they are coming back !"? command-

   
   
  
    

the pur- |» ‘The carriage with Esark ,
the residence of Dr. Planciie, and the wounded man placed,
Hasserbrek, who was not known to be a secret ally of | upon.a cotin one of the upper and unoccupi
him who was known all over La Croix Rousse as a
of the people, was beaten down. vid Cibe
Crab"

“Stars of light! me help you—let me hold his head
W to carry a wounded man,” cried

pouncing upon the wounded

TE RMT Fr thin
K'S. CONFESSION. re

Hasserbrek was soon before

 

  

ied rooms.

 

brek in stern silence.

“Great Heaven |’ cried the latter, suddenly; “it is Count
Robert 1” :
“Yes, lam Robert Charnois, Counte de Glavline,” said

own’ the great stair-way like | the stranger, in a deep, sonorous tone, ‘‘and you are Esark

Hasserbrek, of Strasbourg, who was cence sieward and su-
perintendent of my estates.” ;
“True. Pardon |?

ih ‘ yon are ben “My desire for ven-
ance,’”? said the count pan Phe vyeligeance of ?
Heaven is upon you” — + ees a
/He then turned to Antoine, gazed, for 2 moment, stead-

 
 
   
 
 
   
 

‘ily into his staid, benevolent face, and then said:

‘“Noble man, Tam the French officer who confided to

‘When consciousness returned to him he saw around his | you the safety of my infant son, twenty-three years ago,

eee Gen. La Mothier, Dr. Plancle,
Artisan, . y id a1 {

The face of the old physicia
the others very sterm 9) fel DAR. t
‘Drink this, Hasserbrek,?’ said the! physician, placing a
goblet to the lips of the wounded wretch, when Antoine
had vaised him to a position in which‘he could swallow.

[See eergs ree eagerly. He was in an agony) of
thirst.

+s Wihere am 1? A ; . >
“In Piace Bellecour. In my house.’

“Safe from the assassins of LaCroix Rousse ?’’

“Yes, perfectly safe from them, If you have anything
te confess, do so instantly.” pet
» “My God | is it so bad with meas that!"

“You are very badly bnrt.” ;

' “I know that—great kmgs! what.a storm of blows I re-
ceived. ButIaminno pain. Oh, I shai recover.

“You are in no pain simplp because I have made you
swallow opium and other drugs which kill pain for a time.
I do not\say that youare dying, but if’ you recover it will
be a miracle and not a cure.”

‘But I: may recover?’

“Only the most skillful care and the aid of Heaven can
give you power to.leaye that bed alive, Hasserbrek.”’
“But. there is a possibility,’ whined the wounded man,
appalled by this threat of near. death. ‘‘You were famed
in Paris for curing the most desperate cases, doctor—you
will do all you. can for me?’’

“{fyou confess why you pursued this young man with
bitter and cruel hate, and all you know of his origin,
and allelse that you and your evil associates designed
against him,” replied the doctor, ‘f will do all I can for
youd’? 3 '

“And if I have nothing to tel?”

“Oh, then you cease to be an object of interest to me.
If you are such a fool as to wish to die in horrible torment,
do so. vUome, friends, let us leave this simpleton, who
has a secret which may save his life, but who chooses to
die with it unspoken.”’

“No—do not leave me. L will speak. I hated Robert
Lackville because. he was the son of his father, and I
nated his father because he detected mein a crime, for
which 1 was branded and condemned to the galleys.
Thirty years ago | was the steward and manager of the
estates of Robert Charnois, Counte de Glavline,”?

“And Robert Charnois, Counte de Glaviine, was the
father of this young man ?? demanded La Mothier,

**Yes, general.” .

‘I suspected it,’ said the general. ‘I saw the features
of the noble family of Charnois in the face of this young
man, when I first met him in the locksmith shop in La
Croix Rousse, Robert Charnois was my father’s uncle,
monsieur,’”’ he added, grasping the hand of the artisan;
“we are already kinsmen by blood+not so nearly that
we may not be kinsmen by marriage. Speak on, Hasser-
brek.’

' “Before that young man was born,” said Tasserbrek,
“J defrauded his father, being, as I said, steward of the
Glavline estates. His father detected me, accused me,
and saw me branded and condemned to the galleys for
ten years. When I was set at liberty again Count Robert
was no longer in France. He had offended Nspoleon.
He had conspired to restore the Bourbons, and was forced
to fly fram France. His title was destroyetl; his estates
were confiscated by theemperor. I learned that before
he fled he had married, and that when he filed his wife
was dead; but he carried with him his only child, an in-
fant son; that he left this son somewhere in Switzerland,
and continued his flight to Russia. What then became of
him I haye never heard. Isuppose he is dead—there was
a rumor that he was killed in some of the battles around
Mescow. Five years ago I became acquainted with Anto-
ine Lamar—that man—and Robeit Lackville. The re-
semblance of the latter to my former master attracted
me; 1 gained the confidence of both. They were lock-
smiths by trade. Antoine told me something which made
me assured that Robert Lackville was the son of Count
Robert. Besides, the family name of the mother of Count
Robert's infant son was De Lackville.”’

Here Hasserbrek, somewhat exhausted, paused to col-
lect strength, and Antoine said:

“This man gained my confidence, and what I told him
was this—the same I have already told to you, Dr.
Planche: ‘Many years ago, when this young man was an
infant, I lived in the mountains of Switzerland, of which
country [am a native, I was a chamois-hunter, a hus-
band and a father. One day a French gentleman of no-
ble appearance, but greatly worn and weary, sought
shelter in my cabin. lie had with him, carefully wrapped
ina cloak, an infant boy, scarcely two years, old. He
told me that he was pursued by emissaries of Napoleon,
that his only attendant had deserted him, and begged me
to protect and care for the infant a few days, that he, un-
encumbered, might defeat the pursuit of his enemies,
who were pressing him closely. My wife and I willingly
consented, and asked no reward. But he threw a purse
of gold upon the floor, saying: ‘Use that for yourselves
and my boy, until you hear from me again,’ Then press-
ing his child to his bosom he kissed. it wildly, exclaiming:
‘Adieu, my darling, my Robert! Perhaps I may. never
see you again, dear child of my sainted Viola Ia

“Ha! Viola!’ said the general, interrupting. ‘The

“i oo As ies Yep. j
was yery grave, those of

 

 

 

 

Antoine:and the} 1

the mountains of Berne. © ] recognize you, Antoine La

, by that kit | face, and the scar upon your forehead.”
“Time has greatly changed your features, noble sir,”
replied Antoine, “yet I now recognize you as tie stranger
who gave me his infant son.. Tins young man who has
been to. me as dear as a son, is he who was the imant
wliom you Called Robert.”
‘The count opened his arms toward the artisan, and the
next moment saw them both close-locked in affectionate
embrace.
Soon after, the count said to Antoine, warmly grasping
the hands of the honest Swiss.
“It shall be the stndy of my hfe totry to reward you,
noble and faithfulman. When I placed my boy in your
care it was my intention to return within a few days;
but I was forced to continue my headlong flight into Rus-
sia, fo escape the vengeance of Napoleon. There I imme-
diately entered the service of the Czar, unfortunately the
regiment to which Il was assigned was soon after sent to
serve against the Turks, and by them 1 was captured.
remained a captive for years, force to serve as a general
of engineers in superintending the fortifications of various
places. Eight years ago I escaped into Russia again. I
sent an emissary to inquire after the welfare of my son. >
He never returned. Perhaps he perished on his way. At
the end of another year I sent another agent. Months
after he returned, saying that Antoine La Mar and his
adopted son Robert Lackville bad left Switzerland, and
were supposed to have perished in an avalanche.”?
“Ab, the avalanche did destroy all the party in which ,
we were,” interrupted Antoine; ‘and so the report got
out that we loo were lost.”
“No doubt, and as I believed it, I gave up all hopes of
ever seeing my son again on earth. -As my estates had
passed: into other hands in France, and as. the Czar
was my good friend, Iremained in Russia, received the .
rank of Field-marsball, and was wade Prince of Gostgiva.
Iam married, and have two children in St. Petersburg, .
Where my wife now is. .A few months ago, I was inform-
ed that Louis Phillippi, King of France, had commanded,
with the sanction of the French peers, restoration of the
title and estates of the house of Charnois to be made to
the nearest legitimate heir. Assoon as possible I went to
Paris, and sought for my kinsman, General Henri La
Mothier, to aid mein my claims. Learning that he was
in Lyons, I hastened thither—and have found my son,
long mourned for, and to whom I shall resign my title as
Count de Glavline, and all my estatesin France. Lam
happy and honored in Russia, and my wife being a na-
tive and princess of that country, cau be content only
there.
Alt now withdrew from
Planche with Hasserbrek,
“Well,’? said the doctor, ‘‘you see how it has ended.’
“You have promised to do ali you can for me,’’ groan-
ed Esark,

“Solshall, my man; I can keep you alive three days.”

“Three days |, Am I to live only three days ?’ 4

“Come, I will make another examination,’ said the:
doctor. “I may have made a mistake." :

“Oh, 1 knew you did, Iam sure you did—lam in no
pain—not the stightest—oh, of course you made a mis-
take!’
The doctor, after a long and minute examination, said,

    
  

the room, leaving only Dr.

gravely:
“Yes. I was wrong.’
“Good! Iknewit! [ shall recover.”

“Of what religion are you Captain Hasserbrek?” asked
the doctor, regarding the man keenly.
“Eh 2?

“Of what religion are you ?'!

“Of whatreligion? Well, lam notaJew nor aTurk—..
in fact I can’t say I am of any particular belief.”’

“That is unfortunate, Isaid I was wrong in my con-
clusion from my first examination of your hurts. 1 said
I could keep you alive three days,”?

“Yes—how absurd, when I feel almost well enough, if
my leg was not broken, to get up and dance.”

“J find I cannot, do all I can,’ said the doctor, in a sol-
emn tone, ‘keep you alive three hours.”

“Good Heaven ! you are jesting {’

“No—and you may be dead in three minutes. As you
say youhave no particular creed, lleaye you alone to
make your peace with God.”

Esark Hasserbrek saw that the doctor was in earnest;
but before he could cry out his awful dismay, there wasa
rap at the door. and then Antoine looked in, saying: _

“The woman, Mamma Grimo, is in your office, with
the lost papers.”

(To be continued.)

a
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ering what we have done, and will continue to do, to receive

 

 

 

“And my ribs! al!”

name of the wife of Count Robert—Viola de Lackville,”

the approbation of the public.

 

 

 

 

 

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BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE,

 

Thanks, thanks to ye, Stars,
That ye’ve met so divine,
With your dear torches round
The Queen Moon’s cloudless shrine:
And thanks there’s no gale,
Buta delicate breeze,
Breathing serenades up
From theshadowy trees.

For I’m sure that no storm,
With its prophet of mist,
Can my plighted one keep
From our last sacred tryst;
And all nature will smile
In an answering bliss, — ns
That the star-eyes of Heaven
Sparkled on the last kiss.

O, thou night-blooming Rose—
Yes, it is the last Kiss
Ere the nuptial torch lights
To Love’s diademed bliss!
Sweet Rose, spread thy leaves—
Now my own one’s with me!
Eden's sy mbol of love,
We breathe Eden by thee!

SQUIRREL CAP;

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

egies
“Squirrel Cap” was commenced in No. 22, Back numbers can
be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United

States. errs ts
CHAPTEs XX.
THE STRUGGLES OF AN UNTUTORED HEART.

Lieutenant Danvers, with his escort of ten men, separa-
ted from the main body of the reinforcement about twen-
ty miles southeasterly of Raccvon Ridge, they keeping the
mail road, and ne striking overland.

it was wanting about two hours of sunset when his men
made their littie encampment, close to that of the hunt-

rs, at the foot of the Ridge, whilst he urged his black
mare up tle steep trail leading te the lodge, with sad’
iorebodings in his. heart.

The day was a warm one for the season of the year, with
brightness aud sunshine everywhere, As he drew near
the lodge, he heard the noisy challenge of the parrot, ana
as he tarned. the rock-angle which br ht him in sight of
it, he saw the old teappercleaning his rifle in the sunshine
at the door, with Puss, the panther, stretched at ‘lus feet,.

 

less. He therefore turned away sorrowtlully, and retraced
his steps unattended.

Allie was still standing at the door of the lodge, and
looked at him very sweetly, but he said not a word. He
remounted his horse, and moved, down the mountain
trail gloomily enough.

When he had arrived at the foot of the mountain, and
almost reached his camp, he turned and glanced at the
summit. ‘

The trapper, apparently, had not altered his attitude
an inch, but stood there like a statue of stern, unaltera-
ble, irrevocable resolve.

 

CHAPTER XXI1.
A SELF-STRUGGLE AND A SELF-MASTERY.

Twilight fell upon tle wiid scenery around the old trap-
per’s cabin on the ridge. The camp fires of the hunters
and soldiers at, the Mountain’s loot began to twinkle
through the gloom, and little Alie—together with ‘the
rest of Squirrel Cap's happy “family,”.no doubt—began
to wonder why her protector did not return. But still he
remained, grotesquely statuesque, upon the rade emi-
nence where Danvers had left him.

Silent and motionless he remained there, a lone, weird ”

figure in a rude, wild scene., But a great heart-struggle
was going on within his rough, untutored breast. ;

It went on for a long, long time, even ‘until darkness
gathered over the wilderness. Then, when the moon be-
gan to climb the mountains and the stars to glimmer in
the heavens, 4 great battle had been fought, & great vic-
tory won, and a great defeat sustained. And then Squir-
rel Cap bowed his head upon his horny hands once more,
and moaned aloud. For the battle had been with his own
great heart. He was the victor, but it was his broken,
worsted heart that made the moan. 5 © © {i's

He returned to his cabin in such a forlorn and dejected
mood that Allie did not fail to notice it: Bat she said
nothing. Probably she had not sufficiently developed in
her “civerlizatun” to thoroughly comprehend the emo-
tions of her own nature, let alone the phases of feeling in
the breasts of others. ;

The old trapper looked. at her mournfully enough as he
took his seat at the meal prepared for him in a mechani-
cal way. The parrot’s vociferous welcome from the’
blackened rafter overhead, and the pet panther received.
no notice as she purringly rubbed her sleek head against
his knee.

The brandy was also before him, and he drank more
than he ate. . After a few mouthfuls of the fragrant meat,
he drew his stool to the fire, and sat gazing into its em-
bers mournfully, while little Allie cleared the table.

“On,” at length he groaned, and you would not. even
have smiled at his phraseology, had you heard him, its
tones were so fraught with sorrow; “the jig’s up! Who’d
a thoughtit? who’d a guessed, dreamed, imaginated,
fancied of it? Outen the walley of the snadder of tarna-:
tion, thort I—outen the walley up/outer the Pike’s Peaks
of beaticiiudes. An’ now it’s all Kerflumuxed, as the
earthquak said to the big cathedral! It’s back inter the
walley of the shadder. It’s back inter the walley.”

He could say no more, but bowed his head and groaned
again.

"His soliloquy had been all Greek to little Allie, but the
tone in which he spoke appeared to touch her simple
heart...” fy Hi8 ;

 

and glimpses of little Alice attending to her simple house-}}:

hold duties within. niin 4

Danvers’ heart smote him; a feeling of shame came
over him 3 and, indeed, he might have turned back, thud
not the trap descried him, and sung out to him, with,
all the cheerfulness of old revived : A

“Once more enter the breech, feller citerzens, as ‘the

. Prince of Japan remarked to the gal with the rent in her
- slippers !

Welcome, an’ welcome, an’ thrice welcome,

fair youth of Araby'’s melliflerous gale! Allie, leetle gal,

hhere’s our princely guest, returned once more to tue

aboge of beauty and the hum ofjoy !”

But Alice was already at the door with her deep sweet
eyes abeam with welcome, the panther purred her con-
tentment, and the green parrot iurrahed from the beams
within. ;

All this pained Danvers to such a degree, that he had
to force the suiles, with which he made a poor response
to their cordiality. ;

In answer to Squirrel Cap’s invitation to ‘‘come in, an’
take sutnin’,? he explained the object of his mission,
stated that jis troops were in camp at the foot of the hill,

- and suddenly dismounting, and tetheriag his horse, said:

“Squirrel Cap, my dear friend, I have something very
particular to say to you, and wish you would walk up the
mountain a bit with me.”

“Wall, Ul swan! what's got inter yer, as the weasel | Specter of the soul.”

whispered to the snake as had jist swallered him. lain't
got no secrets from this ’ere leetle gal, lieutenant.”?
Danvers looked at him imploringly.
“Do come, | beseech you!’ he said.
happy at what I have to ay and yet I must say it.”
Squirrel Cap saw that his friend was greatly troubled
about something, and, therefore, rising and standing his
fun against the side of the cabin, he proceeded with him,
Tukey went up the mountain a couple-of hundred yards, |
until they reacned a pleasant little’ plateau, and here the
lieutenant paused, vis face expressive of much mental
suffering. “snd
“Thave made an accidental discovery, Squirrel Cap,’’
an he, “which wiil affect your peace of mind consider-
ably.” Cipeee
“Well out with it! Sooner the better! growled the
trapper, already beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“Tt am very un-

“i've discovered  Allie’s , e1 a Ve
- “Wall, m course you have diskivered him, lieute
faltered the trapper. ‘You've diskivered me, an’ all the
world an’ liis gran’mother knows I’m her father.” : |

    

“] mean er real father, Squirrel Cap—the father who-}

  

brought her into existance.” 0.

“\Wall! dida’t I bring her inter existence from way

 

© down under the snow? Let mesee the man who says I

didn’t bring her into existence !’ cried the eld man, in a
defiant. blusteriug tone, though Danvers could see that
he was only assuming it to conceal excessive agitation.

“Squirrel Cap,’? said he, very Kindly, but very gravely,
“the tather of Allie is Major Warfield, the commandant
of Fort Laramie.”

Lue ranger reeled back asif he had received a heavy
blow. Despite the seams, and bronze of time and expo-

. sure, his face was ashen pale, and the expression of de-

spair and grief, which suddenly took possession of all his
lineaments, was awful to contemplate. +

“It's a lie!” ‘he hissed; “you have cooked up this ere
yarn, to get possession of her yourself}?

But, noticing the expression of the young officer’s face,
which was almost as distressing as his own, the old man
seemed to regret what he had said; and, at last, sinking |
upen a stone, he broke down entirely, and could with.
difficulty retain his grief,

At last lhe groaned out piteously:

‘Wall, spin yer yarn, lieutenant, spin yer yarn !”

Lieutenant Danvers, with all the pleading eloquence he
could command, related the story of Major Warfield’s
sorrow, as he had heard it from Miss Larrimer.

Squirrel Cap did not answer‘ for ‘a long time, but sud-
denly he raised his head and asked very abruptly, as
though he had aciue to an argument on the other side:

“Wall, now,if Major Warfield is the father of my leetle
gal, then who, i thunder, is this ‘captain,’ who’s been
goin’ through murder and bloody bones arter her’?

Danvers leaned forward, and whispered in his ear. The

rapper looked up, with a dazed, startled expression.

Tue lieutenant simply nodded to him significantly, and
then the other was silent @ long time again, with his head
buried io his hands.” | ;

Presently he looked up. ,

“Of course, the major knows of my leectle gai bein’
here??? be said,

“Do you think I would break my cath, or that my friend
would?” exclaimed the young officer, with some heat.
“Yhe major is utterly ignorant of llis child being here—
indeed, he Knows not if she be alive or dead.*”

‘Puen, by the blazin’, scorpin’, rearin’, teario’ pineknot
of glory !* cried tue old trapper, springing to. his: feet,
and fiercely shaking his cleuched hand above his head,
“! won't give her up!”

The lieutenant attempted fo expostulate,

“] tell yer 1 wont |? almost roared the ranger of Rac-
coon Ridge. “Both you an’ that Englisher has got to
perjure yourselves inter the brimsiun pit of eternal ever-
lastin’, now an’ forever, howl’ fire, so as to let the ma- |
jor come aw take her by force, afore Pl) give up that air }
leetie gal! By the jampin’ jawbone as played on Sam-
son’s donkey, Lsaid inenct. am’ L says it agin—fincdeis
keeptts, LO the bitter end |’

“Listen to reason for one moment, Squirrel Cap!

“Al evel tlien,’? continued tire trapper, whose yolu-
bility Was a sort of safety valve for his rage, as it Was ior
his good humor; “even then, let the high-borned pontiff
of Laramie send forth his myriadons from his lefty em-
battietures an’ soundin’ Canuenades—let him blow ‘the
bugle of extirpation till he busts his biler, an® the fiery
firmamint re-echers back the howlin’ notes, I wort! ye
her up then! Ill leave the Ridge bere—Vil fiy tO the
towerny’ peaks of the mountains of the. moon, with my
leetie gal, an’ thar we'll find retief from man’s inhooman-
ity to man among the howlim’, youpin’ wild beasis of

creation. Bat L won't give ler tp

Danvers thought it was best tolet him expend his fury,
aud hew, as ie seemed to have done so, le said to him,
very calmly and impressively:

“Squitrel Cap, I will not seek to shake your determina-
tion Tariher; but pray listen to me, while I put the case
tw you itt another aspect. Put yourself in Major War-
fielu’s place, Lhink how. you would feel, after twelve
years’ separation from your osvn flesh and blood?.. Not
enty is the actual separation to be considered, but the
uncertainty concerning The faite of your child. You are
not only iv ignerance as to its iife, or death, but you are
ignorait as 40 its condition Ina luie, Your own. life is one
lopg period of suffering, as the wearing, wasting question
yecurs to you, day alter day: > she be alive, where is
she, and watis she? Isshe leading alife of purity and
Culnpurilive case, or is she the base hireling of some it-
diab dog?” E - .

“Do you mean to say,” growled the trapper, turnin
Whiter-thon before, “as how her life ain’$ pure an’ oa
at Raccoon Lodge ?”’

‘Dou't wisunderstand me, my friend,’ hastily restime¢
the lieutenant. “Remember that Major Warfield doesn’t
row that his child is at Raccoom Lodge. If his obtain-
ing possession of ber were ao utter impossibility, Ihave
no doabt Hut tt would, 14his present state of suspense
nid unceruuury, be on infinite relief tochim to know that
she Was in such faitiful and honest Keeping, as yours. I
put it to you, if you were in pis place; woenld you not deem
thal man hearticssly selfish and cruel who Would ‘keep

 

Tlie gaunt old trapper stood erect, with his arms folded,
aud immovable as a statue of brouze.

ante ‘Things has changed as the fish-hawk said to the swalier.

 

“7 won't give her up]

» She Came gently up, drew ler light form into his lap,
and placed her arms‘about .his neck. The parrot, fora
wonder, said nothing, but fluttered down in silence, and
alighted upon his shoulder, while panther puss, with a
purr much more subdued than was her wont, crept up,
aud stretched herselfat his feet... ; . i

lt was teo much for the.eld man.) » Wilderness-worn
veteran that he was, the big tears ofsorrow coursed eaci
other down his cheeks. | aed igh

‘Allie, leetie gal,’? he exclaimed, bridling up, and
crushing back the weakness which made itself apparent
on his cheeks, “ain’t I your double-activined foster
father 7! dnt qos

“Yes, father:” : e a tt

“Didn't I dig yer outen the deep snow, an’ warm yer,
an’ civerlize yer ?”? ou a

“Yes, father,*? bogutt eng ;

‘An! ain’t finders keepers, as the King of Ninevah saia
to the Duke of Siam ?” : Hed

“Yes, father.” Stl 5

“No itain’t ! The king was a liar an’ the duke a fool!
Oh, shadders ofthe princely past! spooks an’ sperrits, an’
gowls of the all-perwading eternal parst ! that it should
come to this ere, Allie, that it should arrive to this con-
sermation most dewoutly to be cust, an’ me to stand
ermid the ruins of the ages, a bone-rattling, skull-grinnin’

 
 

She arew her arms 2 little closer round his neck,
kissed his rugged brow. ; xt
“Poor father! poor little father.” Hut 1.
“Doant use thatere sweet familiar voice agin, leetle:
gal. It busts my ole heart clean inter cracklin’s, an’ my:
gizzard goes to gravy with, the meltin’ of my tears!
Doant do it, leetle gal, doantido:it.”” : ;
“Poor father !”? Bate RU
“Pur—r—r,”? said the amon :
“Im your darter! I’m yourdarter ! cried Polly, rous-
ing herself from her reverie, t0 be up to the sympathy of
the occasion. : oT tou ei Ail, :
“You're all down on me!» Yon’re all on yer conspira-
tin’ for ter drive sae , crankin’, ¢reakin’ crazy, an’
make a ee lu ‘ot the temple of iny georgeous
soul |’? moaned the old trapper feebly.. she
“Poor father ??_

 

\ Pwas onet; but T atet no tabi

Yor got another father novw, Ieetle gal.”- ris

Only partially understanding him, she looked at lim
curiously. ; te At? ricgoa | 7

Tuen with a heavy heart and a breaking voice, ue told’
her all he had heard, in language so simple that sne easuy:
understood. °° ; ’ » One To

She drew her hand across her face with a troubled
air,and a new intelligence,like the reviving of ola memory 28
appeared to be gatiiering vaguely in her look. ti iil

“Oh, ol: ?? she murmured, abstractedly ; “1 see proud
lady onte more, ‘father. Prond lady, dark lady; hair, |
eyés black—oh, so lick. Proud lady love me very much.
Then bad man take.me way.;,then my people—red men!
on pretty. horses take me way—far, far away. Then—:
then—no, thatis all, father.” }

“All !? exélained Squirrel Cap, perceiving’ that the
troubled look still lingered-on her face. ‘Don’t you have
no, dim, misty, vague strings to the catgut of your me-
mory ‘bout. big, fine man—soldier man, with gold bobs on
his shoulders, an’ a swashin’ big toastin’ iron “long side
his right-hand leg?”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, a quick gleam fleeting over her
face, , “Fine, beautiful mun. Fine man love me too, very
much, but he no like proud, prettylady.. That's all,—yes,
that is all, father.”

Squirrel Cap'groaned. ‘

He paused for a long time, while’ all the rest were si-
lent. ee

Was the battle being renewed in his breast? Ifso, it
was.a brie! engagement, and victory was as before. But
the old trapper’s voice was husky. with emotien as he
Ai REF Fe Oe

‘Allie, leetle gal, you must go to that ere beautious fel-
ler, Wilh the gold bobs, and the siwashia* toastin’ iron.
You must.go.to bim.”

“Why, father?”’—looking at him with wondering eyes,

“Because he’s your fatner, leetle gal, your own father.”

She laughed in a quiet, childish way.

“No, you my father.’ And then she kissed his old fore-
head agaiv. ,

“No, no, drat it !?? cried Squirrel Cap, his voice shaking
again as he felt the pressure of lier lips... “V’m only your
father’s nightmar, as the Kimg of Denmark said to Giin-
let the Great. The fine felléris your downright, spang-
up, legitimate parent, and you must go tohim, dear, dear
icetle gal |”? ;

“T won't, father !’—and
brow.

“You must—must—must ! ‘cried Squirrel Cap, increas-
ing his empnasis at each successive exclamation, as if he
found relief in doing so.

“Why ??? she asked, the smile fading from her face.

“Because—because he’s got a right to yer. Thar, thar,
it’s bed-time, an’ yer better retire to yer budwer at onct.
We've a long journey alore us in the mornin’.

She did as she was bidden Without a word, and he
watched her as she disappeared’so softly and silentiy—al-
most shaddow-like in her gentlesvrace.

“Ah, that budwer, that budwerd” he murmured, as the
rude curtain fell behind her retreating form. ‘I reared,
an’ built, and erec. ered it for her with these ere ole hands
—an’ when, when she’s - Oh, bones and ashes! Pm
goin’ to bed !?

He did go, ‘but I question whether he closed his eyes in
slumber, or composed his frame to rest.

They Were. up at daybreak, and while little Allie, pale
and silent, was preparing the morning meal, the old trap-
per noticed that she had. made her simple preparatious
for the journey, as he had bidden her. _

She was dressed in the free, picturesque costume she
had wornwhen he had found her in the snow, with the
rich Wainpum upon her shoulders, and the bright beads
upon herlitile moccasins; and her blankets were ready
in the corner. :

Squirrel Capturned away to hide his emotion, and,. to
occupy his mind, went out to saddle up old Nineveit.

“Cheer up, ole gal, for you need to now !? he exclaimed,
leading out Lis honest brute. “You andI has had many
a wild-goose ramble, inter the walley of; the shadder,, an’
outen the walley of the shadder, but if this ere aint the
meanest, onecryest, dirtiest trip we’re goin’ to take this
time, you can daub my picter with stove-blackim’ an’
quick-lime, an’ dispoge of me for candle-grease! Cheer
up, Ole gal! cheer up !??

Tuere was, however, but little cheerfulness about Rac-
coon Lodge.

Breakfast was eaten in silence and sadness, and then
they all assembled out in the fresh winter morning. The
old trapper, appareled for the long trip; Allie, pale and
quiet, With her savage garments ground her; the parrot
perched upon her master’s fantastic head-piece; the pan-
ther-pet wincing from the cold; and old N ineveh solemn,
staid and architectural as of old. ;

Tuey stood therein silence for some moments, Then
Squirrel Cap put Allie in the saddle, ordered the animals
ia the cabin, aud closed the door, oe

The panther was heard to scream dolefully, the parrot
to chatter dismally; and then, with bowed head and bro-
ken step, the Ranger of Raccoon Ridge led old Nineyeh
down the mountain trail, ;

CHAPTER XXII,

THE MAIL-ROBBERS AT BAY.

Laramie Peak is a single cone, sugar-loaf in shape, lo-
cated about twenty-two miles. west of the North Fork of

again her lips touched his

 

 

the Platte, and about half again as many north of Lara-
mie River—or Laramie Creek it should be called, for it is
au insignificant tributary of the nobler stream.

Directly behind this is a low ridge, encompassing a nar-
row canon (which also forms the bed of a small stream,
or mountain brook,) of extraordinary natural defense,
and having its steep-slopiog walls thickly grown with the
small stunted oaks and Iirs which are guite common in
this region. : ;

Into this canon—called Red Canon, from the color of

its red granite conformation—the mail-robbers and their
indian allies, intrenched themselves. They were almost
completely surrounded. The mouth of the canon was
guarded, by.a force of twenty-eight riflemen (themselves
securely intrenched) from. Fort. Bridger; the upper end
was made utterly inaccessible to anything but an,eagle’s
wing. The troops from Laramie hemmed them in, the,
front and rear—the Jarger body being stationed at the
north-base of Laramie Peak... «.. : i }
, Within this dreary canon, at the time when our eccen-
tric hero was contemplating “his sell-sacrificing journey
to Fort Laramie, and Danvers and his troop were riding
to, Davis’. Ranche, to escort his friend, Lieutenant. Mor-
ton back to his, quarters, about one hundred and fifty
men were assembled. :

Three-fourtns ef them were Indians. The remainder
were the white robbers. The camp—if such it should be
called—was in a wretched condition: provisions scarce,
many of the band dying from wounds festering through
lack of surgical care, and every one moody and desper-
ate; but the dainty Captain, with his usual fastidiousness,
had had quarters erected for himself, in the shape ofa
rude cabin at the upper extremity of the glen.

At the time I write, he was alone, seated before tlic
embers of his fading fire, and buried in thought.

He was apparently but little altered, except that no.
he wore the military costume in which I have once before
described him. There was the same nervousness of the
white little hand, the same cruel beauty of the dark, deli-
cate face, with its coal-black mustache and ringlets, and
the same leopard-like movement, and even sapineness of
the smail and facile form. i : ;

News had reached him of the destruction of Yellow
Station, though of course the manner in which Bower
Trump met his death rendered his fate a Ben" not to
be revealed to the robber band. But as yet, notwith-
standing the numberof days that had elapsed, no intelli-
gence had reached him. of the fate of the ruffians who had
veen sent to,Raccoon Lodge for the purpose of seizing
the person of little Allie. This was on account of the
manner in which the bandits were hemmed in by the
troops, but the Captain awaited news of the result of that
dastardly enterprise with feverish impatience,

As he arose, and paced his narrow quarters, the anx-

| jety which he felt couid be seen plainly marked wpor his

face. Spanish curses were frequently ground out from
Between his clenched teeth, and his little hand fluttered
frequently at the weapons in his belt—his most usual in-
dication of suppressed anger.

Presently the sound of a horse pausing without caused
him to turn with a swift, eager movement, and amoinent
later Mormon Mike entered the but.

“Well, well, well?’? cried his superior.

“Well, capting,” said the scoundrel, in his whining,
nasal voice, ‘‘them scouts has returned from the ridge,
and they seeda Ingin woman as seed the hull fight at

 

{ our bravos, Wwe will see

Squirrel Cap’s lodge.”

‘Ha! then the trapper resisted the abduction? But
the .girl—where is she?”

‘tAs fur as the gal goes, captain, only the sacred Brig-
ham himself can tell, fur] can’t.”

‘What? cried the other, bislip shaking, and his fine
ir ee “do you Mean to say that the seveAa men
ailed 2? ;

“Should rather think théy did, captain, seein’ as how
there ain’t ho seven men Jeft—nary one to tell the tale.”

“Speak !-speak-!? hissed the Captain through his clench-
ed teeth, his whole frame quivering with the emotion
that possessed him. - 4 k

Mormon Mike then related the story of the bloody fight

-jat Raccoon Lodgeas it had been witnessed by some wan-

dering savage spying from the rocks.

The robber chieftain grew paler at every word of the
harsh narration, and then sank back with @ groan o!
‘Keenest sufféring. 1 ;

On, the ‘traitor, the traitor!” he muttered; “that I
should Dave been so thoroughly outwitted by this infernal
trapper!’* ;

“Squirrel Cap is knowed to be an
said the Mormon, grimly; “and tue
ashe catterwampus in a swamp. —
. “E will-go myself!” cried /the ot
reach that maiden through a reg

tie

    
  

thquake in a muss,”
‘al must have fit like

“Por Dios! I can
ent! Yes; I will go

4 myself!"

“Easier said than done at the present moment,’ ob-
served the Mormon, quietly while the Captain foamed
up and down the cabin, ching his hands and mutter-
ing to himself. © “For my p t, I begin to think we’re.
caught here like weasels in'a steel trap. 1 begin to yearn
for-my wives and cherubs as I never yearned afore.
Kind of looks as if Brigham, the mighty, was about to lose
a precious disciple, I'm for cuttin? our way out of
this'soon as the pi ets are willing.”

“You are rigut,, rN and we’ll do it, or perisih!? cried
the other, turning swifly, and with a new light kindling
in the dark beauty of his face. “We will burst through
thé enemy at the mouth of the glen—and then, then we
will’ swoop doin on the cabin of the trapper on the:
eagle's wing. Huzza! My one little darling in the world
shall yet be mive! If Squirrel gap can destroy s§ver of

ne cad résist thé Captaie’! :
Mire, 4 appeared DHT means to ake
of his superior’s meteori¢ enthusiasm, though he himself
had made the suggestion.

“When shall it be, Captain ?"? he quietly asked.

“To-morrow morning,’ replied the other, speaking
rapidly ashe warmed up with the spirit of his new enter-
prise. “Yes, you will take'up the left wing cf the sav-
ages, with Fanfire’s scalpers on the right, and lead the
attack by assaulting them at the youth of the canon. I
will bring up our own secreamers in a wild charge from

    
    
 
 

   
 
 
  
 
   
 

the rear. What do‘you'think of it?” ey

“Well enough, Captain,” replied the Mormon; “but ‘
must bes and Sudten as gun-cotton ona stove, t
sueceed: 4 \ bat a small force-at the immediate
mouth of

anon: ee r@ well entrenched, and

vats amie and 341d, he olens ah be whirled around |
ir ‘attlesnake and TOCK nty minutes after
they 116 ne firitig. o a¢ ae vs y
“So it shall be sndden'and swift, Mike.
once and prepare the Indians, 1 wii
our men. Away!’ ; ’

They’quitted the hut together, and as it was already
long past midnight, the robbers and their allies were
busy preparing for the coming fight. Over half of the’
savages—those led by Fanfire—were on foot, but the te-
mainder were mounted, and all of the mail-robbers had
good trorses,

To render the plan of the fight more intelligible to the
reader, it is best to explain tnat the mouth of Red Canon
was easily guarded by any force, from either within or
without. Wild rocks rose inaccessibly on either side.
The smooth space between them, through which brawied
the little brook, and tkrough which the robbers woul
have to make their way, was barely two hundred yards
in width—narrow enough considering that they were
mainly on horseback. :

At the narrowest portion of this narrow neck, the sol-
diers had intrenched themselves, by means of a long link |
of stockade, situated directly in the center of the gorge,
and reaching haif way acrossit. Although only twenty-
two men were in position behind this stockade, they were |
enabled to do immense execution upon a body forcing
themselves through the narrow space. The atiack wa

But go you at
do the Same with

2.

force themselves through the gully abreast, assaulting the
stockade with yells and whoops, iy

Bat the riflemen behind it were not taken by surprise, |
and the redskins were Sent reeling back by rapid volleys, 1
while the few who succeeded in scaling the high stockade!
were dispatched as soon as ‘they fell within the enclosure.

The voice of Mike, the Mormon, could be heard encour-
aging the Indians on to another assault, in their own. dia-
lect, and presently both he and’ Fanfire, the Arapaliov
chief; could be seen in the dusky light, dashing hither and
thither among the affrighted crowd, upon which tne sol-
diers and hunters did not cease to pour their scathing ri-
fle-shots, while the swift signals from both right and left
apprised the latter that the other troops from Rattlesnake
and the Rock were wheeling around tostill more securely

lock up the canon’s neck.

Tne Indians made another rush, this time in fall
and with the wild Mormon at their head. j

This time the fow behind the ‘stockade withstood the
shock with the utmost difficulty. The Indians were over
one hundred in number, and they fought like fiends.
Although numbers mvuited away before the galling fire
thatmet them, five or six succeeded in play! the bur-
riers, thus distracting tie attention ofsome of its defend-
ers, While their conirades’ pressed on‘ in’ front, firing
through the interstices of the stakes, and * striving to
clamber up and over, : oe i

Fanfire and the Mormon being mounted, ‘kept in the
rear of the assailants, shooting down those who under-
took to fly, and encouraging tie remainder on by wild
gestures and shouts. . :

“Drat your yaller picter!? muttered Tony Jones, one of
the men kneeling behind the stockade, and taking a
steady aim at Fanfire, the*nearest chief in range; “1’ll
give you a pill, if this ere rifle is well doctored.”

He let fly, and the feathered brave plunged from his
steed with a ringing shriek. ;

This was a serious loss to the morate of the Savages,
and all the exertions of the Mormon were required to
keep them up to the mark, ;

As it was, over half of them recled back, in dismay,
and the stockaders gave @ shout of triumph.

But their exultation, was but short-lived, for a war-
whoop to the right showed that the remaining savages,
with the robbers themselves in their rear, were riding
swiftly, four abreast, to the narrow gap between that
side of the intrenchment and the wall of the canon.

force,

“Now’s our turn!” yelled Mike, the Mormon, hound-
ing on his red devils once RY @ against the face of the
orien se “Down With the Gentile dogs—down with
them . 4

The Indians obeyed, and made a final charge, howling
and firing as they came; while far im the rear of tle
horsemon, the dismayed defenders could see the figure
of the Captain himself, flitting here and there on his tow-
ering steed, like a spirit of the wind. :

But they fought with desperation, Their rifles rang un-
erringly, and they encouraged each other with cheering
cries.. But half of them were already on their fect, club-
bing their guns against the Indians, who succeeded in
scaling the inclosnre, and the other savages were pressing
against it in yelling swarms, the Mormon now leading
them on foot, hatchet in hand, and his right arm bared to
the shoulder.

The fate of the gallant little band appeared to be sealed

 

 

commenced at dayoreak by as many savages as could}

 

 

ese

 

 

beyond all hope of redemption, when suddenly a volley
of shots from behind them went pouring up the narrow
gap, bringing down the foremost riders to the dust. i

The reinforcements were on hand. A battalion of forty
men were runnipg in from the plain, firing as they ran,
and behind them galloped the cavalry from Fort Laramie.

With a wild shout, the band of stockaders continued
the fight, and the column of savages reeled back from the
stockade in dismay, tliough their Mormon leader franti-
cally opposed their flight.

But now the Captain, frantic at this timely arrival
of reinforcements to his foes, dashed forward at the frout
of the horsemen, who had been thus suddenly checked.

“Por Dios!? he screamed; “would you be cooped in
this pit to be burned alive? Follow me !””

The Indian horsemén answered him with their peculiar
yells, the white mail-robbers with their savage shouts of
deeper tone, and they gathered around him, flourishing
their knives and weapons, heedless of the volleys of the
Fort Bridger infantry, which continued to hail upon them.

Certainly, for the chieftain of a border-bana, the Cap-
tain was a true leader in every sense of the word.

Here and there, and everywhere, ubiquitous as a sprite,
he flew, his great steed seeming .to know the bghest ef
his master more by intuition than the pressure of the
rein. He had them formed in a trice, red and white men
promiscuously. six abreast—as many as the nature of the
gap would permit to move freely; and then dashed at
their head. ,

“ft is eur only chance! Follow me! he cried, in his
clear, ringing voice, waving a revolver over his head; and
the next instant the outlaws. swept through: the gap;
while the savages on foot once more engaged thie stock-
page: oe prolonged warw hoops, and weapons flourished
on high.

The latter were once more checked and rolled back;
but as the brunt of the fight was now turning to their
rear, the riflemen suddenly deserted their intrenchments
and teok up a strong position on the extreme left of the
gorge. . This, it istrue, enabled the redskins, headed by
Mormon Mike, to cross the stockade, without opposition,
and render ‘a support to those endeavoring to break
through the lines of soidiery; but it preserved the lives
of the dauntiess few who had withstood the brunt of the
fight for solong, at the same time giving them a fine op-
portunity of harrassing their flank. :

The Heloger infantry met. the attack of the Captain’s
gang With the staunch courage of United States regular
army soidiers, and twice rolled them back in confusion
before their trained volleys. But the impetuosity of the
Captain, and the almost magic influence which he ap-
peared to have attained over his followers, would only
admit a momentary repulse.

Frail, and even girlish, ashe seemed, there was not a
soldier who did not know, and dread the meaning of his
leveled revolver, (of which he appeared to have a whole
arsenal about his person;) and, from the manner in which
he invariably escaped harm, there were some supersti-
tious fears, on the part of the more ignorant, that he bore
a charmed life.

His fourth charge was more successful, and the infantry
gave away in confusion. The next instant the robbers,
red and white, were met by the splendid cavalry company
from Fort Laramie—reckoned one of the crack troops in
the regular service, and dearly did they pay for their te-
merity.

The arms.of the robbers, consisting chiefiy of pistols
and knives, were an unequal match against the sabres,
carbines and revolvers o€ the troops, and, despite the fact
that they were trebly strong in numbers, over twenty of
their saddles were emptied at the firstonset. The major-
ity were driyen back into the canon with great slaughter.
Mike, the Mormon, feil, covered with wounds, and his
wild adherents followed the press of the retreat, pell-
mell, back -into the deep, canon, from which they haa
hoped to escape, 2nd which was now destined to prove
their sepulcher, . ' }

The infantry refermed, and the-riflemen swept down
from their little fastness at the ,side of the gorge, thus
closing up the narrow mouth, and the cavalry continued
the pursuit, or rather carnage, through the interior of the
canon. ‘ /

Few prisoners were taken. A few of the pursued may
have succeeded ,in hiding themselves among the rocks
and stunted trees; but the little brook Tan red for many
day thereafter, and Red Canon was long a favorite haunt |
fer vast flocks of vultures and treops of prairie wolves.

But it became evident soon after the conclusion of the
slaughter, that the robber-chieftain, and some twenty*of
his band, had succeeded. in breaking through the living
barrier, and were away on the wing. - i rt

 

[To be Continued.) , 9)., :
Leighton Homestead;
Bspaod git: Dat Mepegsi.'s.1 |

oo MRBy ied 61
EDNA’S DEBT,
AND HOW SHE. PAID IT.
BY MRS. MARY J. HOLMES,
ASDOF ite Grey,” aa Ee ia Ma
toad on the Tillie, Fempaeet: and. Sonate,” Cousth
Madde,” ‘‘Kthelyn’s Mistake,’ #Cameron "Prided: “Meadow
Brogs,”? “English Qrphans,”?“Qiora Deane,” tof, eters. |
[ag We regret to be obliged to state that our highiy-gifted
and estimable contributor, Mrs. Mary J, Houmrs is at present
suffering from an attack of ill-health; whieh will, for a time,
prevent her from writing. _ We shall, therefore be obliged to
furnish smali instailments of “Edna’s Debt, and How She Paid
It,” tit the people’s favorite is able to resume her pen again,
whith ‘we siticerely trust will be soon. Mrs. Holmes ‘has
“troops of friends,” mot only in the reading world,but ih private
life, who will sympathize deeply with her in her afttiction, as we
do; and who will be as greatly rejoiced to hear of her recovery
as they will be decply pained to learn that she isi, Hersick-
néss; however, we are glad to say, is not of a serious nature, and:
time and rest'from labor will doubtless entirely restore her to
health, In the meantime her admirers must have patience,.
and content themsélves with such an amount of her beautiful
serial per week) as we will beable to furnish, ]

CHAPTER XXy.
IN THE SUMMER.

Mande spent her summer vacation at Uncle Phil’s,
where she was received with every demonstration of joy
by each one of the family, Uncle Phil dragging her off at
onee to see the ‘‘suller-fole” of his chapel, or “syna-
gogue,” as he called it, which was not progressing very
fest; “such, hard work to get the-men, and when they

id come they wouldn’t work more than half the time,
a a wanted such 9ll-fired big wages, it was enough to
break atelier; bur then Pmin forit, and its got to go,”
ne said to Mande, who expressed so much delight and
called him a darling man So many times, and showed her
trim, pretty ancles and dainty, white tucks and ruffles
“with such Gbindon as she stepped over the stones and
sticks of tiinber, that Uncle Phil felt ‘*curis again at the
pit of his Stomech,’’ and did not care how much his syna-
gozue-cost, if Maude was only pleased.

Maude did not talk to Rdna quite’ so mucli as usual at
first. (She was studying her closely and trying to recali
‘what she had heard, Georgie say of Mrs. Charhe Church-
fil’s }ooks. Then'she began to lay liftle traps for her, and
Edna fell into some of them, and then felt out again ‘so
Wdtoitly that Maude was kept ia ’a. constant fever of ex-
citement, natil one day, early in. August, when, in’ walk-
ing by herself up the road which lead to Prospect Cottage,
sig stumbled upon Jack Heyford, who had arrived the
night before, and was on his way, he said, to call on her:

“I was up here a few yeurs'aco,” he explained, as they
walked back together, “and Iretained so pleasant a re-
membrance of the mountain scenery that 1 wanted to see
it again, so, as IT could. haye a vacation of two weeks, I
Cale il‘st to Oakwood, but it was lonely there with Georgie
gone ; she’s off to Saratoga, you Know, and hearing you
were here, | concluded ta come too. You are stopping at
afarm-house. Ll have an indistinct recollection of Mr.
Overton ; a queer old fellow, isn’t he???

He talked very fast.and Mande did not hear more than
half hesaid, for herown tumultuous thoughts, I Lonise
Overton were really Hdna Churenill then Jack Heyford
would recognize her at once, for he had been with her at
the time of the accident and seen her frequently in Chi-
cavo, ,

“Yes, Ihave her now,’? Maude thought, as she said to
Jack, * Mr. Overton has @ niece living with him, Miss
Louise Overton, a pretty Jittle creature, whom you, are
sure to fallin love with, I hardly think she. could have
been here when you were at Rocky Point before.” ;

‘No, lthink not.. 1 have no recollection of seeing a
person of that name. Pretty, is she?” Jack answered as
indifferently as if lie really had no idea of meeting any
young lady at the farm-house, except Maude hersel, and
‘that his sole object that morning was to call upon the girl
ghatting so gaily at his side, and, telling him how pretty
and charming and sweet Miss Overton was, and how he
was certain to lose his heart at once.

“Suppose. I have lost it'already,” Jack. said, gallantly,
glancing at Maude, whose cheeks flushed a little and who
tossed her head airily and made him some saucy reply.

Of all the young nien’she had known Maude liked Jack
Heyford the best. She had thought him a little awkward
and rusty when she first saw him at Oakwood, but had
recognized through all the genuine worth and goodness
ofthe mah, and ielt that he was true as steel. He was
greatly improved since that time, and Maude was not un-
conscious of the attention she was attracting as she sauut-
ered slowly on with the handsomé stranger at her side.
Edna saw them coming. Indeed, she had watched all the
morning for Jack, for she knew he was to havevreached
the eal on House. the night before, and. that he

 

   
   
  

 

would call on Miss Somerton that morning, and be intro-
-duéed to her;‘and her conscience smote her a little for the
\part.she was acting.

“If only Uncle Phil was not so foolish about it I believe
I should tell Maude at once,” she thougnt, as after
Maude’s departure for a’walk she made her toilet in ex-
pectation of Jack Heyford's call. ;
* Edna wore white a great deal this summer, and her
dress this: morning was a nicely fitting piquee, relieved
py wu bow of lavender at her throat and a bit of heltotrope
in her hair. She knew she was looking well, and but for
the consciousness that she was acting a part. would have
been really glad to see Jack, Heyford, whe came. up with
Maude as unconcernedly as possibile, and was presented
to “Miss Overton.’ Very curiously Maude watched them,
feeling chagrined and disappointed that neither mani-
fested the slightest token of recognition, but met ag ea-
tire strangers,

 

 

“It’s funny, when lam sosure,” she thought, and for
several days she lived in a constant fever of excitement
and perplexity.

Regularly each day Jack came to the cottage, and staid
so long that Becky suspected him to be ‘*Miss Maude’s
beau,” while Ruth Gardner, who was there frequently to
help make up the game of croquet, interpreted his man-
ner differently, and guessed that while hejested with and
teased Miss Somerton, his preference was for Bdna, who
was evidently bent. upow not encouraging ‘him an the
least, or giving him a chance to speak.

But Jack had his chance at last, on a morning. when
Maude and Ruth, with Maria Belknap and the Unitarian
minister, were playing croquet upon the lawn behind the
farm-house, and Edna who was not feeling well, was sit-
ting alone on the stoop of the front door.. Uncle Phil was
gone, and as Aunt Beckie was busy with: her dinner in
the Kitchen there was nothing in the way, and Jack~ told
his story, in that frank, out-spoken way which character-
ized ail he did. Ii “was not like Cnarlie’s wooing; it
lacked the impetuous, boyish fire which refused to be de-
nied, and yet Edna knew that the love offered to her now
was worth far more than Charlie’s love had been, that
with Jack Heydord she should rest secure, knowing that
no shadow of wrong had ever soiled his garments. And
for a moment she hesitated, and thought of Annie, whom
she loved, and looked up into the honest eyes regarding
her so eagerly, and coming gradually to have a sorry,
anxious expression as she did not answer. :

“Won't you speak to me, Edna?’ he said. ‘“Won’t you
answer me?”? ;

“Oh, Mr. Heyford,” she cried atlast. I am so sorry
you have told me this, for I don’t believe I can say yes, ac
least not now. Give me till to-morrow, and then if Il find
that I can be to you what your wife ought to be, I will.”

Jack did not press her further, and when the croquet
party came round from the lawn, they found Edna sitting
there alone, and Mr. Heyford gone back the Mountain

ouse.

That night, when Uncle Phil came from the post-office,
he brought a letter from Aunt Jerry, enclosing one from
Roy, who had waitten from a litle inn among the Scottish
hills. It was omy a pleasant, friendly letter, telling of
his journeyings and his mother’s health, which did not
seem to improve; but it showed that even across the sea,
Roy Leighton remembered his dear little sister as he
called her, and it sealed Jack Heyford’s fate.

Edna had no theugit of ever.marrying Roy, but she
could not marry Jack, and she sat down to tell him so on
paper, feeling that she could do it in this way with less of
pain and embarrassment to tiem both. And as she wrote
Roy’s letter-lay open beside her, and Maude came bonnd-
ing up the stairs and stood at her side, almost before she
Koew that she was coming. With a quick motion she put
Roy’s letter away, but not until Maude’seyes had glanced
at and recognized the handwriting.

“Eureka,’? she whispered softly, and then to Hdna’s ut-
ter astonishment, Maude knelt down beside her, and put-
ting her around her neck, said to her: “Dotly, don’t be
angry, Will you? JI always find out things, and you are
Edna Churchill.’” : :

Edna felt as if she were suffocating. Her throat closed
spasmodically, so that she could not speak, and for an
instant she sat motionless staring at Maude, who, fright-
ened at the expression of her face, kissed ner lips and
forehead, and cheek, and said: 18

‘Don’t take itso hard. Nobody shall know your secret
from me; nobody, assure yon. Li have guessed it ever
solong. It was the jet which brought it to°-me. Roy
spoke of his sister once last winter, andisaid he-had sent
her some ornaments of jet, and; then it.flashed over me

that my littie Dotty was the girlin whom I had’ been so

*iterested ever since 1 first’ heard ‘of lrer.’-Speak to me,

Dot. You are not offended?) Bit Oil) jot ust
9, sudden.

“No,” Edua gasped ab, last, » COnisgceune 8 \
Iam glad you know. I wanted yon to know it, it Seemed
so like a miserable lie I was living all the time?” ~
: ae then with Se een ere ee Edna’s cen: be

Wo girls talked along, long time, of Edna’s early life, 0
Chatiie, ata “e ioe whose fetter Bina showe td Mande,
and of whom she nevertired of hearing. Thus it'‘came
about that Edwa’s note toJack was never finished, and
Edna gave any his atiswer verbally the next morning,
when, punctual to the appointed time, he came and waik-

-ed with ‘her alone’ down ito the clump of chestnut trees,

which grew near the poadaide, Something in Edna’s face
when he first Saw it that morning, in part prepared him,
but the blow cut deep and hurt himcruelly. Still without
love, Jack aid, not want apy woman for his wile, and
when Edna said, ‘I respectand like you more than any

rmuairl know; but cannot find’ in’ my heart the love you

ought to have in return for what you give;’? he did not
urge her, but took coth her hands in his, and kissing them
Teverently, said:

“You have dealt-fairly with me, Edna, and J thank you
for it, and will be your friend just as I always have been.
Let there be no diiference between us, and in proof there-
of, kiss me once, please, just once, Iwill never ask it

‘again.” , :

He stooped down to’her,and she gave the boon he
asked, and said to him, in.a choking voice: _

“God bless you, Mr. Heyford, for the noble man yon are;
and may you one day tind a wife tenfold ‘more worthy of
you than I caniever be.? : :

They walked slowly back to the house, and found Maude
waiting for them, with her maliet in hand and Uncle Phil
in close custody, and a most:lngubrious expression on his
face. Maude, who wasnearly croquet mad, had waylaid
the old man, and captured him, and coaxed amallet into
his hand. and was leading him i triumph to the play,
cround, when Jack and Edna came up, and she insisted
upon their joining her.

“A Tour-hand game was so much nicer,” she said; ‘tand
Mr. Heyford and Uncle Phil were so fairly matched,’’ and
she looked so jaunty in her short, coquettish dress, and
pleaded so skillfully that Jack took the offered maliet,
and, sad as was his heart just then, he found a space in
which to think how pretty Miss Somerton was, and how
gracefully she managed her mailet, and how smali and
well-shaped was the little foot she poised so skillfully, up-
on the balls when bent upon croqueting. .

‘Maude Somerton was very beautiful, and had there
been no Edna in the background, Jack Heyford would

undoubtedly have gone down before her charms long.ere

this. There was a wondrous. power in her sunny blue
eyes, and a fascination in her coaxing, winning ways,
which few men could resist. Even sturdy Uncle Phil felt
their influence, and under the witching spell of her beau-
ty did things for which, when he was alone, he called
himself “a silly old fool, to be so carried away with a
girl’s pranks.”’

Muude sported the first short dress which. had appear-
ed in Rocky Point, and she looked so odd, and pretty
withal, in her girlish costume of white, trimmed with a
pale buff, and she wore such stylish gaiters, and showed
so much of them, with their. silken tassels, that Uncle Phil
confessed again to a “curis feeling in his stomach,” and
was not quite sure whether it was quite the thing for'an
old chap like him to let his eyes: rest oiten on those little
feet, and that trim, lithe form,.which flitted so alrily
around the wickets, and made such havoc with the ene-
my’s bas. Ivsurely was not well for a youog man like
Jack to Jook at her often, he decided, especially when ar-
rayed in that short gown, which made her look so hke a
little girl, and showed her feet so plainly.

Uncle Phil was not quite certain,-at first, about endors-
ing the short skirts, but when, in the course of the game,
he twice awkwardly stepped on Edna’s long train, which
she corid not keep altogether out of the way, he changed
his mind, and inly resolved that his nieco should at ounce
adopt a style which tad. so much of common sense to
commend it to one’s favor.

They tiad a merry game, and Jack Was interested in
spite of himself, and accepted Uncle Phil’s invitation ‘to
stay to dinner, and felt a.queer little. throb. in his veins
when Maude, acknowledging Hana and hmnself, victors,
insisted upon crowning them as such, and wovea wreath
of myrtle for Edna’s hair, while for him she gathered a
bouquet, andyfustened it in his button-hole,

She had said to Eana, ‘I spall tell Mr. Heyford that I
know your secret. I mux talk to somebody aboot if.”
And seizing the opportanit, when Edna was in the house
consulling with Becky abeut the desert, she ‘told ‘lim
what she had discovered, and waxed so enthusiastic oyer
“little Dot,” ana arranged the bouquet in his button-hole
a little more to her liking, and stocd, with her glowing
face and fragrant breath, so near to him, and did it all so
innocently, that Jack began-to wonder le bad, never pe-
fere observed “how very beautiful Miss Somerton was,
and what pleasant ways she had.” t

He did not, however, think ner as beautifalas Edna.
No one could be that, at present, in, his..estimation; but
he thought her a very charming girl, who wore hand-
some boots, and when he went back to the Mountain
House at night, his heart, though very sore and sad, was
not utterly crushed and desolate. .

He played croquet the next day and the next, tivo
hours at a time sometimes, with Edna for his partner,
but oftener with Maude, who, being the champion player,
undertook to teach him and correct some.of his fauits.
He must not poke, nor stand behind, nor strike too hard,
nor go after other bails when be could as well make: his
wicket first. And Jack tried) hard to learn and do his
teacher justice, and became at last almost as interested
in the game as Maude herself, wliom he sometimes heat.
And when at the end of his two weeks’ vacation he bade
Edna good-by, and went;back to his busivess in New
York, he seemed much like himself, and Edna Jelt ilat he
was bearing his disappointment bravely, and that in time
life would be to him just ‘what it had been before he
thought of her,

Maude’s departure followed close upon Jack’s, and as
she bade Edna good bye, she said, “1 shall never rest,
Dotty, till I see youat Leighton where you belong. But
I want you to go there first.as Louise Overton. Take my
word for it, you will succeed better so, with 7a mere, and
possibly with 7a jrere too. When they come home I am
going to manage for you. See now [dont Adieu.”

(To be continued.)
conte
TO POSTIHASTERS.

Aside from the large cities, every Postmaster should be
a News Agent, “There are no others in little towns
and villages who have such excellent facilities for bring-
ing papers, magazines, etc., to the notice of the imtiabit-
ants; and, knowing every body in their neighborhood,
they can distribute to advantage all extra ‘sheets, books
containing first parts of stories, ete. There is but little
risk attending the sale of literary papers, and we think
Postmasters should at once take steps to add papers to
the other articles in which they deal. “Let all Postmas-
ters take this hint into consideration.

STREET & SMITH, 55 Fulton St., N.

 

 

 

 

easements neem eeenastanesneetepeSnave

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GPE VL NES

 

 
 

 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

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~

New York, June 2, 1870.

DED Oem"

The Terms to Subscribers:

 

mere

 

ew

 

 

One Year—single COPY ........-.0escversereees Three Dollars.
w Four copies ($2 50 each)........+....- Ten Dollars.
* DOr) FRAIL DUPAGE s vik cakveahe coves’ Twenty Dollars.

Those sending $20 for a club ot Hight, all sent at one time,
will be entitled to acopy Free. Getters-up of clubs can atter-
ward add singie copies at $2 50 each.

All Letters must be directed to

STREET & SMITH,

Office 55 Fulton Street. Box 4896, N.Y.

 

 

important Announcement.

 

The engagement to which reference was made in our
last issue, we are delighted to state, has been positively
effected, and the public wili share in our gratification
when they have learned that the authoress of some of
the most popular romances of the day—among them
“THE DEAD LETTER,” and “THE FIGURE EIGHT’’—has
been induced, at great expense, to hereafter write exclu-
sively for the NEw YORK WEEKLY.

Wirs. M. V. Wictor,

CUR NEW CONTRIBUTOR,
is a favorite with the masses, having written several most
attractive stories, the titles of a few of which we now re-
call: “Who Was He? A Tale of Two Lives; “ Alice
Wilde; ‘“*The Backwoods. Bride ;” ‘Uncle Ezekiel ;”
‘“Maum Guinea;’”? “The Unionist’s Daughter; “Jo Da-
viess’ Client;”? “‘The Two Hunters,” etc.

Mrs. M. V. Victor,

under the nom de plume of “SEELEY REGESTER,” took
captive the reading world by the publication of her ia-
mous serials, ‘THE DEAD LETTER,” “THE RED Room,”
and “THE FIGURE EIGHT,’’—stories which at once en-
chained popular attention, elicited universal admiration,
and stamped the writer as one gifted with the magic
power of endowing her creations with all the vivacity of
real life. The characters were so vividly and boldly
drawn, their actions so naturally portrayed, that the best
judges recognized in their every movement the exquisite
touches of the master-hand—the ability to infuse, as it
were, the warm bloud of life into the veins of imaginary
personages,

This wonderful gift of animating the mere creations of
fiction, and making them speak and act as real men and
women, is evident in every page of

MRS. VICTOR'S NEW STORY,

which she has just completed for publication in the NEW
YORK WEEKLY. Every scene, every incident, of Mrs.
VicTor’s last and best work,

Who Owned the Jewels ?

OR, THE

Heiress of the Sandal-wood Chest,

is entrancing to the highest degree. The plot is ingen-
ious, perplexing, mysterious, yet natural ; the action is
diversified, ever changing, ever fresh ; the conversations

_ Sparkling and lively ; while the prominent peculiarities

of the various characters are so distinctly traced and
charmingly contrasted as to leave in the reader’s mind an
impression which it will be a pleasure to recall long after
the story has been perused.

We are certain that Mrs. VIcTOR will at once become a
favorite with the readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and
equally certain that: her new story, which will be com-
menced in a few weeks, will be received with that enthu-
siagm which a really great production deserves.

 

 

THE RICHMOND ANGUISH.

 

BY REV. T. DE WITT TALMAGE.

On the twenty-seventh of April, one hour before the
falling of the State House at Richmond, I was at the very
place, and admiring the location and surroundings of the
venerable building. The hill on which the house was
built is very attractive. It has playing fountain, and fo-
liage of oak, and maple, and magnolia, and a group of
statuary, unequaled by anything in the country. On its
base is the bronze figure of Patrick Henry, so life-like,
you can almost hear the cry for liberty ordeath that
launched the Revolution; and Thomas Jefferson, with
pen in hand, to write the Declaration that ever since has
kept the dynasties of the world a shaking; and Alexan-
der Hamilton and Thomas Nelson, their brows anxious
with the financial management of the new-born Republic.
At the top of the pedestal, Washington sits on his war-
charger, rallying the bewildered troops. Rearing so high
you almost fear for his rider, and expect the fiery steed
to dash off the pedestal. While looking at it you imagine
you see the armed enemy, and the confused American
troops, and catching the eye and the sword-glance of the
Cormamander, you feel like shouting, ‘‘charge !’? and look
to see the bristling muskets fall like grain before tne
reapers.

Amid such grand surroundings the State House stood.
Many of the first men of the land assembled in an upper
room, which on that dreadful Wednesday gave way, pre-
cipitating into horrors unimaginabie the whole audience,
some imploring God, some bewailing their misdoings,
some shouting ‘Victory !’?

The whole country mourns the calamity, and feels that
after all that has been said and done, we are one family.
In the presence of such woe, the war is nothing, boun-
dary lines are nothing, all past differences are nothing.
Of one blood! And sotheidea of universal brotherhood
comes to frequent illustration.

A mine in Rngiand falls upon the workmen, and all na-
tions feel the suffocation. Prince Albert dies, and Victoria
has the sympathy of ail Christendom. A plague falls
upon London, and all the cities of the world suffer in the
awful sickness. An earthquake rocks down a Mexican
city, and both hemispheres feelthe shock. Famine stalks
through Ireland, and distant nations send forth cargoes
of bread-stuff.

On the 8th of December, 1863, the Conception of the
Virgin Mary was being celebrated in a Roman Catholic
church at Santiago, Chili. Great preparations had been
made for the occasion, and perhaps the most magnificent
scene ever witnessed in any church was about to be
evoked. The wealth, and pomp, and intellect of that
Chilean capital poured into the cathedral, and knelt be-
side the poorest devotee, with cracifix and beads—images,
statues, transparencies, swaying festoons, and twenty
thousand lamps, which make the delicate draperies look
like mists staggering sun-struck up the mountains. A
camphene lamp explodes, and the flame leaps from point
to point, and in fifteen minutes twenty-five hundred souls
have passed out of life through the fire. But they were
so far off, and differed from us in so many respects, why
should we care? Ah! the groan of that dying multitude
mounted the CordiNeras, and Came across the Carribean,
and men of a& religions, and of all colors, cried ‘“‘God help
them !"?

OF ONE BLOOD! Sceptre and shovel are brothers. The
epaulette must not overlay the blacksmith’s apron. Bro-
cades must not despise calicoes. Grand Cathedral must
not deride Sailor’s Bethel.

This brotherhood does not demand that we drop our dif-
ferences. Difference of soil and climate will make differ-
ence ofmen. As with plants and animals, so with men.
The Torrid Zone will yield yams and tamarinds, and the
best of culture will only make better yams and tamarinds.
Wintry regions yield barley and berries, and high culture
will only make this difference, that there will be better
barley and larger berries.

You will not expect to find the same vegetable products

 

 

ie me aoc

in Paraguay as in Lapland.
well drink the same air. You will not find the ichneu-
mon where you hunt for otter and walrus. A like differ-
ence among men. Tropical regions will make passionate
natures, and Arctic severities will form temperaments
cold, and stolid, and sulien. In the good times coming
there will be the same great national attributes. French-
men will be characteristically polite, Germans persistent
and plodding, Englishmen self-reliant, Americans restless
and enterprising, Italians esthetic, Scotchmen determined
and invincible, Spaniards quick and impulsive. Differ-
ence forever, but no quarrel! Of one blood! Vessels of
war will be ungunned, and at the shipyards changed
into merchantmen, or swung into the navy yard, and
kept ag relics of a barbarous age, to be looked upon as in
our museums we now examine scalping-knives and
thumb-screws. The masterly treatises on military tactics
will be torn up and sold for wrapping paper, or kept for
curious examination as we would have in our libraries
an old Koran or a Chinese almanac. The surgical discoy-
erles made in the treatment of saber wounds and gun-
shot fractures, will be employed in alleviating the acci-
dents happening to farmers and mechanics. The ham-
mer of the shipwright, as it beats against the spike in the
ship’s beam, will sound “Life! Life!” instead of rattling
“Death! Death!” The towers that have so long been
tolling the sorrows of the world will peal another sound,
and Scotch kirk, and University dome, and Mission
chapel, and great Saint Paul’s, strike the clear, sweet,
silvery chime of peace on earth and good will to men.
——_——___-__> =<. —_—-———-

SOME HARD ADVICE.

 

 

BY REV. A. M’ELROY WYLIE.

Easily given, but hard to take—neve rtheless quite im-
portant and valuable,

If you are a suitor for a fair hand, and your rival suc-
ceeds, don’t stay away sulky and dejected from the wed-
ding, much less dream of revenge. Ay, even go up and
congratulate them, and say, ‘It is all for the best’’—better
luck next time. Thesmile, if ever so difficult, on the lips,
will encourage an echo within. Or, at least, it will prove
a branch cast into the waters, and prevent them from
continuing bitter. i

If you have been examined and ‘‘plucked’’—as Dean
Swift was at his examination for college—don’t slam
down your books withad—n. Try again. Cheerily, my
boy! Success next time. You are in a respectable lists
Many 2 man who afterward became good and great, float-
ed down, heavily in boyhood, toward the foot of the
class.

Newton, at school, stood at the bottom of the lowermost
form but one, ana a fight with the boy next above aroused
his ambition, Adam Clark, Dr. Chalmers, Dr. Cook, Sheri-
dan, Robert Clive, the Duke of Wellington, were all called
dunces, and some of them grievous dunces, at school.
While Pietro di Cortona, the painter, was nicknamed the
“‘Ass’s Head,”? and Guido was called ‘‘Heavy Tom.”

Remember, failures are only experiments leading to
success, and every triumphant man’s life is a laboratory,
with its hidden away heaps of broken ‘‘stuff’ spoiled in
tryings-to-do. Success is the great-great-grandchild of
failures, and often still remoter descendant.

The fountain pen with which lam now writing grew
gradually out of about two thousand rejected attempts.
There they are stored away in a box, and it seems in-
credible what a hair-breadth the inventor gained at each
laborious attempt,

If you are out of asituation, and are turned away again
and again, look up and down the street—see all the whirl-
pool of honest business, and say, ‘‘Why should not l have
a share init?’ and try again. Rely upon it the leading
men around you have gone through the same exp erience.
Patience will find the best place.

If you are a public speaker, and launch out without
your MS., and break down in the middle of your speech
or sermon, don’t say, “It is no use.’”? You would hardly
believe that the famed platform speaker of St George’s,
N. Y., once went through the same experience. So did
Sheridan,

A spider inspired Scotland's great hero with the pa-
tience tht freed his couitry.

‘Why, ti exelaimed t@ an Ilinols farmer, “da you all
prefer mules eut here to horses? My notion of them has
always been that theyare awful stubborn at pulling back.”
“Ah, that Is terme yery rarely~indeed} but, you see, it is
just here—a horse gets into a slough and pulls heavy.
once or twice, and heis done. He baulks, and you may
beat him to death, but a mule will pull once, twice,

twenty or a hundred times, all day, till he gets out—
don’t catch him snoozing in the mud.”

Ever since I have looked on those long ears with great-
er respect, and I trow that Senator Hale’s quick reply to
the smart Southerner had some proprietyin it. Looking
upon a drove of mules passing through Washington from
the North, the Southron remarked: ‘Some of your con-
stituents, I suppose, Mr. Senator!??

“Yes,” replied the ready Yankee; “they are going
South to teach school.”

I suspect that many, North and South, might go to
their school and follow them with profit. *

If you have failed on a proposition, and got more mud-
dle than ever under the midnight lamp, sleep over it,
and try earlyin the morning when the intellect has ciear-
ed off, andthe solution will come as by magic.

Many men go down because they stop just when they
should goon. Every honest failure is a diploma graduat-
ing you to a higher class. You stop just when experience
has given you the sel-capital which is necessary to suc-
cess. Study the course of successful men—don’t be afraid
to ask. You will find, a hundred to one, that their pre-
sent imposing superstructure is built upon the very rains
of many a past failure.

Most men would have given up, had they been in J. B.
Gough’s place when he was betrayed into drunkenness,
and hurled intoa long season of debauch. But he went
on, and look now where he stands !

That respected man who, when his head was already
tipped with silver, was surprised. into bankruptcy by the
speculation of an ambitious son, would not have stood
where he does now, if in those sleepless and anxious
hours, he had not resolved to go on—even to extend his
business—instead of shutting all doers and dying to all
hope. His old age is acrown of honor, and after paying
every cent owed, he has saved more than one family from
the horrors of poverty and hopeless ruin.

You say—‘“‘advice is easily given—is cheap—but hard to
follow.” I grant it, and, so set out with the proposition.
But effort, as it ages, gathers up in cumulative power—is
like compound interest. It is hard starting, but after the
vehicle gets fairly into motion, you may ease your slavish
effort and mount as a prince to ride. The hard following
brings a man up even with the foremost.

Are you a parent? You are worn and grieved at the
weary work of rearing and providing for children. Ex-
hausted nature is often ready to yieldin despair. But be
brave, my kind reader, cheerfulness adds the oil to the
machinery, and bravery is its strength. By-and-by the
weights under which you now groan will turn into wings
to carry you through the decrepitudes of old age—those
little ones will be your stay as you go down on the other
side of the hill.

———__>_9+____—__

OUR TEMPBRANCE STORIES.

Not a day passes that we do not ‘receive letters thank-
ing us for the stand which the NEw YORK WEEKLY has
taken on the side of Temperance. These letters come from
women whose husbands tippled but did not get drunk,
but Who were gradually taking the downward steps until
they were awakened to their danger by Ned Buntline’s
bugle call; from fathers and mothers whose sons were
gradually acquiring the habit of drinking, and from
clergymen, merchants, and men and women in all ranks
of life, who saw at once the great good that a paper which
circulates so extensively and generally as the NEW YORK
WEEKLY could do. They thank us for the good accom-
plished already by our temperance stories, and beg of us
to persevere in the good work. We need not say that it
is our intention to continue from time to time the publi-
cation of temperance tales, which shall be as excellent
and interesting as any other matter in our paper. We do
not intend to permit commonplace writing, because tem-
perance may be advocated in it, to fill our columns, but
shall try to present moral lessons in an entertaining way.
After this preface we will introduce a few letters which
have been received by us. The first is from one who was
a drunkard, but is

NOW OUT OF THE DARE.

RocK ISLAND, ILL, April 21, 1870,
MESSRS. STREET & SMITH~-Gentlemen: Please hand the
following to Mr. Judson, (better known as ‘Ned Bunt-
line,)’”? and oblige one of your 300,000 readers.

Mr. JupsoN—Dear Sir: Please accept my heartfelt
thanks for the good your ‘story, “Out of the Dark,’ has
done by reforming at least one drunkard. From the hour
that 1 finished the story I shall never touch that which
intoxicates. I would the story were a fact and every hu-

 

man being a witness. Your success is well merited.

Cloves and cherries cannot

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

Spere no efforts in the good work which makes glad the

hearts of thousands. Pardon the liberty, and believe me,
Sincerely yours,

VICTOR VERNER.

RESOLUTION OF THANKS.

CLEVELAND, O., April 28, 1870.

Cou. Juopson—Dear Sir: At a regular meeting of Hiawa-
tha Division, S. of T., No. 307, the following resolution
was unanimously adopted:

Whereas, The tide of intemperance that is sweeping
over our land, wrecking in its course the fondest hopes of
countless hearts, and burying beneath its relentless waves
the rich and poor, ignorant and learned, men of genius
and influence—leaving in its wake degradation and mis-
ery, heart-broken widows and wailing orphans—can only
be rolled back by united and persistent efforts on the part
of those whose hearts are filled with pity and oeek for
the tempted and fallen, and by the aid of those who have
the ability by voice and pen in the prosecution of this
great work; and,

Whereas, In the course adopted by Col. Judson in giv-
ing to the masses temperance literature, in which the
mirror is truthfully held up to nature, through the medi-
um of an organ of such an extensive circulation as the
New YoRK WEEKLY, we recognize not only a powerful
auxiliary to temperance reform, but an act of benevo-
lence and wisdom on the part of the author and publish-
ers: which entitles them to the thanks and support of
every temperance man and woman. Therefore

Resolwed, That the members of Hiawatha Division, S.
of T., No. 37, hereby tender their thanks to the gentlemen
named, and pledge themselves to support the New YORK
WEEKLY while such tales as ‘‘Out of the Dark” find place
in its columns.

Moved, That a copy of the resolution be sent to Col.
Judson. G. C. BURGESS, R. 8S. pro tem.

JOHN A. WANSON, W. P. pro tems.

“THE WORK GOES BRAVELY ON.”

God bless you, noble Ned Buntline! God bless you,
courageous Hannah Hopper! You have embarked in
a noble work. Goon. What can be more noble,
more.grand, more heavenly, than to strive to arrest the
march of those who are going recklessly onward to the
destruction of both body and soul? You have talents,
and you are employing them in a noble cause; you labor
in a field that is “‘fully ripe unto the harvest.’? May your
“Out of the Dark’? and ‘Redeemed by Love,” be the
means of opening the eyes of those who are standing on
the brink of a frightfal precipice, and causing them to
turn frora the awfal pit which lies yawning before them.
May your stories warn those who drink ‘prudently”’ and
“temperately” that they are weaving a chain of roses
areund them, which if not soon shattered will become a
cham of iron that can never be broken.

Aman may doa dishonorable action and all the while
believe he is doing only that which is just and honorable.
In time he will repent in saekcloth and ashes. He will
see that he has done wrong, and never in all his life will
he be guilty of a like action again. Tis not so with the
drunkard. He sees the pit he has fallen into—he deter-
mines to avoid it in the future, but only a week or a day
passes and again he is in the slough of disgrace and de-
struction.

Noble writers! Goon, and may God bless you! For-
get your own wrongs—forget those who have injured you
in the great work in which you are engaged! Strive to
set the young man on his feet again. Strive to turn the
old, gray-headed drunkard from his cups, and make him
know that although he is old he is yeta man. Make war
to the hilt on old King Alcohol, and the prayers of all
good people will go with you. H. ELLIOT MCBRIDE.

MR. POLICEMAN BROWN.

BY CLARA AUGUSTA.

 

 

 

It was over at last, and Mr. James Brown was Mr.
James Brown no longer, but Mr. Policeman Brown.

It had been rather a tough job to get Mr. Brown appoint-
edto the office, somany other gentlemen wanted it, just
ag so many gentlemen are in the habit of wanting every
Office from that of President downto Keeper ofthe pound;
but at last it was done, and Mr. Policeman Brownttreated,
and went home to his wife in an exhilarated state of
mind, fell @own the cellar stairs, barked his nose, and
broke the parlor lamp, for which derelictions he was se-
verely lectured by Mrs. Brown—all of which, you know,
iB the legitimate method of inaugurating a man into
office.

Mr. Policeman Brown meant to be very astute. From
a boy he had had a strong passion for stories in which de-
tectives figured largely. In common with many other
good simple people, he fell into the error of believing that
detectives were endowed with ‘almost superhuman pow-
ers, and that there was no little sin under the light of the
sun which their investigations could not unearth. He
admired ‘‘Mr. Bucket’? above ali others of that ilk, and
felt satisfied that if he could only have the chance he
could squelch some “Lady Dedlock’” as effectually as
Bucket did.

And now the field was opened tohim. He was emi-
neptly well satisfied. People who wanted to do anything
underhanded had better not attempt that operation in
Bangyille. He said proudly to his fellow policemen—if
they are unwise enough they would be likely to find out
that Brown belonged te the police force now.

AS ange to Say, hoWever, the heaveng dia: not fall on ac-

of Mz, Wh’ Sappointm §nt, and?the world deciined
to stand sill, and everything in the quiet, old fogyish
town of Bangville Went.on.as usual.

wet Ding oceurred to bring out Mr. Brown’s latent

enius. :
. The only instances of disorderly conduct were the fight
between\the Jenkins’ bantam rooster and John Jones’
turkey gobbler, and the thrashing of Tim Mulligan by his
wife, for the offence of kissing Maggie Murphy behind the
woodpile, at Pinkham’s grocery store.

Neither of which affairs seemed to demand the services
of a detective.

“On, dear !? said Mr. Brown to his wife, after they had
retired, one night, ‘(I do wish something would happen!
This is the dullest, slowest place in the world! If only
somebody would kill somebody, and somebody else would
offer a thousand dollars reward for the discovery of the
murderer, wouldn’t I hunt him down like—like—like a
aog digging out a woodchuck!’?

“Do lay still, Mr. Brown, and stop banging about so |”?
exclaimed his wife. ‘You'll bust the bed, and as sure as
the world, it’s nigh almost broke now! And I’m tired
and want to go to sleep |”

“Ann Marier, you have no family pride !’’ said Mr. B.,
reproachfully.. “Only think how glorious a thing it would
be, to be concerned in some great case of investigation
which would hand my name down to posterity-——”’

“Hand your name down to a fiddlestick !” said sympa-
thizing Mrs. Brown. “If you don’t lay still, and stop
kicking them sheets so, I’ll git up and lay with Elizy Jane
the rest of the night |’?

Mr. Brown subsided, but he lay awake half the night
thinking what splendid results he could bring about if
something startling would happen, and bewailing the lack
of appreciation in his Ann Marier.

As if in response to Mr. Policeman Brown’s earnest de-
sires, something did happen the very next evening.

Mr. Brown had been up to the west end of the town to
@ butcher’s shop, to get a shin bone of mutton for soup
the next day, and on his return he had to cross Dead
River’s bridge. It was a dark, misty night, and just be-
fore he reached the bridge he saw the figure of a woman
gliding along before him. Mr. Policeman Brown’s scent
was keen, and in a moment his imagination began to be
lively in regard to the woman’s business. He hastened
forward stealthily, and managed to get a view of her, as
she passed undera street lamp. She was clad in the tra-
ditional long black cloak and close hood always worn by
people on diabolical deeds intent, and she carried a bun-
die under her arm, from which Mr. Policeman Brown was
sure that now aid then there issued a faint squeak like
the smothered cry of an infant.

Brown wasipraptures! He longed to throw up his
hat and shouthurrah. At last sOmething worth while
was going to happen.

And most astounding of all he had recognized the wo-
man’s face. Jt Was that of the Widow Hopkins! The
widow was one of the strong pillars of society m Bang-
ville—rich and influential, and she had more than once
snubbed Mr. Policeman Brown and his family. And it
was rumored that Parson Scriggins, who had recently
buried his third wife, was intendiug to make Mrs. Hop-
kins his fourth. He visited at the Hopkins mansion quite
regularly, and the neighbors frequently saw a light in the
front parlor after eleven o’clock at night, which was proof
positive that he was serious in his attentions.

Here was a chance for Mr. Brown to avenge himself on
the widow! He was sure she was about to commit some
crime, and he leaned forward and held his breath to
watch her.

She advanced to the middle of the bridge, and bending
over the railing, gazed down into the dark water. Mr.
Brown fancied she shuddered, and shuddered himself out
of sympathy.

Then she drew the bundle from beneath her cloak—
held ita moment suspended over the water, and flung it
downward! A subdued cry broke on the damp air asthe
thing struck the water with @ dull splash, and then all
was still.

The widow turned quickly, and glided away, and Mr.
Policeman Brown, with trembling hands, cut. a notch in
the railing of the bridge at the point where she had
thrown over the bundle, and then grasping his shank of
mutton asif it were a sword of conquest, he hurried to
the office of the Chief of Police to tell his story.

At first the ehief was inclined to be incredulous, but di-
rectly the enthusiasm of Mr. Brown had its effect on him
as it did likewise on Jones and Smith, but Robinson, a
disagreeable member of the staff, laughed at the dark
construction put upon the affair by Mr. Brown.

It was decided to proceed cautiously to business. At
Mr. Brown’s suggestion a guard was placed around the
house of the widow, to prevent her escape in case, as Mr.
Policeman Brown expressed it, “she should happen to
smeil a rat;” ropes, drags, and lanterns were provided,
and just after midnight Mr. Brown piloted the party, com-
posed of the Chief of Police and Messrs. Jones, Smith and
Robinson, to the bridge.

It was an intensely interesting and solemn occasion.
Brown tried to wear a face calm and impressive, as be-
camea great man, but his excifement would crop out;
and as for the other men, with the exception of Robinson,
they were nearly as eager as Brown himself.

The operation of dragging was gone through with, and
but a short time elapsed ere the drag caught something!
Brown’s face grew pale and set with his intense anxiety,
and so did the faces of the others, as there came to the
surface of the water a sizeable bundle, which was drawn
up and solemnly deposited on the bridge.

“I will open it,’ said Mr. Policeman Brown, producing
aknife. “Good Heaven! what is the world coming to
when hitherto respectable women Stalk about in the dead
hours of the night, casting into the water mysterious—
mysterious—that is to say, casting into the waters mys-
terlous———"’ Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the
subject, he paused for a word.

‘Mysterious bundles done up in salt bags!” said that
sarcastic Robinson.

A look of ineffable scorn on the face of Mr. Brown alone
replied to this sacreligious speech. He stooped over, and
cut the cords which bound up the Bundle. Another mo-
ment, and its dread contents were revealed!

And what were they?

Six little drowned yellow kittens, and a brick!

“Zounds!” cried Brown. “Sold, by thunder!
oy engames about it, boys, and I'll stand treat!’

t cost . Policeman Brown fifty dollars’ worth of
champagne and oysters to get his secret kept, but some-
how it leaked out, and ever since he has been known
among his friends by the sobriquet of ‘‘Kittens.”’

——_>-0+_____—__
We pay more more money for contributions than is paid

by any other literary journal in the United Statea, if not
in the world. ,

Don’t

To Correspondents.

Gossip WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORs.—
W. J. Morris.—We paid a high price for the articles in question
to their author.......... Beulah.—The receipt of the photograph
should be acknowledged by requesting the acquaintance who
brought it to convey to the gentieman your thanks.......... T.
R. H.—We do not know aught concerning the lady, beyond the
fact thatshe is an actress. It appears to us decided imperti-
nence for people to inquire into the private concerns of public
people..... .....W. Carlton.—Ist. The Jady is the only person who
could judge whether the offense justified her spirited conduct.
2d, You certainly should apologize.......... Walter Loraine.—1st.
You should apprentice yourself to anengineer. 2d. Wash with
lemon juice. 3d. See ‘Knowledge Box.” 4th. Your penman-
ship is good..... ....Knickerbocker.—A twenty-dollar gold piece
weighs one oz. and an eighth—or 570 grains........ Joe Iangard.—
1st. The New York Crystal Palace was burned on the 5th of Oc-
tober, 1858. 2d. Your penmanship is excellent........ Bob Friars.
—Ist. It will be tame enough for yeu to think of removing the
warts when they make their appearance. 2d. You writea
pretty good hand........ Timothy Tinker.—Jefferson’s Manual,”
with amendments, is generally regarded as the standard on
Parliamentary rules. You could get a good copy for about $1.50.
Apply to the American News Co............- Deane.—It is........

e Captain.—lst. The gentleman is always introduced to the
lady. 2d. The formula of introducution is generally somewhat
in this style: *‘Miss Blank, permit me the pleasure of making
Mr. Unknown acquainted with you.” 1. The gentleman
siould bow, and express pleasure at making the acquaintance.
Le ehiys Georgius.—st. Before you can obtain a position as teacher
in one of our public schools you must have a teacher's certifi-
cate, and then get sufficient political influence to pressfor your
appointment. 2d. Yes. 3d. Your penmanship, though not hand-
some, is good. It would be improved did you make the up and
down strokes a little heavier. 4th. As we are not acquainted
with all the school books in use in this country it is utterly im-
possible for us to explain the meaning of a term which may oc-
cur in one of them, unless the sentence be given in which the
term is used...... Growler.—lst. Gentian root is the best substi-
tute for tobacco to those who have been accustomed to chew
the latter weed. 2d. It would depend on the circumstances sur-
rounding the case as to whether or not the taking of another
lady to the party would be improper. As we know nothing of
the circumstances we can give no advice. 3d. Handwriting bad.
9 Ser John.—A person who has become round shouldered by
stooping cannot be cured by a dose of pills or other medicinal
treatment. He must learn to stand erect, throw back his head,
and on arising in the morning expand his chest by throwing his
arms backward for the space of five or ten minutes...... J. S—-
Write to the Commissioner of the Land Office, Washington, D. C.
oa kates R. £. A.—\st. Angle, in geometry, is the inclination of two
lines meeting one another in a point. These lines are also call-
ed the “legs” of an angle. It is not apo the length of these
that the definition depends, but upon their degree of separation.
A pair.of compasses will afiord a practical illustration of differ-
ent angles: half way between shut and straight they exhibit a
right angle, which is an angle of 90 degrees; and half of a right
angle is an angle of 45 degrees. 2d. Quacks. 3d. Manufacturers
claim that they make such lamps, but we much doubt any lam
ing non-explosive in which explosive oil would be used.

‘here is very little danger from kerosene oil from which the
woe and benzine have been thoroughly distilled... .Inquirer.
—There are innumerable piaces in New York where you can
procure the photographs named. By a walk down Nassau
street any day you can learn the location of several of the places
where the photographs are sold....A Country Girl.—lst. All that
is necessary to write is a note thanking the gentleman for the in-
vitation, and expressing yourself as gladly accepting it or being
compelled to decline it, asthe case may 2d. Certainly a
lady should thank a gentleman for escorting herhome. 3d. For
recipe for making ice cream see “Knowledge Box ”’...... W. L.
Trimble. —You cannot learn the arug nor any other business en-
tirely trom books. If employed in a drug store you should study
the “U. S. Dispensatory.”...... Wrappers.—Ist. Sither by adver-
ae or personal application. 2d. There is no such thing as “a
usual salary.’? One wriler may receive $8 a week, and another
$20... .J./McDonald.—Keep better hours, and stop using tobacco..
Eugene Montague.—ist. No impropriety whatever in your giving

our portrait to the lady; butt here would be in her giving you
ner likeness inexchange. Women do not give their likenesses
to any men save near relatives or lovers, 2d. Your handwrit-
ing is not up to the bookkeeper’s standard. 3d. Brevity should
be used by our correspondents in asking questions. The fewer
words in which a question is put the better we like it...... De-
tective.—Ist. If the jokes have not been published in this country
we would have no objection. 2d. It is very generally conceded
that it is the gentleman’s piace to give the first sign of recogni-
tion when he and a lady acquaintance meet 3d. He is employed
as a scout by the officers in command of the U. S. troops in the
Indian country. Heisnotanenlisted man. 4th. You can im-
rove your handwriting A careful practice...... Leatherhead —
st. To be admitted to West Point you must first receive an
appointment from the Member of Congress for the district in
which you reside. As there is but one appointment from each
district (and each district hasa population of 120,000) in four
ypares you can judge what are your chances of obtaiming an ap-
pvintment. 2d, Beforé thinking of becoming = poblie 8) ss
you should acquire at least a superficial Knowledge of Englis'
grammar........ Undecided.—ist. We Know nothing abont the
pressesnamed. The presses of which we have a knowledge are
not toys. 2d. They are different companies, both conducted by
honorable men, and either will supply all your demands........
R. W. Offut.—ist. We do not know who is the publisher of the
music. 2d. We know nothing of educational advertising agen-
cies, consequently cannot say whieh is best...... Walter Loraine.
—Ist. By the terms of the note we should judge that your invita-
tion was not looked upon as a compliment. 2d. You write an ex-
cellent hand..... Merchant.—We think it the part of wisdom for a
man—especially a man of family—to have his life insured. But
before being insured he should inform himself, by every
means in his power, as to the entire trustworthiness of the com-
pany. There are somany really sound companies that it would

 

be wrong for us to point out any one of them as the best to in-
vest in...... .. Alphonse Abat.—We know nothing of the salaries
paid in the logging and oil districts of the country; nor can we
undertake to give the locality of and cost of reaching such dis-
tricts. We are willing to give the cost of getting to any one place
you may mention, and supply such general information as we
Inay possess concerning it, but we will not attempt to deseribe,
in our limited space, all the logging and oil districts in the coun-
IY oi vote Red Read.—ist. There is no proof that snakes or toads
existed inIreland at any time. 2d. St. Patrick. the patron saint
ot Ireland, was born, according to most authorities, near the site
of Kilpatrick, at the mouth of the. Clyde, in Scotland, in 372, and
died at Down, Ulster, probably in 464. At the age of 16 he was
carriea captive to Ireland bya band of marauders, but made
his escape after six months and reached Scotland. Carried off
asecond time, and again escaping, he resolved to become a
missionary to the Irish, was ordained in Scotland, and after a
long preparation was consecrated bishop. Having reached his
chosen field of labor, about 432, he preached the gospel with
such.extraordinary success that, although not absolutely the
first to introduce Christianity into Ireland, he has always re-
ceived the credit of its general conversion from paganism......
Sambo.—Iist. Aquack. 2d. A sleeping room should never be a
elose room, Ina malarious district it is best to sleep ina room
in which there isa fire, and the window should be opened at
the top. 3d. The best season is in the Fall. 4th. There is no set
salary for bookkeepers. They get all the way trom $500 to
$3,000 a year. 5th. The best recommendations would be those
from merchants of good standing. 6th. The supply ef compe-
tent bookkeepers is always in advance of the demand in New
York and other commercial cities. 7th. Your handwriung 1s
G00. ...s2 Cautious—ist. Aquack. 2d. You write a commonplace
hand...... Fresno.—Iist. A youth of twenty cannot pre-empt land
in hisown name. 2d. Five years. 3d. If strong, healthy, indus-
trious, and enterprising, you would find from $500 to $1,000a
sufficient capital. 3d. It is doubtful if a store of the kind named
would prove a profitable investment in a thinly settled country
—and all parts of the country where there are lands to pre-empt
are but sparely populated...... H. H. H.—\ist. We know nothing
whatever of the instiution. 2d. The whereabouts of the indi-
vidual named are not known to us...... Moetia.—You snould
treat nim with politeness, but with that cold politeness which
will not permit of his addressing you asan intimate acquaintance.
He is evidently of a class of men that think without they have
asked the question ‘‘will you marry me” they have not com-
promised themselves. Such men are usually selfish in grain,
and the woman who is so unfortunate as to marry one of them
does not draw a a in the lottery of life..... Fannie.—Yes.....
Viole.—William F. Cody, more popularly known as ‘Buffalo
Bill,” is not dead. ‘‘Ned Buntline” is in constant correspond-
ence with him. A few months agoa man named Levi Maize,
who had assumed Mr. Cody’s popular title. was shot in a
drunken brawl. He in no way resembled the true “Buffalo
ROHL, 04 0:05 Phix.—Ist. Only on application of his guardian. 2d.
Redness of the nose is often caused by a diseased liver. To re-
move the redness of the nose the liver must be cured. 3d. The
civil day is twenty-four hoars in length, and begins and ends at
midnight. Clock time and cuntime are notthe same. Four
times a year they agree, and twice a year there Isa difference
of sixteen minutes between then:...... Mountain Boy.—You are
right. The first two are quacks, axd the third is an educated
physician. . Lizzy.—Ist. You cannot ge. anything that will remove
the scars left by the small-pox. Time .vil cure the discolora-
tion, but the pits wili remain throughout your life. 2d. See
“Knowledge Box” for directions to reduce corpulence....S. 4.
Jerome.—We should say that the absence of the gentleman was
more desired than his company, from the answer he received.
However, it is possible that the lady did not kiow the exact
time when she spoke....Jack A. Wilson.—Ist. The way to be-
come an engineer is to apprentice yourself to the trade. 2d.
They average about $20 a week...... Young Rifleman.—Iist. The
distance from New York city to Omaha, Nebraska, is about
1470 miles by rail, ant the fare is $45. 3d. Your handwriting
would not be a bar to your obtaining a situation as bookkeeper.
eps Isaac H. Bishop.—1st. The most direct route to reach Jack-
sonville, Fla., is as iollows: Take the New Jersey road which
will carry you to Washington, D. C., there take fie Wilmington
and Weldon and connections to Savannah, whence = will
proceed to Jacksonville by water. The fare you can learn by
applying at any railroad office. 2d, The climate of Florida has
been extolled as one of the finest in the world. The average
temperature is about 73 degrees, and in no part does the differ-
ence between summer and winter exceed 25degrees. The soil
is adapted to the growing of the coffee-plant, the cocoa palm,
the sugar cane, cotton of all kinds, tobacco, rice, indigo, ar-
row root, Sisal hemp, New Zealand fiax, and all fruits and vege-
table which require a tropical sun to mature them........ A, J.
V.—Ist. The best family physician you know. 2d. Your pen-
mene is poor...-.. Blacksione.—l1st. Charles T. Manners, au-
thor of “Octavia’s Pride,” and ‘The Lord of Lyle,” has been
engaged to write exclusively for the New YORK WEEKLY. We
hope to shortly publish a story from the pen of this writer—one
of our most chaste and interesting contributors. 2d. No. 3d.
Yes. 4th. In ancient mythology Nemesis was one of the infer-
nal deities, and daughter of Nox She was the goddess of ven-
geance, always prepared to punish impiety, and, at the same
time, liberally to reward the good and virtuous. Her power
not only existed in this life butshe was also employe after
death to find out the most effectual and vigorous means of pun-
ishment. 5th. See answer to ‘Ixion” in No. 26. 6th. Steep the
part covered with shellac in aicohol, which will disselve the
shellac...... Haynes.—A quack...... Dome Roek,—ist. We do not
know thefirm. 2d. Youshould apply to the proprietors of il-
lustrated papers... .... One of the Weekly's Best Friends.—ist. In
“Cruden’s Concordance of the Bible,’? which you will find in
any library or in the possession of almost every minister of the
gospel, there is over a page taken up in giving the books, chap-
ters and verses in which allusion is madeto “‘faith.” As it would
take upward of a column of owr space to give the information
you require, you will perceive at once, that it is impossible for
us to comply with your request. 2d. The word “faith” occurs

 

in all of Shakespeare’s plays but one or two. 3d. The wall-

 

pa

 

 

 

 

flower is the emblem of ‘fidelity and faith,” the locust of “ove
beyond the grave,” and the polyanthus of “‘confidence.” 4th.
“Faith”? means the assent of the mind to the truth of what is de-
clared by another, resting solely and implicity on his autbority
and veracity. ‘‘The faith of the gospel,” says Dwighr, ‘‘is that
emotion ot the mind which is called trust or confidence excrcis-

ed toward che moral character of God, and particularly of the
Savior.” 5th. Your writing is good, and your spelling »nd gram-
mar. correct........-4 An Unfortunate Sufferer.—We must decline

giving you the name oft any physician. Your best course is to
ask the advice of your neighbors as to which ofthe physicians
in your vicinity isthe best, and then go to him, Have nothing
to do with quacks and humbugs........ Briest.—Take rest......
L. F. Dorant.—\st. By addressing a letter to the “President of
Yale College, New Haven, Conn.,” you will receive more full
and certain information upon the points you question us on than
itis in our power to give you. 2d. Your handwriting is good.
Sees) Constant Reader.—As the property clearly belongs to your
mother she can do what she pleases with it...... Weekly Reuder.
Ist. The fellow whosent you the circular is a notoricus fraud.
2d. There are a great many blood purifiers, some of which are
good for one disease ofthe blood and others for entirely differ-
ent diseases. We cannotsay what woula be the best purifier
for you to take without a knowledge of what is the ma'ter with
your blood. 3d. ‘‘Drachm” is pronounced as though spelled
Bly ae J. H. S.—\st, Address the Commissioner of the
Land Office, Washington, D. C. We do not know...ys....
Clint.—lst. The best place to purchase a mocking bird is at some
store in which there is an extensive assortment of birds. 2d.
You will learn from the dealer the cost of and the proper food
for a mocking bird. 3d. You should seek the advice of a physi-
cian....... G. S. S.—Ist. A mind Without hope can be compared
toaship without arudder. 2d. A ply to the American News
Company. 3d. On Mary, Queen of Scotland, fleeing to England
to escape from her rebellious nobles she implored the protection
of Elizabeth, who declared that no assistance could be given
her unless she submitted to a legal trial. To this Mary finally
consented, and the commission of investigation declared that
nothing “had been produced whereby the Queen of England
could conceive or take any evil opinion of her good sister for
anything yet seen.” Notwithstanding this declaration Mary was
kept in close confinement. The Duke of Norfolk formed the
design of marrying Mary, in which he was encouraged by some
of the English en andthe Regent Murray. Elizabeth dis-
covering the duke’s plans sent him to the Tower, from which
he was not released until he had promised to relinquish his am-
bitious designs. After his liberation he renewed his pursuit_of
the project, and he was tried and beheaded. Queen Mary, after
a long imprisonment at Coventry, was removed to Fotheringay
Castle, where she underwent the mock formality of a trial for
fomenting conspiracies against the life of Elizabeth. Of course,
notwithstanding ber declarations of innocence, she was found
guilty, aud was beheaded in the castle on the 8th of Feb., 1587.
She was 45 years of age at the time of her death... -Arcnings.—Ist.
You can only enter West Point or the Naval Academy alter re-
ceiving an appointment from the member of congress fur the
district in which you reside, and then undergoing an examina-
tion in the common branches of English education, and as to
your physical and mental health. 2d. Weare growing tired of
answering questions about the Military and Naval Academies,
and if our readers will but bear this in mind_we will have_to
answer no more: To either Academy each Congressional Dis-
trict is entit!td to but one appointment every four years, and as
each district has a population of over 120,000 it is impossible for

 

 

the member of Congress to give an appointment to every other
youth in his district........ F. X. B.—We know nothing whatever
of the reputation of the doctor named........ Indiana.—1st. The
South is a better place for a young, enterprising man, with
some means, than the East. In the South the population is not
so dense, the land is richer and cheaper, and prospects better
for advancement, as there is not so great an amount of capital
lying idle and ready to take advantage of every profitable in-
vestment that offers. 2d. Phonography, like every other spe-
cies of knowledge, more than repays the trouble necessary to
acquire command of it. The pecuniary remuneration may not
meet yeur oxic but there are other pleasures to be de-
rived from phonography besides the mere making of money.
3d. We know nothing of the wages paid to telegraph operators
and tradesmen in different parts of tpe country........ annie.—
Ist. It would be highly improper for you to speek to men to
whom you have had no introduction. The very fact of your
noticing the surreptitious advances of men, gives those making
the advances a poor opinion of your modesty or good sense.
Such acquaintances seldom prove otherwise than discreditable.
2a. If the man cares for you, at the proper time he will make
known his feelings; if he doesnot care for you, it is not possible
that you would like to undergo the humiliation of having him
know that he was loved without having sought your love. You
can do nothing but await his action in the matter........ A. B.—
We can furnish ali the numbers from No. 22 of the present vol-
ume up to thistime. The papers will cost you six cents a num-
berdas - <> - H. E. H.—1st. A quack institution. 2d. Agenileman
on meeting a lady in the street to whom he has been introduced,
should raise his hat and bow to her. It is the part of the gen-
tleman to make the first sign of recognition. 3d. The supply of
bookkeepers 1n New York is always greater than the demand.
It is doubtful, did you procure a situation here, if you would
receive for some time as high a salary as you are_now getting.
Lh EN Gis oi Forsaken Daughter.—Will the author of “The Forsaken
Daughter,” published by T. B. Peterson, send her address to the
New YorRK WEEKLY office.......... Moonshine.—A quack.........-
J. E. D.—The circular is issued by one of the most notorious
quack institutions in the country ......... Crow Foot.—The aver-
age ability of the followers of any trade or profession is re-
garded as the standard of capacily. Those who are abler than
the average are above the average, and those who are less com-
petent than the mass in the same walk of life are regarded as
below the standard............ That's Me.—ist. The shortest and
easiest way to learn phonography is to get a teacher. 2d. From
$15 to $30 a week. We know noplace in this country, nor
in any other, where a young man would be sure to make a for-
tune in a few years..........-. Adam G. Clari:.—Ilst. ‘“Plebiscite”’
(more correctly “plebiscitum”’) is ‘‘a decree of the people.” In
Rome a plebiscitum was a law enacted by the common people,
under the superintendence of the tribune or some plebeian
magistrate, without the intervention of the Senate. 2d. We can
give you nothing which will compel hair to grow on a scar....
Pippin.—ist. You can strengthen and improve the voice by read-
ing and speaking aloud, not by howling and shouting. 2d. See
the 1. ¥. Herald. 3d. Ole Bull is not biind........ San Francisco.
—ist. The Oneida community believe in a religion (if such a
thing can be called a religion) of the senses. They regard the
sanctity of the marriage tie as wrong, and believe that lust is
higher morality than chastity. Of course, they dress their
views in different language from eurs, but the rich dress covers
arotten body. 2d. We shall shortly publish an original story
from the pen of Leon Lewis, entitled “The Flower of Suda.”
3d. We have now in hand, and will publish, on the conclusion
of “The Witch of the Ocean,”’ a sea story from the pen of Ned
Buntline. 4th. The story will not be commenced for some time
vet. 5th. The paper has been discontinued.......... Geo. A. B.—
$50 bonds are the smallest that have been issued by our govern-
ment. $50 10-40 5 per cent. bonds sell for $54, and $50 5 206 per
cent. bonds sell for $56 75 in currency.......... Geo. Drake.—\st.
A patent cannot be obtained for a burniog tiuid without making
the ingredients knowntotheexaminer. How, otherwise, could
he tell that your invention was not an infraction on some pre-
vious patent? 2d. Of course the affair is a swindle.......Samuel
H. F—We must decline giving the information.....-.. Theater.—
ist. The only way to get your son an engagement in a theater is
to apply to the manager of one. It is quite a common halluci-
nation for young men to imagine that nature intended them to
wear the sock and buskin; that they are unknown Garricks,
and Keans, and Forrests, and Burtons, and Biakes; but a little
experience shows them that perfection in any art is only gained
by hard study, and that fair rank in the profession only comes

 

 

 

after years ot hard labor—oftener never at all. For every per-
son who goes on the stage, and attains a moderate position, hun-
dreds never get beyond the elevation of confidant to the hero or
heroine—characters in which they have the pleasure of listen-
ing to long speeches, and wondrous secrets, but are only per-
mitted to make such astonishing remarks as, ‘‘Impocssible,”’
“You astound me,” ‘My heart bieeds for you,” ‘I will not de-
sert you in your trouble,” etc. After a few years’ experience
of being talked at by the actors, and sneered at by the public,

the majority of these ambitious youths retire to less congenial
but more profitable employments. We make no charge for
answering the questions of inquirers........ Fairy.—Yes........
Combination C. J. € —We know nothing whatever of the tool to
which you refer....... EdarPouduiny —We can give you neither
the origin, meaning, nor correct spelling of the word. We have
never heard it spoKen, nor met it in all our reading... .. ......
Robcrt Lackville.—James B. Hickok, better knewn as ‘‘Wild Bill,”
is not dead. At the time that Colonel Judson was on the plains,

 

procuring the materials for the story of “Buffalo Bill,” it was
generally believed that he wasdead. ‘‘Wild Bull” is now sher-
iff of Ellis county, Kansas. He will figure in other of Ned Bunt-
line’s romances of the borders........... Mrs. D.—\st. “Alice, the
Swamp Waif,” was written by Augustus Comstock. 2d. The
Hon. Evelyn Ashby’s story, “The Conspirator’s Doom; or, The
Lost Heiress of of Latymer,’? will be commenced in the course
of a couple of months. 3d. No divorce is necessary, as there
was no marriage. The woman, having a knewledge of the
man’s position previous to her marriage to him, she has no re-
dress before the law. The legal wife can prosecute him for big-
@mMy,.....'. Lottie H.—Iist. Refuse to receive the man again. It is
evident, from your story, that he has no intention of marrying
you, that he merely seeks your company for his amusement, or
your own ruin. 2d. You did perfectly right in refusing to make
the proposed visit to New Yorkin hiscompany. 3d. It will be
very easy for you to dismiss him. You can state that you have
been thinking over his remark about it having been better had
you never met each other, and that you have come to the con-
clusion that it wonld have been better; but, as that cannot be
amended, the next best thing is tor you to meet no more.......
Bessie.—It may be that there is a diffeience; possibly those deep
in eggology can tell one from tother, but we confess our entire
ignorance. Can’t you enlighten us?...... Boy Whaler.—We can
furnish the numbers of the New YorK WEEKLY containing ‘‘The
Boy Whaler.” It ran through 27 papers, which will cost you
tee, Sos Inquirer.—The American News Gompany send ‘fhe
American. Bookseller’s Guide,” which is publisbed monthly,
free to booksellers, stationers, news dealers, and music dealers;
to those not engaged im the trade it is supplied at one dollar a
ear, free of postage........-. Hojman..—You write 2 good, plain
and, which is up to the standard of bookkeepers in general...
AE ns 6 Unfortunate.—ist. See answer to “Lxion,” 1n No. 26. 2d.
Quacks......... Z. B. Marshall.—A quack concern......... Bower
Trump.—Iist. We have never known of a bale of cotton weigh-
ing 900 lbs. _The following are the weigiits, in ee of ba'es
of cotton: West India bales, 173 Ibs., Brazil, 181 lbs., Egypt, 306
lbs., East Indies, 385 lbs., and United States, 440 lbs. . Your
enmanship is good. 3d. The Central Park covers an area of
Zacres. 4th. The part of New York known as the “Five
Points,” lies within about a quarter of a mile of the City Hall
Park, and midway between Chatham street and Broadway. 5th.
Lewis Baker. 6th. We do not know....... ness.—See answer
to “‘Ixion,’’ in No. 26...... ¢C. Burns.—ist. You can become a can-
didate for any office but that of President or Vice-President, as
no person but a natural born citizen is eligible to either of-
flee. A foreign-born citizen cannot/be elected to the House of
Representatives until he has been a citizen for seven years, bor
to the Senate until he has been a citizen for nine years. 2d.
Your writing is good...... James Barnes.—The only way in which
your nose can be reduced in size is by cutting it off, or by get-
ting into a free fight, and having it chewed off.......... Danvers,
lst. Quacks. 2d. Your penmanship is good........ Trinidad. st.
We do not think he is what he claims to be—in fact, we have no
faith in any one who claims that he has a medicine which is a
specific in all diseases. 2d. Your handwriting is but common-
PInGe,-..36.5> Shrub.—We know nothing about the press, but sup-
pose from the advertisement that it is a mere toy......... ~
smith.—Ist. The missing numbers have been forwarded. 2d.
Your subscription will end with No. 30....... Inquisitiveness.—We
must decline answering questions as to places of business........
Ralph.—Ist. Again we decline decisively giving the. address of
any of our correspondents. 2d. Your handwriting is poor......
Joseph Owen.—Ist. It isa quackconcern. 2d. We will not an-
swer questions by letter.........-.-- To Contributors.—We have in
hand many MSS. which will be appropriately referred to at our
earliest convenience.

 

The UNION AVENUE BapristT church, Greenpoint, is in-
creasing in members equal to any church on Long Tstand

Sixteen received the hand of fellowship last communion
day.

 

 

 

TO NEWS AGENTS.
News Agents, who have never receivea
EXT SHEETS from us, containing their
PRINTED CARDS, will please send their
Addresses to this Office. We are now print-
ing another edition of the Shoo Fly, for all
the News Agents throughout the country;

and we hope to be able to give every Agent
a chance to benefit himself and us at the same

 

 

 

time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

se

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ab—- A noes <<
Ores or ,

THE NEW YORE WEEKLY.

 

 

A aR a ae a we rons

 

 

———

BEAUTIFUL MAY.

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

 

Welcome, sweet welcome,
Oh! jubilant birds,
Singing in concert
Your songs without words,
Welcome, sweet welcome,
Fair blossoms to-day,
Crowning so gaily
The beautiful May.

Summer hath glories

On meadow and plain;
Autumn hath fullness

Of fruit and of grain;
Winter hath beauty;

Yet poets all say,
No time so sweet

As the beautiful May.

Welcome, sweet welcome,
Then scuth wind and dew,
Music and flowers,
And skies of bright blue.
Welcome, sweet welcome,
Oh! green earth to-day,
Crown her with laurels
On beautiful May!

 

WHO DID

LADY VIOLET

 

MARRY ?

Mystery of the Black Diamond.

By HELEN CORWIN FISHER,
AUTHOR OF “fHE UNLOVED WIFE,” THE CURSE OF «V-
ERLEIGH,”? ‘WOLF OF VIGNOBLE,” ETC.

 

{“Lady Violet” was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers
ean be obtained from any News Agent in the United Siates.]

CHAPTER VII.
THE BLACK PRINCE.

Conway had not gone to the Continent. The letter to
Eleanor was only another of those small ruses with which
he sought to advance his great project, his one last yven-
ture.

He had indeed pretended to depart from his quarters in
Chester for several reasons. Among others his creditors,
wiio had discovered his whereabouts, he imagined from
certain indications—which, by the way, were significant
of the men Lord Eaglescliffe had put on his track instead
—he had in reality, only gone far enough tosafely assume
@ suitable disguise. He returned to the locality in a
smock frock, and a wig of long hair. If he had removed
his beard, he might have escaped recognition. But he
could not bring his mind to the sacrifice of those shining
black waves, which gave such picturesque attractiveness
to his handsome face, and the omission proved his ruin.

Matters were getting desperate with Vane Conway. He
Was resolved at any risk to see Lady Violet, and win or
lose allata stroke. Hehad not indeed money enough to
quit the country. decently, and a debtor’s prison gaped for
him at every step of the way.

A marriage with the young heiress would settle a)l
those difficulties, for though Lady Violet couid not touch
@ penny, even of the fortune left her by her uncle, at pre-
Sent, immense wealth was inevitably hers in the future,
and it would be easy enough to raise money on the pros-
pect, if the marriage could once be managed.

Surely, Vane Conway reasoned, if his tongue had not
lost its. cunning, this romantic girl, who had fallen so
easily in love with the dark beauty of his false face, might
= won to flee with him, could he but get safe speech of

er.

Night after night, he hung about among the shadows of
Eaglescliffe, watching Lady Violet’s apartments. He had
made up his mind, in his usual reckless fashion, to try and
enter them.

But he found himself shrinking unaccountably from the
undertaking, though no great danger was involved appa-
rentiy. There was a pretty and convenient baicony open-
ing from Lady Violet’s conservatory. A ladder, a dark
night, and a fair amount of nerve and effrontery, were all
that were necessary besides. The last two Conway cer-
tainly was not lacking in, and the first were ready to his
hand. There was no moon just now, and the ladder he
wanted, reposed against an old wall within sight of the
heiress’ window.

An unaccountable reluctance was upon him all the
time. After he had shouldered the ladder, he set it down

ain.
ar never felt this way but once before, in that affair at
the Nest,” he muttered, withashiver. “That broughtme
only disgrace and ruin, and if I was disposed to be su-
perstitious, 1 should say this was going to bring me some-
thing worse.”

He stood in frowning thought some moments, then with
an audible oath, he lifted the ladder, and passing swiftty
across the intervening space, placed it against the balco-
ny, mounted it and disappeared. His plan was to conceal
himself in the conservatory, till Lady Vielet came to her
apartments forthe night. Hecould see through the clear
plate-glass doors, into the luxurious and elegant room be-
yond, and he amused himself while he waited, with watch-
ing Fidele parade herself before the handsome mirrors,
and in taking a sort of anticipatory inventory of the va-
rious costly appointments, which he could see from his
hiding place.

It was not yet late, and the party in the drawing-room,
consisting of Lord Eaglescliffe, Lady Violet, Miss Lyle and
Captain Evelyn, had not yet left it, when a servant came
With a note for Captain Evelyn.

The captain’s careless face never changed, as he passed
the hasty scrawl to the earl, and went on turning Lady
Violet’s music.

Not so Lord Eaglescliffe. He rose and quitted the room
with a flushed countenance, unconscious in his perturba-
tion that the note had fluttered to the floor, unseen by any
but Miss Lyle. Quietly Eleanor secured it, and evading
the eyes of the others, read it.

“A man has just entered Lady Violet Chevering’s
apartments, and concealed himself in the conservatory.
D-———_”

 

 

Miss Lyle felt her heart, which had beat sluggishly
enough a moment before, give a sudden leap.

“Why, where is papa?” inquired Lady Violet, turning
about fromthe piano. “I did not hear him go out; was
his head worse, Eleanor ?’

Eleanor muttered something as she crumpled the bit of
paper in her nervous hand, and Captain Evelyn, with a
sharp glance at Miss Lyle’s agitated face, took up the ex-
planation, and managed to divert Lady Violet’s attention,
just as a faint sound of some distant commotion became
barely audible.

Eleanor made her escape from the room the next mo-
ment, and flew crazily in the direction of Lady Violet’s
chambers. A sharp pang of intuition told her what man
would be most likely of all others to hide in the conserva-

ry.

She sawitallinafiash. The letter she was treasuring
so fondly, had been written to put her off her guard.

She found Lady Violet’s rooms ciosea. Fidele had been
sent off on some excuse, and the door of the ante-cham-
ber was locked. She listened a moment, and drew back
as the door opened, and Lord Eaglescliffe looked out. His
face was still flushed, his manner anxious and flurried.

“Is that you, Miss Lyle?” heasked in a tone of some
relief, as though he was better pleased that it should be
she, than some one else. “He has dared his own fate,”
he continued, hurriedly; ‘and I want to get him out of the
house without any of the servants seeing him, for Violet’s
Sake. Will you go along the south corridor and senda any of
them out of the way who may chance to be about ?”?

Miss Lyle managed to lift her feetsomehow, and moy-
ed away. Her intuitions had told hertrnly; though the
ear! had uttered no name she knew what had happened as
well as though he had spoken it.

The south corridor had the reputation of being haunt-
eda, and was consequently not frequented much by the
servants, who would take a longer way in preference any
time. It was the most direct way out, and the least ex-
posed to that observation which Lord Eaglescliffe wished
to avoid.

Shrinking into a corner, Miss Lyle saw Conway as he
came, his arms pinioned, two men either side of him,
and Lord Eaglescliffe, sternly leading the way.

She knew him, of course, in spite of his disguise; the
disordered confusion of his appearance, with his rich
hair tumbled over his face, and aslouched hat crowded
down over his eyes.

In spite of her, she uttered a low cry at the wretched
Torlornness of his 100k, and with a fierce toss of his head,
he sent the hat fiying. While one of the men replaced it,
the unhappy man darted a fiery glance at Eleanor, and
his pinioned hands clenched.

“It was you who betrayed me, curse you !” he hissed
through his set teeth as they dragged him away.

“Oh, no, no, no,’ gasped Eleanor, springing forward,
out no one heard or heeded her.

Lord Eaglescliffe, having shown the party out, and di-
rected them across the park to where a close carriage
waited, came back through the hall, where Miss Lyle still
stood trying to calm her agony.

‘Will you call some one, Miss Lyle—i—feel—strangely,”’
his lordship uttered, catching blindly at the wall and
then falling in a heap upon the floor. The excitement
had ‘brought on an apoplectic fit.

Miss Lyle was shocked, as it were, out of her own
thoughts. She had self-possession enough, still, not to
get up a chorus of screams as she fled through the halls
in search of help, though she had no suspicion but that
it was death had stricken Lord Eaglescliffe. She knew
that his father had died that way. She dispatched a mes-
senger for a physician the first thing, and sent another to
tell Captain Evelyn and Lady Violet. At the same time
she superintended the removal of the unconscious form to
his lordship’s private apartments.

The servant sent to. the drawing-room encountered
Captain Evelyn with his charge, whom he had with some
ado detained there by one excuse and another, till, in
vague alarm, she refused to be so detained a moment
longer. The man had caught a hint of what had, been

 

 

“There’s been a robber in the house, my lady, and Lord
Eagiesclitfe +

Captain Evelyn hushed him roughly, not knowing what
might have happened. But it was too late. Lady Violet
heard the heavy tramp of the men bearing her father to
his own chamber, and was beside him before any could
hinder,

Captain Evelyn followed guickiy, but only in time to re-
ceive the stricken girl’s fainting form.

Lord Eaglescliffe was not dead. Two medical men were
with him within the hour, and, soon after midnight, Roy
Evelyn brought the happy news to Lady Violet and Miss
Lyle, waiting in the ante-room, that he was better, and
particularly desired that they should retire to their own
upartments, and try to get some rest.

Vane Conway slept in a prison that night, and the un-
happy girl, who believed herself his wife, tossed restlessly
upon her couch of down, and dreamed that the two years’
continental sojourn was ended already, and that he had
come to claim his bride. She woke in a cold sweat of
horror from seeing her father stretched stiff and stark at
her feet, with Conway pointing to him, and reaching his
arms to ¢lasp her at the same moment.

The Earl of Eagiescliffe recovered slowly, but he was
warned by his physicians that, this being the second at-
tack of the kind, his lease of iife was bounded by the
next, and the usual exhortation to abstemiousness and
avoidance of mental excitements, followed.

Lady Violet never guessed who the real disturber of the
peace and quietof that unhappy night had been. She
stood by, while the broken and trampled shrubs were re-.
moved from her conservatory the following morning, and
only shrugged her shoulders disdainfully at Fidele’s hor-
rified recital of particulars.

Once Eleanor Lyle, standing by, was seized with an
overwhelming desire to tell her who had been the ignoble
hero of that midnight drama, and vlaim her interference
to save him from a convict’s doom. But she only got so
far as to Whisper cautiously in my lady’s ear:

‘It would not have been surprising to me if Vane had
tried some such desperate experiment for the sake of
seeing you—if he had not already gone.”

 

 

Lady Violet’s great, black eyes surveyed herin one half-
haughty, half-scared flash.

“T believe:l desired you never to mention that man’s
name to me again;” she said, after a pause, in a chilling
voice.

Miss Lyle’s predominent trait of character was her cau-
tion. Shé remained silent, only saying to herself:

“J don’t Khow what she woulda doin her.anger, if I told
her. I won’t trust her. Wil write and tell Vane how mat-
ters stand instead, and let him make such use as he likes
of the knowledge. I shall still have it in my power to
stop him if he is likely to go too far.”’

That ijetter was written and dispatched,
Conway at least.a week before the trial.

it found him pacing his cell in a bitter rage with all the
world, and with Eleanor Lyle in particular. False himself,
to his very heart’s core, it was easy for him to believe
that the girl, whose heart he had wrung so many times,
had at last turned against, and betrayed him. His black
eyes glowed like live coals as he recognized upon the en-
velope the hand of her he had that moment been cursing
in his heart.

He deliberately tore in strips the letter Eleanor had
written to save him, flung the pieces contemptuously on
the floor of his cell and stamped on them.

Then bethinking himself that the letter might contain
something which could be used against him at the coming
trial, he carefully gathered up every fragment, and in
the lack of facilities for destroying them, concealed them
in the lining of his coat.

Undoubtedly, if he had known the contents of that let-
ter, Vane Conway would have made such application of
them as would have kept him out of the felon’s dock at
least. But he did not know them, he never guessed them,
till the trial was over, he convicted and on board ship,
going where he would not be likely to trouble either Lord

Saglesclitfe or his daughter for some time to come.

Far out at sea, the whim seized him to see whac Eleanor
Lyle had to say for herself. He accordingly pasted the
torn fragments of her letter together and read.

It is, perhaps, needless to say that it was a bitter pill.
All the more bitter from the fact that his own foliy had
put it out of his power to use it as Hleanor intended.
But he rallied from the shock to new devices of villainy.
He cursed Eleanor in one breath and lauded her in the
next.

“She might have done worse; and I ought to have
known that she wouldn’t go against me, as I thought she
had,” he said to himself, thoughtfully. ‘Now, if she
holds her tongue, and I ever get back to England, I will
have pay for some things. If my lady thinks Iam her
husband, why so I am. Why not?” with a snap of his
white fingers. ‘‘There’s only. one man in England can
prove to the contrary, and he don’t know his own luck.
Odd. By George! But he don’t.”

Conway was not popular on board ship—among the
convicts, that is—he was too fineva gentleman, too over-
bearing in his sulkiness at misfortune, in the arrogance
induced by the visionary hopes he was building upon the
secret Eleanor Lyle had revealed to him.

But among these low and degraded wretches, with whom
Providence had for the present cast nis lot, was one, a
mere lad, with a shock of ugly red hair, and a fearfully
scarred and homely face, who had seemed to take to the
ruined gentleman from the first.

Something about the boy, in spite of his ugliness, at-
tracted Conway’s fancy too, and the lad being a mute, he
indulged a whimsical liumor in talking to him by the hour
of his schemes when he should get back to England.

“| have left some one behind me, my lad,” he would
say, with his handsome wicked eyes aglow, ‘“‘who won’t
leave @ stone unturned, till lam out of this. If it should
take years, she would go on trying all the same. The
deuce |!” he exclaimed, suddenly, ‘where did you get
those eyes, my man?’

Bob did not answer in words, which was not to be
wondered at, if he was a mute. But Conway could have
sworn that his dark eyes had lightened wonderfully as he
spoke. Indeed, he said to himself as he looked away,
that if Bob’s eyes had been set in a delicate rose-leaf face,
like one he remembered, he could have sworn that it was
the Iace itself.

‘Poor little Daisy,’? he murmured, and dropped his face
on his hands in a rare revulsion of feeling.

Bob’s eyes foilowed himdarkly. Bob sat like a statue
watching him.

The boy attached himself more closely than ever to him
after this, and there was a dumb-loving eloquence in his
large, slow-moving glance, that would remind one of tne
unquestioning, unresenting affection oi some animal for
its keeper.

It reached

CHAPTER IX.
A GLIMPSE OF MY LADY’S HEART.

“IT wish you would not, Eleanor. You are always school-
ing me lately. Will you never understand that Captain
Evelyn is papa’s guest, not mine. I can’t do less than
treat him courteously, and I don’t do more.”’

From where she stood, with the sunset light glancing
off her exquisite face, and lighting up the jewels at her
white throat, till it seemed circled with fire, Lady Violet
broke off spray after spray of the late roses, and flung
oa from the terrace in sheer neryousness and impa-

ence.

Eleanor Lyle, grewn haggard and old since Conway’s
arrest, watched her gravely.

‘You are a married woman, and you do not love your
husband——,’’ she began, in a low hard voice.

Lady Violet. interrupted her, her face blanched, her
yole icy.

“That is one of your assumptions; you will be good
enough to keep to the subject. We were speaking of

 

 

 

going on, and had drawn his own inference.

Captain Evyelyn.”’

 

 

 

“If Iny assumption 1s a true one,” persisted Eleanor,
grimly, “there is all the more need of my warning, for
you are in danger, as well as ne.’?

sey 9?

She uttered the single exclamation in a voice of intense
scorn.

“Tin danger from another creature in the semblance of
man. Thank you; oh, thank you!” ;

“You are in one of your mocking humors; it is no use
to try to talk reason with you,”? Miss Lyle said, and calm-
ly retreated within, Jeaving my lady to indulge her capri-
cious meditations alone.

She remained leaning upon the broad marble balus-
trade, scarcely altering her position for a long time, till
the sun dropped behina a purple mass of clouds, and the
night was closing in chill and dark, but not more than
her face.

A step sounded onthepavement. Shestarted violently
as she looked up, and saw the very eyes of which she had
been thinking, watching her—the frank, glancing, brown
eyes of Captain Evelyn.

He came forward instantly, extending his hand.

“T am glad to find you here, Lady Violet. I had some-
thing to say to you, if you will permit me.”

The sligut huskiness in the captain’s usually clear, joy-
ous tones, told my lady’s apprehensive heart what was
coming. In asudden impulse of cowardice, she moved
toward the open drawing-room windows; but the gallant
guardsman stopped her, extending his arm with a court-
eous, but resolute wir, and a flash out of the brown eyes
that. made the black orbs flinch for the moment. Lady
Violet’s white lids drooped for an instant; then she ral-
lied again.

“Let him speak,”? she thought, ‘and have it over, since
he will not be warned.” Andslightly setting her teeth,
she looked up.

“Well,”? she said, quietly.

And, upon that, the captain spoke, not exactly the
words she expected to hear, however.

“T am not the man to plead with a woman whose heart
isfull of another,’ he said, his voice calm enough now;
“so, if that is what you fear, Lady Violet, be at peace.

 

a how many unhappy things might not have hap-
pened.

She was back now, and Lady Violet was again her pu-
pil. and rarely docile, a changed being in every way.
Lady Violet, indeed, with all that surplus energy, those
wild spirits of hers, recoiling on herself, needed occupa-
tion, ana welcomed the resumption of the old round of
duties with feverish eagerness.

The family went, about this time, down to Heathcote,
another seat of the earl’s in Wales. It was Lady Violet
Who entreated for the change. The Clitfe had grown
hateful to her.

At Heathcote six years passed—six years which made
Eleanor Lyle haggard and old before her time. Six years
which only ripened and developed the marvellous loveli-
ness of Lady Violet. In all that time, no word had come
to her of Conway, and she did not know yet that he was
all this time sojourning in Australia, instead of on the
continent. No pains had been spared to conceal from her
the trcth, and the effort had succeeded.

 

CHAPTER X.
AFTER SIX YEARS.

They returned to Eaglescliffe in May.

The earl would have liked to have his daughter pre-
sented at the queen’s drawing-room long before this, and
a suitable chaperone would have been readily forthcom-
ing. He imagined the sensation the peerless girl would
create, and painted with a fancy hand the pleasure of
London fashionable high life.

But Lady Violet, though she did not seem untouched
by the picture, showed an invincible reluctance to the
proposition, and not having, with years, outgrown her
Imperiousness, her will was still the law it had always
been to her indulgent and doting father.

Eleanor Lyle’s absences from Heathcote during the in-
terval of their stay there, had been somewhat protracted
and mysterious.

She always said she had been to visit friends. But, if
so, it must have been a visit rather of duty than pleasure,

fk Phoh f t
phi is
SS H |

   
    

WHO DID LADY VIOLET MARRY ?—“IT WAS YOU WHO BETRAYED ME? CURSE YOU

Still, I have something to say to you—the more, that after
to-night we may not meei again for years.”

The hand upon his arm grew cold,

“My regiment is ordered; to india,
say ‘good-by,’ and——”

“To India? The beautiful face Was ghastly, even in
that dim light. “Then@pesieil yeverameéet again. It is
a long good-by you have come te tak.c. Saptain Kvelyn.”’
And, in spite of her (féte tin, aeaeavy Sigh strug-
gied toe her trembling lips.

“Long )? repeated he, looking down at the vivid face
with a despairing thrill. “My lady, ’m giad you. don’t
know how long it will be to me.”’

She understood him. — Beside, her own emotion was
Stifling her. But she would not yield to it. With a last,
desperate effort, she lifted her great eyes and looked at
him, breathing hard, as she drew her hand from his arm,
and stepped back.

“T wish you a pleasant journey,’ she said, in a jarred
voice; ‘‘and I hope the Sepoys won’t—won’t——”’

In the midst of the hollow speech, voice and sight failed
her. She caught wildly at the ballustrade, and Captain
Evelyn was only in time to Save her head from striking
the marble, as she fell.

“She loves me,” he thought, as the white, unconscious
face fellover his arm. ‘‘She does love me, try as she may
to hide it.” *

He stood still, with the slight form clasped close, the
long black curls trailing over his arm, while the moon
crept silverly into view, and shone on the carven face he
was watching, with set lips. His heart was beating like
a trip-hammer, his breath came heavily, and my lady’s
swoon was along one. Buthe was patient.

“It seems cruel,”? he murmured; “but it’s my last
chance.’?

A silken skirt rustied near, that very moment, and the
one woman he would have chosen not to see, because he
felt her hostility to him intuitively, glided up beside him,
in the moonlight.

“Has anything happened?’ asked Eleanor Lyle, in a
voice of cool inquiry. *‘Ah !’—as she saw the still, white
face on his arm, and she swept the gnardsman’s agitated
counterance with a glanceof keen scrutiny.

‘Lady Violet has fainted,” he answered, returning her
glance; ‘‘that is all—and she is better already. Will you
do me a great favor, Miss Lyle—will you leave me alone
with Lady Violet ten minutes?”

“If she wishes it, Captain Evelyn—I doubt if she does,”
responded Eleanor, stiffly.

The guardsman’s brown eyes flashed. Then as my
lady raised her head, and looked in bewilderment trom
one to the other, he condescended toone more appeal, a
thrill of wild pain in his voice, that smote even Eleanor.

“T entreat you, Miss Lyle—I leave on the night train—I
am ordered to India!”

Over Bleanor’s face passed a swift change.

To Lady Violet came stinging realization with the
words. lt helped recall her strength and consciousness
now, just as it had banished both a little before.

‘Are you better, dear?’? asked Eleanor, in a meaning
voice, as she took her pand. ‘Are you well enough to
hear Captain Evelyn now. He wishes to speak with you.
Shall I go and leave you with him ??

Lady Violet leaned heavily on Eleanor, and extended a
hand to Captain Evelyn. Her face was like carved ala-
baster, her large, intensely mournful eyes were lifted to
his in a solemn gaze.

“Good-by,” she said, “good-by; it is better to say it,
so believe me.”?

She guardsman’s brows contracted. “Then I will
speak here in Miss Lyle’s presence,’ he said sternly.
“Lady Violet, do you love me ?””

; He put the question like a soldier, resoiute to dare his
ate.

Eleanor felt Lady Violet’s hand tightened upon her
shoulder.

“Remember Conway,’ she whispered, suddenly in her
ear.

My lady caught her breath slightly, as she looked ap
again at Captain Evelyn.

“No !?? she said, with sudden, half-childish bitterness,
(She was only fifteen, remember, though she looked so
much older,) ‘‘if I must tell you—no. Take me in, Elea-
nor.”*

The soldier’s big chest swelled, his very lips turned
white, as the two moved away slowly.

Half way across the terrace Lady Violet stopped. “You
will] not go without speaking to papa?’ she called back
to him, faintly.

Captain Evelyn sprang forward, ‘‘I cannot,” he said,
brokenly, ‘not now; I saw him first; 1 was to come back
if - But that is past Stay, one moment, my
lady, only one. Something tells me we shall meet again
some day; it may not be for years, but whenever it may
be, in one year or fifty, you will only have to look in my
face to know that J still love you.”

Before Lady Violet could speak, if she had wished, he
had turned and ran swiftly down the terrace steps.

All this time Lady Violet’s governess had been away,
nursing her aged mother who lay very ill.

Among all who loved the wayward, beautiful girl, there
was not a more devoted heart than that which beat in the
bosom of Miss Miggs, the little pale, meek-eyed gover-
ness.

Two years already—ever since the installation at Ka-
giescliffe, indeed, she had been alternately snubbed and
petted by my lady, and the petting was so sweet to the
poor soul,whom nobody had ever loved before but her old
mother, that her intractable, adored pupil might have
tyrannized over her in the most abominable manner
twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four, and still have
been worshiped for the crumb of sweetness doled out at
the last. if Miggs had never left Eaglescliffe, there is no

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for, sad and dispirited as she went, sae returned still
more broken and forlorn.

Lerd Eaglesclitfe decided, in his own mind, that it was
some family difficulty which took her away, and made
some attempt to obtain her confidence, in the hope of
benefitting her, but 1n vain.

One evening, when they had been at Eaglescliffe about
three months, Miss Lyle came out of the house alone, a
costly shawl draped cagelessly about her shapely shoul-
ders, her manner nervous and hurried. She took the
path along which we have followed her twice before.

She had not oiten, of late, expended so much care upon
her toilet, as this evening. Butin spite of the rich and
handsome dress, the carefully arranged braids, in spite
of the feverish luster of cheek and eye, Eleanor looked
haggard and old.

“He is not here,’? she exclaimed, in a tone of bitter dis-
appointment, as she stopped in a clump of alders, and
looked eagerly about her. ‘Oh! my heart, how hard it is
to wait.”

The next instant a tall, white-faced man rose from the
grass where he had been lounging with a cigar, and with
a hysterical cry, Eleanor darted forward and threw her
arms about him.

He seemed rather to permit her embrace than to return
it, and disengaged himself coolly enough the first moment.
Eleanor stood looking at him and recovering herself.

“It is like heaven to see you again, Vane,”’ she said.

‘What there is left of me,’ grumbled Vane Conway, for
it was indeed he, but looking the bad shadow of himself.

That was the mystery of Eleanor Lyle’s absences from
Heathcote. She had been getting him a pardon. From
the fact that it had taken her six years to accomplish it,
something might be guessed of the obstacies she had had
to encounter and had conquered.

Meanwhile, convict life had altered the fine gentleman
some,

There was a broad scar across his left cheek, drawing
his left eye to one side, (those dangerous eyes of Vane
Conway’s,) and his hair and beard had not yet rallied
kom that long cropping to their pristine luxuriance and

eauty.

“What there is left of me,” he grumbled, as though
Eleanor had been to blame for not getting his pardon
sooner.

“It seemed very long, didn’t it, dear??? Eleanor said,
wistfully, her hands tightly wrung together. This man,
who owed her so much, had not said a kind word to her

“Dused long,’? with his hands in his pockets, ‘“How’s
all??? with a nod in the direction of the mansion. ‘Well?
Lady Violet, too? I shall want to see her to-morrow
night, at this time; and you needn’t come with her either.”

Eleanor’s sigh was almost a groan.

“How changed you are, Vane?”?

“Changed !”? he snarled, flinging himself down e6n the
grass again; “if you had been where I have, you would
be changed too.’

He lay sullenly watching the gray sky above him, while
Eleanor looked on, and wonderedif this sulky, ill-tem-
pered fellow, could ever have been that exquisite fine
gentleman, Vane Conway. Suddenly she dropped upon
her knees in the grass by his side.

“You'll never be anything but yourself to me, Vane,
however you'may change for other people,” she said,
kissing his forehead gently.

He moved his head impatiently away from the caress.
Then he sat up and Jooked at, her.

“I’m not the only one that has changed, Miss Lyie,’”’ he
sneered. ‘You look ten years older than you did when I
went away. Ten years—twenty, more like! You might
be your own grandmother. Ihope my littie Violet hasn’t
lost her good looks this way. Has the lady of the Cliffe
grown ugly too, my queen???

Eleanor Lyle’s eyes were fixed upon him in speechless
darkening wrath. Good Heavens! was this whatshe had
longed and waited for at Vane Conway’s coming? Was
this the gratitude she had wrung her very heart’s blood
out drop by drop to win?

‘How fares the captain?’ he demanded, presently.
“The handsome captain, who was in love with our dark-
eyed young siren of Eaglescliffe. I shall spoil some fun
for him, I hope.’’

“I wish he might outwit you yet. If I could help him
any, he should, too,’’ Miss Lyle said, bitterly.

Conway’s air of disdainful indifference, vanished as he
rose to his feet, and stood looking at her like some stirred
and angry demon.

“If you help Gilderoy Evelyn by so much asa hair’s
breadth,’’ he said, ina voice of suppressed passion, ‘‘you
help him to his doom, I'll murder him, and you too. Do
you hear that?”

“I hear you,” Eleanor Lyle said, with calm scorn, up-
lifting her proud head and looking at him steadily. “You
waste time, Vane, when you threaten me. Iam neither
a convict nor a coward.”?

Conway looked at her scowlingly. He began to see
that he had gone too far, and though it was not at all
what he liked to do in his present half-savage humor, he
dissembled from necessity.

“T don’t know what you mean to take me up that way,”
he said, sulkily. ‘I never thought yow’d turn against
me, Eleanor, whatever others did.”’

“T haven’t turned against you,”? she answered, quietly.
‘T don’t owe you kindness or forbearance, but I shan’t
turn against youunless youoblige me to. Don’t threaten
me though, and don’t imagine [ll help you to victimize
Lady Violet.”’

“Have you told her how matters really are?’ he ques-
tioned, eagerly.

“No. I don’t know how matters are. If I had known,
she should have been told longago. Whois Lady Violet’s
husband, Vane?”?

His wicked eyes glittered, and he stroked the stumpy
beard he was cultivating, with complacence.

“I didn’t expect you to tell,’? Eleanor resumed; “it is
of no consequence. Once she knows the truth, it will be
easy enough discovering who she married that night. 1
remember what you said beferehand about him.”

Conway’s eyes were on the ground.

“I was only trying you, Nelly,’ he said, in a constrained
voice. “Give me time to find out whether he stil lives,
and where he is, and you shall know as much as I do.”

Eleanor regarded him skeptically, and drew back,
when he would have embraced her.

“Well, well,” he said, with an air of resignation. “I
don’t blame you; but come here a week from this,aud you
shall know who Lady Violet’s husband is, and have
proof of my sincerity and love for you beside.”

Eleanor’s foolish heart leaped at his deceitful words.

“Vane,” she spoke, in a low voice as he was turning
away.

He stopped.

‘*You must need money,” extending a heavy purse,
through whose silken meshes gold-pieces gleamed.

Conway took it with affected reluctance, “I do need
it,” he said ; “but I’m ashamed to take it.”

“You need not be,’ she exclaimed, eagerly.

‘‘Are you sure you can spare it?”

“Quite sure,” she smiled. ‘I never use a quarter of my
salary. Lord Eaglescliffe is very generous with me.”

“Good-night, then, once more. You wont send me off
now without a kiss, Nelly ?”’

The girl yielded to his clasp with a half sob.

“My dearest,”? whispered she, in passionate agitation,
“if you would only be true to me, if you only would.”

He kissed her hurriedly. :

“A week from to-night you shall see,’’ he said.

Miss Lyle turned slowly toward the house. Her lever’s
kiss was warm on her lips. He had left her with such
loving words as he had not spoken since those early days
of their acquaintance, when he had sat at her feet, so to
speak, and had called the loving light of her handsome
eyes the only lode star he wanted.

He had held her in his arms just now, and hinted of @
future, that to her would have been simple paracise
shared with him, disgraced felon as he was.

But for all that, her heart lay like lead in her bosom,
and she had never felt such a cold creeping distrust of
him, as she did at this moment,

(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 XIX,
I had a dream of liberty, of fresh wild woods,

 

Where dog-rose tangled with the woodbine’s flowers
| Embraced as lovers, and where the sleepy blue
Forget-me-not cpened her petals to the whispering winds.
A brook ran laughing over golden sands
| Like a child at piay, and the sun shone over all
Like a golden-crowned king. I awoke—I was a captive still.
“ MAREWELL.

Fanchette listened, as a condemned man might listen
to the sound of his own knell, when she heard the fain$
chiming of the convent bells calling to prayer. She grew
white, and a rigid look set in upon her exquisite mouth.

“Look at her !’? screamed the sharp old countess; ‘“‘she
is going to faint again.”

And in fact Fanchette sank into a state of insensibility,
which lasted some minutes. Old Mademoiselle Schnell
held a bottle of salts to her nostrils, and fanned her with
a large feather fan.

Presently the bright liquid eyes of the earl’s daughter
opened on the withered face of the old lady.

**Ah, she opens her eyes, the dear little nun,’’ cried the
enthusiastic mademoiselle, with a chuckling laugh. “Soom
—soon will those childish tears be dried; soon, soon will
the peaceful calm of the only true life of happiness make
its charms felt and appreciated by the little rebe}!. Ah,
cheer up, ma petite, there is no life equa! to the life of a
sister in St. Annunciata—quiet, regular, no feverish joys,
no boisterous sorrows, regular, eventless as the flowing
of a smooth canal where there is no tide.”’

Fanchette shuddered—she looked out over the prospect.
It was one of the fairest that this world can boast. Blue
Alpine ranges in the distance, a plain, verdant with vine-
yards, and studded with white villas, gleaming through
groves of orange trees. The sides of the hills were cloth-
ed with forests of chestnut trees in the first glory of their
spring blossoming,and a blue river wound amid the
groves and olives like a beautiful train of thought
through a richly cultured mind, or like the pure life of a
saint who lives among his fellow men to bless them, and
serve them, adding to their joys, lightening their sorrows,
and refreshing them when they are weary. The chimes
played on sweetly, more labored grew the ascent.

‘“‘We must get out here, ladies,’’ said the driver of the
carriage, in his dulcet Italian tones.

So the ladies dismounted, the men-servants offered an
arm toeach. Only Lady Fanchette, by reason of her re-
cent faintness, was suffered to remain in the carriage.
Wild thoughts of escape, of flinging herself from the car-
riage, of scrambling down the rock sides of the moun-
tains, of hidivg herself among shepherds and herdsmen,
coursed themselves through the brain of the beautiful
young prisoner.

Suddenly she saw before her in the read the form of a
man apparently bent by age. His whiteneddocks hung
low on nis shoulders, his clothing was the rough jerkin
of the peasantry, with wide pantaloons of brown cords,
By the side of this old man stood a tall, black-haired pea-
sant, in a large-leafed hat, long red_ waistcoat, reaching
to his knees, brown stockings, and black pantaloons,
These garments were worn with a certain dash and style
and care in their arrangement which struck a chord in
the memory of Lady Fanchette.

The face of the young man was lowered, but suddenly
he raised it and looked steadfastly at the earl’s daughter.
A crimson flush stained the dark, handsome cheek, a be-
seeching expression came into the eyes where a fire was
kindled by the bright flame-beam of love’s torch.

Fanchette started as though an electric shock had pass-
ed through her veins. It was the hero of the Indian war
—it was the humbie lover who had not dared to speak. of
love in the summer-house at Kendale—it was Raymend
Duval, captain in her Majesty’s —th Regiment of Horse.
Then who was the peasant at his side—the old man with
whited locks? Softly, gently; had not Elsie told her that
the earl had traveled into Italy—he knew what convent it
was in which his ehild was to be placed.

Quick as thought or the lambent flash of lightning, tne
whole circumstances revealed themselves to Fanchette as
though reflected in a magic mirror. The earl had hurried
into Italy weeks and weeks before, indeed at the time
that the party of the countess had started from Kendale,
and he had hovered about the precincts of the convent
awaiting the arrival of his child, fearful that if he leis the
neighborhood she would arrive at Annunciata, and be
shut up without his knowledge.

It was just the act of a nervous, weak, broken man, as
the poor earl was. Then Duval had probably heard
from Elsie where Fanchette was, had hurried to Bayshili
Crescent, had extracted from Mrs. Jonas Todd’s commu-
nicative vanity that she had been favored by a visit from
the gracious Countess of Kendale, and that Lady Fan-
chette was on the road to Italy.

Hastening on the wings of love the young soldier had
made his way to the continent, had takenup his abode
in the disguise of a peasant close to St. Annunciata, had
met the earl, had now been rewarded by seeing Fanchette
pass; and soon, soon 4 deliverance would be effected for
her—she felt it.

So that bent, white-locked man was her father, the hap-
less, suffering earl, the persecuted son of a tyrant mother.
Oh, how her heart stirred within her! How she yearned
to throw herself into his arms! To cry out:

“Papa, papa, take me, save me! I am your child.
Never let me go from you any more.”

But prudence restrained Fanchette. Doubtless in that
district the influence of the convent was supreme, The
nuns, known for their charities and self-denying lives,
were the very guardian saints of the villagers. That the
countess grandmother could be unjust, or that the old in-
structress, Miss Schnell, could be mistaken, would never
enter the heads of those good folks.

No, no. She would trust in Heaven, and in the brave
soldier Duval as His instrument for her deliverance, and
she would wait now with hope in her heart.

The steep ascent was gained, only now remanied @
winding path, almost perpendicular, which led up to the
rock on which the Convent of St. Annunciata was built.
Splendid looked its snowy-white walls. The windows of
the chapel, painted in gorgeous glowing tints, reflected
the beams oi the setting sun with a splendor that defies
all description. White walls surrounded the house itself,
and the garden of five acres—for the rock on which the
convent stood owned a breadth of some eight acres, and
was a flat and verdant plateau at its summit. No mule,
no carriage could mount the steep, zig-zag path.

Scarcely could the two old ladies, assisted by the arms
of the servants, accomplish the ascent. As Fanchette put
her foot on the ground the tall peasant, the disguised
Duval, stood by her side.

“Take my arm,” he whispered, hurriedly.
here as a guide to these mountain paths.”

“Fanchette,’’ cried the sharp voice of the old countess;
but she was tottering feebly on the arm of a man servant.

“I am going to take the arm of this guide, grandmam-
ma,” cried Fanchette, speaking as clearly as she knew
how.

“What is your charge, young man?’ asked Miss Schnell,
in Italian.

Daval answered in English!

“I’m a Hinglish guide,” he said, speaking ungrammati-
cally and touching his hat awkwardly. “1 didn’t come to
these here parts at little cost. My charge for this ascent
is ten francs, eight, and fourpence, no less.”?

“Bnormous !’? shrieked the old instructress. ‘Whata
chea:, !?

“Never mind, the fellow seems to understand his busi-
ness,’’ said the countess, ‘and Fanchette has confidence
in him, All these mountain guides are cheats.” With
which. civil and sweeping assertion the old countess con-
tinued the ascent.

And now Fanchette’s arm is locked through the arm of
him who would give his life tosave hers. The young
man trembled with delight. t's

‘Lady Fanchette,’? he whispered, “fear nothing. We
will rescue you.”’

“T pass

 

“J do not fear now I have you by my side,” returned

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ESD

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

 

 

 

a Tc ee Se CA ER RE ON eae

 

 

 

the earl’s danghter, with a noble and frank simplicity.
“You overpower me when you speak thus,’ said the

young man. ‘It ig too much happiness for me.”

Lady Fanchette did not respond.

‘He loves me,’? she said to herself. ‘I read that as
plainly as I read that the sun is setting there in the west.
And do I love him? Yes, if 1know anything atall, 1 know
that this brave soldier has been the guardian spirit ef my
brightest day-dreams for weeks past. But he shall speak
out. I] will not help him by a word or a look. He re-
members only that I am an eari’s daughter, he forgets
that Iam a young, shrinking girl, and he dares not speak.
Tam out of patience with my friend.”

“Tell me,” faltered Fauchette, what is your plan for
my escape?”

“It must be under cover of darkness,” responded Duval.
“Ihave one friend, an old man, the only male creature
save the two old priests, that is within the precincts of
the convent. Heis the gardener. I have offered him one
hundred pounds sterling to connive at your escape. This
old man will be in the garden the night after to-morrow
at twelve oclock. That isthe bour of midnight mass in
the chapel. All the nuns are then assembled. You inust
manage to get outin the crowd, and while the chauting
is going on, old Antonio will show you 4 Jadder placed
against the high wall, Mount it without fear. On the
other side I shall be—I and your father,and we shall have
another ladder. You must descend without the least
timidity, and then we will help you down this steep path,
and at the foot will be a mule-carriage. You will come
to the next village, and walk from tvat at daybreak toa
railway station, where we can ali book straight through
to Paris.” f

“Oh, Cannot we escape now ?? asked Fanchette, with a
shudder, and her hands tightened. on the arm of Ray-
mond. ‘Now, while I am outside the walls of the con-
yent! Turn, fly with me now }’

“It would be destruction, fairest, sweetest Lady Fan-
chette,”’ replied Duval. ‘‘See those three men-servants,
and there is a hamlet which could turn out a dozen armed
peasants on the first alarm, and there is no flying down
these paths fora lady. She must creep slowly, needing
support atevery step. No, Lady Fanchette, we must wait
until night skies shelter us.”

Fanchette sighed.

Now they stood upon the plateau before the enormous

‘ates,
. Fanchette saw the Alpine ranges, and Italy, France,
and Switzerland, lying out before her iike a map. She
could not.repress a cry of astonishment and admiration
at the magnificent prospect which met her eyes.

“It is Europe at a coup de@il,” said Daval, shading his
eyes, ‘And now, sweetest lady, adieu, adieu! until to-
morrow night.’

“Adieu! said Fanchette. .Her heart ached to say,
‘Adieu, dear Raymond! Adieu, best beloved!” but she
said to herself, ‘No; he is a man; let him speak out!”

‘‘Here, fellow !’? screamed the countess, from a little
distance.’ “Here is your ten francs. 1f{I had my way, l’d
send allsuch lazy wretches to the galleys, and make
them work for ten years on bread and water.”

And then the bell rang, and the gates fell back, and the
ladies, old and young, passed into the courtyard round
which the convent was built.

How the heart of Fanchette sank when those great
gates clanged behind her. She looked In. an, agony
through the cruel bars for a parting gleam from the
bronzed face of the guide; but the head of Duval was
cautiously lowered, and his fine eyes hidden by the broad
leafed hat,

The door of the convent was now let down. It wasa
sliding-door. A nun, with a white band, a black vail,
and along, rusty-looking chain, from which Nung an iron
key, appeared on the threshold.

“Go on, my love!’ cried Miss Schnell.

Fanchette went into 4 liall paved with white stone,
and supported with white pillars. The countess seemed
to know the way, and she followed the portress to a door
which fell back to admit the Visitors, as it seemed, of its
own accord.

There was nothing very terrible in this room. Indeed,
the evening was Chilly, and a fire burnt in the low grate.
The, polished oak floor was bare, but the chairs had seats
of red ¢loth ’

Two fat, smiling, rosy nuns were busying themselves
in preparing a meal. There were old cnina cups, there
was fruit, there was venison, and toast, and buttered
rolls.

The mountain air had given Fanchette an appetite,
and something like hope stole into the heart of the poor
child when slie saw the hissing urn, and the rosy, smil-
ing faces of the nuns.

She was received with a perfect burst of affectionate
enthusiasm.

“On, the beautiful bride of Heaven !” cried the ladies,
in’ French. “On, what a gem we have rescued from
the temptations of the worid |?

“How happy she will be here!’ said the other nun,
with a look on her face, of peace found afier great suffer-
ing. ‘Here alone in the world are peace aud rest Known.”

How Strange to the ears of Lady Fanchette sounded
these words. To her it was death to be immured within
these walls, which shut her from love ana all its fond al-
lurements. To the nun it was a haven of rest after a tem-
pestuous yoyage. :

Then Fanchette walked to the window, and behold there }

was the great garden fading in the twilight, the trees
whispering to each othei in the breezes of evening. Ol!
should she escape to-morrow—oh! should she?

“JT shall never escape—never!’’ she said to herself, with
a shudder; ‘there is something infinitely awe-inspiring
in these high walis, these iron-knobbed doors, these
double windows. On, Heaven, help me! hear my prayer,
deliver me!” }

So cried out her young heartin its wild anguish, but
the lovely lips were silent as the lips of one of those por-
traits of the forgotten dead, of which she had thouglgso
sorrowfully. '

“Come, my litfle dear,” cried sister Agatha, in the rapid
fluent tones of a true Frenchwoman (for she was Frencti),
calling to Lady Fanchette. ‘Come and taste the nice
strong tea they have made like the English relish it; come
and taste the cakes and honey, and the conserve of Clier-
ries, and the rolls, and fresh butter. We do not starve
in St. Annunciata, I assure you.”

Fanchette hastily drew out her laced cambric handker-
chief, worked in laced work, representing the arms and
the coronet of her family, and she dashed the glittering
tears from her glorious dark eyes,

“To-morrow, night,’ she said to herself.
good angels help me to-morrow night!”

Then she approached the table, tried to smile cheerful-
ly, and to partake with appetite of the cakes, and dried
fruits, the delicious coffee, and strong tea.

The old countess sat on a sofa with her legs crossed
and an eyeglass to her eye, looking at Fanchette.

She smiled grimly, her words were few, there was an
expression of triumphant calm on her withered face.
Sne felt the work is done, the battle gained, the goal
reached. Henceforth the beautiful young life is to waste,
and pale, and fade in obscurity.

The strange old countess’ small eyes glisten like the
sharp points of steel stilietos, while Miss Sciinell chats and
laughs with the nuns.

Then the door opens and a young servant, in religious
costume, enters and takes away the tea equipage.

Sister Agatha arises.

“Tf our travelers are not too tired, will they fallow to
service in the chapel?”

Fanchette rises and goes on, followed by the other,
They enter a flagged hall, then through a somewhat low
door into a narrow passage, lighted dimly with gas at
oneend. There is matting on the floor of this passage,
and thé walls represent Scriptural subjects, not paintings,
but sketches in chalks are made upon the sea-green
ground. Then Fanchette hears the loud swelling notes
of a magnificent organ, pealing out almost like a voice as
ofa great arch-angel. Ste goes on, trembliag, the heavy
iron door at the end of the passage falls back, and then a
light bursts upen the eyes of Fanchette; but it is not the
blaze of a brilliant illumination, it is the faint religious
radiance of tapers filling the whole beautiful interior of
the cliapel; tapers round about each white marvle pillar,
like a wreath of luminous flowers, paintings over each
exquisite altar, of which there are many in the chapel,
each railed off by gilded rails. There is a long aisle be-
tween the arcades formed by the arching pillars, This
long aisie 1s black with the somber robes of Kneeling nuns.
At least two hundred kneeling nuns in the great aisle.

Fanchette started and trembled; good and pure and
lovely as those lives were, she felt that Heaven had not
fitted her for the life. No, she loved life and laughter and
human tles, and the rosy Joys of youth, the bounding of
the steed that bore her over the hills, and through the
wood!and paths in dear, green England, the cry of the
huntsman, and the bay of the dogs, the band of martial
music, the light, airy floating of gossamer robes in the
halis where stately men and graceful girls danced as
though life were a ballet of flowers.

“Ah, youth, youth, love, love, human hopes and de-
lights, why are ye So dear?”

So she asked of herself, and shuddered at the sight of
the holy women, and trembied aud wept at the sound of
the tuneful organ.

Then Fanchette knelt; she prayed, but her prayers were
urgent appeals to the high court of Heaven to deliver her
from her pitiful position, to give hera warm, happy home
in the world where she might give joy to others; feed the
poor, clothe the naked, and lighten the burdens of those
who had much to bear. But, on, lay net upon her this
doom from which sie shrinks as from the stream of cold
death.

The prayers are over. She has wept all the time—wept
as if her heart would burst and break. She feels old Miss
Schnell's cold fingers close to her ear:

“Come on,’? she says; ‘‘come—come, this will not do—
this—this is rebellion !”?

And thea she follows along the passage, and now
mounts a narrew stair, and then knoeks ata narrow door
—a door, if seems to her, Shaped like a Gofiin; it falls
back, there is a bedstead, a waslistand, a table, a chair,
the trunk containing Fanchette’s clothes by the side of
the bed

“Now undress and sleep,” said Miss Schnell. “You
Will be calicd ia the morning for eignt o’clock prayer in

“Oh, may all

the chanel. After that, I must give you the half-religions
dress of the pups, and your otuer eiothes wilt be taken
away.”

   

Not another wore did the good Miss Schnell utter.

Fanehette found herself locked in the room. There
Was ho light except such aS came through the lattice-
paned window, for tie large yellow moon of Italy was
sauing through the purple skies of the southern spring-
lide. If was a very small window—it was in the wall so
high that Laey Fanchette placed her single chair upon
her trunk, and climbed ap before she could see the gar-
den With its lawns, its fewering shrubs, its tail almonds,
and acasias whispering near the hedge, where orange
fiowers were aiready in bloom.

She peeped out and looked at the silvered sable of the

 

 

 

 

shadows on the grass, wondering, hoping that she might
see that strange old gardener of Whom Duval had spoken.
Was he there? would he be there themext night? and if
so, how was she to escape, the clutch of Miss Schnell’s
fingers?

She dug her pink nails into her soft flesh, and gnashed
her white teeth., She did not tear out her abundant hair,
but she went near to doing so. She sat upon the stone
floor of her cell and wept. It was late before she sougbt
her bed, and then her dreams were peopled still with
visions of nuns, and wax tapers burning round the mar-
dle pillars. i

dn,the morning she dreamed a joyfuldream of Kendale
Park, and, being mounted on a bounding charger, her
arms round the soldier Duval, who was-oearing her to-
ward a sweet old village church, nestled among cluster-
ing trees, Where ghe was to become the wile of the brave
young captain—his until death did them part. But pran-
cing steed, and nobie sieed, and village church all faded
into nothiug, and sweet Fanchette opened her lovely eyes
upon white-washed walls, the picture of a saint dying,
and Miss Schnell in the flesn, ut the side of the bed hold-
ing a tray with a cup of coffee.

“Your breakfast,” she said. ‘Get up, child. Well, I
hope sleep*has calmed those naughty passions down,
eh ??

Fanchette sat up, and she looked at the old lady re-
proachtfully. ; !

“I only, wept for serrow—not for wickedness,’’ she said.
‘T am unhappy, Miss Schnell.’? $

“Because you do not know what true happiness is,”’
said the old lady. ;

How that.day passed in the parlor, Fanchette never af-
terward liked to think. It was sucha time of trial, eager,
anxious thought, and soul-sickening fear, but she heard
words at night that set her heart thumping with wild ner-
vous anxiety.

“Midnight mass to-night, my dear,” said a nun. ‘I
will call you, give you notice. You must rise, my child—
my pretty one, rise, and pray with the rest !?

Fanchette had not hitherto mingled with the sable-clad
sisters, whose fate she so much dreaded might become
herown. She had lived in the chill convent parlor with
her countess grandmother, Miss Schnell, and two or three
cheerful-spoken, middle-aged nuns. She had searched in
the bookcase, and found the extent of the library did not
embrace any other liferatare than books of devotion and
lives of the saints, and then she had strolled through the
wide garden, where hedges of roses were already bud-
ding out in luxuriance, though it was early leafless spring
in England, and she had looked up wistfully atthe hign
walis, and wondered if a ladder would traly be placed on
eitlier side the high, moss-grown, impassable-looking bar-
rier. It seemed too wild a hope, too sweet a dream.

When the nun laid a soft hand on her snoulder, and
told her that she would be called at night, her heart rose
—then sank like lead. Something, she knew not what,
forbade her to hope.. She climbed up to her little prison-
like room. ‘She did not undress or try to sleep. Shehad
already been compelled to adopt a somewhat conventual
dress—a long gray gown fastened in at the waist by a
violet girdle, her beautiful hair fastened up under 4 net,
not an ornament upon her person; her grandmother had
taken every gold ring from the Slender fingers, each gold-
en locket, and diamond eardrop, and golden chain from
the snowy throat and shell-like ears.

Beautiful Fanchette sat Gown to wait the dull hours till
midnight in a deep horror. How slowly the time crept
on, it boots not now totell, The silver radiance of the
southern meon brightened as the night advanced, and a
fairy path oflight streamed in at the window, and madea
rivulet of dreamy,exquisite light upon the cold stone floor.

Then, all at once, tue Lady Fanchette heard footsteps in
the passage, the lock turned im the door, and the nun
stood beside her,

“What! waking up and dressed, good little devotee.
Come along, my pet. We shall soon have you the most
pious hun among us all.”

Fancihette rose and followed the nun aiong the passage
and down the stairs. How in the wide world was she to
escape? She asked herself the question again and again.

The booming sounds of the organ filled the building.
A few steps more and she has entered the chapel. She
sees the kneeling ranks of nuns in black. She hears the
voice of the,priest raised in a chant ; she is forced down
suddenly upon her knees by the strong old hand of Miss
Schnell, who whispers tartly:

“Kneel, then, little rebel.”’

_ Then a ery of wild despair went up from Fanchette’s
young lieart.

“He, Duval, but mocked me,’’ she said to herself in an
agony Of passion. ‘He told me to escape in the crowd.
I, a poor, miserable girl, who never walk ten yards unless
this wretch, Schnell, with strong hands and a strong voice,
who could rouse a village if she chose to scream, is at my
heels. .Lescape—I, with all those eyes watching me? I
shall die here—die here soon.”’

The organ pealed out wonderously, and the nuns sang
in response sweetly, then all at once—suddenly as a
lightni shaft flies through heaven—a shriek, a scream,
a cry séemed to rend the very roof off the chapel, and the
whole body of nuns rushed without order toward the
doors, ;

“Help! help!help! Fire! fire !’ cried the frightened

omen,

The cold hand of Miss Schnell relaxed its tension, and
then, like one in a dream, Fanchette arose and fled—fied
toward the door, which was open, found the parlor and
the double window leading into the garden. To fling up
first one then the other, to hang out a moment calculating
the distance, and to spring lightly upon the moon-lighted
grass, to start like a frightened hare toward the high,
cruel wall and the whispering acasia trees, there to find
the place where, half hidden by bushes, a ladder rested
secretly against the wall, was only the work of a few
minutes ; and then Fanchette climbed the ladder. Her
long robe hampered her crueliy.. When she reached the
top she hesitated an instant and looked down on the oth-
er side,

“Throw the ladder down—down quick, that they may
not find it until to-morrow,’’ said a voice.

Fanchette hastily did as she was told, and then she
found the second ladder and descended it carefully. Once
on the ground she turned about to find her rescuer; what
was her amazement to see standing close beside her, in
her short skirts and red cloak, none other than her hum-
ble, faithful friend, Eisie, the gipsy.

Fanchette flung her arms about her and pressed her to
her heart.

“Elsie ! Elsie | true and tender,’ she said, “tell me, how
is this ?—how ?”?

“Sister, life of my soul,’? responded the strange woman
in accents pierced with passionate tenderness, ‘that
alarm of fire was false. The old gardener gave it, and
soon enough they will discover your flight, and will follow
you. You must not talk, only let me pin up that skirt;
and now follow me down that steep, steep path, where a
false step would be death.’

Fanchette obeyed the gipsy as implicitly as a little child.
Went carefully and in trembiing down the dangerous
path, reached the broad muie-path at the end, and still
followed Elsie, until about two hours from the time of des-
cending the wall the two stood near to the railway sta-
tion.

And now Fanchette would have spoken, but Elsie put
her finger to her lip.

“Silence, sweet love,’ she said ; “betray not yourself
by your English tones.’

And then Fanchette was amazed to hear her whom she
had always considered as an ignorant gipsy, approach a
man who acted as night porter at the little station, and
demand tickets for two in the second-class which started
for France in the morning.

“itis l and my daughter,” said Hisie, laughingty, and
in faultless, fluent French. ‘Yousee she has been living
servant up with the nuns at Annunciata, and, my faith,
they keep ner too strict, and don’t let her have exercise
enough, so ’m going to tryand get her a place at Paris.
The poor child is heartbrokea at her dull life.”

Thus deftly did Elsie account to the sleepy official for
the gray conventual dress of the Lady Fanchette.

The man got into conversation with Elsie, and so the
time was beguiled until mourning broke, and the train
came puffing lazily into the station—the train that was
bound for France.

Hastily Elsie motioned to Fanchette, and soon the two
were in the second-class carmage. There were no otlier
passengers, and the train went on slowly at first, then
gathered speed; and presently Elsie came up to Fan-
chette, wound herarms about her, and pressed her fran-
ticaliy to her heart.

“We are alune,” she cried, weeping; ‘‘and there is no-
body to wonder that the poor gipsy dares embrace the
earl’s daughter. Oh, my lamb, my love! Oh, what a
long, weary pang this life has been without thee! O, Fan-
chette, Fanchette, Fanchette 1”

“Elsie,” cried the Lady Fanchette, “there is deep mys-
tery here. Tell me what my soul has half divined! Oh,
teli me—who are you, Elsie?”

“Can you notguess?? she replied, still wildly rocking
the young girl in her arms. “Can you not understand
how that when I saw him I loved, ruined by his love for
me, I resoived upon a great—a tremendous sacrifice? For
him—fer you, my precious child-baby of two days old, as
you lay inmy arms, I] resolved that I would go away ana
hide. There was 2 young, unfortupate Woman, who had
the dining-room floor im tie same house where I and my
eart—my love—imy life—occupied the ¢crawing-rooms. JI
bribed her with money, whicii I sent to her widowed
moiher, to move up into our rooms, take my name, and,
if she died, be buried in my name. All this while my
lord and love was absent on a long journey. I had a
nurse to bribe—a landlady. What will not some people
do for money—alas !—especially, when they are hard-
pressed—when they are in difficulties! And so it hap-
pened that I fled away, leaving my babe with strangers,
Knowing that my young husband would break his heart
when he was written to, and told that his Fanchette was
dead and gone. It was a deep-laid scheme, The dying
woman had given birth, a few weeks before, to a Stili-
born child. i knew not her history; it was a sad one,
depend upon it. She mufiled her face, and turned tothe
Wall, and died—im-a false name. I went away. I was
Wilu with grief, that my lord-—-my love—my Kendale—
had ruined his prospects for such as me—a paltry girl
from aFrenchinn, IL said to myself, ‘Now will the cruel
oid couutess forgive him when she thinks that lam dead !
Now will my huspand and my babe be happy in the lordly
halls of Kendaie! In time he will forget Fanchette, the
French girl.) You knowtheresult. You know now, wild
with grief, hecursed his mother, refused to be reconciled,
and went abroad. Then ail my affections centered them-
selves about you. My precious babe, l was never, never
far from you. They had you home at first, and brought
you up—my old father and mottier, at the inn. Think
what it cost me to creep, Cisguised with white locks and
faise stoop, about the haunts of my childhood. passing
mIny ewn parents, who believed me dead. But you—you
—{ would run into the house, sometimes, and fondle you
as yeu lay in your cradle. ‘They said the old beggar was

 

wonderfully fond of children. Then Jane, the crooked
countess, sent for you, and you were bronght up as you
deserved to be—as an earl’s daughter. You know how I
have haunted your path ever since you can remember—
how my watchful mother ears have been open to every
circumstance connected with you.”

“Only tell me why, my mother—my own mother, for
whom I would die,” cried Fanchette, fervently—‘“only tell
me how you found me here; where is Duval; and why
you have not made yourself known to my father?”

“J followed you to Italy, when I learnt, at Bayshill
Crescent, from that woman’s servants, that you had been
sold into the hands of tne countess, | arrived here, to
find that Duval was arrested yesterday, and sent to pris-
on, on the suspicion ofmeing a political spy. I arranged
the alarm of fire with the gardener. Kendale, [ have not
seen. 1 wrote hima pote, telling him to go on to France,
lest he also be arrested as a spy. Then, since he has
heard of me from Daval, as faitniul Elsie, he obeyed me.”

“But you will make yourself Known to him, mother,
dearest mother. Both of us—we will fling ourselves in-
to his arms. We will——”

‘Never, sweet one,’ interrupted Elsie, sadly. ‘The
plot, the action, the scheme, undertaken in hot youth, 1
now perceive to have been cruel, unjust, foolish. He
would neyer forgive me the long years oI misery 1 caused
him, my child, and myseli, in my mistaken Zea).”

Then Fanchette wept bitterly.

“And poor Duvyal,*? she said, softly—‘‘poor, brave
Duval ??? *

“Be comforted, sweet one,’ said Elsie.
—he shall be restored to you.”’

CHAPTER, XX.

The days passed pleasantly, and yet strangely, at the
huge Chateau of Roses, where old Ephraim reigned under
the title of count, and exchanged Visits withall the gay
and noble of the county.

When wesay pleasantly, we would be understood as
referring to the amusements, the noble repasts, the many
tacilities for physical enjoyments and elegant distractions
which the mysterious host provided for his guests,

But the heart of Evangeline was breaking during those
winter weeks, although Hargrave was ever at her side.
His mother showed her the tenderest kindness.

The library, the stud, the billiard-rooms, all the means
for bodily and mental occupation which the magnificent
chateau afforded, were of the very best that Europe
could supply, and the house ever rang with the glad
voices of gay young visitors.

Before many days, the family of a neighboring noble,
the Marquis of Rigouton, were staying in the chateau—
a young, gay French nobleman and his two piquant,
lovely sisters, ;

What astonished the English guests was, that while
the whole heart of Ephraim seemed centered upon the
hapless Eustace, he should fill his house witha very Ba-
bel of sound and laughter, and light and musie. very
dinner was served aS sumptuousiy’ as a royal feast;
troops of lacqueys throngea the dining-hall. Every even-
ing the mysterious count appeared at the head of his ta-
ble dressed with perfect taste as a gentleman of the old
school, his white hair combed smoothly back, a magnifi-
cent diamond blazing at his throat, and another onthe
forefinger of his lett hand. Hesmiled benignly on his
invited guests. Heconversed fluently in French, English
or German, as the case required, and he spoke not at all
of the unhappy young man, who occupied a suite of three
rooms in the left wing of the vast chateau.

In those rooms might Evangeline Stanfield have been
found many hours of gach morning.

It was a gorgeous snite of apartments. Gold and crim-
son and violet blazed on the walls, and was reflected on
the silken embroidered cushions of the chairs and couches.
Paintings after Etty and Watteau, the French and Eng-
lish schools, varying in style but yet each speaking of
Jete, and pleasure, and life at its warmest and most glow-
ing, were hung between the tapestries of golden cloth.

lt seemed that the ae forso let us.call old Eph-
raim, while he reigns in the Chateau of Roses, had been
anxious to group around the unhappy Eustace all the
representatives of warmth, and life, and glow, and color,
and splendor, Huge vases of priceless porcelain, light
blue in ground, and painted in exquisite medallions,
stood at the four corners of tne chiefapartment. In each
of these vases grew arose tree, covered with the most ex-
quisite blossoms, Leaning back in a soft silken chair, of
violet, embossed in gold, his head reclining in a listless
attitude on a raised cushion, gorgeous as the pillow of a
prince, William Eustace lay like one who dreams. Only
he slept not, his eyes were looking into space, they saw
things which mortal eyes seldom beheld, they were study-
ing (So it seemed) the flathomless mysteries of the spirit
worid. A dressing robe ofcrimson and gold enveloped
his tall form, that form once so supple and graceful, now
shrunk and gdunt, almost unearthly it seemed, in its
length of imb. As for his face, it was a beautiful wreck,
upon which Evangeline, who sat at his feet, would not
look without weepirg such bitter tears as we drop into
the grave of our best beloved.

In vain she spoke, in vain she strove to rouse the dor-
mant spirit of the shattered, ruined man, whom she still
so blindly worshiped.

“William,*? she said, softly, “how often at Stanton you
wished to be ricl, and independent. Well, do you know,
I think that wis! is about to be gratified now in.a won-
derful way, if it 8 not fulfilled already. What a splendid
place this chateau is, and the count must be enormously
rich. Do you know he has made you his heir, William ?”

Noresponse, no Jifting up of the large dark eyes to
meet hers. Silepce—silence. Still she prattled of the
horses, and the lunting, and the approaching theatricals,
to which so many of Paris fashionables were to be invited.
Atlast she named Claribel.

“The Countess of Chestertomis coming here,’’ she whis-
pered, softiys ; wd \ ’

“Claribel 7 4%

At that name it seemed that the soul made an effort
again to take upthe thingsof time. There was a shiver
and 2 start through the frame, and the lips moved, and
ihe eyes wandered uneasily and helplessly, as the eyes of
those wander who are in delirium.

‘-Claribel,”? repeated Evangeline. ‘You are safe now;
the count has so arranged it with the doctor that even if
she wished to prosecute you for what is past, she could
not, since it is proved beyond all controversy that you
were under the influence of an excited brain when you
took her to the catacombs.”

She paused, and the lips of Eustace moved.

‘“‘Catacombs,” he whispered. “I—knew she kissed my
cheek, rested her head on my shoulder. I was happy,
s 7?

“MWe loves you

 

 

Then he sighed, and again it seemed that his mind wan-
dered off into vacancy. And this was: all the result of
the most patient watching, and mbdst earnest and skillful
medical care. Nothing like him save the name of the
woman who had ruined his mind, and wrecked his life.
At mention of that fatal, cruel word, he would mutter and
whisper, and with a dazed and scared expression, as of
one who strives feebly to remember some long-forgotten
theme.

At last the troop of theatricals arrived whom the count
had engaged to play the piece which he had himself writ-
ten. These actors were from one of the first Parisian
theaters, and the count was to pay them enormously. A
magnificent temporary stage had been arranged in one
of the vast chambers of the chateau, and the scenery was
painted by a Celebrated scene painter, but what those
scenes were nobody knew, save the count himself and
the scene painter. ‘The door of the room was kept locked,
and none but the master of the house entered it during
those days of preparation. The great day for the repre-
sentation was fixed for the first day of March. Two days
before that date, visitors arrived from Paris like a flock of
gayly plumaged birds, and the voice of song and laughter
rang from roof to basement of the grand chateau.

Just before the dinner-lour on the last day of February,
a close carriage, drawn by two high-bred hays, and with
footmen and outriders swarming around it like bees, drew
up to the huge old Chateau of Roses.

It seemed to the highly-strung nerves of Evangeline,
who stood in the grand hall in her dinner-dress of white
silk, that a thrill, a throe, a murmur vibrated like a sigh,
or a half-uttered groan, all through the length and
breadth of that princely louse, when that great entrance
door fell back, and the Earl of Chesterton and his count-
ess stepped into the mansion. Oli, she was beautiful ex-
ceedingly—seen then, in her traveling-dress of dark vel-
vet. trimmed with costliest fur. She wore a hat, anda
white plume, and great diamonds twinkled like stars at
her dainty ears,

The earl, a coarse, red-faced man, aS we have described
him—a man,whose meeting eyebrows, gave a sinister look
to his countenance, and whose large, long teeth, showed
like tusks, entered with her, smiling atfably.

“Oh, 1 am’ tired to death!’ sighed Claribel. “We
brought our own Corriage in the railway, of course, and
our horses had been sent on, and Met us at the station;
but lam tired to death. Idon‘t thins Ican make much
of a toilette to-day, Evangeline. We are late.’

And she kissed her sister lightly and coldly on each
cheek.

Evangeline accompanied her to the magnificent room
prepared for her reception, and there, although she had
said she would make no toilette, she made a fastidious
one, her maid, wliom she had brought wit& her, assisting
her.

“I shall wear my viack velvet with low body,” she said,
“and the pearls, this evening, Lucetta. Wind that great
string about my hair. Well, Evangeline, so the Hargraves
liave given you a pleasant time, introducing you to this
old mystery—as rich as Monte Christo, isn’t he?’

They descended todinner. Evangeline noticed that the
host was strangely silent thateyening. Hesatapart, and
asked a guest to carve, and shaded his eyes with his hand;
but he was an old man, and he was supposea to have Va-
aries, and the gay guests decided that they could get on
exceedingly well without him. So the time sped, and the
young men played billiards, while others danced with the
ladies.

The next night, the eventful night, the doors of the
mysteriousiy-locked room were at length thrown open,
and the guests poured in. Soon after they had taken their
places, a band struck up an overture of Rossini’s, the
curtain rose, and @ scene was represented which made
everyvody exclaim in wonder and amazed delight. A
lordly English castle, built on a wooded hill which hung
over the sea. . The sea came in, and beat against the rocks
at the base with the perfect monotony, the lordly freedom,
the clash and spirit of nature herself. Then a young man
chimbed down the steep path, and with his own hand
pushed a frail boat toward the expanse of water.

“Wonderful ! wonderful !”? cried the guests,

“Chesterton, Cuesterton !” cried tue young men,

Evangeline started.

The Earl of Chesterton bounded to his feet, then sat
down again.

(To be continued.)

      

THE KING.

 

 

BY M. EDESSA WYNNE,

 

O’er a world of dreams he is enthroned,
Broad lands around hin lie;

From the universe his pageant loaned,
A self-crowned king is **I.”

And the west yields up its wealth of gold,
The east its perfume brings;

And youth fills up the incense-dish,
And pride the censer swings.

Each noble soul that comes to life
Records a thought and dies;

In mouldering volumes truth seems crushed
Beneath a mass of lies.

And the world wheels round before the king,
Its battle fields and graves;

And he hears the toiler’s ery for bread,
The groaning of earth’s slaves.

Then the self-crowned monarch cries aloud,
With throes of mortal pain;

If kings must drain the world’s life blood,
I do not care to reign!

————_r0~<

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RUGG DOCUMENTS.—No. 18.
BY CLARA AUGUSTA. i

I’ve been and gone and done it!

Itis too late to change matters, even if I wanted to; andif I
was to give my Bible oath onto it I railly couldn’t say whether
I was sorry or not. SometimesI think I am, andtnenagin L
think I ain’t, but most of the time I don’t know.

But as Shakespeare sez, ‘‘The die is cast!” and like the boy
that stood on the burning deck, whence all but him had fled
from, yer Aunt Jerushy is in fur it! i

Yesterday morning, at half past seven o’clock, by Elder Dog-
wood’s gold thermometer, I was married to Jonathan Perkins!

I wore a biue silk gound, with pink trimmings to match, and
a white bridle veil, made out of andmarm Higgins’ white
dimity pettycoat. 2

Touneyiately atter the cerrymony we sot sail for Pawtucket,
which is in the State of Rhode Jsland. We went ona tower,
jest like other to!ks that want to be fashionable. Why we hap-
pened to pitch onto Pawtucket was because Jonathan had a
cousin in that butiful place, and thought he could save about
five dollars and fifty cents a day by staying to her house; and
as she owed his ma for ten pound of apple sass that she got
there about twenty-five year ago, Jonathan sed he thought it
warn'gno more’n right that he should get the pay back into the
family. And as Jonathan seems to be an awful powerful eater,
I guess it wouldn’ttake him long to eat up the worth of ten
pound of apple sass!

We arriv here to Pawtucket all safe and happy, except that
I've got aspotof grease onto thestrings ot my bridle bunnit,
and Jonathan has trod onto the tail of my gound, and Jeft the
prent of his boot there just as plain as the nose on your face.
Jonathan has got dreadful great feet, and somehow or ruther
they seem to be allers in his way. If it warn’t for them feet he’d
ae ez pritty-behaved man. But I’m in hopes he’li git over
it in time.

I'm agoing to make him wear No. 12 nasellitage
is 14. That will be whittling him down a little.

He’s got corns onto him, and them takes up a sight of room.
A corn on the toe is like a Copenhagin stove in asmall kitchen
—the biggest part of the kitchen is the Copenhagin.

I don’t want to find no fault with Providence, but sartingly if
Ihad my life to live over agin I’d never marry a man that had
corns onto his feet! ‘ '

This is a real nice place to visit, only there is too many ¢ats
around to make it jest right. I darsent step for fear of treading
onto a cat. And then they will have concerts rite under my
winder every night! J’m powerful fond of music, but I don’t
like this kind. hen I listen to it I feel jest as 1f I'd swallered
a live caterpiller, and he was jnghee! in building a stump-fence
clean around my stummak and dijestive organs.

Jonathan sez I am narvos, but, law sake,men folks don’t know

nothing,ginerally speaking! Tnat is to say, they don’t know so
much but what there 1s a chance for ’em to know more.
_ Mebby you've hearn teil ot Pawtucket? Some foiks haz, and
some hain’t, It’s a famous place. It has got a stone mill that
Mr. Samuel Patch, Esq., jumped off from; and there’s a ma-
a shop; a berrying ground; and several other improve-
ments. tf

As soon as ever we see the curiosities of the place we're ago-
ing home, and settle down in Pigeon Holler, onto the old farm.
I eon 10 take things easy, and Jonathan is the same way
° nkin

I guess i shall take to keeping hens, and raise my own eggs.
That business pays first-rate, they say; and it’s kinder cheerful
to see the little innocent chickens around, picking their feathers
and scratching up flower beds.

Ellen Sophier will marry Arthur Gray, and live inthe cit
long of him,I guess. He’s going to be an insurance man, an
gineral life presarver. | a gd "ig aaa teat ‘

If ever you, or any or your folks, should com
must be sure and call and see us. lil do the
and treat you on a mug of cider, if we happen to have any. |

I suppose now that Ive got married,1 shan’t be likely to
have many more adventures for aspell;soI will bid you an
affectionit adew, and hope these few lines will find you the
same. JERUSHY RuGG PERKINS.

A HARDENED CASE.
Up here they say that “The Man in Blue” got ‘$15,000 Re-
ward” for returning ‘‘The Diamond Collar” to “The Lost Bride,”
who was at the time in “The Crimson Room” withits “Key of
Gold.” Before leaving the room he pulled “The Flower of Su-
da,” and stuck it in his button-hole, and remarked that he was
a hardened wretch, and could not be “Redeemed by Love;”
thatthe only thing that could reform him would be a ‘Little
Buckshot” in the nead, and then he could cut the last ‘“‘Notches
in the Stick,” and depart tor a better land, where sorrows never
iS. DBR, ©

WOT IW BOR .

The “Ranger f Raccoon Ridge,’ accompanied by the “Sleuth
Hound of Castle Brand,” stood before tue “Shadowed Altar,”
and paid ‘Edna’s Debt” to the ‘False Heir;"’ the “Rose of Ken-
dale” being witness to the transaction. As “Squirrel Cap” re-
marked to the ‘Locksmith of Lyons” there was no more jus-
tice in the debt than there would be in “Faithful Margaret”
laying claim to the ‘Leighton Homestead!” ANACOSTIA.

ANSWER TO THE “LITERARY QUERY.”

Oh no, itisnottrue. “Squ.rrel Cap” ls not going to Europe.

It was a false report. “Squirrel Cap” having been informed by

natral size

our way, you
{can by you,

eter

was directed to said vehicle, she exclaimed, in her truly em
phatic style: “I would die before I would ride in that hearse!”
AMBROSE.
A LITERARY JUMBLE.

The Witch of the Ocean, while sailing through the Narrows,
collided with a Staten Island ferry-boat, andran her bowsprit
through the ladies’ cabm, startling Lady Violet from her dreams
ot bliss, and almost trightening the wits out of The False Heir,
who was just then chewing a piece of molasses candy, which
he had bought from Aunt Jerusha Rugg, who has given up ro-
mance, and isnow endeavoring to enjoy the sweets of real life,
Of course there was a great commotion, as Squirrel Cap threat-
ened to knock spots outof the ferry-boat pilot; but he was
quiéted by Buffalo Bill, who whispered, ‘‘Here’s your little In-
dian gal, at the other end of the cabin, sewing a button on Me-
thuselah’s overcoat—a garment which is claimed by Josh Bill-
ings and Elder Plum; and look! at her feet, on the cabin floor,
the two venerable wits are now playing a game of euchre to
see which has the better claim to the coat.” ‘Scat !

To P. P. ContrisutEers.—S. W. J.—Try again, and select some
pointed anecdote, for narration...... G. W. L.—Yes. J. H,
Hynson.—Y our contributions have comesafely to hand,and have
been appropriately noticed srom timetotime. Most of them
have been published. See Nos. 7, 20,22 and 26of present volume.
vee tee The following MSS are accepted:—“Odds and Ends;?
“Eatable Answer,” ‘‘Poor Compliment tothe Lady;” ‘Cast
Away;” “Adam’s Temptation and Fall;’ “Big and Little
Drams;” “forgetting Her; ‘Heavy Snowfall; ‘Wanted it
Cool;” “Tit for Tat;? “Ink-Blots;” “All the Yorricks;’’ ‘For
Crooked-eyed Policemen;” “Shrewd Swell.”,..... The follow-
ing are respectfully declined :—Frightened Tailor;” “Two Half
Sisters,” ‘Rather Mixed; “Highlofergility;’ “Wanted;”
“Easter Eggs; “Pat's Leg,’’ ‘‘Muslin;” ‘‘Notis—For Rent;
“Burning vour Trowsers;” ‘‘Old Jokes,” by J.L.P.; ‘Till it
Rains;” ‘“Pinkmints;” “A True Story; ‘Uncle Andieas’ Mad
Dog: ‘‘Nota Vote;” “Long Faces;” “John Brown’s Notice;’’
“New S. S. Hymn;” “Unluky Axident;” ‘A Model Hotel;”
“Foreign News;” “Miracle Explained ;” ‘Direful Catastrophe ;’’
“Kick it Out.” ;

DOESTICKS’ LETTERS.

DOESTICKS MEETS THE NOBLE SAVAGE, AND IS DIS-
ENCHANTED THEREWITH.

ential i
On the Plains. A great number pete’ (Robes) in yi
According to the statement in lastletter, we immediately
started’on our way to the Great to encounter the Nobie
Savage. Before we had gone filty miles we discovered that
Fitzphool’s brother had made some mistake about his ammu-
nition. He had labored under the impression that buffalo are
some sort of small bird, and he had accordingly provided him-
self with about half a ton of bird shot, as nearly as we chad

 

calculate. I first discovered his error. I observed that he ha
a game bag slung over his shoulder, such as we usually carry
when we go out to shoot quails. I asked A. D. Fitzphool what
he proposed to do with thatthing? He replied thatit was to
put his buffalo in! |
After we had got over the effects of the champagne, which
was the natural consequence of the preceding answer, we ex-
plained to our friend that the buffalo is not a bird but a beast.
Next day about noon east ‘friend, Fitzphool’s brother,
came running into camp, wed at full speed by a settler,who
carried in his hand a revolver, and was shonting for vengeance.
Inquiry soon developed the fact that our friend, Fitzphool’s bro-
ther, having got over the notion that buffalo are birds, had ta-

 

ken it into his noddle that there could ke no sort of cattle on the
plains but buffalo; consequently, as we passed a stock farm, he,
seeing a dozen cows grazing on the meadow, had mistaken
them for buffalo, and, crawling carefully up under cover of the
rail fence, and getting so near a favorite cow that he might
have knocked her over with his gun, he had sbot her dead, and
then set up a trantic dance, thinking he had killed his first baf
falo. Of course, as soon as the owner of the cow found out the
facts of the case, he did two things—he hada hearty laugh, and
then he immediately proceeded to charge the cow-hunter four-
teen times the price he could have got had he butchered and
taken the animal to market.

We moved on—Fitzphool’s brother killing tame geese, ducks,
chickens and cats; insisting that all the first-named were wild,
and that the cats were rabbits, until one day.we, having left the
last village behind for more than fourteen days, came in sight of
a lot of huts, which we took for piles of bark, until our Indian
hunter said they were Indian huts, which had reen made a day
or two, and which had been deserted ouly a few hours before.

I asked the hunter where the Indians probably were. He and
Fitzphool at once promptly answered that they were probably.
lying about somewhere ready to ambush and slauchter us ag
soon as we should gotosleep. They at once got their guns
ready, and advised me todo the same. I smi'ed at them, and
said that I had more faith in the magnanimity of the Noble
Sava and that 1 would go forth in the morning alone to meet’
him, *

When I assert that my friends exhausted all the invective of
the English language m the words and phrases they applied to
me—when I say they called me all the fools, imbeciles, idiots,
and lunatics that they could think of, I put the case very mildly
—but all they could say did not shake wy resolution to meet the
Noble Savage with kindness.

Itold my friends to keep watch during the night, for fear
some of our men should steal out of camp and try to harm the
Noble Savage. a

In the early morning I was informed, that during the night
sixty-one of our horses had been stolen, and that three of our
men, who had tried to protect them,had been killed and scalped.'

 

 

 

Our men tried to make me believe that the Noble Savage had:
been guilty ef these atrocities | ;

Of course I laughed them to scorn! It is impossible that the
grand old Aborigonee, as described by Mr. Fennimore Cooper,
shou'd condescend to steal horses, or to kill and scalp men, save
in fair and open battle! I would not believe it; and I prepared’
to go out at mid-day to meet the Noble Savage! ae

1 went out with asmile on my face, and a six-by-four Bible
jn my hand, and with about a dozen men following me with as
many more religious books asthey could carry. A tall, fine
looking chief, accompanied by sbout twenty more warriors,
slowly approached. 1 put on my most engaging smile, and
beckoned them to come and receive the gifts of the Young
Men’s Savage Association. The Savages were all mounted on
swift ponies, and they rode up close to us, when, seeing that we
had nothing but books, they ma@e a rush at us.

I don’t suppose I shall ever find out whether the old Indian
with two black rings round his eyes, and a purple mark across
his chin, hit me with his war-club before or after the young and
ambitious chief, with a_ bright red streak down his nose, and
both nostrils stained yellow, put two arrows into my ribs; or
whether they were not both anc aNeg by the Camanche gen-
tleman, who tried tu split my skull with a tomahawk. and was
immediately shot dead for his pains by Fitzphool, who came up -
and quietly proceeded to kill every Indian he could see. It is
enough to say that I was at once and instantly cured of any and

ever ation of the Noble Savage. __ ‘

} ‘Tee make up tothe fact that i had a severely damaged.
skull—and long before that said skull was cured, lL woke up to_
the other fact that the Noble Savage, the Indian of the Plains,
is the most treacherous, villainous, cowardly, and every way

despicable animal that was ever, by mistake, created!

I have, however, stillto go a few hundred miles further, an@
to hear some of the far-famed oratory of the Noble Savage—the
Wild Red Man of the Prairies. _When I hear it I shall report it,
and then no more of the Scalping Red Man. Patiently,

Q. K. Puivanper Doxsticxs, P. B.

 

 

the “Boy Whaler” that the “Locksmith of Lyons,” at the re-
quest of ‘Faithful Marzaret’ was going to “Leighton Home-
stead,’ where the “Ros: of Kendale” blooms, to remove the
“Shadowed Altar” “Oat of the Dark,” accompanied him there,
and discovered the ‘Mystery of the Black Diamond” which the
“False Heir” possessed. Isaac I. H. Brown.
’ NEW YORK WEEKLY MANIA.
As every tardy week rolls ’round,
Which brings the WEEeKLy before me;
I'm sure to let my dishes rest,
While I read the shortest story.

And then I rise togo to werk,
But—oh, dear! I must falter,

To read one of the longer ones, s
At least the “SHADOWED ALTAR,”

Well, then Ilay my paper down,
To go to work, but, yet :

A little more must read, tosee
How “EpNA PAYS HER Dest,”

And there is just another one—
To read it lam bound:

ltis, “‘FaITHFUL MARGARETTR, OF;
CasTLE BRAND’s SLEUTH HounpD.”

“Tur Rosk oF Kenpatn’”’ I must leave,
To read another time;
For—bless iny sout!—no dishes washed,
And here ’us hali-past nine! i, M. Croye.

VERY RELIGIOUS.

A preacher's daughter, on Sunday last, was heard to shout to
the family servant, who chanced to be across the street: “Jane,
when you bring us milk on Sunday, be sure and come in the
back way, for tather has made us all very religious lately.”

Wx. RANKIN.
A LITERARY QUESTION AND ANSWER.

Jehial Slab, Esq., remarked to me the other day, that the
“Boy Whaler” had asked “Faithful Margaret,” “Who Did Lady
Violet Marry ?? When he was told that as soon as the ‘‘Lock-
smith of Lyons’? wouid have finished ‘‘The Key of Gold’? where-
with to open the cabin of “The Witch of the Ocean” that “‘Niek
Whiffies, the gentleman of the border, could rescue ‘Lady Vio-
let’s’ “Aunt Jerusha.” “The Flower of Suda,” (who was abduct-
ed from ‘‘The Leighton Homestead” by ‘Ramon, the Outlaw)”
she, (Lady Violet) would be ready to be married to “Boffalo
Bill,” the brother of “fhe Lost Bride.” Sum Jin,

A BRAVE BOY.

Some sixteen years ago, in the public school at the corner of
Sheriff and Stanton streets, a fire was caused by the ignition of
amass of paper inan unused fire-place. ‘After eating their
iunches, the boys were inthe habit of throwing into this fire-
place the paper, which had inclosed their bread and butter. The
fire was accidental, and soon the fireboard was in a blaze, caus-
ing a general panic. all fied in dismay fromthe room, with
the exception of one heroic bey, who, like Casabianca, on the
burning deck, would not flee from danger. Some days after-
ward be was presented with a medal by the trustees for his he-
roism, and in the presentation speech was lauded as the bravest
boy in the school. Subsequently, when prominent personages
visited the school, the brave boy was pointed out tothem. One
yisitor, more inquisitive than the others, said to him, ‘*My little
hero, why did you notrun, like your schoolinates?” ‘Run!
he exclaimed—‘Run! LI wasso much frightened that I couldn't
stir!” Team HORSE.

A YANKEE SERENADE.
Sung by a@ love-sick Swain, accompanying himself on a fiddle, wnder
his Sweetheart's bed-room windou.

Wake, lady, wake! The moon are high,
The twinklin’ stars are beamin’;
While; now and then, across the sky,
A me-te-or are streamin’.

Wake, lovely one! The sky ar? clear;
Retreshing is the breezes;

It blows my nose whiie I sit here
A fiddlmy’ ’neath the treeses.

Wake, Sally dear! The butl-frog’s note
Are heard in yonder rushes; B

And the warbling tree-toad swells his throat,
Singin’ in them are bushes.

Wake, Venus mine! The whippowil
Sings on that rail fence, yonder,

While the ow! pipes out his hootin’ shrii—
Why don’t she wake, I wonder?

Softly, on the grassv lea,
The moon her beams are pourin‘;
The stars look down and wink at me—
By Gum, i¢ Sat arn't snorin’!

Wake, Sally, wake, and look on me! +
Awake, Squire Curtis’ daughter !

If Pll have you, and you'll have me—
By George! who threw that water?

Oh, cruel Sally, thus fo slight—
Here comes the bull-dog now !—
“Bow-wow !”—Oh! ow! he’s got a bite!
Alas!—"'Bow-wow !?—-Oh! ow!

A HEROIC DAMSEL, rf
Miss J., abeautiful, accomplished, but very demonstrative
young lady, was one day standing at a window, facing SP9Eo
ar thoroughfare, in Chicago, gazing at the turbulent crowd that
swayed below, when an old and very dilapidated-looking hearse,
which seemed—if such a thing were possible—asif it had once
oficiated at the burial service of Adam and Eve, clattered fora

 

 

 

a ca
RESPECT is the truest homage of the heart.

moment over the pavement. and then lost itself in the crowd of
carriages that blocked the way, When the attenuon of Miss J.

Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
—Take one part, by measure, of Jitharge; one part plaster of

rosin; mrx all together. This may be kept for years, while dry, -

ter at once, either salt er fresh..... J._K.
To HARDEN THE Hanps.—' his is the metho

ing contests. Boil in three quarts of water a pint of horseradish,
tour ounces of pulverized alum, and four ounces of rock salt.
After this is cooled, wash the hands in it, and continue to do
so every morning for a week when the skin will) become hard
and tough...... Ned.—REMEDY FOR INGROWING \Naits.—Take a
piece of strong muslin, about an inch wide, and long enough to
make two loops, by sewing—one large enough to fit oyer the

 

great toe, and the other to slip over. the third toe, and bring
them close together, letting the second toe rest above the band-
age. The second tve, in this position, permits precisely the re-
quired pressure to crowd the sott parts away from the naj), and
at the same time remove the }: -*ssure that causes the disease.
Another remedy is to cut the uw *oa curve in the center, and
scrape it quite thin in thesame s},. . with a piece of glass ora
sharp Knife. The nail will then gru.y trom the sides to fill up
the curve made in the center........ Richard.—See No. 25,....

Warts—See No. 22...... V. B.—Wash your face freqnently in
water mixed with lemon juice. It has been found in many
cases highly.efficacious. Aliso avoid salt meats. Let your diét
be spare and simple. Drink freely of lemonade...... Sadness.—
Keep your thoughts as much as pessible from off the malady
with which you are afflicted. avoid late suppers. Bathe fre-
quently in coid water. Never retire to bed till you feel Very
-sieepy, and rise very early. Let ihe covering on your bed be of
light material. Practice total abstinence, as regards fiery
liquids, and Keep your mind cheerful by mingling in lively com-
chk C. Figaro.—See preceding answer......... Syleesta.—1.
Having used the articles named, you ought to Know whether
they are beneficial or not. 2. Sarsaparilla will aid you. In
your case it is important to keep the blood pure. 3. Spirits of
turpentine. 4, Castor oil and bay rum........ Bill Poster.—To
MAKE TABLE OR HOME-MADE BEER OR ALE —Take fifteen gallons
of water, and boil one-half, putting the oiher into a barrel; add
the boiling water to the cold, with one gallon of molasses and a
litte yeast. Keep the bung-bole open till the fermentation is
abated......Perkins.—Open air exercise would relieve you......

  

 

 

F. R. B.—1, To MAKE PEANUT AND Cocoanut Canpirs.—One cup of
sugar, one cup of molasses, and a piece of butter an inch square.
Boil it till it will rope, then stir in half a teaspoonful of soda,
and pour it immediate!y info a butter dish. Whenit is cool pull
it out and cut itinte strips. This recipe, by a judicious admix-
ture of well-roasted split peanuts with the other ingredients, will
produce excellent peanut candy.
and agreater quantity of sugar, it will alo do tor cocoanut
candy. 2. To Make Ice Cream.—One gallon of cream, two
pounds of rolled loaf sagar, one teaspoonful of oil of lemon. If
for vanilla cream, two eggs beaten, and one and a half table-
speonfuls of tincture of vanilla should be used. Mix well and
freeze in the usual way. The vanilla or }emon should be well
mixed with the sugar, before itis added to the cream ; by this
means the cream willail be flavored alike. 3. You can buy it
cheaper than youcan make it. 4. Perseverance accomplishes a
great deal. Intime your penmanship may be first rate......W.
F. P.—Write to any rubber manufacturer whose name you may
see in advertisementsin the papers..... Constant Reader.—We can-
not inform you....... Frank Stark.—¥irst read our answer to
“Sadness,” and then, if not aided thereby, consult some physi-
cian in good standing. It is not our custom to name Any par-
ticular one...... Veio.—l. see No. 26. 2, Unquestionably, and in
ashort time. 3. It is susceptible of great improvement......
Harry Campbell.—1. Iv is probable that you have the catarrh.
For a remeay see No. 20. 2. Your handwriting ts only tolerably
BRIE fs ass Bill.—To MAKE GLossy Starcw.—Take two ounces of
white gum arabic in powder, putitintoa pitcher, and pour on
it a pint of boiling water, according to the degree of strength
you desire, and then, having covered it, let 1t stand all night. In
the morning pour it carefully ftem the dregs into a clean bottle
—keep it tor use. A tablespoonful of gum water stirred into a
pint of starch that has been made im the usual manner, will
give lawns, either black or printed,.a look of newness, when
nothing else can restore them after washing... 2 A, V.—1, No.
2. Consult a physician. 3. No place vacant..... Inquirer,—1, See
answer to K. K. K. in No. 20. 2. We know nothing of the ie
referred to. 3. About $9.... Unfortuaate.—See answer to K. BK. K.
in No. 20...... Dantel Pillshury.—We bave ali the back numbers
you desire....W. W. H—It your case isan aggravated one per-
haps it would be better for you to consult a physician, Read
answer to K. K, K. in No. 20...... Henry.—See No. 20... . Miserable
Dyspepti.—We know many dyspeptics who are obliged to ab-
stain altogether from the use of coffee. Weak black tea, we
think, would agree with you, if taken in moteration. Coffee is
a powerful stimulant, and is apt to produce nervousness and
sieeples:ness at night. 4 cidity of the stomach is also caused by
it, which, however, may be corrected by bi-curbonateof soda;
but if a person has to take one thing to counteract the effects ot
another it would be better not to indulge at ali,.....€.R. R.--1.
Consulta physician, 2. See No. 8... Lizzy and L.Jf.—We cannot
aid you......Amelia Neubram.—Use the juice of walnut peels.

——__>-0+—____——
THE ADVERTISERS GAZETTE, issued by G. P. Rowell &
Co., No. 40 Park Row, New York, eontains much infor.
mation not to be obtained elsewhere. Every advertiser
should read it. Sample copies by mail for 15 cents.

 

 

G. M. M.—We cannot answer...:.. G. H. L.—AQuvuaRiuM CEMENT. |
Paris; one part fine beach sand; one-third part fine powdered :

In a well-corked bottle; when used, make in a putty with boiled _
linseed oij; a little patent dryer may be used; it will stand wa-
J. . and W. H. F.—~

See No. 22...... Constant Reader.—Consult a pe aan ae ... Triton.— |
[ d adopted by pugilists ‘

to harden their hands when preparing for one of their disgust-

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To Physicians.

eee

NEW YORK, Aucvst 15ru, 1868.

Allow me to call your attention to my

PREPARATION OF
Compound Extract Buchu.

The component parts are BUCHU, Lone Lear, CUBEBS,
JUNIPER BERRIES.

MODE OF PREPARATION.

Buchu, in vacuo. Juniper Berries, by distillation, toform a
fine gin. Cububs extracted by displacement with spirits obtained
from Juniper Berries; very little sugar is used, and a small pro-
portion of spirit. It is more palatable than any now to use.

Buchu, as prepared by Druggists, is of adark color. Itisa
plant that emits its fragrance; the action of a flame destroys
this (its active principle,) leaving a dark and glutinous decoc-
tion. Mine is the color of ingredients. The Buchu in my pre-
paration predominates; the smallest quantity of the other in-
gredients are added, to prevent fermentation; upon inspection,
it will be found not to be a Tincture; as made in Pharmacopea;
nor is it a Syrup—and therefore can be used in cases where fever
or inflammation exist. In this, you have the knowledge of the
ingredients and the mode of preparation.

Hoping that you will favorit with atrial, and that upon in-
spection it will meet with you approbation,

With a feeling of corifidence,
I am, very respectfully, ;
H. T. HELMBOLD,
Chemist and Druggist of 16 Years’ Experience.

 

FROM THE LARGEST MANUFACTURING
CHEMISTS IN THE WORLD.

; ees : Novemser 4, 1954.

- am acquainted with Mr. H. T. Helmbold; he occupied the
Drug Store opposite my residence, and was successful in con-
ducting the business where others had not been equally so be-
fore him. I have been favorabiy impressed with his character
and enterprise. 12 Ic. he :

WILLIAM WEIGHTMAN,
Firm of Powers & Weightman, Manufacturing

Chemists, Ninth and Brown Streets, Phila-
delphia. im £

 

   

be expected to favorably affect me as they otherwise would. I
have found such unspeakable relief and permanent benefit from
Mr. Helmbold's valuable discovery, that I feel I ought publicly
record the fact, as an acknowledgement to him, and a valuable
suggestion to the public.
Yours, respectfully,
D. M. LAREN.

Mr. Laren refers to the following gentlemen:

Colone! DAN. RICE, Girard, Penn.

CHAS. STOW, Esq., Girard, Penn., editor Cosmopolite.

GEORGE H. CUTLER, Girard, Penn., attorney.

Cc. I. HINDS, Girard, Penn., attorney.

Captain D. H. HUTCHINSON, Girard, Penn., attorney.

DAVID OLIN, Girard, Penn., merchant.

DAVID-E. DAY, Girard, Penn., merchant.

c. F. ROCKWELL, Girard, Penn., merchant

B. C. ELY, Girard, Penn., druggist.

 

DR. KEYSER,

a physician of over thirty years’ experience, and a graduate of
the Jefferson Medical College, and of the University of Medicine
and Surgery of Philadelphia.

MR. H. T. HELMBOLD:

Drak Sir:—In regard to the question asked me as to my opin-
ion about Buchu, I vould say that I have used and sold the
article in various forms for the past thirty years. I do not think
there is any form or preparation of it I have not used, or known
to be used, in the various diseases where such medical agent
would be indicated. You are aware, as well as myself, that it
has been extensively employed in the various diseases of the
bladder and kidneys, and the reputation it has acquired, in my
judgment, is warranted by the facts.

I have seen and used, as before stated, every form of Buchu—
the powdered leaves, tincture, fluid extracts—and I am not cog-
nizant of any preparation of that plant at ali equal to yours.
Twelve years’ experience ought, I think, to give me the right to
judge of its merits; and, without prejudice or partiality, I give
yours precedence over all others.

I value your Buchu for its effect on patients. I have cured
with it, and seen cured with it, more diseases of the bladder and
kiineys than I have ever seen cured with any other Buchuor
any other proprietary compound of whatever name.

Respectfully yours, &c.,
GEO. H. KEYSER, M. D.,

Ave. 11, 1865 ‘No. 130 Wood St. Pittsburg, Penn.

 

A CASE OF TWENTY YEARS’ STANDING,

PHILADELPIHIA, PENN., June 25, 1867.
H. T. HELMBOLD, Drveeist:

DEAR Sir‘—I have been a sufferer for upward of twenty years,
with gravel, bladder and kidney affections, during which time
L have used various medicinal preparations, and been under-the
treatment of the most eminent physicians, experiencing but lit-

 

HELMBOLD’S

FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU,

For weakness arising from indiscretion. The exhausted powers
of Nature which are accompanied by so many alarming symp-
toms, among whieh sil be found, Indisposition to Exertion,
Loss of Memory, Wakefulness, Horror of Disease, or Forbodings
of Evil; in fact, Universal Lassitude, Prostration and inability
to enter into the enjoyments of society.

The constitution, once affected with Organic Weakness,’ re-
quires the aid of Medicine to strengthen and invigorate the sys-
tem, which HELMBOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU invariably does.
If no.treatment is submitted to, Consumption or Insanity ensues

tle relief.

Having seen your preparations extensively advertised, I con-
sulted my family physician in regard to using your Extract
Buchu.

I did this because I had used all kinds of advertised remedies,
and had found them worthless, and some quite injurious; in
fact, I despaired of ever getting well, and determined to use no
remedies hereafter, unless I knew of the ingredients. It, was
this that trompted me to use your remedy. As you advertised
thatit was composed of Buchu, cubebs and juniper berries, it
occurred to me and my physician as anexcellent combination,
and with his advice, after an examination of the article, and
consulting again with the druggist, I concluded to try it. I com-
menced to use it about eight months ago, at which time I was
contined to my room.

From the first bottle I was astonished and gratified at the
beneficial effect, and after Using 1t three weeks, was able to walk

 

HELMBOLD’S
FLUID EXTRACT OF BUCHU,

in affections peculiar to Females is unequalled by any other
preparation. asin Chlorosis, or Retention, Painfulness, or Sup-
pression of Customary Evacuation, Ulcerated or Schirrus State
of the Uterus, and all complaints incident to the sex, or the de-
cline or change of hfe.

HELMBOLD’S ©
FLUID EXTRACT BOCHU and
Improved Rose Wash

will radically exterminate from the system diseases arising
from habits of dissipation, at little expense, little or no change
indict, no inconvenience or exposure; completely superseding
those Unpleasant and dangerous. remedies, Copavia and Mer-
cury, In all these diséasés, >” be

USE HELMBOLD’S
FLUID EXTRACT BUCHU

in all diseases of these organs, whether existing in male or fe-
male, from whatever originating, and no, matter how
iong standing. It is pleas taste and odor, ‘‘immediate”’ in
action, and more strengthening than any of the preparations of
Bark or Iron.

Those suffering from broken-down or delicate constitutions,
procure tife remedy at onte.

The reader must be aware that, however slight may be the

out. I felt much like writing to youa full statement of my case
at the time, but thought my improvement might only be tem-
porary, and therefore concluded to defer, and see if it would
effect a perfect cure, knowing that it would be of greater value
to you, and more satisfactory to me. ; {

Iam now able to report that a cure is effected, after using the
remedy for five months,

I have not used any now for three months, and feel as well in
all respects asI ever did.

Your Buchu being devoid of any unpleasant taste and odor, a
nice tonic and invigorator of the system, I do not mean to be
without it whenever occasion may require its use on such affec
tions. M. McCORMICK.

Should any one doubt Mr. McCormick’s statement, he refers
to the following gentlemen:

Hon. WM. BIGLER, ex-Governor ot Pennsylvania.
Hon. THOMAS B. FLORENCE, Philadelphia.

Hon. J. C. KNOX, Philadelphia.

Hon. J. S. BLACK, Philadelphia.

Hon. D. R. PORTER, ex-Governor of Pennsylvania.
Hon. ELLIS LEWIS, Philadelphia.

Hon. R- GRIER, Philadelphia.

Hon. G. W. WOODWARD, Philedelphia.

Hon. W. A. PORTER, Philadelphia.

Hon. JOHN BIGLER, ex-Governor of California.
Hon. E. BANKS, Washington, D. C.

And many others, if necessary.

 

ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS WOULD BE GIV-
EN FOR A BOTTLE, IF NECESSARY.

RAHWAY, N. J., Dec. 2, 1869.
H. T. HELMBOLD, ESQ.:
Dear Sixr:—I take great pleasure in sending you a certificate

 

 

 

attack of the above diseases, it is certain to affect the bodily
health and mental powers.

All the above diseases require the aid of a Diuretic.
BOLD’S EXTRACT BUCHU 1 the great Diuretic.

HELM-

 

TESTIMONY.
CURE OF GRAVEL OF FIVE YEARS STAND-
ING—STONE PASSED AND TO BE SEEN.

SAVANNAH, TENN., May 14, 1869.
DR. H. T. HELMBOLD.
DEAR Sin:—We introduced your “Fluid Extract Buchu” in

in addition to the many you have received from suffering hu-
manity. Ican scarcely find language sufficiently strong to ex-
press my heartfelt gratification at the wonderful cure your
“Buchu” has effected. For four years I have suffered beyond
description. All my friends (with myself) came to the conclu-
sion that my case was incurable. Accident placed your adver-
tisement in my hands. I commenced taking yeur ‘‘Buchu.”’ I fol-
lowed the directions, and to my utter astonishment. before L had
taken seven bottles of your valuable medicine (i would give $100
a bottie, if I could not get it'at any other price,) I am entirely
cured. I most earnestly recommend tt to all those suffering from
disease. I have told many persons to take your valuable medi-
cine, and they are doing so with great success. Any information
my fellow citizens may require will be freely given by the sub-
seriber, at his residence, No. 78 Milton ay., Rahway, N. J.
H. M. FREEMAN,

 

this country about eight months ago, and are happy to state
that it is meeting with universal favor. We wish to inform you
of one instance (among many) where your ‘“‘Buchu’’ has work
ed wonders. A man inour county, named S. B. Estell, had
been suff about five years with gravel. About six weeks ago
he bought of usone bottle of your “Buchu,” and before: he was
through with one bottle he passed a gravel that weighs eight
grains, which we now have on exhibition in our drug store. He
says that he will never be without the “Buchu” in his house
again. Your preparations are gaining tavor every day-
Very respectfully yours, &c.,
ECCLES & HINKLE, Druggists.

  

 

CURE OF BLADDER AND KIDNEY AFFEC-
TION OF LONG STANDING—STONE
PASSED AND TO: BE SEEN.

WESTPORT, Conn, Sept. 5 1869
H. T. HELMBOLD, ESQ,, |
Dear Sir:—I commenced taking your “Extract of Buchu”
about two weeks since, for anaffection of the bladder and kid-
neys. Ihave suffered by spellsvery much for a few days past.
But yesterday relief came throtighthe effect of your “Buchu.’,
A stone passed through ny bladder about the size of a large pea,
and I now fee! perfectly weli and entirely free from the pain
that I have suffered with “so hard I attribute my cure to
your medicine entirely, aud would recommend all persons
similarly affected totry it. I have great taith in its curative
powers.
Yours, truly,
THOMAS J. BENNET

el

REFERS TO

Rev. WILLIAM COGGSWELL, Westport, Conn,

J. L. GANNAN, Druggist, Westport, Conn.

H. B. WHEELER, Esq., Westport, Conn.

BRADLEY HLL, Esq., Westport, Conn.

Dr. WAKEMAN, Reading, Conn.
R. W. R. ROBINSON, Wholesale Druggist, New York City. And
many others, if necessary.

 

CURE OF KIDNEY AND BLADDER AFFEC-
TION OF A PATIENT SEVENTY-EIGHT,
YEARS OF AGE. THANKS TO MR. HELM-
BOLD.

CIRARD, Penn., Marcu 3l, 1869.

Epitor Cosmoronitr:—I desire as. an unsolicited tribute to the
merits of Helmbold's Buchu, and for the benefit of those simil-
arly affected as myself, to say that after consulting many emi-
nent physicians, and nearly all the best advertised remedies, in
the vain hope of finding relief from aggravated kidney and biad-
der diseases, from which I have suffered excessively for many
years, good fortune finally suggested to me Helmbold’s Buchu,
Which I commenced using with little faith,and no apparent
beneficial results for about a month. At the expiration of that
time, however, I thought I commenced to experience slight re-
lief, which encouraged me to persevere in its use, and now, at
the expiration of four months, although I am an infirm oid

Councilman Third Ward, City of Rahway.

 

RAHWAY, N. J., Dec. 2, 1869.
We, the undersigned, are well acquainted with H, M. Freeman
of Rahway, and know that he has been a long time suffering,
in the worst possitle form, for the past four years, and that he
tas been entirely cured by the use of “‘Heimbold’s Buchu.”

J. W. SAVAGE, ex-Mayor.
FRANK LA BAU, President of Council.
WM. RICHARDS, Clerk of Council.
PETER A. BANTA, Councilman.
W. J. BROWN, Councilman.
J.S.S. MELICK, Councilman.
LEWIS HOFF, Councilman.
J. B. STRYKER, Merchant.
City HALL, Mayor's OFFICE, 2
Ranway, N J., Dec. 5, 1869. §
This will certify that Iam personally acquainted with H. M.
Freeman, and am cognizant of the facts asset forth in the above
statement, and the several persons whose signatures are here-
unto attached are all known to me.
JOHN F. WHITNEY, Mayor of Rahway, N. J.

N. Y. S. VOL. INSTITUTE.

CORNER OF FIFTH AVENUE AND SEVENTY-SIXTH
STREET, CENTRAL PARK,

(A HOME AND SCHOOL FOR THE SONS OF DECEASED
SOLDIERS.)

DR. H. T. HeLmsoLy:—Two bottles only of the package of your
valuable Buchu presented to the Institute have been used by
the children, and with perfect success. In the case of our little
Lieutenant, A. J., his pride is no longer mortified, and he is free
from the daily morning anathemas of the chambermaid who
has charge of his bedding. I feel that a knowledge of the result
ofour use of your Buchu withthe children under our charge
may save many a superintendeit and matron of boarding
schools and asylums a great amoun. of annoyance; and many a
peor child, suffering more from weakness than habit, may be
spared punishment that is (not knowing it as a weakness instead
of a bad habit) most unjustly inflicted upon them. Thanking you
on behalf of the children, and hoping others may be alike bene-
fited, I am, respectfully yours, COL. YOUNG,

June 16, 1866, General Superintendent and Director.

 

GREAT SALT LAKE CITY.

Uran, Jan, 28, 1858.

MR. H.T. HELMBOLD: Dear Sir:—Your communication re-
questing our terms of advertising was duly received, but froma
prejudice I had formed against advertising “cures for secret
diseases,’ 1¢ was leftunanswered. During an accidental con-
versation in a drug store the other evening, my mind was
changed on the character of your —~.hu. It was then highly
commended for other diseases by two physicicns present, En-
closed please find our rates of advertising. Yours, ac..

T. B. H. STENHOUSE,

 

Wan, nearly 78 yearsofare. and consequently medicines cannot

 

Editor ana Proprietor of Daily and Semi-Weekly Telegraph.

AND GRAVEL.

FROM MORGAN, FEAZEL & CO.

GLASGOW, Mo., Fes. 5, 1868.
MR. H. T. HELMBOLD: ‘

Drar Sir—About two years ago I was troubled with both in
flammation of the kidneys and gravel, and I resorted to severa

regard your Extract Buchu to be decidedly the besl remedy ex
tant for any and all diseases of the kidneys, and I am quite con
fident that it will do all you claim for it.

if you desire to do so. ‘
Yours respectfully,
EDWIN M. FEAZEL.

UNITED STATES HOSPITAL.

SALISBURY, N. C., Marcu, 19, 1866.
H. T. HELMBOLD, Ese., Paiva, Pa.:

rilla Extract, and half a dozen of your Rose Wash.

deavor to bring them to universal use in this part of the country.

Please forward these medicines again as before, C. O. D., per

express.

 

 

I am, sir, very respectfully yours, &c.,
M.F. A. HOFFMAN,
Surgeon in charge of Hospital.

CERTIFICATE OF ADISTINGUISHED MID-
WIFE.

PHILADELPHIA, Auc. 18, 1869.
MR. HELMBOLD:

Sir—I have used your Extract Buchu with many of my pa-
tients, and can speak of it in the highest terms in every case,
and consider it avaluable remedy, and one that should be in
the hands of every midwife.

Very truly yours, REBECCA STANTON, M. D.

CURE OF NERVOUS PROSTRATION AND
DECLINE OF A YOUNG LADY.

H. T MNELMBOLD-—I have been giving your Extract Buchu
to my daughter, who has+been unable to sleep, very nervous,
loss of appetite, general debility, and rapidly falling into decline
—in fact, consumption was talked of. Iwas recommended to
use your “Buchu” by a highly respectable lady of this place,
who had given it to her son with completé success. My daugh-
ter had been troubled for a long time. 1 purchased one bottle
some eight weeks since, which lasted one week, and from which
she received great benefit, and induced me to purchase one
half-dozen bottles, as I had tried many other remedies, and my
family physician, to no avail. Itis now more than two eks
since she has taken the last bottle, and I am happy to inform
you of its complete success. Very truly yours,  ~ as
GEO. M, MARSHALL, |
GERMANTOWN, PA, Feb, 12, 1869. ;

 

coal

c

A PERMANENT CURE OF GRAVEL OF
TWELVE YEARS’ STANDING—STON
PASSED AND TO BESEEN. >

BURNSIDE, Conn., Dec. 15, 1869.

DR. HELMBOLD:

myself. I hav
greatest sufferer
times than othes
der.’ Lhave be
and wanted to
consulted Cocto nM; and
taken pills, I ma 7, by the quart, also liguored medicines,
but found no relief from any, and got worse the last six months.
I wasso that I could scarcely get about. I could not rest night
or day. It would soon have been “all up” with me, if I had not
seen your advertisement in the Berkshire Courier, headed “Kid-
neys.” IL read it through, and thought I'would try it. I pur-
chased a bettle, but, mind you, I had not much faith in it. Why
should I, when I had been trying so many things, and cost me
somuch? Well, i began takingit, and before 1 had taken the
first bottle I felt bad; but I finished it and got another. By the
time 1 took half of the second, I still got worse (apparently.)
When I walked it seemed as if my right kidney was falling
from its place, and 1 felt really bad. I feltso before I had fin-
ished the second, that I made up my mind it was no use trying
apy more—and all this time the “Buchu”. was doing its work,
but I did not know it; sol gave itup, and went to Hartford on
Saturday, to one of the best doctors in the elty. He said it was
the neck of the . ladder, and I should have to undergo an oper-
ation. He gaye me medicine, and I went home quite down-
hearted, Cn Sunday I was unable to goto church. Ihad not
taken any of his medicine, but on my return continued using
the “Buchu,” and in the afternoon I had a desire to make
water and could not. About one hour afier this I tried again,
with the same result; but the next time I took the vessel, it was
the same as turning a faucet, and stopping it offagain. It was
so for three times, and the third time there was something came
through the passage, and struck again the side of the vessel. I
examined it, and it is the ugliest stone or gravel you ever saw,
covered over with little pieces which collected together. It
looks the color of a mud turtle, and is as hard as flint. Soe you
see the “Buchu” was doing its work, although I was feeling so
badly. I procured. ancther bottle, thinking there might be some
more behind; but since that has passed, which is eight weeks
ago last Sunday, I have been as well as ever I was in my life. I

ave

in this place are surprised. I cannot. te you all, but this is a
my name as you think proper. I am pretty well known in Berk-
shire; also in Connecticut. The advertisementsaved me. Why
not publish more. The Springfield Republican is a wide-spread
paper. If any one wishes to see this wonder, they can do so, I

remain your very wel! wisher, EDWARLL, HOWARD,
Paper Maker, Burnside, Hartford County, Conn.

* REFERS TO

Dr.
Dr.
Dr.
Dr.

MACK, Burnside, Conn.

WRIGHT, North Lee, Mass.
HOLKUM, North Lee, Mass.
ADAMS, Stockbridge, Mass.

Dr. SCOTT, North Manchester, Mass.
Dr VAQUES, Buckland Corners, Conn.
Dr. BEARSFORD, Hartford, Conn.

All of whom treated me for the disease.

 

HELMBOLD’S

EXTRACT BUCHU,
Established upward of Nineteen Years,
PREPARED BY
H. T. Helmbold,
AT HIS

DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSES,

594 BROADWAY, N. Y.,
And 104 SOUTH TENTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA, Pa.

Sold by druggists everywhere. Price $6 50 for six bot-
tles, or $1 25 per bottle, delivered to any address.

 

signed H. T, HELMBOLD.

A CASE OF INFLAMMATION OF KIDNEYS

remedies, without deriving any benefit whatever, and seeing
your Extract Buchu advertise’, I procured a few bottles and
used: them. ‘The result was a complete cure in ashorttime. I

You may publish this

Dear Srr—1 wish you to send me one dozen of your Sarsapa-

Allow me to say that your preparations are very’satisfactory,
not only to the practitioner, but also to the patient, and shall en-

  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 

have the stone securely wrapped, and those who haye seen it

true story of my case, and you are welcome tomake suchvuse of

could write all day, but think I have said encugh this time, so I

None are genuine unless done upina steel engraved
wrapper, with fac simile of my chemical warehouse, and

 

PR op > |
a

 

 

IN THE VALLEY:

 

SIR,

BY NATHAN D. UR

Tipped by the roseate kiss of morn
The glistening glacier shines,

With the light on his glorious diadem,
And the mist in his belt of pines.

Istand in the valley dark and deep,

I And envy the happy hight—

The first to receive, the last to yield,
The sun's inspiring light.

Hateful my lot, to the valley condemned!

The fates my life have cursed—

Last to drink of the goblet of light,
And to renéer it back, the first!

O, to fly, like a bird, to the glacier’s tip,
To perch on the brink of the world,

To watch the eyes of Aurora ope
When her wings are first unfurled!

‘To steal the first kiss of her radiant lips!

Ah! cold are those hights, it is true;

But the bliss of that Kiss, an embrace like this,
Would Kindle a chilled life through!”

Anything, anything bet er than here,
in the deep, dark valley to be,

Where her kiss is faint from the full surfeit
Which the glacier snatches from me!

Oh, Aurora of Life, immortal Love!
In sudden splendor arise,
Or stoop to the valley, and kiss me up
To thy paiace within the skies!
IT must seale the peaks that shut me in,
From the deep, dark valley fly—
I must bask in the beams of thy glorious dreams,
I must reach thy bosom, or die!

MISS MARSDEN'S ROMANCE.

BY ELLIS LEE,

 

 

Clara Marsden’s friends wondered—it was the only
thing about which they could wonder in which she was
concerned—why she never married.

Such was the fact, however; a fact most indisputably
true, that Clara’s thirtieth birthday came round, as such
things will, whether we to whom they come wishit or
no, and found her still—Miss Marsden.

1 suppose to very young girls, just out of the school-
room, that these ihirty years are a proof that she, over
whose head they had passed, was passe, antiquated, or,
to use their favorite word of reproach—an old maid—
though why it should be deemed a fault in a woman that
she retains her father’s name, and is not willing to merge
her own ‘identity in that ofsome man, whose sole recom-
mendation would be that he could give his name, and a
plain gold ring to be worn as a badge of slavery—I never
could understand.

But Miss Marsden’s thirty years found her as they
should find every woman to whom they come, even more
attractive than she had been at eighteen; more mature,
more experienced, her. manner more charming, her mind
more cultivated. She had never been beautiful, not even
pretty, but her magnificent figure and splendid grey eyes,
with her wealth of raven hair were surely enough; with
that charm of manner so peculiar to Clara Marsden, which
others tried, yet tried in vain, to imitate, to cause her,
wherever she went, with no effort of her own, unconsci-
ously to herself to be the most attractive woman present.
“T tell you what girls,’? Lou Acton said to her two young-
er sisters, “if you’d had one-tenth of the good offers Clara
Marsden has had, neither of you would be Miss Vinton
now.’

And as Miss Marsden comes along the path in her trail-
ing black robes and crimson shawl, thereby stopping-the
discussion concerning her, I may as well tell you, in as
few words as possible, why she is still unmarried. |

Ten years ‘ago Clara Marsden found herself, by the sud-
den death of her parents, with four younger brothers and
sisters on her hands. <A serious charge for a girl of
twenty, for there waS some money—enough with care—
for them to live comfortably; there. were no near rela-
tions, and Clara undertook to. keep the family together.

She was then engaged toa young lawyer, who dis-
couraged the plan. AE

He ‘‘wanted her himself,’? he said; “let the girls be
sent to scnool, the boys to college, and I will take care of
rou.”

Clara proposed waiting—her duty, she said, was clear—
but he would not listen, her arguments were unheeded.
and the consequence was that the engagement was broken
off.

I have told it in few words; only the bare outline. I
cannot describe the bitter agony, the many lonely hours,
the utter loneliness it cost her. And now, that ten years
are gone, how is it. .

Last week the two girls were married, the two brothers
have begun practice, one as alawyer, tie other as a phy-
sician, and Miss Marsden—her work over, well accom-

e.| plished—had come to’ make her long-promised visit to

ner friepd Mrs. Acton.

Iam alraid that, as I have told it, the blame would
Pséem fo be Chiely upon Heriert Mayne. But IJ think
if was quite as much Clara’s fault as it was his—no young
man starting in life; cares to be burdened with sisters and
‘brotvers-in-law; and perhaps had Clara been less impet-
uous, less self-willed, she might have been able to recon-
cile duty and pleasure.

1 donot know, however; she acted, as she thought for
the best; and she has now the satisfaction of feeling that
—she only knew at what cost—she had been a second
mother to the orphans, and made them useful members
of society.

In all these years she and Mayne had never met—these

years in which she had ripened into womanhood—perfect
through suffering, even as the nation, through the great
throes .of the civil war, has expanded into greater strength
and power. '
Miss Marsden, in these years, had been offered more
wedding-rings than she had fingers—they were pretty
fingers too—to put them on; but true to her trust, faithfui,
as 1 believe, to the one love of her youth, all that came to
woo were sent away—strange to ee

“I am proud of haying loved her,” one noble soul said,

speaking of her to a confidential friend. ‘One isall the
better man for knowing and loving such’'a woman as
Clara Marsden.’
She and Lou Acton had been friends for years—Lou’s
children called her ‘‘Aunt Clara;’? and now that Clara was
free, her friend had claimed her “for allthe time she was
willing to give them.”

I am not writing a regular story, it is only an outline, a
sketchy one at tnat, ofa little bit of Miss Marsden’s life.

She was very happy in this visit, received, as she was,
into the mner circle of Lou Acton’s home, sharing all the
little joys, helping inall the little trials which go, one by
one, to make up 2 life, this life of ours, which is made up
of little things.

After her ten years of hardships; thinking, planning,
laboring for others, it was pleasant to feel tuat she could
rest, and enjoy her well-earned tranquillity.

“Clara, will you never marry ?’? Mrs. Acton said to her
one day, as the two ladies sat sewing together, “I know
none more fitted: to adorn a house.

Miss Marsden smiled. |

“At thirty, romance is pretty well forgotten, Lou; and
unless I can greatly better my condition, I shall remain
as Iam.”

Lou smiled.

“The romance of your Jife may yet come, Clara: you are
handsomer than ever. Who knows but you may meet
your fate!’? :

“Vous verrons.”

 

It is only a sketch I am writing—a mere outline—which
you, dear reader, may fill up as you will.

Mrs. Acton and Clara Marsden went to—well, I shan’t
particularize—it was somewhere en the coast. where every
day on the long, rock-bound shore, the ocean waves, even
in calm, broke in tong lines of foam, a place of summer
resort, yet avoided by ships, the hidden rocks near shore,
which. were the security of the bathers, making it the
terror of the seamen.

The hotels were crowded that summer—blonde and
brunette beauty gathered in rich profusion—and, as usual,
Miss Marsden was to many the woman of all women.

There was only one man among the many at the L
House; who avoided. the woman whose story I am trying
to tell. And that person was a rich Virginia gentleman,
by the name of Bertie Linton,

I believe it was his avoidance of her that first attracted
Clara’s attention to the rich Virginian, and made her, as
1 know, unconsciously to herself, more anxious to please
him than any of those that came around her.

If a. man wishes to please a woman, he must first make
her think of him. That done, the rest is easy.

Ana wy poor Clara thought of Bertie Linton. I know
he did notseek her—you see I was there, and [saw it—but
I know that when one day—as coolly as others would
have askeda lady to walk or dance—in the pauses of a
galop, he asked her to be his wife. She was proud of
winning what so many bad sought in vain, yet, true to
herself, to her womanhood, unconscious of her real feel-
ing, she replied:

“Merci! butI give my hand for the dance, where I
would not give it for life.”

“Why ?”? very bitterly.

“7 share no aimless life.”

3ertie Linton was thunderstruck.

“Clara! you loved me once, and you shall yet be my
my wife. If you have forgotten the past, I have not.”

Miss Marsden iooked—what she really was—puzzled.

‘My past and yours are so totally disconnected, Mr, Lin-
ton, that your allusion is thrown oats And under any
circumstances, although this is only, I believe, the third
time that you and I have ever exchanged a word, I shail
take care that it is the last.’

‘Vous verrons! Miss Marsden, I agree with you in one
thing, we musteither be everything or nothing to one
another.”?

He bowed and left her.

I neglected to tell you, as I should have done, that this
occurred just one week after their introduction. Miss
Marsden Knew Bertie Linton well by reputation—a comet,
sweeping across the sky, being visible to many eyes, 1s
always more discussed than a fixed star, and Linton’s
wealth, indolence, and the fact that he prided himself up-
on being so completely au faitin the ways of the world,
that blaze was the gentlest epithet that would be appli-
ed to him, made him only the more notorious.

 

 

 

So the days went on. Linton was, if possible, more in-
dolent than ever, more careless in his way of talking,
more lavish of his gold than ever before, and of course he
Was more sought after than ever.

He never went near Clara again. If, by any accident,
they were thrown together, he was scrupurlously polite,
nothing more, He avoided her, so faras he could. Of
ail who crowded the house, Miss Marsden was the only
one who was aware of the avoidance.

I think, if :e had acted as Clara’s other lovers had done,
and sought, as they did, the friendship she was ‘always
ready to bestow on those who were truly deserving of it,
she never would bave given the matter another thought.
But his reference to the past, his cold politehess—the first
puzzled her; the second annoyed her; and from wonder-
ing at the one, she came to rebel against the other, which
said, in language too plain for her to mistake, ‘we can
never be friends.”’ .

She acknowledged this, at last, to herself. Friendship
could not, love might, some day draw them together.

Linton saw this before Clara even guessed at the truth
—his plan hadsucceeded. Still, he Gid not expect to win
her ashe was. He knew that evenif she loved him, she
wouid reiuse him, as she had done: before, until he came
up a her standard, and made concession te her ideas of
right.

Would the victory be worth the cost? :

He had been playing.a part for years, it would be a re-
lief to throw aside the mask, and be himself once more.

So time passed, till the season drew rapidly to its close.
A week more, and Miss Marsden would’ return to Mrs.
paar which she intended*henceforth should be her
Lome.

The last night came.

With the setting of the sun—red, angry and fiery—a
wind had come from the sea, a low, moaning wind, full
of weird, strange sounds, driving sea-birds and mist-
wreaths before it to the shore, lashing foam-crests on
the waves, which rose as the wind rose; while over the
sky spread a darkening, cloud, from, which at last there
mingled with the voice of the wind mighty thunder, and
whence came bright flashes of lightning, which served to
nencet visible the angry waters, and the breaker-lashed
shore.

Suddenly, in the midst of the storm, there came to the
ears of those who stood Icoking trom the ‘shelter of the
house, the low boom of guns—guns fired by ‘a Ship in
distress.

They waited anxiously for the next flash. It came, and
there just before their eyes, not a hundred yards from the
shore, fixed on a rock, to which in calm weather some of
the bathers had swum, was a ship, her masts broken, the
water washing over her decks, and every now and then
came that signal of distress—the boom of a cannon.

“I cannot stand it!’ Linton exelaimed, as his quick eye
took in the scene:* “Let who will, follow me: we can at
least save life.’?

He turned fer a moment to Clara.

“If I fail, remember that you were my last thoush*. {
would have spoken to-morrow;:you could have .uue witl
me as you would; you should have known the truth; now
that to-morrow may never come.’?

He was gone, and she did not speak. How could she—his
wos had come unexpected, unforseen, and no answel
asked.

But in that moment Clara learned the truth.

They could see, from the window where they stood—Lou
Acton and herself—how the life-hoat was manned. They
learned later, only in consequence of Linton’s exertions—
by men shamed tosee him the first to venture in her,
make trip after trip, her only light that given by the light-
ning flash, till every soul was saved, save the captain of
the vessel and his two mates, who resolutely refused to
leave his ship till the last.

lt was a busy scene in'the L House that evening.
The shipwrecked people, drenched, weary, and tired,
were brought there, and the ladies busied themselves ia
caring for them.

All except Miss Marsden. ‘She stood at the window, as
though fascinated by thescene, watching that tiny, wave-
tossed vessel, which went to and fro cn its life-saving
errand.

Her vigil was nearly over. The last trip was made, the
little boat neared the shore,when a wave, larger than any
of the preceding, dashed over it, and there came one great
cry from the crowds on the beach:

“The boat is lost (”’

Mrs. Acton sprang forward just in time to save Clara as
she fell.” She had fainted. :

 

 

 

Miss Marsden came to her senses at last. Lon's thought-
ful care had conveyed her to her room, and she sat,
watching over her friend.

“It was a terrible thing, Clara dear; but who would
have thought it of Bertie Limton?. Poor fellow, the noblest
action of iis life was bis last.’’

“Lou, for Heaven sake, hush! Itis enough to have
lived through the night without talking of it:”

“Mrs. Acton opened her eyes. She began to understand,
So she did the very wisest thing she could do uncer the
circumstances, she got up and kissed, Clara’s pale lips and
left the room.

“And to think he never knew I loved him.”

That was the only thoughtin Clara’s mind. She lay
there, she never knew how long, till at last the silence
and solitude of her room, grew hateful to her, and scarce-
ly knowing what she did, she crept back to the parlor.

Just in time to see—Bertie Linton—to hear him say:

“Only a good drenching; enough to wash the mousense
ont of me.” ;

“But the boat was upset,’ some one said.

8 S*F 6B; 80 near the shore that the wave carried us ail in,
ut——’

He never finished. the. sentence, he turned to see Miss

Marsden.

J don’t think any one expected what followed.

Linton was not a very inviting subject for an embrace,

soaked as he was, with salt. water, his hair im disorder,

seaweed tangled in his beard, but Clara. threw herself

into his arms as though he had been her husband. And

no one blamed her either. 1 know I don’t; 1 would have

done the same in her cage.

People had some consideration, and left them alone.

My story reads Jike a novel. There is only one thing

left for me to tell you.

Bertie Linton and Herbert Mayne, were one and the

same person.

He had been adopted by-an uncle, and had taken his
name, when he inherited Mr. Linton’s fortune.

a a

The Josh Billings Papers.

PEPPER PODS.

Ifyu hav got a spirited and noble boy, appeal tew hiz gener-
osity, if yu hav got a heavy and sullen'one appeal tew hiz back.

Agrate menny ev our people go abroad tew improve their
minas, who hadn’t got enny minds when they war at home:
knoweldge, like charity, shud begin at home, and then spred.

Affickshuns are the compliments that Heaven pays tew the
virtewous.

ao but a phool will spend hiz time trieing tew convince
a phool.

Time iz like money, the less we hay ov it teu spare the farthér
we make it go.

 

The tounge iz really a verry fasst member ov the boddy poli-
tick, he duz all the talking, and two-thirds ov the thinking

Men who invade the province uv wimmin are alwus jeered
at, and how kan wimmip, when they invade the provinee ov
men expekt tew eskape the saine kind ov treatment.

He who spends hiz gounger days in disapashun iz mortgaging
himself tew disseaze and poverty, two inexorable creditors, who
are certain tew foreclose at last, and take possession oy tho pre-
mises.

Thare iz mennuy a person who kan set a mouse-trap tew per-
feckshun, but not satisfied with sich small game, undertake tew
trap for bears, and git keteched bi the bears. Morau: studdy
yure genius, and stick tew mice.

Young man don’t marry abuy or below yure rank, not that t
think thare iz evry virtew in rank, but thare iz custom in it, and
custom often outranks law and gospel.

Let him go, mi son, sed an ancient father tew hiz boy,who had
caught a yung rabbit, and when he gits bigger ketch him agin.
The boy did az he waz told, and haz been looking tor that rab-
bit ever since.

The world owes all its energys and refinement tew_luxurys—
digging roots for brekfast'and going naked for clothes, iz the
virtewous innocence ov a iazy savage.

Thare iz lots ov folks who eat well, and drink well, and slee;
wel), and yet are sick all the time—theze are the folks who al-
wus enjoy poor health.

If a man hits yu, and you hit him back, yuare even, but if yu
don’t strike back he iz yure debtor, and alwus owes yu a crack,

A person With a litud smattering ov learning, 12 a good deal
like a hen’s egg that haz been sot on for a short time, and then
deserted by the hen, it iz spilse for batching out ennything.

‘People ov good sense” nre thoze whoze opinyuns agree with
ours.

Thare iz a grate deal ov magnificent poverty in our big citys,
people who eat klam soup out ov a tin basin with a gold spoon.

The piace whare poverty, virtew, and love meet and worship
together, iz the most sakred spot in this universe.

Experience don’t make a man so bo!d az it duz so careful.

Pride never forgets itself, never haz a play spell or frolik; it iz
stiff from morning till night, from top tew bottom, like a sled
stake.

Thare ain't but very Httle ginowine good sense in this world
epnv how, and what litile thare iz ain’t in market, it iz held for
adividend. . :

Thoze who hav made up their minds tew lead 4 life ov enjoy-
ment will find the following recipee a grate help tew them: ‘To
one ounce ov plezzure adil a pound ov xepentance.”’

Adversity iz a poultess which 1¢ duces our vanity and strength-
ens our virtew--cven a bey never teels halfso good az when he
haz just bin spanked and sot away tew cool.

Pedantry iz the science ov investing what little yu know in
one kind ov perfumery, and insisting uponsticking that under
every man’s knose whom yu meet.

Lieing iz like trieing few hide in a fog, if yu move about yure
are in danger ov bumping jure hed agin the truth, and az soon
az the fog blows opi, yu are gone.enny how, ; j

Marrying an angel iz the poetry ov marriage, but living with
her iz the proze; and thisiz all well enuff if the taste cv the
poetry hain’t spilte our relish for the proze. :

The man who livs on hope must pick the bones ov dissapoint-
ment. |

The Devil iz sed tew be the father ov lies, if this iz so, he haz
got a large family, and a grate menny promising children
ainung them. . :

Life iz like a mug ov beer, froth at the top, ail in the middle,
and settlings at the bottom.

We shonld liv in this life az tho we war walking on glaze ice,
ge tew fall at enny moment, and tew be laffed at bi the by-
standers.

Men, if they ain’t foo lazy, liv sumtimes till they are 80, and
destroy the time a good deal 2z follows: the fust 30 years they
spend throwing stuns at a mark, the seckond 30 they spend in
examining the mark tew see whare the stuns hit, and the re-
mainder iz divided, in cussing the stun-throwing bizzness, and
nhussing the rumatizz. i

This setting down and folding our arms, and waiting for sum-
thing tew turn up, iz just about azrich a spekulashun, az go-
ing out into a four hundred acre lot, setting down on a sharp
stone, with a pail betwen our knees, and waiting fora cow tew
back up and be milked.

a

BURNET?’S FLAVORING ExTRACTS for cooking purposes
are standard goods of the best quality, and for sale in

 

every part of the United States. ‘Take, no others.

 

 

 

 
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A WOMAN’S ANSWER
TO THE PROPOSAL OF A COXCOMB.

BY ALICE CARY.

 

You chance some day, your sort, I mean,
To see a pair ot cheeks, or eyes,
That stir you with a soft surprise;
And toward the lady straight you lean,
And coax her to you with a ring,
A pearl, a flower, or some such thing.

And if she come, and if she please,
By smiling much and saying naught,
You say you love her past all thought
And then you fall upon your knees,
And vow that you will die with pain
Unless she love you back again.

She listens with a tender sigh—
Her heart is all unsatisfied ;
But through its hunger, or its pride,
She puts away the warning cry,
And to her woman’s nature true,
* Clothes you with dearness, not your due.”

And when the courtship thus begun

Has brought about the fatal hour,

You call the priest—he calls you one;
And then the women gives her dower
Of wealth and beauty, youth and grace,
And like your shadow, takes her place.

And thenceforth scarcely dares to stir,
Holding and hoarding all her powers
For the diversion of such hours

As you may choose to grant to her;

And taking from you all her tone—

No will, no pleasure of her own.

What shall [ give of heart or hand—
What would he have me say or de?
This is her constant thought, while you

Are thinking—what shali I demand?

So by auc by, to sum in brief,

The wife and husband come to grief.

For nature, though she suffer long
And patiently; in fate’s despite,
Will in the end adjust the wrong,
And set the unequal balance right.
Hence jars and quarrels, and of course
A suit and trial for divorce.

Now when I give away my heart
I mean to choose a mate for life,
And be his true and loving wife
Until death cometh us to part—
No master and no coxcomb, I, '
Therefore I needs must write, good-by.

“S$HOO FLY.”

BY MAGGIE MARIGOLD.

 

 

 

‘The rain descended in torrents. Mighty claps of thun-
der sounded ~ver and anon, as a lumbering red stage-
coach, drawn bya powerful span of bays, rattled over
the stones of one of our Southern towns, and drew up at
“The Sun,” the largest hotel in the place.

A shower of golden curls and a girlish face appeared
at the coach window, and a voice from the inside said:

“Look, Katie, and see that there are no nuisances hang-
ing about. Here, driver, take these three bandboxes—
there, don’t upset them—and my shawl, and the big reti-
¢ule and the little reticule, and the little green bag, and
tthe brown bundle, and—the—well, I guess that’s all, in-
eluding the trunks. Oh, dear! ’'m sure you'll wet some
of them. Just leave them on the veranda, and hold the
umberel over me asl get out. Whereis the office?’

“Here, marm.”?

“Sir,” addressing the hale and hearty innkeeper, who
made his appearance at the door at this unusual volubili-
ty, flourishing his toothpick with an after-dinner air of
good will toward men, “have you any dogs here?”

“No, madam.”

+tAny whistling boys ?”’

“Not one, madam.’’

“Do you keep chambermaids who palaver with their
meee in the entries, after decent people should be in

“Not one, lady.”

“Then I would like a room here for the night.’’

“Waiter, show the ladies to No. 11.”

“Well, aunt, this looks really cosy, and it is so quiet,”
“exclaimed Kate Dennis, as she stretched her dainty feet
toward the crackling log fire, half an hour later. ‘No
“wet wrappings or snufiy stage-coach smells, besides be-
‘ing half scared to death by the lightning. And this hot
¢offee is so nice.”

. “How many times must I tell you, Katie, never to boast

f present comforts? Nothing des'roys them so surely.
“There! just hear that racket in the nextroom. I will
‘Jeave at once. No, I will write a note to the ill-bred fel-

_* lows. No,‘ you shall write it.”

“But, aunt, what can I say?”

4‘Anything to stop that din. Say that we are two in-
valid-gentlemen, traveling South for our health, and be-
ing broken of a night’s rest might cost us our lives. Why,
what is the girl domg?”

“There is a crack in the partition, auntie, and if I get
ap on the bureau, and peep through, [I can see the
wretches, and judge better how to deal with them.”

“Come, then, what do you see?’ cried old Mrs. Cha-
spin, who instinctively puton her glasses to assist the
girl’s sight.

“Nothing. There’s a ycung gentleman lying on the
ved, with his back turned toward us, reading one of
Dickens’ novels, J should say, and his darkey servant is
playing on a banjo, and singing ‘Shoo Fly,’ while he
toasts his shins before the fire.”

“Horrible!” ejaculated the old lady, while her cap-
frills quivered with suppressed indignation. ‘I should
think that a man who spends his time in reading
novels, would be a a fit person to disturb his neighbors.
J never read a novel in my life—the vile things. Get a
piece of paper, quick, and JZ will write while the spirit
«moves me. My poor nerves! Now listen:

Sin,—Will you be so kind as to request your servant to
postpone his free concert, until a more appreciative au-
dience can be collected? At present, his only auditors
are a couple of sick gentlemen, who are traveling South
for their health, and much desire quiet and rest. By so
doing you will much oblige, Yours, Respectfully,

<<Who shall I say???

“Oh, sign your son’s name, which you write so beauti-
fully. It will look asifit were your own, as you write it
so often.”

“Very well. Now get the wax, and I will seal it with
sis ring. Poor ving, Lhave carried you on my watch-
tnain for six years; ever since he ran away tosea. Oh,
my dear boy! willl eversee you again? But who will
take it to the door ?””

“J will slip it under, aunt, and knock, and run away
before they can open it.”

“You are a smart chick, Katie; and I did the wisest act
of my life, the day I adopted you. Until then I was only
& poor, lonely, miserable, old, invalid woman,’? murmutr-
ed Mrs. Chapin, as she watched her piquant companion
disappear noiselessly through the door. ‘Shoo Fly”
ceased with a sudden crack of the banjo, and a pair of
feet were heard running across the floor; but before they
weached the door, Kate’s fair curls and mischievous eyes
«appeared within her own, which she closed noiselessly.

“Well done, child. You teach me to be cheerful, not-
svithstanding trouble, Katie, by always carrying such a
sweet, bright face, yourself, and you in trouble. How
dongis it since you heard from your lover ?”?

“Kight months, auntie.’

“aVhat was the name ?’?

«Henry Nye. He did not write me for thee months after
he left; then you met me and took me traveling.”

“Have patience, Katie, we will soon return to your vil-
jage, and perchance you will have news of him. Would
that Z could hope, But there is none forme. Ah, me!
Harry ran away from England six years ago. If he were
still living, surely [should have heard from him. Oh,my
aeair Harry, you were always a darling son until you be-
<ame crazy for the ocean. He is probably sleeping ’neath
the cold waves.’’

A quick, ringing knock at the door.

“Oh aunt, it must be the gentleman in the next room.
i heard him come from there. What shall we do?’

“Do, child? Why leave it to me.”

Stepping to the door, without opening it, she said, ina
low, gruff voice, taking a huge pinch of snnffto keep up
her courage, “‘Who 1s it? Can’t be seen just now.”’

“The gentleman who recived a note from Harry Cha-
pin. Heis afriend, and wishes to see him,” replied a
musical voice, from without.

At this moment, a start and a scream from Kate tipped
the lamp onto the floor.

The old lady stood as if petrified.

The door flew open, and the gentleman dashed in to
their assistance. It did not explode, and—most accom-
modating lamp—it did not goout. The gentleman re-
placed it on the table, and then glanced at his two inva-
did gentlemen neighbors.

The cheeks of each ef the party paled, and the elderly
iady threw herself into the gentleman’s arms, crying:

**My long lost son !”?

Kate’s face turned white, then red, and finally settled
india a deadly pallor, and she stood, tottering against the
bureau.

_ The gentleman sprang to her assistance, supported her
‘iN his arms, and sprinkled her face with water, much to
the consternation of Mrs. Chapin.

The pale face on his shoulder slowly suffused with
blushes; the violet eyes returned the gaze of love from
the brown orbs bent above them, and the rosy lips mur-
moured:

“Ohi, Henry, where have you been so long ?’’

_“For three months after leaving you, darling, I was too
sick to write or dictate a line, and when I recovered suf-
ficiently [received no replies. I was on my way home to
demand an explanation.”

“My son, sit down, and tell me why I was forsaken ?”’

“Mother, I am overpowered by this strange meeting—
this double blessing. 1 was young and headstrong when
Iran away from home, I was just mad to gotosea, I

went. I wrote, and received answers for about a year.
Then the captain, who was possessed to adopt me, and al-
ways said if I would take his name he would make me his
heir, sent me a letter (I have since learned this) purporting
to come from one of our friends (Captain Nye was from our
village, you remember), saying that you were dead. I
was terribly shocked and conscience-stricken that I had
deserted you, my only relative; and fearing that my con-
duct had hurried you into your grave, I could not bear the
thought of again visiting the scenes of my childhood. .
was sick at heart, and ready for any change. I consent-
ed'to become Captain Nye’s adopted son, and to take his
name—and his money. At his death, a few months since,
in Alabama, he confessed to have concocted the story of
your death, to get me. I intended to sail for England at
once, but was taken suddenly very ill. Oh, mother! oh,
Katie! how wonderful is this meeting !””

“] have gained a son and a daughter,” exclaimed the
old lady, smiling through her tears, as she gazed proudly
upon the handsome couple at her feet.

“I really think I could stand another verse of ‘Shoo
Fly,” she added, “in honor of the occasion. it has brought
us together. Blessed be ‘Shoo Fly’! I always hated it
before.” :

Wool was summoned, and with great eyes, and greater
mouth, continued his free concert; and the landlord de-
cided that he should have to step up-stairs and warn the
noisy people that there was a lady in the house who had
particularly requested quiet.

 

»

 

guage, his invention was something extraordinary, for I
have heard him keep up a string of nonsense, after the
manner of the foregoing, by the hour at a stretch.

My office-window was directly opposite his toy-stand,
and I never could understand how he managed to make
a living, for he would often stand sedately, spouting his
doggerel for hours, without disposing of a paltry piece.
But he must have managed somehow, for he always ap-
peared well-clad, thrifty and contented. Like enough, he
performed night-work in the shop of some large dealer in
toys—I am informed that many of them do.

There were twocheap-toy makers in dingy Ann street
apartments, immediately back of the Broadway building
in which I had my desk, and which I with a number or
others, could easily overlook. Their shops—mere eight-
by-ten dens, filled with little benches, glue-pots, fragments
of unfinished gimcracks, and other paraphernalia of their
small trade—were only seperated from each other by a
low board-partition, which either could easily overlook
by tip-toe observation.

They were continually quarreling—disputing each
other’s inventions, most likely—and furnished us with
frequent amusement, One was a tall Italian, whom ru-
mor reputed to have been a count in his own sunny land
—if rumor was correct, he was certainly the seediest-
looking count I had ever seen. The other was a thin,
wiry, gray-goated German, who evidently prided himself
in overcoming bis rival’s pomp of pedigree by his own in-
tellectual superiority as an inventive genius—something

 

 

<a THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. =>

 

pennies the wounds of the young rascal, who would go on
his way rejoicing, and with twenty or thirty times the
price of his top in his pocket.

A favorite and profitable trick of some of the toy-mer-
chants is to ‘force trade,’’ as they call it, in this wise:

They will wait for some aristocratic urchin to be mo-
mentarily attracted from his mother’s side by the glitterjof
the toys, and wili then, as if totally oblivious of mamma’s
proximity, fall to apostrophizing the child as cherub
from beyond the skies.

“What bootiful hair yer got! Andthem eyes—that face!
I declare you look like a werry prince—like an angel of
light! An’ all alone, too! Come, I’ll make you a present
of this purty trumpet for the sake of your beauty, young
master!’?

He will bestow a tiny trumpet, worth at cost price about
an eighth of a cent, which of course the,child will eagerly
seize. Muaimma will interfere; but, as the toy-man will ob-
sequiously refuse the return of the trumpet, she will prob-
ably, outof gratitude for his praise of her child’s good-
looks, purchase a number of his articles, from which he
will reap profit.

—_-——_> +

A new story, entitled ‘SCHEMING MADELON; or, The
Secret Doom !" will soon be commenced. Itis by the Au-
thor of **Peerless Cathleen,’ ‘“‘Lady of Grand Court,’ and
“Rose of Kendale.’

 

 

 

A PAPER WEDDING.
Present Your Card.

“me,
Ss}
- YS > A
A SILVER WEDDING.

Twenty-five Years! Your Friends and Yourself
Grey. Present a Lock of Your Hair.

  

 

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A WOODEN WEDDING.
A Washtub will always be acceptable.

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/ AGOLDWEDPING. — |
A Toothpick is ‘the Clfeapest Investment. —_

HINTS FOR WEDDING GIFTS.

      
  

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A TIN WEDDING.
As there will be a Number of Children about this
time, Invest in Savings’ Banks, and receive
the gratitude of the Parents,
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A DIAMOND WEDDING.
Pure Carbon.

 

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roared in its fury, and I expected each minute the old
ship would go to pieces. ’

“After hours, that seemed ages to me, morning dawned.
All day the hulk lay in the trough of the sea, with the
Waves breaking over her decks. Strongly built craft as
she was, she Couldn’t stand such a weight of water as
continually broke over her. Iwas almost exhausted from
want of food and sleep, but managing to get to the cabin,
which was full of water, I fished round until I found some
soaked hard tack anda couple Of bottles of the skipper’s
wine, After satisfying my appetite I stowed all 1 could
in a tarpaulin, and lashed it to my back. The booby-
hatch on the main deck had not been washed away, and,
lashing myself to it, I cut it loose fromthe bolts, and the
next sea carried me on its crest far to leeward of the
wreck that was fast settling, and couldn’t have remained
above water half an hour longer.

“Drenched as I was, I fell asleep, and it was morning
when l awoke, The sun was shining brightly, and the
sea had gone down considerably.

“For two weeks I drifted about before I was picked up
by another whaler, almost dead from suffering and ex-
posure. No one believed my story, but said I had
dreamed it or my suffering had d me. Now, my
boy, my yarn is spun, believe it or not, as you will, it will
never be effaced from my memory, It is almost dark,
and time we were bound home.”
aon ended the old man’s strange story of the Phantom

Pp.

Items of Interest.

4a> Eaton Rapids, Mich., has three magnetic mineral
springs. the water of which is so highly charged that a
common jack-knife, drawn a few times across the iron
heading of the tube willpick up an eightpenny nail.
Pitchers and tin pails, after standing sometime with this
oe in them, become corroded on the inside as with
ron rust.

aay It has been ascertained that there is a perceptible
difference in time between the beat of the heart and the
puise at the wrist, the time occupied being the 235,000th
| of a second, This fact furnishes data that may be of
great value in detecting aneurisms in some of the large
arteries,

nar Western Texas will not again be subject to drouths,
as it is fast becoming a timber country. Within the last
ten years the whole face of the country has been changed,
and young forests are now growing in what was formerly
one vast prairie.

ga Two old pumps in London, with the handles re-
moved, have been mistaken for letter-boxes by stupid
people, and thirty or forty leiters, supposed to liave been
“stolen in tne post-office,” have been recovered from

 

 

 

them.

Ba Recently, a beggar stopped at a house near Raven-
na, Ohio, over night, and the following morning died
from heart disease. The coroner’s jury found $1,000.35
sewed up in his ragged clothing.

aaG> A man in Indiana on his way with his bride to
the depot, was rudely stop vy an undertaker, who
demanded payment of a bill for burying his first wife.
The father of the new bride liquidated the bill.

2#a5- A Southern paper reports that Mobile is anxious to
~ joined to the State of Mississippi, and thinks it belongs

nere. 3%.

nar The chestnut constitutes the chief food of the
mountaineers of the Alps. It is ground into flour, and
with it bread, cakes, and puddings are made.

4@- A brother and sister in an Indiana town weigh
respectively 593 and 680 pounds, and the oldest is only
2lyears of age. '

Sa California is sending strawberries, peas, aspara-
gus, and other summer luxuries to the East in refrigera-
tor cars.

gar The New Hampshire Gazette, published at Ports:
mouth, New Hampshire, is the oldest newspaper in
America.

 

naar The last hen story comes from Crawford county,
Illinois, where a hen has laid a triple egg, or three eggs
fastened to each other.

a> The Michigan crops are said to promise well. The
deep snows of the winter have been a blessing to the
farmers.

sar A land certificate of 640 acres, was sold at auction,
in front of the Court House, at Corsicano, Texas, the
other day, at forty cents per acre.

sar Six amendments to the Constitution of Missouri are
to be voted upon, at the general election, in the fall.

Bar A horse belonging in Watertown, Conn., lately
died from fright at the sight of an approaching railroad
train. t

Rar Since the ist of January, 735 tons of crude phos-
phate have been shipped from Cuarleston to England.

gay An Elmira gentleman advertises a “nice situation
for the young lad who has never yet sung ‘Shoo Fly.’ ”

nap Negro newsboys have made their appearance in
Cincinnati.

2a They make three Yankee clocks every minute du-
ring working hours, at Bristo), Conn.

4a A process for the manufacture of artificial butter
has been patented in France. Die
_ gap Celery used as a salad is said to be a sovereign
eure for palpitation of the heart. a

sap All the compositors onan Indiana paper were lately
baptized together, che aren j

4a Two new iron bridges arein process of building in
Syracuse. re

 

 

Metropolitan Pen Pictures.

 

BY NATHAN D. URNER. —

SIDEWALK TOY MERCHANTS,

Ten or twelve years ago, I think all the street toy deai-
ers on Broadway might have been numbered on the

 

  
   
  

fingers of one hand, and now there musi be half a hun-
dred, or more. s ae 4

At any rate, they are so numerous, that. descrip-
tion of them cannot but be of interest, esp to those
hundred of thousands of the NEw YorK W LY readers

who reside far from the great city. They line Broadway,
particularly on the western side, from Old Trinity to
Union Square, and even beyond, and comprise numerous
nationalities and strange characters. The majority of
these cheap wares are made in New York—often by the
rough men who sell them—and new varieties are invent-
ed and patented almost daily. It would be next to im-
possible to enumerate the novel toys that have had birth
and death since the day when the simple jumping-jacks
of our infancy was a cheap and popular plaything.

Many a nervous lady-shopper has been made to squeal
prettily upon the street by one of those swarthy itiner-
ants dancing before her eyes india-rubber beeties, and
tarantulas oscillated threateningly upon an elastic thread.
Many an another has had her stock of change depleted by
the sudden enthusiasm displayed by the petted urchin at
her side for some new spindle top, self-acting tin wagon,
or jointed somersaulter of painted wood.

One old fellow used to sell boxes of what he called
‘Parlor Beetles,’ whieh exploded with a sharp percus-
sion directly upon receiving the pressure ofthe foot. There
were numerous other modes for frightening the fair sex
in the guise of jointed serpents, mimic mice, that squeal
lustily ata mere touch, and rampant rats, of galvanic
ferocity.

A driving trade has also existed in patent puzzles, from

which, considering their cheapness.and simplicity (when
you knew how to work them,) almost incredible sums
have been realized.
The patentee of one of these, which consisted of noth-
ing more than a loop of wire piercing two or three rings,
and which was retailed at ten cents, was said, and gener-
ally believed, to have profited to the tune of twenty-thou-
sand ‘dollars, during the brief period of its popularity.

Another very similar one reaped money for the itiner-
rants, but brought little or nothing to the inventor, who
had deemed his production as too trivial for patenting.

But, to return to the street merchants themselves.
Many of them are smart, glibe-tongued Yankee boys, who
crowd into the trade with native enterprise; but the ma-
jority are [talians, Germans and Swiss.

There used to be one of the latter nationality, who sold
many varieties of cheap toys atthe railing of St. Paul’s
Church. He was a huge, brawny, statuesque, red-whisk-
ered, good-natured man, who may many a time have fur-
nished a bullet-target for any of the South German battles,
but who undoubtedly found a@ more agreeable, if less
noble vocation, in selling toys. 4

He was quite a rhymer, as indeed most of the street-
people happen, or are supposed to be. His knowledge of
Engiish orthoepy, to be sure, was somewhat distinguished
by a native accent; but this was rather amusing, consid-
ering the commanding and heroic figure he cut while de-
scanting upon his wares, to the gaping-mouttied urchins,
and grinn'ng children Of a larger growth, who would occa-
sionally gatheraround him. He would proceed with great
dignity, exhibiting thisor that knick-kuack as be drawl-
ed out his doggery.

I sells shimali doys
For leetie poys,
Unt for leetle giris,
Mit dere pooty curls;
Now, Vatch dis soldfer vile I makes him yump!
Now he pees down,
. Like von gobblé stone,
Now, Himmel! he’s oop again vith von good kerolump!
Der brice is a qoater,
Your fader unt mutter
Vould laugh to see de leetle man yump.
now, gentlesmans,
Holds dight in mine hans
Der shpindie dops
Vich, soon ash von drops,
Goes fiz, fiz! now dere, bow here,
Ash nish as zwie glasses lacher-pier.
Der brice ish den cents,
Dirt ishn’t no cheaper,
You pays me der creen-packs,
Untden you may keep her.
Mine doys ish made in Switzerland,
I sells dem for nutting vere I shtand;
Ise'ls my doys
For leetie poys
Ash don't make no noise;
Unt tor leetle girls,
b Mit dare purty curls
Vaich now how de sphindle-dop virls.

Considering the classic Switzer’s knowledge of our lan

 

 

which he of Italia's clime evidently could not be made to.
view in the same irradiation. ‘ kas a",

“Der birt! der birt is de heart of the wart we
times hear the I'alian soliloguise sufficiently
competitor to hear. 5th os P

“Ah, ven the idiotics is de only specimenations of birt,
vot anobles tings it must pee ’. would meditatively r
minate the German, in-a shrill, shrieking voice. w 13

A few more similar genial soliloquies would bring the.
two faces confronting each other over the partition, when
a stormy passage of epithets would ensue, combining re-
iterated boasts a8 to the merits and saléability of their
respectivé.toys.. After one of tilese passages—I positive-
ly think they. enjoyed themselves, that they obtained
therefrom a sort of necessary stimulant in the absence of
alcohol, which. probably their poverty did not enable
them to enjoy, for soon after'them they would quietly set-
tle down to their litle oenches, and go to work with their
little hammers, awls, Kflives and glue brushes; now fast-
ening an armor leg to a half-finished soldier, then past-
ing sheep’s wool on the backs of preposterous poodles and
impossible dromedaries, with busy fingers, and, no doubt,
active minds. Bota day was a dull one when we were
not entertained with several squabbles between them.

Upon one day, however, a particularly violent storm of
epithets from the toy-makers’ quarters called us to our
windows, to witness a scene of mutual rage which threat-
ened to culminated in physical hostility, The cause of the
encounter, as it afterward transpired, was somewhat re-
markable. ~ : ee

It seems that each, without the other being aware of it,
had for a long time been engaged upon some'complicated,
back-action toy, upon the strength of. which each expect-
ed to get a patent and achieve his fame as well fortune-
Each had started by differentroutes for the patent office
on the same morning, with his model under his arms.

They had met at the door, and, after glaring wildly at
each other; had proceeded within to lay their respective
treasures before the registry clerk. What was the rage
and consternation of both to find the models, upon being
bared to the eritical eye, to be one and the same apparatus,
with scarcely an item of difference. ss

They looked at each other, and, starting 19 a low, moan-
ing Key, had risen intoa mutual howl, One: had stolen
ideas from the other, or each from each. The registry
clerks, thinking them either insane, or swindlers, had
had them summarily ejected from the premises; and the
rivals had then, by mutual naturai een sped to the
usual theater of thetr disputes, to have it out over the
partition, which accounted for the tempest of which we
were now the witnesses. .

The Italian resembled an eruption of Vesuvius, and the
German a goblin rout in the cavern of the Brocken.

“You has been into mine shop, stealin’ mine ideas |”
shrieked one.

“Base plebian!’* hissed. the other; “is it for this that I
ie ei co your acquaintance with a man of noble
birth

“Birt be burned!’ screamed the German.
in the dead of night, and steals mine ideas.”’

“Thou liest! Thou did’st rob me of the inspiration of
the camel’s sapphire tail.”

“Vare is mine donkey’s flap-ear, eh? vere is mine doll-
baby’s flannel ear-rings, unt my squeak machine unter the
pootie-pup? you tief of de middle of der nicht!’

“Diavolo!"?

“Ponder and blixen!’’

“Ah!??

“Bh?

They could stand it no longer, but, with mingled oaths
and cries, tackled each other by the ears. Their tip-toe
footing then giving way, they stumbled and fell, hanging
by the wriSts; the frail partition rocking and quivering
beneath their weight, and they bellowing forth their an-
athemas over the top. -

How it would have ended, I know not, had not some

workmen, employed somewhere in the same building,
broken into the apartment, and torn them apart.
_ There were more words, bat, wonderfal to relate, in ten
or fifteen minutes, each was quietly pegging and pasting
away at his own bench. Probably the conscience of each
had something to do with the sudden cessation of hostili-
ties, the one having been stealing from the other, without
the other one knowing it, and vice versa.

There were two lads who used to sell little tin humming-
tops near the St. Nicholas Hotel entrance, who had divers
tricks of the trade, which savored as much of ingenuity
as ofimpudence. They would offer their tops for sale to
the country guests loafing about the hotel-Joor; and when
any one good-naturedly condescended to notice them, one
would offer to spin his top on top of the gentleman’s hat.
If the giossy surface was so much as ruffled, the gentle-
man should have the top for nothing.

If the offer was good-naturedly accepted, of course the
first whir of the sharp-pointed top would perforate the
glossy stovepipe through and through. The greenhorn
would most likely testify his indignation by Kicking and
cuffing the boy severely. The boy would bawl and squeal
and create sympathyin his favor. Bystanders, not know-
ing the merits of the case, would interfere, and salve with

“You comes

” 4 me-
loud for his’

 

 

“THE PHANTOM SHIP.
AN OLD TAR’S STORY.

BY F. L. B.

 

 

Tt was at the close of an autumn day that I and an old
Sailor, familiarly called by the boys in the village, Old
Jack, sat upon the verge of the clifl, gazing pensively out
upon the blue waters, watching the sun sinking like a
ball of fire behind the threatening clouds on the horizon.

For along time he had been silent; he seemed to be
thinking over hiis past experience. I suddenly awakened
him from his reverie by saying: — 2 aaa
‘ shes tore as though we would have a nasty night,

ac 4

“Yes, we will that,” he answered; ‘‘the wind has been
along time getting around into this quarter, and now we
shall have it heavy—a reg’lar nor’easter.”’ >

“What were you thinking ofa few moments ago, Jack,
when you were looking away off there ?””

“J was thinking of something that you wouldn’t believe
if I told you—something that happened years ago, that
no one has ever yet believed, and so | never tellof it
now. ne

I was always ready to listen to the old sailor's stories,
for they were invariably good and true. Being a favorite
of his 1 knew it needed only a little coaxing to make him
“spin a yarn,’ as he termed it. Accordingly I coaxed him
to relate the one he referred to, until he said:

“Well, Billy my boy, (he always called me ‘my boy’)
('ll spin the yarn for you, though I expect, afore it’s half
reeled off. vou’ll think the old man’s turned to lying.
However here she goes:

“About thirty-five years ago I shipped aboard the Nan-
tucket at New Bedford, for a three years’ cruise. We
were in’ the North Pacific, ising around with our
barrels half full, when one ni the sun set just as you
see him now, and it looked like as we’d have a hard blow
afore the morning watch came on deck.. The skipper had
the ship put under close reefed top-sails and stay-sails
and all made snug below.

“J was in the middle watch, and afore eight bells all
hands were roused.on deck to furl the fore and mizzen
topsails. Laying aloft I was soon in the slings hard at
work on the bunt, when in passing the gasket I chanced
to look to wind’ard. Never will I forget the feeling that
came over me at what I saw. Bearing right down on us
was a big ship with everything set, even to studdin’ sails.
Gliding along like a duck, she lay over as though under
a genile six Knot breeze; the seas that every moment sent
our yard arm in the waves seemed to pass under her and
go down as though afraid !

“She passed rignt across our bows so we:could see the
whole of her decks. At the wheel stood a ‘figure that
m my hair stand on end—it was the skeleton of a man,
th nes appearing to be covered with a transparent
bluish white light, and the eyeless sockets filled with it!
Balls of phosphorescent light glided up and about the rig-
ging and yards and rolled about the decks.

“Ag she cleared our bows her ports flew open and a sheet
of blue fire burst forth, though not a sound of the ghostly
cannonade could be heard. The balls of light began slid-
ing down the rigging end off the yards. The skeleton
left the wheel and moved to the mainmast, the balls of
light congregating around him and moving up and dowz
as though dancing with delight.

“Struck dumb by the spectacle, we stood clinging to the
yard amidst the lashing ribbons of the sail that had been
blown from the bolt ropes.

“One brave old skipper was the first to awaken from
our terror, and sound through his trumpet:

“<Ship ahoy !? She seemed to stop in her career, and
held at a cable’s length to leeward. ‘What ship is that?’
he continued, fearlessly.

“The only answer we received was the increased roar
of the gale, the fierce dancing of the luminons balls and a
menacing gesture from the wild figure in their midst.

«Seamen are superstitious, and we had all heard of the
sailor’s terror, the Phantom Sbip; and we knew our time
had come; the cruise of all but one of us was over.

“Our skipper had hailed twice; once again and his fate
would be sealed; he would be the first victim. Again he
raised the trumpet to his mouth, and shouted, ‘Aboard—’
It was.his last word; the trumpet fell to the deck, and
om speckled with blood, flew from his lips!. He was
mad.

“As he shohuted tat last word, the ghostly helmsman
raised his arm, the bajls danced wilder than ever—it fell;
the ports opened; a dazzling glare of lightning blinded
us; @ crash, and our masts had gone by.the board; I
alone of those on the yards ever reaching the deck... We
looked to leeward for the Phantem Ship. She was gone!
One skipper lay dead, struck by the lightning of the
ghostly broadside. i

“Paralyzed with terror, we clung to the nearest ropes,
while the seas washed over our decks. One by one my
mates lost their hold and went to leeward, until I alone

remained on the ill-iated Nantucket. The storm still

 

LITTLE BUCKSHOT!

' i HE : j :
White-Whirlwind of, the Prairies!

The great success of the story of ‘Buffalo Bill,’ having
shown the Publishers how much the people like pictures
of real and vivid adventure, based on fact, in character
and description, we are rejoiced to give them a new and

THRILLING TALE

from the pen of thesame author. And, as before, he has
chosen a noted and notable HERO, in the person of

Mr. Conrad Wentworth,

now the guide and regimental Scout of the 2d TU. S. Cay-
alry, under General Augur, and engaged actively on the
plains. Letters from prominent army officers give this
gentleman so many noble attributes, that we are pleased
to see our favorite author pick him out as the

HERO OF HIS CHOICE,
for a new Western tale, sure to surpass all his previous
efforts, successful as they have been.
A DEAD SHOT,

SPLENDID RIDER,
DARING SCOUT, and
SKILLFUL GUIDE,
FEARED BY THE RED MEN,

honored by the whites, this noted Scont is known all over
the great West. But the story does not all center on him.

FAIR, PURE WOMEN,
take their part in the wild drama, a crazed and maddened

GIANT

has a part to play—the Great War Chief of the North
West, .

 

RED CLOUD,
is shown up as he is, while the half-breed,
JOHN RESHAU,
a notorious Renegade, is pictured to the life, and meets
a punishment as dire as it is well merited. In short, this
last, greatest work of

“NED BUNTLINE,”

is destined, we feel, to realise our proudest hopes and
most sanguine desire to push the “New Y$RkK WEEKLY”
to a circulation of 400,000 weekly copies. We are not
given to boasting, or apt to indulge in dreams either,
NEW FEATURES

ar@introduced in this tale, which imitators will not follow
without great difficulty. Let every reader beon the qui
vive, and inform his friends also, of the “‘coming event”
which cast no shadows before, leaves none to follow, but
will move forward in

TRIUMPHANT LIGHT
into a high place in the Literary World.

The whole story, from the first chapter to the last, is
fall of ; t
LIFE AS LIFE fs;
and as Colonel Judson has seen it in hisown adventurous
travels on the plains, in the Rocky Mountains, and

AMONG THE SAVAGES
of the boundless Empire of the Far, Far West.

 

 

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