¥ rtrere Sianeli Vol. XXV. FRANCIS 8. THE SONG MY FATHER SANG. BY E. WENBORN. They are floating through the air to-night, In cadence deep and strong; The fine olélays of happy days, Passed by, so long, so long. The hunter's song, with chorus wild, Whose ‘tally ho” filled the air; The evening songs of merry maids, yearstonight * e closed their eyes to-night j ’ er Ms lowly grave; / And the moonlight tays, like a silver shield, On the breast of the ocean wave. But never again, at evening-trme, Wil] he make the chorus ring— Ob, never again, in joy or pain, Can I hear my father sing. STREET, SuITH, \ Proprietors, They are ringing in my ears to-night, As oft of yore they rang; The sweet, sad lays of vanished days— The songs my father sang. BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR. Scheming Wadelon;: THE SECRET DOOR. By the Author of ‘Peerless Cathleen,’’ ‘Lady of Grand Court,’’ and ‘*Rose of Kendale.?? “Scheming Madelon’* was commenced in No. 31. Back num- bers cau be hadtrom News Agents throughout the country.] CHAPTER III. They call thee false as thou art fair, They call the fair and free; A creature pliant as the air, And changeful as the sea.—ANon, Presently the towers of Marsden Cathedral loomed in- to sight, and all the architectural glories of its buturesses, pinnacles, and mimareis stood out like a painting against the purple sky. The heart of Madelon beat with something like fear, or at least anxiety, as the little chaise driven by the voluble Mrs. Gandy Dashington bowled over the: ‘Ja stone bridge which spanned the river, and formed tie entrance fo the old-fashioned town of Marsden. Presently the little pony-chaise was clattering over the stones of the longstreet Known as Monk’s Hill. t The shops were closed, the pavements were empty, the moon looked sweetly down upon the projecting fronts of the ancient houses. Suddenly the cathedral clock chimed out the hour of eleven. Long and lingeringly the solemn voice vibrated through the air, seeming to utter tones of melancholy warning to the sleeping town. “T have spoken to you for two hundred years,’’ said the bell, ‘I haye warned you, young men and maidens, old men and children, of the shortness of life, of the flight of time, ‘of tne certainty‘of death. You have listened to me, oh, men of Marsden, from the days when you lay in your cradles, wondering what I was, and what I said to you. I have chimed out the hours. for your love trysts when you came to maturer years. 1 have clanged out merrily, with the clashing bells of all my climes, to herald in the day of your wedding. As time has passed on, 1 have spoken to you now encouragingly, now warningly; always kindly, and in the tones of.a friend. Amid the toils of business, the turmoil and care of life,I have called to you once in, every hour; I have admonished you that the minutes as they ran into hours, and the hours as they rolled: into days, should shine with the luster of good deeds dane. When your loved ones have been laid to rest beneath my chancel vaults, I have mourned for you; the sound has rung through your town ina cry unutterable by human voice. But when I have called you to prayer and praise on the Sabbath morn, I havecalled to you with the voice of hope; I have prophesied of the glad awakening; I have filled you with thoughts of the happy land where death cannot enter, and where time shall be no more.” So spoke the minster clock to the dreaming town, and its majestic voice thrilled to the soul of Madelon; but awakenedin her no noble feelings—no purer impulse. “IT hate that bell,” she said to herself; “something in its tones makes me shudder.”’ “Now, my dear,” cried Mrs. Gandy, turning her po- nies’ heads under a grim old archway, built by -the monks five hundred years before; “this is the way to — Cathedral Close. We must go on, and ring at the bell.’’ if “Oh, no, madam!’ cried Madelon. “My uncle does not know—at least” (correcting herself) ‘he is :very likely asleep, and I must make as little. noise as possible. So, ifyou will allow meto get out here just under the arciway, 1 shall be'very much obliged to you.’ Miss Gould spoke so earnestly that Mrs. Dashington did not contest the point. . She drewup the ponies, Madelon descended lightly with a spring to the ground, shook hands with her voluble friend, andran toward the house of her uncle. She paused irresolute before the trim-old garden, and its box edges and square beds of flowers, The house lay back against the night sky; how. calm, sleepy, and respectable it looked ! “Everybody is in bed,” said Madelon to herself. .‘*No- body knows thatI am out here shivering in blue muslin at eleven o’clock at night, for the wind has come up chill from the river.” j The gate was not closed, so she entered the garden, and then walked round to the back of thehouse. The Ser- vants’ offices were all fastened, only there was a con- servatory door which she fancied might be unlocked, She tried the handle, and found that it was asshe wished. She waiked into the warm air and inhaled the perfume of Indian plants, shrubs,and blossoms, for, as has been Said, Matthew Gould was a connoisseur in flowers. Mad- elon went on and tried the door whichled into the house —it was firmly locked onthe other side. Madelon had no choice; She must pass the night in the conservatory. She could submit philosophically to circumstances when they were inevitable, so she sat upon a soft arm chair, leaned back her head, and dropped off to sleep. She was awakened by the bright June sun shining hotly upon her head through the glass of the conservatory. It fad not been a wholesome sleeping chamber; the smell of the plants and the warm air had given Miss Gould a raging headache, the very malady she had feigned the previous day. She rose and went out into the garden; there the cool air revived her. After taking a few turns she boldly entered the house, for she found the back door open, and the servants busied in their household work. “Good gracious, Miss Gould, you look like a ghost!” exclaimed a sharp voice, On the landing of the back stairs Madelon encountered no less a personage than Mrs. Dean, her’ uncle’s housc- keeper. Mrs. Dean wore a high front of reddish colored curls, fastened down tightly with hair pins, a large white cap trimmed with purple bows, .a morning dress of gaudy print. Mrs. Dean. Was neatness and cleanliness itself, but she loved glaring colors, and she had not good taste; her face was round and rosy, good natured, and @ littlé conceited, and somewhat stupid; or rather, perhaps? one should say, somewhat weak; and credulous in its express- ion. Mrs. Dean was. stout and comely in figure, and about fifty-five years of age, “I have been so ill all night, Dean,”’ said Madelon, “and I got up this morning and tried to take a little airing in the garden; but it was of no use;I must go to bed again, and will youlet me havea cup of hot tea, and abit of toast??? _ “Good gracious! it is no wonder, my dear, that you are ill. Remember that you eat nothing all day yesterday; and you would not answer, though I kept knocking and knocking, after I had read that little note which. you threw out in the passage to Say you were ill, and would hot be disturbed all day. I thought it was cruel to leave | you, so I came with tea, and I came with soup, and with Jelly, pent pudding and strawberries, but all was no use; and at last I got your uncle to come, and he knocked and knoeked. -‘Madelon,’ he said, ‘such obstinacy is wicked- ness.’ But you answered no more:than the dead, and he ‘went’ away disgusted like;-and oh, Miss Madelon; my dear, I hope-you-have not put‘yourself out of your uncle’s will by any such folly; for he says as he walks away, says he, ‘A hice vixen she Would be to manage a property. Women want to be kept down, and I will see that madam Shall not lord it and queen it one of these days, as she ex- pects to do.’ Madelon was already pale from the effects of her night spent in the conservatory among the plants; but a sickly, nay, a livid hue spread itself over her exquisite features in listening to the words of Mrs. Dean; she caught at the eee for support, ‘her lips moved, but she did not speak. ' “My dear young lady, you are quite ill,” cried Mrs. Dean; ‘lean: on'me, my dear, and let us get up to your room as quickly as possible.”? Madelon pushed away the housekeeper. “No, no,” she said, “I will get up to my room alone; and do you bring me up some nice, strong, hot tea;)’ for Madelon Knew that if the housekeeper saw her bed she would guess that it had not been slept on the night be- fore. vi ; | _Madelon passed swiftly up stairs, thrust her key into thé lock of ‘hér door, entered her room, undressed, and got into bed before the housekeeper appeared. with the liot tea. “To think of your wearing your best bonnet to wulk in the garden before breakfast!? observed Mrs. Dean,, while Madelon was ‘sipping her tea. ‘I will put it away for you, and the blue muslin dress. Dear me, how: it’s smeared with the green, as if you had been to a picnic and been dining on the grass,”’ Through any other mind than that of Mrs. Dean a shrewd'suspicion would have penetrated, but Mrs. Dean’s was innocence itself. She soon went down stairs, and Madelon sank into a deep sleep, All through the long hot summer day she slept soundly. When she awoke the sun was sinking redly in the west, and she was alert, refreshed, in bounding health, her headache was gone, and she felt nerved by an indomita- ble energy which tingled to her very finger’s ends. “To-night old Grimm comes,” she said to herself, “and I must hear all that old Grimm hears. 1 must. be: listen- ing behind the secret door. I wonder what I shall hear!” Then she sprang out of bed, bathed her face, wound her long hair about her head, dressed herself in plain black.silk, and a small white collar, which imparted an air as of a convalescent, to her drooping figure and pale, beautiful countenance, (for she purposely walked with a ‘sort of languor,) anid she entered her uncle’s presence in the dining-room with the air of a martyr. The cloth was laid and the hot dishes were being car- ried in, Matthew Gould turned away from the window where he had been contemplating the last ruddy lights aa sunset. Madelon approached him with outstretched lands. “Oh, uncle, I have been so ill,”?.and she put her snowy embroidered handkerchief to her eyes. “It ig singular that you could not manage to answer me yesterday, when 1 made such particular inquiry at your door,” returned her uncle, coldly, relinqnishing her hand. .*If you were so ill you should have seen a doctor. But I believe your illness arose from bad temper, because [ forbade your going to that foolish jete at Flamborough Court. ‘I wish you to understand, young lady, once for all, tlyat you will attend no parties or etes, and therefore it will be troublescme if you make a point of being ill every time any amusement takes place in the neigh- b hood, Now sit down and let me help you to some soup. Madelon.was hungry, and she partook heartily of, the dainties spread on her uncle’s table.’ Her uncle did not speak to her more than once or twice during. the meal. He was surely an ungracious, cold companion for this im- pulsive, pleasure-loving young creature. Amidethe ter- rible events which followed after, it was possible that the world, seeking excuse for beautiful Madelon, might point the finger of reproach toward the cold, unsyMmpathizing, if not absolutely tyrannical Matthew Gould. “What a life! what a life!” muttered Madelon to herself. “Bat, and drink, and sleep, and have prayers, and walk in the garden. Sleep, and drink, and eat, walk in the garden, and have prayers, So the time passes with me— first Mrs. Dean to speak to, and then Uncle Matthew. After that Mrs. Dean again, and once more Uncle MADELON GAZED FASCINATED O “BD EL REET & SMITH, IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK. a a OR a 8 Lo —=>= iy Atty i ‘a | wi l Hi OH Cal Kit ut Matthew. longer.” The wine and fruit were placed upon the table. Her uncle poured out.a glass of wine for her, and she helped herself to some strawberries, Just at’this moment came a knock at the hall-door, and a few minutes after, Mr. Grimm, solicitor, was ushered into the dining-room. Mr. Grimm was a tal], bony man, with iron-gray hair, cut short and combed straight on his temples without any parting; he had gray eyes, deeply set in his head, a wide, ugly mouth, on which sat a fawning, perpetual smile. He wore a suit of black, relieved by a white neck- cloth. “Take a seat, Mr. Grimm,” said Madelon’s uncle, waiv- ing his hand courteously, to the lawyer. . ‘‘Let me recom- mend this Burgundy, or would you prefer port ?”” Mr. Grimm preferred port; he partook also of almonds and raisins, Matthew Gould gave a signal to his niece to retire, and Madelon went swiftly out of the room, with a very slight and haughty bow to Mr. Grimm. ‘Beautiful creature |’ said .Mr. Grimm, when she dis- appeared, and he sighed like a young loveras he spoke. “‘Madelon is a fine girl,’ returned her uncle, holding a glass of Burgundy between his eyes and the lamp-light, “but she wants taming, and I have not the time or talent to turn school-master in my old days, Ishould be glad to get the girl married, if I could find a husband old enough and, wise enough to undertake tlie taming of the young shrew., I wiil never give my consent to hérmarry- ing a young jackanapes of the present day. They are all alike, all simpletons,”’ continued the uncle, sipping his claret. “If I might only presume,’ said Mr. Grimm, looking down at the tablecloth with an ugly leer, “to suppose that you intended for me a boon so precious as the hand of Miss Gould I shouid be the happiest man in England to-night,” : - Matthew Gould smiled a little, scornfully, “I could never understand that.kind of thing,’ he said, ‘not even when I was a young man; and you have never married—you have lived all your. life with your clerks, and your sister Miss Martha Grimm; this girl would.up- set your household.’’ “1 have always been a great admirer of beauty,’? ob- served Mr. Grimm, with a leer more detestable than the last. , “Then. it is.so far-arranged,’ remarked Matthew Gould, and here the conversation turned off upon money. matters. Madelon, meanwhile, wasin tiie dtawing-room. The drawing-room was a large room on the first floor; it had three great windows opening on a balcony, and facing the Cathedral Close. A single lamp burned in the large apartment and cast but a dim light upon the somewhat faded though rich furniture of blue satin damask. There were panels in the walls painted with family portraits’of the great aunts and grandmother of her uncle; portraits which he had brought with him from the country house where he was born. There were enormous china jars filled with dead rose leaves, which omitted a faint though pleasant perfume, placed Close to each of the windows. Madelon stepped out on'the balcony, she leaned her el- bow on the railing, and presently she saw the figure ofa man emerge from the dark shadow under the wall of the cathedral. This figure moved on slowly toward alighted lamp, there it leaned with arms akimbo, and Madelon re- cognised the stalwarth form amd* face of Jervis Wilmot, son of Sir Jervis Wilmot, of Flamborough Court; he had kept his tryst and she had failed. Well, it was much bet- ter that the failure should have been on ner side than on his. “Fifteen thousand a year,’ said, Madelon, slowly to herself. ‘He can’t see me where I stand in this black dress; the light behind me is very aim. Yes, if he would marry me, and I could get his fifteen thousand a year, I wouid leave this old man and his hundred thousand pounds in peace. He might found an hospital for lame dogs, ifhe chose. But will not the one help me to the other? Would Jervis Wilmot marry me penniless? I fear not. Jervis Wilmot’s papa would have something to say on that subject. Iam afraid my whole hope must centre round this horrible old uncle. Howl hate him! IfI were sure of his money, I would not hate him so much. To-night I will know all about it. Now, for the present, let me charm Jervis Wilmot with a little music.” Then she re-entered the drawing-room, sat down to the piano, and thrilled out a wild Spanish love-song, in a voice at once thrilling, sweet, impassionea, and highly cultivated, Jervis Wilmot cared more about dogs and guns than I suppose I should go mad if this lasted much N THE PORTRAIT OF HER ANCESTRESS. he did about music. He came nearer to the house, how- ever, for he knew that the voice was that, of the beauti- ful syren who had captivated his fancy, and whom-he was going to marry by hook or by crook, as he said to himself. Madelon passed from song to song; she grew excited with the force of her own admirable performances; she was singing to charm Jervis Wilmot ; she never dreamt of the ugly man below stairs, Nolan Grimm, with his can- ting smile, iron gray hair, and flat face, which bore some hideous resemblance to a death’s head. The drawing-room door fell back, a step crossed the soft Turkey carpet, and Nolan Grimm stood by her side, and coughed a cough as it were of interrogation. “Oh, Mr. Grimm, how you frightened me !’’ she said, in a tone almost of disgust, and she started to her feet, her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, her beauty was dazzl- ing, unearthly, unreal at that moment. There was nothing of heaven in the proud, passionate face; it was rather the wondrous, glowing loveliness of some witch of the Brocken, some spirit from the abyss dowered with that species of loveliness which intoxicates men’s minds and imperils their souls. “I could listen to you all night, Miss Gould,’? whined the lawyer; ‘‘all night, and all my life !°? There was some! hing in the man’s tone which made the young girl start violently. She recoiled, the glow faded out of her cheeks: it was as though some hideous snake had come about her, hissing words of flattery, and attempting to encircle her: within its coils. “Whereis my uncle?’ she asked, sharply. . “He will be coming .up presently to have coffee,’ re- sponded. Mr. Grimm. ‘Meanwhile, I thought I might venture to have alittle conversation with you.” “T' don’t like conversation,’? answered Madelon, <‘I never know what to say, and | think about something elsé while people talk to me.” “Perhaps you would sing again,’? ventured Mr. Grimm. “E have sang until lam hoarse,’’, responded Madelon. “Charming. young creature, how surprised she will be when she hears the little arrangement that has been made,” said Mr. Grimm to himself; “when she finds there is no money at all for her, unless she consents to become Mrs.. Nolan Grimm, and of course she will consent. She will not go out as a governess, she is too fond of her ease for that, and far too proud.” “TI hardly Know how totalk to ladies, Miss Gould,’’ be- gan the lawyer. “I ama miserabie, lonely man, without wife or child, “But 1 donot intend to remain a bachelor, Miss Gould.” And here the leer of the lawyer became perfectly hideous. ‘I am going to have my house pa- ree and my drawing-room furnished, andI am going 0 set up a pony-chaise, although my sister Martha says that is all extravagance and folly.” , Madelon opened herimmense gray eyes with an expres- sion of intense disdain, Her beautiful lip curled, and the lawyer winced beneath the withering scorn of her glance. ‘“‘May I be permitted to ask who the lady is?’ ingnired Madelon, in a mocking tone of sarcasm. The lawyer began to bite his nails. : “Without Matthew. Gould to help me,’’ said he to himself, “I never could get on with this beautiful, imper- tinent creature, whom I have set my heart on witining for a wife. He will-have to help me; and we Shall have to state the case to her plainly. I wonder how she will look when she hears the truth? Of course she will have to give in; and then—and then she must make herself happy in the old house. I'shan’t allow any extravagance, as Martha thinks I shall; but I shall be very kind to her. She won’t have a great fortune after all.” While the lawyer thus mused, he continued to watch Madelon, who had walked to the window, and stepped out upon the balcony. In afew minutes more th? footman brought in the coffee. Madelon sat down to pour it out, and her uncle entered the room. 7 Very little was said during the time that the coffee and biscuits were being discussed; and when they were car- ried away, Mr Gould said: “Now, Grimm, will you come into the library? We have business that will occupy us late into the night. For you,Madelon, who have been ill, the best thing I can recommend is sleep. Go to bed, therefore.”’ Madelon calmly wished her uncle good-night; but when her small hand rested in the coarse palm of Mr. Grimm, it seemed as if that worthy would never allow it to escape from bis clutches again. At last, witfi a sudden jerk, Madelon liberated her hand, and, hastily left the apariment. In the solitude of her own chamber, she sat down to think. “Horrible old Grimm !? she kept repeating to herself; » {Zhree Doliars Per Year. TERMS {Two Copies Five Dollars. Se eee, tit’ “the memory of his flat face haunts me like a nightmare. There is some dark plot between him and my old uncle; but. only let them once get settled into their work, and i will go through the secret door, and make myself mistress of the wholescheme. Something tells me tne old uncle is going to leave away his fortune to make paper kites for children, or found soup-kitchens for superannuated mon- Kies; or perhaps for making scientific researches into the anatomy and habits of the garden snail. Some folly he is bent on I feel convinced. Madelon Gould is a beautiful gii?, and an accomplished girl, whom all the world would delight to honor if it only had the chance; but in the eyes of Matthew Gould she issimply a sulky, overgrown school- girl, of no consideration, compared with his scientific re- searches, and his dusty book-lore. If he has cut me out of his will, I must get Castle to make me another one,”? She clinched her beautiful teeth firmly as she spoke, and a hard smile set itself upon her now pale counten- ance. She listened until the house was still; then, put- ting felt slippers on her feet, she glided noiselessly along the passages, and again entered the drawing-room. Madelon carried a small, dim Jamp in her hand; she paused before one of the pictures set in panel on the wall. It represented an impertinent-looking beauty of the last century, when bodices were cut low,. and waists were worn under the arm-pits. The dress of this beauty was of light blue, her skirt was very narrow, her flaxen hair was twisted up with pearls, she had a saucy nez retrousse, and a simpering, silly smile. Madelon put down the Jamp, folded her arms, knit her brows, and stared at the painted representation of her ancestress, ‘So that was a Miss Gould,” she said, ‘in the days when George the Third was king—a Miss Geuld who was con- sidered a beauty—not half such a beauty aslam. A stu- pid, simpering, empty-pated Miss Gould, whose father was @ magistrate of the good city of York, and who lived in @ larze country house, and drove out in a large family carriage, and sometimes cantered over the roads ona white pony, so I have heard tell. “Miss Gould, your father was a rich man, and you knew - you were to have a fortune of fifty thousand pounds. You liad no reason to distress yourself about his will as 1 am dis- tressing myself about that of my worthy unéle. You were considered very good, Miss Gould, and something tells me that I shall be considered very wicked. Your father took you about to balls, picnics and parties; your mother dressed you up in that ridiculous blue satin which you wear now, Cut all askew, and made so low in front, that I wonder you have the face to smile in the saucy manner you are doing. ‘But customs were-different then, Miss Gould. You. went to eeurt, with your fifty thousand pounds, and your pert face, and seanty blue satin, and uncovered neck, and you married a rich, fox-hunting knight, called Sir John Merton. You became Lady Mer- ton, madam; you hada Yorkshire estate, and a fine town house, and a handsome, brave husband, who was a gen- tleman. You had sviin dresses and diamond rings for the asking, lived happy ever after, like the winding-up of a story-book. That was your fate. I have no doubt that you grew fat, and red, and gouty, when you were about fifty-five. Lhope you did. 1 don’tsee why you should have gone all through your life simpering, and slender, and self-satisfied, as you look there. You were a good woman, and you had many cHildren—sons, who became soldiers, and statesmen, and churchmen; and daughters, who were good like you, wore satin, and went to court, married rich husbands, and lived happy all their days. Something tells me,” said the girl, turning away from the picture, and looking down thoughtfully at the carpet, “that when people point at my portrait in the days that are to come, they will shudder, and, while they marvel at my beauty, they will shake their heads, and thank God they are not as I was. Itis a fate.’ She claspea her hands, she clenched her teeth; she spoke through them in deep and muttered accents. “Iam impelled toward evil. I know not what, or when, or why—tt is my fate !”? At that moment the cathedral clock boomed out solemn- ly upon the summer night. Twelve times the warning voice spoke. Madelon shuddered as the last vibration died away; she sank upon the ground, and buried her face in her hands. “That bell speaks to me like a spirit voice,’ she said; “and always it reproaches me, and warns me of a wrath to come. But now I must be up and doing. I must know the secret of this old man’s will.” She approached again the paneled portrait of Miss Su- Sannah Gould, afterward Lady John Merton; she touched &@ spring, and the simpering damsel sank down out of sight, disclosing a little door, with a little lock. Madelon turned the key, and the door fiew back. Three steps led down into a dark passage, Madelon entered the doorway, carrying herlamp. She placed it on a ledge in the wall; then, turning round, she again touched a spring, which caused the simpering, Saucy Miss Susannah to bound again into her place, and smile again upon the large drawing-room, and its blue damask hangings. 3 Meanwhile, Madelon, with lamp in hand, threaded a dark, circuitous passage, which wound her round to a cer- ‘tain door, before which she paused. The passage on which she had walked was of stone, the walls were white-washed, the roof was low; cob- webs, and damp, and dust, ciung about the black silk robe of Madelon. She put the lamp down; she drew a key from her pock- et; she put it into the door, and it fell back, Then the voice of her uncle came distinctly to her ears, She could not see him, for a picture panel of some ances- tor divided her from the library; but the thin canvas was no barrier to her hearing. The words of Matthew Gould fell as distinctly upon her ear as though she had been seated by his side. “Eighty thousand pounds I leave to the British Museum to be used in the purchase of rare manuscripts, rare fos- Sils, any valuable matters connected with the animal or vegetable kingdoms; the committee, in short, are to use the money as seems best to them. Ten thousand pounds I leave wherewith to build an iron church in the district of St. George's; in the east of London. All my furniture, plate, and pictures, and my library, I leave to my distant cousin, Martin Gould, the only male who bears my name, and who is naw living in America. Ten thousand pounds I bequeath, under conditions, to my niece, Madelon Gould, but unless she compiy with these conditions she forfeits thie whole.”’ The voice of the uncle ceased for a few moments, and Madelon could hear the pen of the lawyer scratching down the dietated words upon the parchment. Presently the voice of the lawyer came through the thin canvas of the panel. “I very much doubt, Mr. Gould, if we shall be able to induce Miss Madelon to consider what you propose. She seems lo me so proud, Mr. Gould, and so scorniul. Oh, I dread, sir—I dread to hear what she will say when she discovers that you intend her to become my wife.’’ Madelon bounded as though she had been shot when shé heardthoge words; The sound as of many waters was,in her ears. Part ofthe reply of her uncle was entirely lost upon her, and when the ‘shock of horror and surprise had nearly ‘passed away, She heard his voice calmly continuing a dis- course Of which she was the theme. “Il am perfectly determined,” said Mr. Gould, “that not one pound of my money shall find its way into the pockets of any young man of the period. I detest the present generation. Madelon is a weak and wayward girl, and I am resolved to consign her to the care of. a man three times her own age, aS you are. She inherits all the im- petuosity, love of pleasure, and show, and violence of ‘temper which characterised her unhappy father. If I gave her a fortune, and married her to a jackanapes of her own age,"she would run headlong down the road to ruin. She would plunge into debt, and her name would figure in the divorce court. -But married to you, who do not love ex- pense or show, and with the constant example of your sensible sister, Miss Martha Grimm, always before her eyes,.she will end respectably at the last—live, I trust, to a good old age, and bring up a family honorably and well. My'ten thousand pounds shall go to her if she mar- ries you, settled upon herself and any children she may have. ' ¥ou alone will possess power over the interest. Should she prove obstinate and refuse to marry you, then I shall give the ten thousand pounds toward the repairs of the cathedral here at Marsden, and Miss Madelon may go out for a governess. At the same time! shall not hur- ry on the marriage. Madelon need not marry you for three years unless she chooses, only she must be engaged to you, and I will not have her to go into the society of other men. Should anything happen to you during the time, that would of course alter the latter part of the will; we must provide for that by putting.a clause which woul entitle her t6 the sum of five thousand pounds in case you should die without. becoming her busband, the other five thousand pounds to go to build almshouses. Now let us put all these arrangements into legal phrases.” K.LY. ‘(sion of the \goub of I elon; she CUPP iti Very, thought of the hideous lawyer: ire Was Wit TH MATS ene as @ hard and grasping nud, Witan CWReputation for whiatthe world calls. gillaiitty, ntasked Wider the Cloak’ of se@Mnin@ religion. Of t@se evil reports Mibthew Gould, the s@hiovar, buried-ever infiis dusty folios paid Mothing,’ and if H@ had. cata thent Mey Would @iave passed him like th@i@e sighing of a summer wind, for ig Was mane of iron prejudices, Who formed his ownPesol ex and leld | iec@ ar casonabie suumedown, just To make ler feel inde- “pendenhy say, half your fortune, or even a quarter of yer give his Consent (my marrying Madelon, 1 @m stre | can’t sp@ak more honorably.” i | fk ‘have only one€ reply to make, sit, to Yom very oblir toes. “Wy hiecads engavyed to be marided.” : Jortuney say evel HWenty-tlye thousiua pounds, be worl’ . ingvoller,” respondedthe uncle, in lis Goldly provokiug » ‘Jervis Wilmot Dounded from his seat, And lis already » Shall weirs cor anything ‘That we 105 d Aid thousWG was sweet, 6° When aye lived Ghd treathed and moved? Or Will ob!ivion be compl¢te? WillaveSvcep and Mink sud feel AlKwe téel and weep, Por here ? Or willwe slocp, amd cn?y sleep, there remained Still nuch to dg, SitJamieson Lowndes bade the sofleitors 2oodwmoruingy Ma@agve Was just alighting {om & carriage dr to thewarbstone. Sir Jamiegon shrank slightly. ‘For $iiaiMme;”’ exclaimed BieaMoryin a Whisper, and né was, Dimself again. . “i Madame was simply petrified, as they Sivept by without a glance, and entered their own carriage, 2 WELGLOs« % : and Lady, 1 Madelon did not wait to hear the legal phrasing of that} tunately of a nature to make him more stupid, more Ht SHALI WE? would he decidedly for their interest to stand by the ba- | own sake, but she suddenly evinced an extraording terrible will, She closed the door upon the panei, and re- | tenipered, more profane. j —— ronet in this emergency, and she behaved herself in so interest in being the possessor, in her own person, of ! traced her way along the secret passage which led to the} ‘Your niece, sir, is the most beautiful girl in Englend, BY NELLIE MARSHALL. condescending and fascinating a manner, that she made| vasta sum of money. ’ ’ i other door, where, touching the spring, she caused the; and the fact is Tam in love with her. Please don’t inter. ° Ba DS Pie fo Bhi both men believe that she considered them to be gener- When. the lawyers came down from London, to rend painting ol Miss Stfsannah Gould to slide down, and give | rupt me,” he added, waving his-hand. toward-Myr, Gould, Pirre Pe Se meme), WAEO FO: Bpep ously.espousing a desperate cause, when, im reality, they | up au Qnb of them srewardship, the beautiful clié her adimitlance into the drawing-room, Again she | who was about to speak. “My tntentions are periectiv + In the quiet of the grave, @Madbeen trade todee! that this was their wisest aud only | insisted pou Pct mM. and acting for herself. touched the spring, and the pert beauty smirked at her | honorable and straightforward, _ thave not Spoken fo by" Cease to sigh und cease to weep? 4 course hog jee She reni@ined in the} rary till the business was dor tromethe panct as befolree- lage anddespair held posses-| father yet, but | fecl sure that if you would give your Cease t dén joys. to crave? Then, not to Make too protracted a stay, and because discussing all the hard details, and showing a cle: headness that it would ave made poor Miss Miges pa With Gelizht to see. P ar >| ‘hora Eaglescliffe indeed Knew less about the busine when all Was done than did his imperious and obstina daughter. Betore Wh@awyers went back to London, they liad | the ciesir@ of Mis eccentric and arbitrary young lad drawneup Her aei, which, she having appended hé ( 1S. ( a , y . signature (0, tese genilemen took with them on ihe to them With a bind, unreasoniug obstinacy, and quict,§ ruddy face grew purple with rage and surprise. And tiever know @ smile of fear ? “She wil undo all that wefhave acééomplisned,’/ eried | réturn. } e ; dogged persistenee, . “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, in a loud, furious tone ? _ jathe baronet, as he dropped imto his seat ; “Pbank Heaven,” she Said to herself, “Uncle John lei SO far, Madcloi’s fate was sealede® Either she must bet come@a governess’ and fling Terself-penniless-upon tie world to earn her bread, or else she must become the wile of a most hideous, vulgar old man, and preside over his gloomy house, under the auspices of his stern and stingy sister. “There is né fair way out of this difficulty,’? said Made- ‘Why She kucw hothingdboubat the other day at the 1, sbe-knew nothing aboutit!” “Do t understand that my niece had“the honor of incet- ing you at the yete at Flamborough Court the other day ” dered and abashed, perceiving that-he had betrayed ti: ‘ “The other day at the sete!" repeated Matthew Gould. . “Yes—no—no—yes—no,"? replied. poor Jervis, bewil- Do tW@de.ad o'er fF toge ter? Dothev Tove, and do théy Nate? Or are thegponlyeiying there In cold @ndeHent state ? Shall we, when co among them, riends ?—our “gone befo we re??? re. ; Know our { “She willwot.”’ answered Bl@aner, emp)atically. we go to your town house now; Sir Janiteésén ?”’ The baronet caught his breatn sligutly. “Bi you please.’ Hleanor smiled. “That is if L dare,’ she said; “you shallsee. It issome- What fortunate that Madame is out.” We will give her : “Shall. mie the,powerto keep liiStmoney out of the vile hands a that Wretch,” and thenext time Conway threatened he in that peculiar fashio Of his. she wrote him back wha, she had done, and promised him solemnly that if he dic not make himself contentéd with the handsome amoun she was willing to allow IMhb quarterly, she would com vey away to some charitable concern every penny she lon, gloomily. “L must combat wrong with wrong. | seeret of Madelon. *I—that is she—we have met—we are Or will we too lie desolate, Such a reception, when she does return, as she little an- | could control. : Tiose two old men!—we wiP seeif a girl of eighteen | very fond of one another, Mr. Gould.” And feel and move no more? ticipates,”? > cannot upset their planus.” Then the voice of the cathedral clock boomed forth one! aud thrilled to the soul of Madelon. “Ah, that clock,’ she said; ‘what is it that it tel!s me of? That I had better bea goygness, then, Ah, Iam too beautiful; nobody would take Mme; and I was meant for brighier things, though not to be the wife of Nolan Grimm,” Madelon went-into-her room, and-elosed- her doer upon the outer world. CHAPTER .1V, Mr. Jervis Wilmot watched the house of Madelon’s un- cic for w.considerable.time.... Madelon was. Wrong.in. sup- posing that her black dress and the dimness of the light behind her had prevented the enamored young gentie- man from distinguishing hér When she leaned upon the balcony inv front of the arawite-room window. Ile approached ‘tlie liotise after she had re-entered the | room, and he listened while she poured forth song after half promised to do the evening before. But the music ceased, the night wore away, and Made- lon never appeared. Then Myr. Jervis turned his face to- ward the town of Marsden, grumbling and growling; for he was an only son, pampered and selfish, and not aceus- bomed to slights or disappointments of any kind what- soever. “She is doing ifto make me think more of her,’’ he said to ‘himself; ‘for of course) Li'should be a splendid in a slow and insulting voice. ly losing all patience. ‘Iam the son of Sir Jervis Wi mot, of Flamborough Court!? Court; good. morning, sir, good morning,’? and Matthes Gould fairly bowed his visitor into the all. Poor Jervishadno~gentiemanly feelings, le..self-cau mand, and very little sense. “You blind old idiot,’ he said, ina voice trembling with rage, “if I want to marry your girl, don’t you'think | will do it inspite of you?” i “Nice young man,*said- Matthew Gould, speaking +> to himself, “Admirable specimen of the elevated tone of present day. Gcod morning, sir, as | obsaryed just now. The hall door is open; mind the step, and please shut phe gate.” oe ttl “Mrs. Dean, Mrs. Dean, will you send John toshy the-unéle. Madelon @ressed in black, and with a wondrous and f: coldly toward her. “Will you be good enough to walk Into the bresk room,’? he said, ‘ “fami sorry for my niece's taste,’ said Matthew Gonid. | “Sir, do you know who I aim?" roared Jervis, Dow igir- “lam sorry for Sir Jervis Wilmot ana for Flamborougi: | feeling which prevails among the English youth of the ; ie gate after the rufian who has jist left the house,” ried! Madelon was coming down stairs at that moc. ; ful light gleaming in her splendid eyes; her uncle tured) Shall we, when the trump is sotnding, Smnile to hear its echoes tell : ‘Judgment I is come at last? Shall we vith us ‘tis well? Vy’? > e-<« WHO DID LADY VIOLET et. S—2 THE e@ Black Diamond: Shall we? } TRLEIGH,”? “WOLF OF V1IGNOBLE,’’ ETc, F Violet was commenced in No. 277 Back numbers » dhtained from any News Agent in the United States] GUAPTER XVIT. A DANGEROUS WOMAN. Lady Violet had had any comprehension of Beatrix »ant’s real motive, she would scarcely have invited : Ak The town house was a suficiently impdéSingvedifice, on one of the fashionable squares, and wore decidedly 4 look of occupancy. As good fortune would have it, one of-the maids was cleaning the marble thresho!d, and through the open door the true master of the house stepped without ceremony, accompanied by its mistress. As she quitted the carrjage, Lady Lowndes had said to the driver: “Dispose of your horses, and come to the servants as quickly as you can, and ask for Lady Lowndes," Two or three servants lounging’ in the liall started up in wild consternation at sight of Sit Jamieson. Eleanor spoke for him in a.slow.calm yoice, her hand- some clear eyes meeting theirs re-assuringly. “Will you summon every servant in the house, to come tous here?..Sinslamileson is married, and wishes to pre- senqnis wifetothem, Lam Lady Lowndes,” The men hesitated siightly, but moved away. ‘hall “What if they Should unitedly fall upon me, and drag me back to alll have escaped Jrom?’ almost sobbed the Unbappy man, his spirit, so long cowed by brutal wrong, fainting at the thought of the danger he imagined. ~_ Eleanor laughed softiy. ‘Whatever else you are, Sir Jamieson, you are not a coward; don’t try to make your- self look like one inthe eyes of your own hirelings.’? The slight taunt stung him to self-possession, as she meaut it should. I will easily be imagined how the man ground lis tect} over that pleasantly lucid Missive, and with what elegant expletives he garnished the black and blue threats he ful: minated against my lady. “Tmight give the old earl a hint,’ he muttered to him. self, darkly, “and ve a devilisa mind to do it. He'd plank down something handsome for the sake of keeping me quiet.” He pondered a moment. ‘There’s only the danger ot him sifting matters,’ he grumbled again; “be might call on me to prove it, and where would’ 1 bé then? No, no, my lady must pony up; and she'd better not be too high i mighty about it or [may do the other thing to spite ler.’? As Lady Violet quitted her apartments the morning af. ter Miss Dudevant's arrival, the nurse opened the door Witicl léduinto Captain Evelyu’s chambpes, and looked out. Lady Vielet paused looking down atthe snowy folds } her cress, Shehad avowed the sick man of late. a * site ies RAtdind fac cue But Jervis Wilmot was stupid and vulgar in his rags bidin a Jamieson leaned lieavily on his wife. He trembled; “How is your patient this morning, Mrs, Lindsay ?”? sh sonug—tistcned impatiently, forhe cared nothing tor MU | aithoneli he was a baronet’s son. Mere rank never ele- ty HELEN CORWIN FISHER 7 and his Countenance was gillastly with agitation. “My] asked ina subdued tone. | sic, wondcring meanwhile Why she could not run round | yates atruly vulgar nature. Instead of shutting the gate, » wy F ' i ie — 7? | husband,’ said Eleanor softly, with are-assuringpressure| ‘‘fle’s getting na better fast, my Jeddy," the Scotchwe and meet him in the cloisters, as itscenied tohhim sue had | je flung it back With a loud bang, | Apo OF “THE UNLOYED WIFE,” DRE COURSE OF KH -| of his hand, “trust me still.” man said shurply. é Lady Violet looked up, her beautifal Tage “Is le worse, Mrs. Lindsay?, -What ii worse 7”? “Haid. na do it, my leddy, angry eyes on the arened the puir lad day in and dag ont, posies ¢ yoepd. the leavé him to. sreet Lady Violet ¢ ’ returned thw lk _—" i matelu fora girl like that, even if is be true that she 180} Madelon obeyed: her uncle followed her and closed tk ‘9 He glesciiffe. The hall was wide and large, with some ancestral paint- | Mer swees face Serv _. ‘ = havea hundred thousand pounds, as the Marsden gossips door. ? Melita formed the acqvaintance o! the gay Lotidon ings on the Walls@and a few more modern statues in ay “Could Fg in 9? ' Sayi will Have ivallsetticd either one way or the other,’ “I hope you enjoyed yourself at the te at Flamboroig): . he beer their sojourn in Wules—Miss Dudevant was | 2Yepriate niches, “Ye can do as ye Ady #said the nurse continued Mr. Jervis, seasoning his resolve with an oath. | Courts? he said, sternly. visiting one Of their aristocratic neigubors—and, in her The servants gradually made their appearance by twos} indifferently, “I wish % oe ames! CO the ices - See eee eae or ee Ree “Very much, indeed, she retorted, although her girlish inexperience, had been artfully courted and made | 424 threes, and herded in thé lower part of the ha‘l, | he’s beem lang ero to fetes a fm th North 2S rrentes y I 2@ } S. rdiehs o 4 . sy heart beat fasé4 4 aaliatss + A ; : hi rj eS, 2 4 as rv assed ty is) tuts ie ‘sein “ya eanvineaneteiearian emabticl Pwill abe were flooded with crimson, and lier heart beat fast 45 a much of by the politic and scheming beauty. Miss Dude- |. hispering among tlvemselves. Presently Lady Lowndes} Lady Violet passed meeNly hupo the sick But she the old) fellow’syes’ or ‘no’ the day after., Then if the Ouveld boy at lome’’—in this irreverent way did Mr. Jer- vis speak of jus father, the bayonet—‘‘our ola boy at home Mr. Jervis found his way to Monk’s Hill, The shops were closed, and the aspeet of the cathedral city was exceed- ingiy quiet. ‘But there was one spot where a bright light fell ina great yellow flood on the pavement; the sound of laugiter wnd of song came through the open windows, Under the portico, stauding upon the steps and leaning against the pillars, were two or three men in white neck- cloths and striped waistcoats, As Mr. Jervis sprang lightly up the steps these men bowed to him with great. humility, for they were the waiters at the Bell, the chief hotel at Marsden, and the sudden shock of discovery. the night, During the day you have, of course, free signing her to the care of Grimm, all smote upon him tor ; a moment, and this man, who really wished to do welk ; although he was selfish, obstinate, and hard, felt ‘a ; kind of wonder as to whether or no he was not 2cum cruelly toward his brother*s orphan. (ie “lave you not your piano? Are there not the tew magazines? Do you not like flowers?’ asked Mateiow | Gould, slowly, and even softly. “Yon have everyth1 that is good to eat and drink, andeif you want a Hifle more pocket money Jie paused; they were alniost ; + oe the first kind words he had ever spoken to hisniegein his , seb apar’ tor her use. ant hed written that she would beat Chester Wednesday @earl i old, he is not a madman.” Sie slanced curiously at the young heiress of the Clive. lady } tolet was robed,as usual, exquisitely, and (which yousghed Beatrix Dudevant much more nearly,) her dress yas 95 costly us it. was perfect in taste. “Who else have.yoh staying here now?” she asked, as a oped with a Soft and languid grace among some ushionis and snrrénderead herself to her maid. Lafly Violetlaughed. “i you came expectins to meet company, you will be dul, i amnairaid. . We have no one but an invalid, Cap- observed With satisfaction that Rhodes, the driver, was She took a step toward the Servants, her purse in her been done him. He retains you all in his service, unless any wish to go; and he doubles the wages of every man and woman, Who has done his or her duty by the end of the month. That-is all; only SirJamieson and I would like to shake hands with you all around !” When they hesitated, she dregy her husband still teward them, extending her hand. Every man and woman, in the end, shook hands, both with the baronet and his wife; in a half-scared manner with the first, more eagerly with the handsome, smiling lady, who said a pleasant, musical word to each, and left a gold piece in each hand. stopped aghast, midway. OCuptain Evelj was raging} | i t 1 ) “You will go to no nore jetes henceforth. Dean will -yening, but she did not come till fhursday. Lady Violet }@mong them, and talking indnstriously. ‘‘Tuat manis} with delirium. : : | two auswers doit agree, I must decide what 1s to be done. bring me the key of your room after you have retired fur) uerself conducted her to the luxurious suite of torical really a treasure,”’ she observed to Sir Jamieson. Then Mrs. Lindsay whisked by her te the bedside with a bagi of ice, which she bound on thesufferer’s head, + yith many 3 4 . yi cess to all parts of the house and the garden; tha should | Ag She passed up the wide marbie staircase, and | }and, with the united stock of gold pieces of her hus-| a ‘puirdad, puir Jad!’ and nevera look towara Lady would not consentito my marrying under. a fortune Of | je enough to content you, methinks,” and here, strange | Hivengh the stately Pictured corridors of the noble man- | 2and’s and herself, and spoke gently, yet with imperative- | Violet. % ; | twenty-five thousand pounds at the least; he can be crus- | to say, the old man’s tone softened: a little. } SORE che east enviou - 5; ness : “You have been taught,”*she said ‘‘to believe your| ‘You should send for the physicians atonce,”’ said ray od See os oe eas .Thever ) ( t, she casi ious looks about her. { y J J | tyeand obstinate When helikes. At the same time nevet The exquisite beauty of the girl, her {riendless aud oi: |” Sp woul be Something worth maneavering for,’ she | Master a madman, Do you think a lady like me would | Lady. was so taken with a girl in all my lile.- She is handsome} phan condition, her utter dependence upon him, ‘he! pefeeted Miaracteristically, “to b Fa! have been willing to marry him if he lad been? Sir| “Tney've but just gone, my leddy. Thetwo have beer | enough to thi the leads of a waole regiment; and if I : life to which | 1 ot to d : her in eon | a ee Bee eee Jamieson does not blame you for the long wrong that las | here-a’ night... 1t is ma’ muckle apy earthly doctor can d 5 vie : 5 oe ce es | Creary life to which he was about to devote COUT span ik is. ‘g - | de hat las 6 a cle any earth ctor can do } ©. an Inake-hex my wife by hook or by crook, I will do it.’ a pa ~ | seal like tis. It’s better than Lowndes House; & g for him now.” Lady Violet’s cheek grew whiter and whiter, She came nearer,and stool looking down at the tossing, mutter- ing siek,man, with a face of still agony. Suddenly he broke forth into song. Captain Evelyn Nad a fine tenor voice. As he sang “But her hair is braided not for me, Hereye is turned away; Oh! my heart, my heart.s breaking For the love ot Alice Gray.” a faint shiver touched Lady Violet. 1 : ur life, ain BY fromthe Nest.” Finally they departed to their Own regions again, and}. Mrs. Lindsay hag-retreated and stood with, her regards ne\v-comer Wes heir to a baronetcy and fiftcen thousand They came too late. } * Miles byant vate sstart that sent the ivory-backed an the rest ¥ the business. y oe ostentatiously bentim precisely the opposite direction Dyears 5 ; t Mad sred by the seeret door, and she EU@W: brush heim: FAS US ; ‘ 2 Sir Jamieson passed the (for him) trying ordeal surpris- | fronr the Invalid. : : Jervis pushed his way into the handsome coffec-room, Melon: had- entered by the age p i aS moras, lying wom her hana, ‘ a " Where a few gentlemen*were drinking wine, smging ci- men meet together in this world, of which money is the earthiy god, depend upon it that their@iscourses will soon veer toward that all-inrportant subject of gold and silver and bunk nost®@s. Discussion ran high as to what Made- lon would have and what she would not have; the char- acter and disposition of her old uncley;the possibility that | a. ‘i A FET PARAGRAPOS WoRtm REMEMBEREN: = QUESTIONS ANSWERED ANP INFORMATION Wanerep.-~, Tan.—\, Try lenion juiee. 2 e@ have néver use Fahad | ’ how the will was made.” She was of a nature ambitions |. 0 io did you say?’ she asked, turning abruptly. ‘None.’ ia “i ou get up such a toplet 2 J as that only for your i ae ier 7 . Se dak : fs : : ‘ . L i another, ‘ f i 7 W. Lynch.—To Remove Ixpia INK Manks.—These may be | tid mot know how long she had reigned one of the queens |. 1S there any Sadder sight than to sce one of nature's | hued marble whicl her slippered foot tapped inipatiently. “She is of good family, comes of agood old Yorkshire} anova from the skin by pricking in goat's milkcoyer the | of London society, would have been puzzed to name her | Princes, as this man was, so cowed by misfortune. “What atime you have been, love,’ she said sweetly, ; stock, and if the old fellow chose to declare her his helt- | yyarks with asine needle, mother plan is‘to blister the skin, }.¢>, She passed for eightecn sometimes, with her dimi-|_ leanor's boastfulness ana exultation were assumed to | holding up her ciiildish-looking month to be kissed. : ess, and to introduee her m London society, nobles might | and then apply some healing ointment. » As the old_skin peels | otive stature her large azure eyes, and soft childish | Wit him from the morbid state of-mind, she saw he was Lady Violet just touched the rose-lips with her own, } be proud to contend tor her hand; but old-Gould is amost} off the marks will disappear with it.--... Chubby.—See answer ed ’ } FOS; in. Her unsympatiietic replies were intended to irritate | and tien suffered Beatrix to curve a round arm about | ocut ntric character) 1 look upon him Anyself as being | to “S. L. Ke" in No. 25.000. .< P.J. MeC.—We know of no other Pe thstahding the indim he had affected about | Rim into a rallying from the depression which scemed.| her waist ‘ omer Oe tere : re © | remedies thi se we hay lished... .... C. D.—Sec answer | . Notwithstanding the indifference she had affe about | rs : eee : nearly as mid. as Dean Swifts 1b would not astonish me | TemCues than those we, have published... .C. 1 Seo answor | drescing, “seeing there was only Lora “Raclesclitte | to overpower him. For she foresaw that Madame would || “Did you rest well?” she asked, as they moved toward ifeue marrred hen te some old {cllow of his own age—that | oy) ncs —Try eastile suap.....- Fred K, Hautsch.—Ccn® FoR Disk | she eame@own in av elaborate toilet of blue silk and sap: make desperate efforts-to reobtain possession of the vic- | the breakfast-room. ; : rascal) Grim. Torimstance; they Say he is very much at | jincs,—Use gingerymade into tea, of in any other form. We | Syjyas with her loyely hair floating in unconfined luxu- | Mt Ner long oppression had indeed well nigh driven} <“Splendidly, you precious creature.” Isn't Captain Eve- | the house, and that he hasananaged to find out-the weak | have known it to effect some wondersul ae croint, | ‘lance over her dazzlingly fair shoulders mad, and that much might depend on his own show of} lyn a very interesting invalid, Violet, dear? }used tolike | side of the obstinate old canon’s character.’ Sees Fs Docs. aaa a ee he ee No.2. | ‘indced, she-had hoped that her indifference to dressing | SPitited sélf-possession. him somuch.,.He has such sweeteyes.. Don't you think | A perfect storm of surprise and indignant denial burst ‘ise, Wo presume You wien gecigejien-aeuiewer Mak i dna Sonic ARTEL. ae repeated by Lady Violet-to her | .. Sie detained him as long as shecould make any excuse| so? and he says such nice things;thatis, he did whenl | from all those present, When this young gentleman CX: | coe” phe following is a good one: Take of ginger, braised, four { father, and Ne would, perhaps, be piqaed. “It was part of | tO. 40 So, In examining the house, and chose herapart-|knew him. . i ; : pressed his honest, opinion, Ie was, the son of the first | ounces, boiling distilled water three pints. Macerate tour hours } }oy +setics to first excite a resentful interest in herself in | Ments trem the numerous beautifuland luxurious rooms | | |*I dare say,’ Lady Violet responded with a faint smile; | pliysician at, Marsden, and a great admirer of the oare| and strain the liquer; then add double retined.sugar; and. make i the’ bosems of those who were to be the Objécts of het art- they visited, with a. special view tor interesting him in| *he is.much worse titis morning, poor fellow!" | anid radi: ei y of Madelon Gould, inlo.a SIFUPs... +--+ Son Potch—Bathe freely m water nixed with | S#’\ YO: . Spc . ¥ heir selectio “Sheisn’t a bit jeal ” thought Beatrix, watching her : agkl Lael Ay De BUT Ot A ae ION OR itile spirit ot hi: Billy G.—-Sce Nos. 22 and 25 | {ul wiles. She knew very well she was to meetno com-’| elz selection... ; Lo ependymal ac M9 , 3 “Why, good heavens! [ would marry her. myself ,to-|,a Ure sou. ee rancteare cited by some Hnpurity of pany at Eaglesclitfe. She had come with far other objects |, But. through it ail he looked nervous, and ill at ease, | through her silken lashes. “Ipresume she thinks she’s | morrow, if f thought that,” cricd My. Jervis Wilmot. itie blood. ‘Try this récipe: Wash the face twice aday With warn (jh view tian entertaining a fashionable clique, -and mirt- | Sveugh he quite as evidenily made the attempt to seem | sure of him.’ Alond, shesaid, imduicettone:“Ifearedso; | | peli is possible she might Nave something to say tO) water, and raldry withia coarse towel. Then with a soft towel | jnz with unavailables. : interested. ; you stayed in thereisuch along Ume. I was going in too, | that,” cried the son.of the doctor, rub in alotion madeot two ounges of white brandy, ene ounce!} "> joubt if a ereater flirt than Beatrix Dudevant, in the The chambers Eleanor finally chose, were those which but I was afraid it might fatally agitate him to see me \ Jervis Wilmot felt piqued. All those present had been | of cologne, and one-half ounce of liquor potassa., ... - Lady Lowndes would have spoken with him apart, but | waiting, when the man came in wi i Sir Jervis wished ov re page ay raed oth ene | fine powder, and pnt upon i eles W olen cloth moistened with 1 declaring herself weary to death—she always used a su- hen -ausbamd, would pot permit it, -Ha spoke weahasins Beatrix saw him first in the great Venetian mirror, _| stunley rhe red with her widowed mother ina | -e oll, wi Vhich the polishmg is to be done. The varnish | parative term—this fairy y-Ci s yas 7 - : ~ ; : ce . ; ; 3 “ne ! / re re myne eal ae Sinisfor: : b tay. iles fr i Te be vi ) rd of i ih soft linen, a a) vher ait ope | Pee tive ae hig fatry ae seat a eee se pects thing of querulousness of the invalid, mingled with the | which was over the elaborately sculptured mantelpiece ye Lae ee See Creer timers amncane LH: Ae Kioll Ueateon erie iasmceoan Spanish white, and rubbed with che | let lingered to Kiss the earl good-night, and with a fright of quscared child i and sprang, With one of her childish affectations, to meet ©) | ATnvsden. © eleaned with starch or Spanis ite, and rubbed w he | , Sad . ‘i i 3315 ~ | fr a Sci G bs f % ; s ) : ; aceniaaesa Jelon Gould came to Flamborough Court with | pla of the hans... .SieMortimer—k See No. 27.2 See No. ; Ostet nar pa oa er pant bea oy idan hae Eleanor yielded the point.. It seemed that one of the | him. j Unless . ae : . lier iad it was nvobable that Sir | 254. vee NOOO f ‘4.—Solutions of cyamlae ot potassium and oxalic \ 1B, held up 1er CS anes aes *% a Foor Bye 1 f SO. a servants who had been especially in Madame’s pay had “fy may give them out, may TI not ?’’? she asked of the } |: «) AQeRVad MIRED PUTINEI FOORNPE AEE slaihitargemabhtér Wash. PL CLI MAe Ckeuek teat ert ee Oe ae ee tas | pord Baglesclive was taken by SUrprise, wot course. | slipped away unobserved by any one but Rhodes, who | earl, encircling the pileofietters tue man emptied from} | Jervis might refuse to receive her as his daughter-in-law. | drichigan.—Sec answer to “Sadness,” in No. 29. We do not | what he thought of her, Beatrix could not gather in the saat 1 ‘tained that I had ind tl ¢ with | a : Now how much of his gold would old Matthew be'likely | know the doctor to whom youreter...... Egbert IL—l. To Z4EE | oy furtive glance she shot him through her golden lash- had followed lim, apd ascertained that he had indeed the bag with her arms. is Ss 1 to vive to his niece ? A MvcAce,—Equal paris of gum arabic and water make a sape- ; aut! His ng] cheek flushed faintly: but the earl had. al- | Zone to her. Eleanor’s brow darkened, but her eyes Lord Haglescliffe laughed. Lady Violet came forward | Ce Seni th ch eBahncaié . sriily ‘vis Aros rior mucilaze. Place the inzredients in.a phial near a stove | Co: TIS Pale. . . f ; ; lighted to steel-like brilliance, as she thought: and stood beside her father, while her graceful friend, : Ine morning broke bright and beautiful; Jervis arose, or fire, and shake well until the gum is Tiosalcod The addition | 4y$ been a bashful man, so that was not singular. “We shail. denbtless. hear. very soon Trot hacen now. | with pretty ostentation, glanced at each letter, and passed “eS eli care , 1S , ‘eakfast, 6 , te knee Th events Souring. 2 Se e n | | OM , i i ‘ # a rae ; > Ss sorta a ye sea ogy a «be pooner nei ad awa OF A eee ape ROL prox suits gongliig. S. Par ate ee ? ben eH er nage ty to P eae oie ae Without that, she would have looked for us here, last of | it to its owner, a ery Re ofa bey mi ; eEIPES AUP : Wh, NEW York FREELY on e ee oun pase. -..--2 baa 0 FEED | Lag 1oP ess me, do you, 10? 1€ £ pes 12 alu, | onywhere, and I wanted Sir Jamieson to get a little more The first was for Miss Miggs. 5 y It was eleven o’clock before he knocked at the door of | Youxe Caxanies.—As soon as the young are hatched, place be- | audibly, as sne floated out of the drawing-room on azure ’ J - & Len Ae ! E $ tH ait 5 Madelon’s uncle, and on asking to see him, was shown | side the usual feeding-trough a eup contaraing finely grated | pyc?” rested and tranquil before that.” ‘ Over the next, directed in a peculiar, smoo' i, cury ing : into tte pleasant breakfast parior ’ hard-boiled egg and stale broad, “ribbed fine and soaked in | Lady Violet's fine senses were alittle shocked; but she | _ Tue baronet had lain pore again, and covered his eyes as ear bree i th Maggs pl coe «é Fe ear os Res Thee atorien i rf bya bi ilk; also, one containing crushed rape-seed boiled and after- | - a with his long, thin, white hands. and gave it to Lor 5 » Her Dive eye iollowing Jervis W ilmot, as we have before said, Was a coarse, ou Sate i act Yell tainted” tec ae ee eer ey ak a “en lid not si so, of course. Already, Beatrix Dudevant os ’ . : Ore : ae . od ward washed with fresh water. The young may be placed in ; Cid Mot say So, e. Js s : ae “If there are any of those fellows you have confidence} curiously. So ag eee ok lips atid dull ores: but neg | 3gbarete cazes in about Tour weeks. Baclt cage should have a | ; kK ei “eciativeness r caller. ; ; Te leak : i r father’s i hacks: Jee oes i sd: . Pe an tr nM $3 total abstinence trom exciting potutions will possibly achiove HERA MeL Be veoy ura eb be Se sid tanita BerHhiends As Rhodes quitted the room, Sir Jamieson uncovered strained. aagk cere eeees a os ree ba | oe So eete as eae 7s eee uaa. thy tictdnc the result; wou desire...... ”. Irving, Jel, Cure FoR Pries.— at ee at : ; 5° i 7 “Breakfast wai 8 t y Fag 3s " » papa, Matthew Gould bowed aud asked, his visitor to re-seat | swallow ten kernels of black pepper three times a day, say at | the Sake of all this,’’ she said to herself, with a soft smile, ae a brave woman you are?’ he said, hi§ lips |. said I shouid pay my owndebis, Isit not ridiculous,” | himself. morning, noon and eve. Reliet, if not a thorough cure, willre- | that curved her Sensuous lips as sweetly as though it had z nar bli Ssh Y. . ienit kisew what a daring bad, | to Beatrix, “that people should persist in sending in my i “Lovely moriing,’? said the young gentleman, bending | suitina few days. The gentleman from whom we have ob- | been born of a more charming sentiment. slightly trembling. ‘ You don’t kt a g, ’ $.t0 papa, when 1 have so much money of my own?” i i his head. to, innale the perfume of the woodbine which | tained this information, says that he has recommended this “ay ler what my lady would say,’ and,asshe’curled | wascrupulous creature Madame is.’ , bills to papa, v . ee ae Oe Bin. cs : : ae i. tee ge the sittine-room: “what a plea- | simple remedy:to many of iis acquaintances suffering from bs wonc er what ae Te Vom on a on A bea ane ‘*I do Know, precisely, and I do not fear her in the Beatrix assented that it was, with as naive - air as Oh Sant place yonrs:is, Mr. Gould 23.7 . piles, allot whom have been cured. 2. We cannot answer. .,..| Sleepily away into her dow 1 ae } pe r id make | least. If you will only pretend notto fear her, whetiven} thougl:she did not Know that her darling friend was in- | peel pada Aaah ad Nl cacao TERS st, | 1G FL —To Kins Insets ox Trees.—The oil of soap, whieh } DeEsonal property, and no doubt the earl would make | 04, or “not, we shal! fish Madame’s business very simvaung a falsehood. ; “Do you think so?” oe ned as Gould in the coldest, | cau be procated at any ericuliakal stgte, wil be found very | magnificent settlements, and then, more pane, Cine if ‘an shortly.’? . Lord Eaglescliffe said nothing, and was preoccupied all ' most unfricndly voice in the world, efficacious in killing insects on trees. Put the suds into asyr- | heir should be bern, my lady would go sailing higher than | SROPUY. ; . 7 ft 7 5 ff i ‘ some effort to reply to Mr. Jervis felt just a little chilled and shocked for an nee eure aay tyr ates arid eject ype the rage } t Ghihes kite, so far re the Eagiesclitte property is con- were ae white hands, went up again-over the thin aE peeireeit aretedul aattoan we le aateed instant. Minnchaha.—t. » e NO. 20, 4, HCC NO. 92. Any news agent | 4 ona a ” : y . ‘ ; Miss - ea ao c - is chocolat x | cme Sin domeitp sauv sly aon ae Tins inipoueNk wae: will get it for you. 3. Wash your-feet in are is eee 9 “fad hére Benen fell asleep Then he took them down again. td 7 SE tae nat Eee ERY ane Coupes?” } a : iy sh hy ‘citatine tangata nie ene, | Larkin.—Wash your hands 3 rater, n:ixed with @ little | LOL tris . “J will try. rilLind } i “Did ever y SV au ay? } \ ness,”? began Mr. Jervis in a hesitating tone—to hls sur | jemon-juiee.,..-- Ringworm.—We cannot tell by your description | ———— der ag indes coy ip rhein é 2atrix Dudeyaut, WHh a sweeping ; | prise he discovered that dae felt very Mauch afraid of this | whet Ju it is : Hino atin Or wok, Noa had better cot part) CHAPTER XVIII ‘You must not merely try, you must do /t. suddenly demanded Bea ¥ ; oe tnd ahd ae vis eee ek ae » NEV) uri f eatin’ Whites D. Momo. BD eae Pulte Yeuad Powden, { CHAPTER XVItI. “Evenif she comes with law and with force ?” but innocent exDreauienee Seeaee. BH ee eee i iG, ¢ i milGic,. . AM... eee + UU: . MAK te nAS ¥ ER. cS i ha + as wr pe ‘ 7 > 7 7 . : , eS ey se ste a- } ' “I have very litte to do mvyith, business,” replied Mat- | —Take one part flour, one part cream tartar, and two partssoda; | RAPES LOWNDES: AMD, THE LAWEERS. “Even then.” But Eleanor’s lip \eurlee scornfally. | Ghaatixe in ach of the tivo aac i dee oriel window. |. thew Gould in a provokingly cool aud.phlegmatic tone of | Should be sifted m with material to be cooked in smal! quantity | 1¥y geturn to Eleanor. “Force she may try. The law 1 am comfident she will not a. me pee voice which answered her so placid- || | var ep or}. and baked well... Vet—l. We know of none. 2. Itis owtof; mma s 7 “iti is | dare meddle with just now.” W ady Violet ¢ la : a i ara ” said J if, POUT DoWeputp ote PBN soa. . Phai. —Ratho, yous. feck, di by uae ote gente worinn Guthé hela of Sie Jemiocon, wie tT herself, Lady Lowndes said, morg.anxionsly than | lythafeven her father lifted his troubled eyes to the | } “But \this Dusiness concerns. me,” said Mr. Jervis, | warm water, mixed with a litUe spirit of ammonia.........« | Imperial looking woman on the arm of Sir Jamieson, was s ° ane aa 1} husband toda 1 sweet, proud face, f ; | Warning up into something like impertinent anger 5 “the | Rom-lhus,—Loss ov War.—A good authority on the subject says: | Something worth secing. The baronet himself, who had she would rave 1 or her . the + 1 It I dared “We know Mr Conway very well,’’. Lady Violet said, f { fact is, Mr. Gould, your jiiece, is a deucedly handsome | The only thing I ever found really efficacious wlien the hair | secretly flinched from the interview, drew his slight but The only real fear is o le Servalits. ee MEL oe an acquamtance of my cousin, Miss @irk?? ; oes om waar infusion of ue young sh Se foo the — handsome form more haughtily erect, as he saw the im-| leave him alone an instant, I would go ant talk) totem poeta RE orted you know, for forgery,” she | § | A iat eeteastave aiteianal aa tor : o 0 ; Jj. | tree. Take a handful of them, cut them up, and pour enough | ypec " > this wonderful wife of his. again.” fee \. ? ei A 3 ’ , ee A ' ; NOSUeREnD hands us, , ideatpanenat is acid yee ne boillng water over them to cover them; when it cools,pour the | a ps pee oy AGB ots yo and Dresser,’ was his e CHAPTER XIX aK added, with her voice dropped to. the decorous level of | ing tone, that is one of the sensible expletives of #ie | jquid into a bottle throuzh muslin, to get rid of the jeaves. Ret gcke er ees ee d ine El * felt é ER AIX. : ventional horror. ‘ | present day. 9 Tam im priest's orders, sir, So pray do uot | is better not to make much ata time, as ina fortnight the smell | brief but stifly ceremonious intro uction. sleanor e€ LADY VIOLETS WILIn 7 Lord’ Bagleselit¥e iooked puzzled, but inexpressibly re- | usé offensive language immy presence. It may be the} becomes disagreeable.......- W. J. 2.—To Tarr Ovt Spots or |. as though she was acting in a play, as she sank graceful- 4 ft Lady | lieved;-and Beatrix, while she met Lady Violet's straigbt- fashion, bubit is a very ugly fashion.” Iyk.—Wet the places with juice of sorrel or lemon, or with | ly into the seat_ mechanically offered her by one of the} By the will of that maternal uncle, who had left Lady | leved, look 23 unconsciousiy.theagut within herself: | ain was piereat pity that t he worthy uncle when he gave vinegar, and the best bard white soap; oxalic acidin Hh omy? 1 Ye wyers. Violet something like a quarter of a million of pounds, ae eee er 4 aoe rt hae lady; but I happen to Pe Sees . x “ % i is re aetive s . og iously ...3..F. & lie} iy * = z ~ ; ssi i y 4 arry : a : a ’ ; = ; advice, or reproved others, managed to do so insuch a Sear cae ence areata ee ae ao : Sir Jamieson opened the business upon which they had’) she come into possession of her oe a jay A me, — show Coniecne aetine That ieter weaetrom Tp, and Woy as lo irritate others and frustrate his own good in- | while you may find some employment suited to your tastes, 2, | Come. The new Lady Lowndes had too much tact to take | twenty-one. Till then it aaa ree a ing ~ Saclay | paalra meses alah. oma people after all.”” tentions. Your Nandwriting may be greatly improved. 3.’ There are de- | that upon herself; but she encouraged him with a prompt} it was so tied up that she cou d no have touc . Pp C y Yes Tknow,’’ she said, in her saddest, most carefal “Old ogre,” said the baronet’s son to himself, “I will | pilatories to remove superfluous hair, bat we would mot advise | ing word now and then, and a magical glance. She man-| of it if she had been starving. She was even by some} *'1 «Dreadful, wasn’t it? He seemed such a gentle- niake up for this by swearing ten times harder to-day, |.eu to.usethem.....7. A, B,—This correspondent wishes re- | aged, moreover, to give Messrs. Layton and Dresser to | extra tangle of the law, prohibited from raising manoy volge, , We when I et outside: a a pond eT Pasieecseaal our ee et et | understand that Sir Jamieson had married a woman who | on nee. prospects, a tact of which Vane Conway ha ms ay Violet was the first to leave the breakfast room, Dut Jervis Wilmot was stupid. and ill-tempered, as we Victad. Ade catvat kee ee in day NA OR f “*** | appreciated the situation, and had not only-the daring | probably not been aware. , i ees mT xeatrix. Her father weulu fain have eave caida I "eae ae . q ao 1 Aplicdes eee engwel, Han Patgaee oft; Naci2,.++ comets ep She made them seethatit! The heiress had never seemed to value money for its‘ excusing herself to Beatrix. Herfathe ¥Q QM 3 rele (pecenemenanttteseneinans st THe ie detained her, but stopping beside him an instant to say Wiat she knew woulg appease him, “I am going to Cap- tain Evelyn, papa,’’ she glided out of the room. ‘The earl looked after her with mingled wistfulness and satisfaction. ? Beatrix Dudevant settled herself like a kitten among some cushions before the fire, declaring that she was cold, and Lord Eagiescliffe, beguiled by the enticing glance of her caressing eyes, drew his chair to the oppo- site side of the wide marble hearth. Beatrix pouted openly. “1 don’t like folks to sit so far away when I talk to them,” she said in a dulcet sulkiness. « Lord Eaglescliffe laughed, and drew his chair beside her cushions. “That will do nicely,” nodded she. “You don't mind my speaking so, do you?” she said sweetly. “You know you are darling, precious Violet’s own best papa; and it seems just as if you were mine too.”’ The earl colored. The draught was both sweet and bitter. He had rot forgotten the letter his daugiiter had uestrored Every now and then, in the panses of Bea- trix's flattering chatter, for that was really,the amount of it, his heart gave a pained throb at thonght of that letter Superscribed—he was sure of it—by Conway. Could Conway be back? He had noticed the London postmark—or had some friend brought the letter so far, and posted it for him. ; Why should Conway write to him, and what did Violet destroy the letter for? She must, he reasoned, while he tched Beatrix’s small witeheries, have some cause ‘to } fear the contents of that letter, knowing who it was from, or she must have thought it was from some one else, anti feared its contents for some other reason. That it con- cerned any debt of hers he did not believe, more than Miss Ducevant, though it went hard to believe his high- spirited Violet capable of deliberate deceit. Beatrix’s flute-like voice broke in upon his musings. “Speaking of Vane Conway,” she said, affecting to be studyibg the coals, butin reality watching him from the ambush of her silken lashes. “They say he is back—in —~ London.” } it was pure assumption; but the earl started viclently. ‘linpossible,’? he exclaimed; and added angrily: ‘He sae was transported for an offence her majesty has never shown herseif lenient toward. If he is back, he must have escaped from the penal colonies, and the officers should be put on his track at once, if they are not already.” CHAPTER : XX. ONCE MORE. “Wad I better come in? ee Violet, as she stood just within the ante-ckhamber. “Ab! my leddy,” pleaded Mrs. Lindsay, Witlt a faint smile, and a flush staining her delicate 3 } ede brightly, Lady Violet entered the sumptucus _ apartment beyond, and took a seat near the couch of the sick man. : ~ “He has na stirred sin’ your leddyship was here,’ the nurse Whispered, and retreated. It was worth someting to see the slow exquisite pleasure that dawned in the dark eyes upon the pillow, as they opened upon the sweet face which filled all the sick man’s thoughts, sleeping or waking. His lips moved. “It if you, isn’t it?” he said feebly. My lady stopped further speech with her soft palm upon lis mouth. _ did. ; Roy Evelyn was angry, moody, unhappy, wounded to he soul. What did Lady Violet mean by treating him with such engaging sweetness one moment, and coolly withdrawing herself the next? He was tempted to feign arelapse, for the sake of wooing those tender eyes to hover over his couch once more. “The game is mine already,’’ Beatrix Dudeyant mused one morning, triumphantly, as, after a long coquettish idling with Lord Eaglescliffe in the grounds, she flitted p~—“wa way through the palace-like halls to her own apartments, *AVho would have thought that stately, stern old gentle- *uan would have been so easily mellowed. But there 2re not many men can resist me, | have found”? Miss Miggs had been an involuntary witness of a part © | Of the saunter in the shrubbery, and the pale little goy- erness looked after Miss Dudevant, as she entered the Rouse, with strangely repugnant eyes. 7 > . “She makes me think of a snake,” she whispered to herself; “of a snake all yellow, and green, and black.” Beatrix went dancing in upon her maid, Sparks, in a Mush of radiance. J Sparks was a tall, thin-faced person with, small pre- tense to goud looks, and something of her mistress’ sin- uosity of movement. o «Dear me, niiss, how you do startle one,’ she said, get- ting up from a trunk she was unpacking. “Neyer mind, shut the door and come here. I’ve some- thing to tell you.” Sparks obeyed... Miss Dudevant made a. confidant, when it was her humor, of her maid, The small belle'’s tongue was a very loose one, and wagged more freely to Sparks than any one else. _ ; “How much dol owe you, you faithfnl, good child?” _She asked, settling the bracelets on her round, whi arms. | Miss Dudevant flattered everybody, even her maid, most adroitly. It was one of Sparks’ ambitions to be young, hence her mistress kept her good-natured by call-. ing her ‘‘child.”? ~~ Sparks, with a smirk. é ! “And when are you to have your pay?’ with playfully uplifted forefinger, as though she was putting a daily catechism. ; ; et “When you are married, miss, to some one with money enough to give me double for interest,’’ repeated Sparks, obediently, with another smirk. “Precisely: Now, Sparks; child if you want your' money im less than three months, you’ye only got’ to. mnind me," “Yes, miss.*? a . How should you like to be maid to Lady Baglesclifte 2” Sparks stared. Then she smirked more broadly than over. ES ‘ * : “[ should like 1t, miss, of all things,” she said. Beatrix nodded triumphantly, “7 I live you shall; and Sparks, in a quite way, I want you to keep an eye on my Jady that is—you understand? * **Yes: miss.’? “There’s a secret of my lady's that I must get hold ‘of. You might happen upon the letters before they are posi- €d, you see; andl most particularly want to kuow who my la@y writes to. In fact, lmustknow. - i “Very well, miss,*? Sparks said, precisely as though’ she kad only to go into tue next room after the information ker mistress wanted. “My lay 3s a high one,’? Sparks ventured next. ‘You'd not be likely to let her suspect what your—your intentions be, miss.” 7 ~ think, Sparks?” ; _ “Notsie, miss. Nothing could do that. JI believe if you was a grandmother you'd Jook just as young as you ; now, with your yellow hair anu white skin.’ ‘Miss Dudevant smiled complacently. She was inclined te think so too. ; -- “You may dress me now, Sparks,’’ she said. “I want my handsomest bine habit, and the hat with the bine plumes;lam going to ride with his lordsfip. Thank Heaven, my lady is playing nurse too industriously to go oo, Lcould make bim ask me to day, if I chose,” sue concluded with a triumphant snap of her small fingers. Sparks who was manipulating her mistress’ wonder- fully tangled curls, with extreme caution, muttered.some- thing abouta “bird in the hand,” bat did not finish the sentence; for.in a flash, as it were, the angelic creature pci her hand seemed transformed into a fury, asmall ecate. t “You vile awkward thing!’ screamed she, flinging the comb and brush after the wisely retreating maid, “you would pullevery hair, out of my head if I would let you. Come back here this instant. Sparks, I say, if you don’t come at once, at once, mind,” stamping her foot, ‘I discharge you, and bundle you off to the station within the hour.”’ The angry beauty had to come down to expostulation and wanted to Know if she was an ogress who ate people, before the maid, warned perhaps by previous experience, would come within her reach. Miss Dudevant, it was well understood among her own servants, had a very peculiar temper. She had ney- et kept a maid more than six months at a time, till Sparks came. Sparks ‘took’? everything; her mistress’ abuse, her secrets, and’ somé pretty rich perquisites, be: side. She made the situation pay,” according to her own ideas, Mr “People wonder why I wear blue so much,’ remarked Beatwix, as she stood admiring-her own wonderfully pretty refleetion in the Dresden fra gheval glass. Good humor was restored, and the béllé wis looking her alluring prettiest in the soft blue riding habit, whicl fit. ted ner exquisitely.. Two long foamy blue plames floated from the jaunty cap, and mingled in charming contrast with the airy yellow curls. “Why I wear biue so much, Sparks, isn’t it silly; when the réason is, of course, because it becomes me most of anything. Could I have a better reason, l’dlike to know. Blue deepens and intensifies the color of my éyes; this Shade especially, and it sets off my fair skin, t00, and my yellow hair, 28 you call it, you wretched; child, «My hair: ispolden, Sparks, do you see, and so are my lashes; look how, how they fai “across * cheek, so. If you had heen @ man, Sparks, that look would have fetched you.” Lapfain Evelyn had intervals of looking into Miss Dude- vats willing, coquettish orbs, as though he was seeking “IT thiuk not, Mrs. Lindsay, if he is asleep,*’ said Lady te ““fwo years and three months now, miss,” answered -.*Lshould think not, indeed. Won't 1 pay her off for some of her fine airs, if l ever have the chaiice. It’ll be awkward though to bave such a stately looking step- Gaughter, won’t it? Willshe make me look old do you a vanished heaven of bliss there, When he was only try- ing to provoke a flicker of interest in Lady Violet’s coid, sweet lace. My lady had not meant to watch him when he met the London belle; but she did so, iavoluntarily, in spite of her determination. She found herself competied, as it were, to see the inexplicable look that darkened in his hana- some eyes at the. sigut of Beatrix Dudevant, though he rallied instantly, avd met her with his most debonair air. . “He tries very hard to hate me, poor fellow,” mur- mured the beauty to Lady Violet, at a convenient oppor- tunity, ‘‘as if could have helped his falltag in love with me, and as though | wronged every man I did not marry positively. But then, men are so inconsistent,” she ad- ded, after a pause, in which her soft glance had been watching this handsome, rejected suitor of hers, when he reclined in his invalid chair, and talked with Lord Saglescliffe. ‘Men are so inconsistent, Violet, darling,’ she went on. “This.one would like to coax me over all the old ground again, and then, if [ refused him, call me an outrageous flirt, as he did before.” “Perhaps you would take pity on him this time,” Lady-Violet-remarked, with a faintly curling lip, and a naif-angered pulse. - “7 don’t know. He 1s very handsome and very interest- ing; don’t you think so?’ Beatrix said, thoughtfully. t served all Miss Dudevant’s purposes to speak in this styie habitually to Lady Violet. ee 3a0 In the first place it diverted her unSuspecting friend’s observation from her own designs upon Lord Eaglescliffe, to imagine her interested in Captain Evelyn. Besides, she cared enough for the interesting young seldier her- Self not to be able to see this’ queenly girl monopolize him unmoved. When Captain Evelyn pretended to like to love her, hovering about him with her etty childish airs, placing a cushion for his foot, or a pillow for his head, when he humored her in sittipg near him, and talking sinva low tender voice, and watching him with soft glances, tt beanty was in her element; pafily because she real did like this play at loye-making, partly because she guessed that it wrung Lady Violet’s heroic hedrt;and lastly, because it tortured Lord Eaglescliff, who; in spite of her allurements, was strangely laggard in asking her to reign at Eaglescliffe. The stately and still handsome earl was’ indeed hope- lessiy infatuated; but single-minded himself, -never dreamed that this seemingly ‘Imnocent and child-like girl could wish to wed with his years, or that his rank and wealth could be a temptation to one so apparently favored by fortune. Lady Violet nade no sign, but she suffered none the less. ‘Hers Was a volcanic teinperament, and every glance of the man she loved gave to aliother was like a purtion of herself rent away. , She listened coldly to her father’s raptures concerning Beatrix Dudevant, and somewhat surprised him by. at last declaring with a vivid flash of her big black eyes : “T hate her, and { don't want to talk about her !— there !? . % Meanwhile, her proud face was such a stony mask that Captain Evelyn said to himself, that she had no more heart than a marble statue. “She’sa woise coquette than Beatrix Dudevant,” he muttered to himself, angrily. ‘Lf don’t believe she would go.kissing sleeping men, and whispering ‘darling’ in their ears for her own amusement merely.’’ ; 7 And then, coming upon my lady one evening alone in the library, he met the liquid glance that was lifted to his so tranquilly, with such a vehement, half-crazed outpour- ing of his love and his despair, as almost took her breath away. She listened with her face averted. but he could see by the firelight, the quiver of the slight hand she pressed to her heart. . She conquered her agitation very shortly, and answered him even with sarcasm. ~* “IT suppose you are telling me this to keep yourself in practice, and I must say it is exceedingly well done. But Miss Dudevant might object,” she said, lifting her beauti- fal eyes daringly. He bit his lip tll the blood come, too much hurt by the speech to detect the jeaiousy that prompted it. My lady stood a moment, and moved toward the door. With a desperate look, Roy Evelyn passed. between her and egress... “In London,’ he said, ‘they call Miss Dudevant very hard names for her coquetry. ButI could find a woman outside of London whose heartis-as much harder as her face is more fair,” “Captain Evelyn |’? ‘My lady, can you deny it?” “Will you let me pass, Captain Evelyn?’ 1. Vane “Not till you have answered me,” he said, in his mad- ness. ‘Il was not aslcep those days. when you used: to come gliding into my room. just before dinner.. Do you remember how you lingered by my bedside, thinking I ‘was unconscious all the time? My lady; what happened there was either the ———” : ee ‘Was either a lie or the truth, Captain Evélyn,”’ she in- terrupted, a strange smileon her perfect lips, a. strange, passionate glitter in her eyes.. ‘‘Will you call it what you please, and let me pass?” - >t z i He drew back involuntarily before that look, and we noxt-juoment she: WAS SUE a ee Roy Evelyn stayed gloomily where she left him for a ‘jong time. ; ti was about it,’ he muttered at Jast. We " / QUAPTER XXI. 4 att ot Si gity DRAG MERANE. pocntch ty ‘ak Atk ‘Beatrix Dudevant had promised to ride with Lord her, and vowed tat matters shoild come to a crisis. Never had she looked more irresistable than as she came Wipe down the wide marbie stairway, in all the glory. of blue habit and floating plumes. Her wide azure eyes were at their brightest and sauciest, between the full dewy lips her pearly teeth flashed constantly in a succession of bewildering smiles, and the hitle hand that held her jew- eled riding-whip, had determination im the very way she grasped it. ; As the horses dashed up in charge of a groom, Captain Evelyn came forward to assist her to mount, but with a movement of her ler shoulder like a spoiled child, she turned from him.) 3 aia A Maat Lord Eaglescliffe,” she said, saucily; ‘he helps me best.) Bris te . The earl ¢ame forward, with a flushing cheek, a bright- ening eye, The sinall, beautiful foot rested an instant in his hand, - perfumed curls floated across his lips, as, she sprang tly to the saddle, and let the azure folds of her havit, sweep down the milk-white side of her steed. . Sheawas on Lady Violet’s horse. She had artfully man- ageW always to ride it, partly because her friend was less paliry accorded with the style she fancied. ¥ ‘© ¥ou Jook like a pictare my dear Bee,’ his: lordship said, a3 he drew rein beside her. (She had taught him to cadi her go). ‘ : ; Beatrix pouted. ; tea “When lam Lady Eaglescliffe,’? she mused axrogantly, “Violet shall give me this horse; he is much moré in mny style than in hers? 0+) . ny jodi ei The earl was not 2 young man, but he was still Hhanu- ‘some, and sat in his saddle like a centaur. They rode in silence some distance. Beatrix, who was usually bub- bling with laughter and chat as a mocking-bird, had nothing to say this afternoon,‘and after several inetfectual attempts at conversation, his lordship becoine silent also, anxious and wondering as well; as Beutrix meant lie should be. At length, as they slowly paced tarvugh the leafy aisles of the deep forests beyond Tie Nest, tire earl leaned from his saddle and droppedone arm lightly about his companion’s slender waist: “\fy dear little Bee,’ lie pleaded, ‘‘ will you not tell me whap is the matter?” “Will you keep your arm where it belongs, my iord 2?” responded the girl haughtily; ‘‘you’ve got me into a bad enough scrape as.itis. t ‘Scrape, 1?’ exclaimed the earl, looking so bewilderea in his face. talking uke me because you—you are so fond of me? She blushed vividly, not fron. modesty, or because of the lie, but with positive anger, to think that sve, the irresistible, should have to lead the way so flatly to the subject she was determined should come under discus- sion this afternoon. ; Lord Eaglesclitfe did not utter a word for some: imo- ments. He was dunib with amazement, pain and shame, that his guest, this innocent young creature, should nave sutfered by his “fonduess” for lier. But uve thrilled at the word. ' . i ; “Stupid |? thought Beatrix, in a passion, eyeing the si- ron away with you !??)) 4 ™@ Then she spoke sweetly, her, golden lashes drooping, her rose lips in a quiver: ’ 6th a ee “} don’t blame you, though, I did speakso crossly,” she said, with her mostechildish air. { huve been just as fool- ish and imprudent as you have. ‘T never learned to con- ceal my emotions, Lord Rasicecs 2 And she lifted those obedient, speaking eyes of bers to his, in one slow, thrilling gaze, that he could not fail to read. ‘ Ah! what charming naivete! whatengaging frankness! What childlike simplicity! His lordship fainy reeled in his saddle at éhe revelation that he was beloyed—tliat he had only to eXtend his haud and pluck tis gweet rose of the world to wear in his bosom, 1t did not oceur to im, that moment, that the sands of his life might run out any hour, One thought, however, withheld him still from speaking the words the desperate beauty longed to lear. *weapon—tears, she suddenly burstinto a convulsive pas- sion of Weeping, that had not only its intended effect in startling the earl, but caused Zephyr to start also, at an abrupt descent in the road, and his ridet was, by the movement, tossed upon the turf. : Miss Dudevant had not so much as a scratch upon her delicate skin, and Zephyr stood gentle as a lamb, waiting for her to remount iim again. But tue chance for an el~ his horse, and ran. to ley’, she was lying a pparenly uncon- aa her nat fallen oi, and her curls tumbled over her. ace, : - “Sweetest !? cried the earl, falling upon the moss be- Side her. “My own Tittle Bee—lave IT killed you?” He caught her up'in his strong ‘arnis, lavishing kisses’ on theseemingly inanimate fee, as he bore her light form to a spring he heard bunblipg near. Just at the right moment, Beatrix opened her eyes, say- ting to Derself: | ~ fit Of “Hell be drenching me with that nasty water next” angel. gency ?”? “Your wife, my lord ? the arch plotter, her charming face radiant with tre The contingency gave her smali anxiety. easy enough marr. thought. To the earl, that beautiful radiance seemed lov: language.” There was a cottage back a little way on the read thither the two agjourned, while a man was disp: to the park for a carriage. chains were irretrievably riveted on his lordship ¥ was in the mood. Thus it chanced that in the late summer dusk, two, the earl and his triumphant betrothed, were slowly toward tne Park, at about the same hour that tain Evelyn and Lady Violet were in the library h the interview we have described. the most luxurious description. » Beatrix’s selfis 4 swelled with rapture as she thought: ‘Zé is all his, an is mine,” and, lying back among the cushions, she io into his lordship’s infatuated eyes witha glance w 13 liquid luster would have turned the head of a stroncer, ) < cooler man. i ne The earl was grave, however, and his gravity deepeucd | + as they neared the park. } Lady Violet must be told of the new condition 0% at and, everything considered, he began already awkward about telling her. liis pretty, childish companion, on the contra: full of exulting imagining as to how Violet would t: With all her pretense of fondness for her friend, she ¥ have been willing to sacrifice considerable for thes once thoroughly humiliating her, The natural nopili Lady Violet—tnat queenly nature that would have o: her Beatrix Dudevant’s superior ina stuilY gown—w continual thorn in the envious side of the London b It was with some effort that she assumed a becomi gravity of demeanor, while Lord Eaglescliffe, haying « tained her in the drawing-room and sent for Lady Vie! communicated the situation of affairs to his daugiter. When she first entered the room Lady Violet's face had worn a pallor like death, but as the earl spoke, «- realization of his meaning forced itself upon her. shu An instant, a passionate anze swelled within her, asa full consciousness of the hyno- critical part Beatrix had been playing burst upek Le But, repressing it, she merely bent her head in respect dignity before her father, whose white hairs were to her, and, without a glance at Miss Dudevani,.. quitting the room. Her iather’s voice arrested her. “You have not spoken with Bee, my. dear,” lie gently, and with a wistfalness that touched -his dane to the heart. “Miss Daudevant has my sincere wishes for her hay} ness in this and every other event of her life,’ sli s: gravely, turning to Beatrix. 3 But Miss Dudevant, as she met that calm -glane¢, that she was despised, herself thoroughly understood : contemned by the proud girl she had hoped to humilia She answered, however, sweetly, as usual: “My own Violet, | knew you would be glad. fond of each other, my lord. each other very dearly, don’t we, my Vio?’ Lady Violet bowed again and quitted the apartment. “I shall be Lady Eaglescliffe in spite of her, unless six chooses to stay au old maid to keep me outof it, thenen: Beatrix, as she danced away to her chambers. : “He has asked me to marry him,’ she announces: to: : “and Lady Violet is maa, “{ wish that villain haa ‘finishea my business while he Eaglescliffe this very afternoun; and sive had set her little} white teeth sharply together, while Sparks was dressing } ~ been. tim: hkely to go also in Such a case, partly because this saowy, that his tormentor had ‘soine ado to keep from Jaughiag” “Yes, scrape,’ she repeated. with decision; “people are, tim. lent lord, through her curls, “1 wish your horse would] succession. Bethinking lierself, in her despair, of Woman's last} ine g; ao strang } carried hadg This by ane Hew abd fech was one nut to be lost. poise pula When Lord Eaglescliffe, in a wild panic, leaped from: is been bough,” She opened ict lovely, languid eyes over his lorastip's” flushed te the brow. Sparks, triumphantly; course.’ O, somé may praise her golden hair, And some her bright blue eyes,, Where they most perfect mirrors see Of summier’s azure skies; some may sing her faultless form : Where every grace has part; Su But what so diadems them all? : The beauty of her heart. kd AG Withitt it glo*s sweet love for one With her upon life’s tide, ho clasps her waist adoringly, And murmurs “My own bride!” . Yet there is also’ love for all; Humanity boids part, And therefore cannot help but own The beauty of her heart. Q, nobles tender woman, thot Whoever suffering calla, — + Does seein an angel newly lit From the celestial walls; "And so Will pity’Stears ana aid From thy blest spirit start, And Heaven itself atlast will crown The beauty 0 of the "CHAPTER E&AVL. ; Although the dwarf, Martin Sewall, with his party, folic by Zenos Bangs, had hurried off in the direction where 6) had heard the sound of battie, Katrina Vanderbilt did mot i any tear or anxiety underthe roof of ‘the “Spouting Wh: tavern, for Jerushy' Scofield assured. her that neithor Bri nor Tories had yet troubled them, though sometimes Enghs! mnen-of-war cowid be seen sailing u to more important points than tha i Katrina was very tired, but when Jerushy should retire, declined, saying that she would remain np Zenos returned to tell them what had occurred where fiw i A conversation ensued between Katrina and) dere whenmsuddenly the jatter exclaimed: ., “I wonder who omairth is stavin’ ap, eo night?” re This exclamation was caused by hea to the house, halting upparenitly in front. The next instant heavy footsteps were: stoop, and.they, the door just, unbarred by -open so, rudely that he was shoved half-way across the roout. “Darn yer impudance, what aye in thataway.?” "cried Duke : “You'll sodn’ know what we mean!’ cried a voles Katrina, terror-stricken, but too. quickly reco: ning, take care of him; while: Llook for her i? “Look out, Jerushy—these be thieyes, i ¢uegs!’? erie as he sprang back into the room wh ‘ were standing. i t “Gut him down at once. No fooling? There! is my guint: shouted the tory Perris, a8 he yuslied; swordin’ hand, inte room. -> Jerushy turned ant caught up an iron poker just ag Bayan is struck her husband a fearful blow with his sword, bet ale ¢ the sword of Ferris fiashing before her own exes and heat fearful scream frum the lips of Katrina—then she know more at that time, for she was stricken senseléss to the floor Katrinasaw her fall and.fied with a wild scream u the room whiclyherdather occupied. alarm him, but as with a drawn pi: “Yack Ferris 4 fet etait the old man, claspin his. breast. “Pool—take tha thrust the muzzle ef his pistol in the ver, wmarand pulled the trigger. «fbat would bave beenthe, from the frenzied ¢rasp oi her fi down stuirs. 7 Soe There he found Danning oecupied in: ‘speed of his h his side, as, “E reckon we ¢: ‘YORK, shoulder, glanced once in lis face, and nestled rt with a birdlike movement. That gesture sealed the earl’s fate. “Dear Bee! darling litile one !” he said; “I must fT promisea my dead wife that so long as Violet married, I would remain so, pt Dare lask youto be my Wife on such a I, your wife?’ exci ying Violet to Captain Evelyn. si Beatrix wished to be ¢ ; negesn ned which led (+ the dwelling of old Meg Ferris. ' canter of his forchead. : said Bearyaaiess “Seageh ‘theavoods; mca, in every direction.” ng ‘ 5fant’ atter, r t years i hows ned miro, then gaye ce the reiit and weit off like . 1 peent 1, preseryed the appe Your daughter ane Tice.» Perpie had tidden into the cavernyes - = LS] mo we t s : | her ng fhile Tran up tothe house and scee choy Mother Meg (To be continued.) : ——_——__>4+___ SONG—THE BEAUTY OF HER HEAA?Y BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE, * pain. } % } ‘ “Tt sis aes F © wilt irs to stor} me at your perig!” she suid, firmly, her courage : “Sitdown, Tsay P20 j at stake, aul anheeding the sudden terror in his eyes, she - weg “ond she saw hina reel backward vasishe tore “herself trom thes ‘oypasp and flew, this time in the right direction,ont, of, the cave! 4. She knew notavhere she was going—searcely. how ibe entize f t butaie Tan through the Nasa as fist as she could, all the more ; , rapid ce ; t cacn neat by. and her Tears made eVery one an itch ‘Ocean. : the Sound, byuin: i | Poor little settlement. ' j : iy SRoit s here a horsebscl Sh athe: heard on the outsi ros | Fig mean a pushin’ doors ope). | Hr s for severil “s \nronk be dacide : jranlate a. faintness'shi¢ did not feel, bad down so that she could motdogk behinds i: ¢ 4) et / Lie drew adagser from his breast and cruelly dashed; it. ito, uthochaiaches of his poor horse. : a j frig ti it leaped onward through a.fringe*of bushes and ai oxhatistet and-dying at che waters edge?’ Ast fell, Perris ' } i &° Sema’ sail boat which jay ina narrow creck, and pushed clear ‘of tne land; Katrina endeavored bo tea from, the. boat, put ) hdashingher down he hoisicd.a, sail, T “trash dyvom. the shore, and as the sail filled, the boat soon sped Ferris rushed into the Go nwiy—go ‘avway. O¢ méns comejand cleaye your head off mit your body! ie 1 tiie £ hte AR ¢ a ; : oe ene shuddering form 26%, his daughte ' Tt vas not a musket shot away, when the dwarf, off! his? for your threat!” eried the, villain: te ¥ fage of the poor vid last of life for ‘podr Hang had sot Providence intervened ifs saving hand. The flitit-lockeé pisioi | ‘flashed in thd pan. ‘ { ) iif ene end faiis, the other shall not!’? cried ‘Ferris; angrily rand ywith)a terrible biow, from the br weopor he struck the poor old man dow ( ; Katrina had already tainted, and now literally tear we er, the Tufiin ¢ i poor Katrina in his arms and. held lig : boat sailed swiftly out is bait ae + tasprays of that day's suu falling upon hiiy ane Mis: once anvre { helpless captive. enerit Tia v ; a Ceradtevnke nosy, to, the miscrabig othought. that her hiriends could no longer aid her, look + sacking am ohi aut ¢ches:, from whieh be trinmphantly L & bag of. colts, 2 | havdtul of silver spoons. ee nes “There'sisome thin’? worth the carry as Rerris wppedired with the insensible ¢ ; “Take that—here is. all’ that’ Davant! ‘cried Ferris; lookin down with a glance ef ferocious triunrph on his hel "DE told you bad luck would But we've no th Thus saying, and scarcely tlie floor, Ferris strode out, followed by lv A mowzent after their as they had come, i we asked. mit come tx me thre¢ time. on 6 tk bg bleeding bedies ci horses werd gallopilig away ab bo ts i ¢ 08 OFF MOE s.6111 49 44 | | . ; io oShe had noticed thatle was stecring toward what seemed ta: i Leillainy.she knew not. EO APTEAU MXVELS OWI nal iru Wien Katrina Vanderbilt recovered her consciousness felt herself grasped by a powerftil arm, Sealéa before & rié a horse which was: galloping. wildly i dense that she coajd not sce tlhvface of him who heldher | | Though now perfectly conscious, she d any. sign.ot her recovery, for sie wixhe ic be interrupted in thought by theavretch who again had ler. nis power. : ay j Thus for a loiigtine she rode; nitib dtJast Rerris checked @:¢ orse sufficiently to let his companion ride up te £7 (ji f BUG Bye ew } ae, in edse up in ott yace’a little now,” Ferris, “we've left a good: 1Wwelity miles between us’ anc ithe @eashore now,.and Satar i , “He isnt used to c&ri il seemis mighty qaiets No—sheis too warm for that. ie better. Idon’t want, no sereechin’ or screamin’ ¢ TORK, e) a . Ones thing had occurred during their wild gall y encouraged Katrina. ‘ austworthy by night ianilhy day, meter never had | muster, a pbetiorserpvant.”. 3, horse, stretching oat his QUivering tiny “) And—d ; ia 2) ae ; ; iF “Blaok-hearted renetadé, diie more fein She isn’t dead, as she 2) j ‘wild appeals for vengenmesgvhigh sire registered ougainst the , But she isin a taint. yeu te | Waiae OF - i Ag dar : j sore dry 1 ‘ ( ‘his triodds Whoitt he iad left fae belfind in) tie wile athecine Se .vi vi ae ‘2 au @a : F&eris Ptind hime o7 8 .Y : iss ; t Joose from his beltand slipped outinteherioap.! /Thwasan ui after lis fire was ablaze befone the ¥ and imperceptible moyeme -to plaee within the bosom of her, dressy. a ced the weapon in ber “One of the pistols w it she hadamenageg | come in, then they came aook far ones) o} ‘elt.as i | bay vig adyy at : neat defend herself trom wrong and “Where will You halt first, ca lengthy silence as they rode on. “At the cave,” replied Ferris. take care ot; the gal and see to the horses, while L see what, bas become of my mother.” Suddenly b _ “Curse my in the pan and was out of ordér, that is gone.” ‘My pistols are injorder, I neekon,”’ can lave one of them if you want it.” che “Good. Bat I don’t want any till we ge ; : és ] be there by.daytight or before, mayhe. Spur ups Pd tike to [iv _get there before she revives, and shé'‘il Hate no idea whe tken to. ble keeps in) ¢ ; ta POR aan’, Hoaver SA ies théfe, out upon the wild “i i 5 mis 5 ? — The otliér fla eat OOP With Aim—with Frew Perils 7 Brine sD Be & | *Ves+he renehed the shore aad got) into. a boat avhenT ovas e 5a B vistol shot of lan. Ifis horse dropped dead Ld! eit business with profit to themselves and to the i utk—TI'vé lost nry* best pistol. bat Tavasusure witti'the one 7! said Dunning, Yand vary | 0 t to the cave. ° Wail ralsho ho last ® g heases Not far back and there must “ AT x 4 FA : ; een oN . VV VIS OGL EY Rae made no reply, for Ferris started his horse on at ahd again led the way. | CHAPTER XXVIII. | Muacepeed with which the dwarf led his party in pursu't of | auctors of Katriia was almost incredible, but he uever d, even for an mstant, trom the track o: the two horze- i, hor, With one exceprion, did he break trom the steady pt a af the start. yas ata stream which he called Croton, which they . Here the panting horsés were allowed to drink, aud the still waters of the westerw side, the dwarf pointed to the 38 made by those whom they were prrsuing. are not more than a couple of hours alicad of us. Ride —we will have them yet.” ng his hand he rode on at the same. headlong speed as “The fool is going back to the house of his mother,” said the arf, as mear noon-day they turned into the well-known drew rein shortly after, tor the track he was follow- ed abruptly into the woods. ount here,” he said, ina low’ tone. “Two men will » guard the horscs untilwe return, The others. will 19l- The villains have gone into the woods to hide, I re- once hearing of a cave im this neighborhood—they there!’ r tty instantly left their horses and silently but swiftly xi the diart into the woods.’ Ina few minutes they 12d the rocky hillside in which the caye was, situated. ioning for his followers to proceed in perfect silence, the © hurried on: , ‘ t > the cave, the sound of a crackling wood fire guided ind they scon came to its light. ° there has been WOrk’here!” “ex@aitied the dwatl, as ried forward and looked down upomthebedy of annan he instantly recognized as Alva Dunning. od, yet warm, was gushing from # bulletivound in the 4 *i € ong . Sane wl ~ hand of the wretch was clutched a portion of the same ch. Zenos Bans ‘Tecognized iy hand ‘of bas s having beet, Ki isha LAE bilt. On the ear the body lay a large pistol, which, on examina: emed to have been recently dischargtd In the belt td Tory his own pistols yet inained, both loaded. $°2% nystery here which I cannoteselve,” said the “Jaek Perris would nothaverkilled the companion of sre a thousang of his: devilish deeds, ot) Crime—y et, de ds, not here; ady is missing.” : ihthe! is nissin ie »*eateeel ert cise Dhere is his herse'and’ that of le dead niall,” said. the P the party, as A Satin'n i ingther” horse were iy fin TBSW lk .SIGBM Os L0i #2 ¥ ““Qestan@ Jack Ferrisieannot ibe faioaivay fronvehis horse,” i@ horses wereJed out attcr him. At the, instant the party smeged from he ave, a wild, piercing shrick was heard iu thi mace ° the road. A lond shont of ‘triamph—a wid, ar yell like that of an untamed savage was heard an in- Whgn the last sound Avastheardyetlic Irorse; | Black: Satan, cd 1c. and plunged fearfully, breaking in.a seconds from. the nian who held hin, a Sane heat: the ‘thickets With vaeniple spare neg ou Ment oa a . A minute cr two later, two shots were heard from the a iteaton in whien the horeesor the party Yad be cree @ Hurrying te thelroaiy thedwarf and his! purty learned from U.gtwoguards that hadseen lett wath the;horsesy shat) Ferris; guumpiad OM i's Wack horse, had Just sWept past vem wath “ties, nad fired merely to Siye the nlitm* fot] re Na field, the hom. | ? m of the fielpless:gitl up'as a Shield W ca ot ‘Mout amd follow! I wait foremo sbanp maw!” 1c c fied the Unvremisen od , 2 { LB Of is bs Spr ng on the back of his, beautiful Avabjan, the diwart Fé i glance at the rend to mark the track*of the black | >; aud was out of sig iz é 13k #7 Oh ae OHAPTER EXE giw boos Kottina Vanderbilt, with a taet fur which het s@xias ‘ever . Dp Dceotinse ustbility until, Ls: Ce MOM TAN, laid: her Tad strock i. helt she r, bat appeared the next t before the party were fairy | ie *4 ty By e und. Then after reyes with a fearful s go oil into unotber swoon. . % gaid Ferris, “I’m glad She’s takeithat wats) Watch BS pa a comeback and) see if Lean’t break : thase fainting spe ; seek: Deaeticeae 3 dar; het has Horris, now ett thé NG Sa ERE, ace securing the » forses, pile u a heap of dry wood and ‘nirde a etowime fire. |. Attorward he Wetlt'1o atteiid to the Herbed. Daring this time Katritia; trent spectetbathn s closed, had}. ‘hoon watching him, looking for, wehance to: excape: fr the !voye, before the, man whom, she; 1 feared, Jack Ferris, i shouldveturn to eontinike hisherseeut en. Thinking that while : Oumning was engaged with the ‘lrorses, ‘she could creep away : unseen, she slowly chanzed her'position. Ie ‘seemed so bitsy ” that shorfelt safe'in rising to herdeet.and moving noisclessly to- | i wardsvhal she supposed mmusthe the mouth of the cave) | ‘. Butanfortunately, she took-a wrens divection widiwas going . vag info its recesses, her cyes still glancing, toward the ‘Tory, shen she tripped over a'loose stone and fell, ee he ; + “Before she cou!d recain» ber feet, the rough hand of ‘thie 'v4l- lain clutcted her arm with a force Which made her wince with / : eSsol.ao! Got over your faint, ch? and thoughtvon'd steal a archer me. Smart—youwre uncommon shrart, my gal, buat \tsmart enough to fool me, ‘Mis said, ne led her back to the fire. \ ‘ Sit down, now, «wid make yourself comfortable tit! Jack shack,” he said, poluting to alog which had bee tsed asa’ + > > Where ishe’!? she asked, wishing to keep fim ignorant of wat she knew. ete ; “Gone to sce lus mother. He7ll be back in an hour or inayhe. Jessa time, So take iteasy 4nd don’t free.’ is Unck was tor nn instant turned indbing so, Katrina | at ay vose fron the dog, and: drawing tron, her bosom the pis- ich she had concealed there, she Jet her hand drop wich ve folds or hier dress, so thet he did not sée it as he turned : sed at her. _ ‘Sikdown, cal, sit down, 7 sa 1° he cried, angrily. T sQal sitdown! Lanrgoiie away from here, and you ’ risiag as she thought of the wegpon in her hands. % $ - > ae My peril, from a bit.of a gal e ike you > ay eat ghed snecrinely ashe clutcned her dress. in Nis hand tan en sharp tone: © tenes ‘ ~ In an instant her right hand, | with the ‘deadly weapon in it’ ‘ai rat! cocks was raised to a leyel withhigface. 9 » Ttwas a terrible act, but ecraeere thas te, her honor—was ied the trigger. c a “ srvild, Ses aay ‘groan followed the report of the * pistél, y. beeause she hear , or thouzhtshe heard the Yoices of etieniy. salary vi . Allat onée she broke out from the thick woods into a rowéli road with recent tracksvt travel init. loo) i 5 “'avotne same jnoment she heard hupvied, footsteps, and, genemy toward the direction of the soundy Siw the hated form 3{ Pevris vushing toward her. sar on hopelessly she screamed a Her ery was an. yy his demonic yell or trittaphe Unarned now and 2 she again sunk. faintme in reality; in his arms. Th ansan' atiet, hiis-horse, which wecogniziug his cry, had . : rsy bounded tothe spot. tan below said Satan above befriend me!” he cried, asafter jg Watrina over the shoulders of the horse, he instantly tee self anid was soon dashing doin the’ road. ; on. never Checking the wild will of his ‘fiery horse, the vode for miles. Finally, when the lacks horse. was}: sand trembling with fatigue, he hahed atva spring to let ns, he heard the, sound of steel shod,.hoofs, behind him.’ sing back he saw a torm'that he knew but. too well on, e. It wis the dwarf, hfs ‘long arms stretched out 3 show-white horses urging it tO its’ utmiest speed. 0 van, oulyitwo miles more and TP anon the Sound, ana cried: Fervisy striking YWe thank you, gratetully. “But. Ephraim» Tympkius, we! roundly,” ; “Speak what your wishcsare but do net offer mepay.” “We wish to find a boat in which to pursue a Villaln’who has carried Off & helpless young girl. . At dark heiwas stécring to- ivard an island aboutdue cast of this point.”? : “Granny Seratél’s Tsland,” said “Ephraim. “It is a bad place. An old witch dwells upon it who is said to hold con- verse with the Evil One. But youshall have a boat in which to pursue the bad mar and rescue the helpless and innocent. +1 have a boat which lays moored to a willow tree in a little creek a halt mile east from here.” : ‘SA small boat, sharp at both ends and’ jiainted read P>tasked the dwarf, quickly. . . 3 ae “Yea,” said Ephraim. °° : ; “It is the very-boat whith theovillvin. Ferris jenibarkedtliny? eried the dwarf. : “Thine enemy hast stolen my boat. Verily; Rowilt go witiv ve all op pursuit of it. “There r.a fishemnan but a hitde way hove who -has.a beat which he will hire for money, Twill testify that he is a good pilot, and the sightof! coll Witl ‘make him! do wonders. We will goto him instantly.) » : ; Ephraim now put his fiddle and bow alway ‘in the eupboard, and taking down a large great-coat, enveloped his spare form init 5 then lighting a !antern that he might see. his. way, bude the party follow hii. haveanyther Tayor to ask, tor which we are willing to pay HID itt i I ona CHAPTHRR: XXXII Bid 1 é As darkness closed over tie waters, enveloping in gloom the little boat which was swiltly béaring her she knew not whith- er, the heartof Katrina Vanderbilt sank in utter hopelessness. She did not heed:thesswittlywising storm nor,the wretch, who now lighted alantern, so tat he might sce to shape his éourse by a sinail compass Whiehy Re ‘had takentfremva decker ih the stern of the boat., Her misery was, her company and, her thought. At last it seehied Very long to her, he exefaimed: ~ “Therelitis! Dhe ishtnd iselose abourd, Tosee the helt or) » the fire in’old Granny. Scratch’s rock-floored cabka. She is keeping watel for wrecks on a nist like this.’ PW give her something clse toywatehy And shel have duelp toqwatch yeu, . my dine lady,, She has a dog as fierce as an untamed tiger, Whichwould rend you limb from linth if you sovght to escape from her gu cry : ’ Katrina shuddered as she heart these words, But she made no reply, Soonaticr Ferris dowered, theesail and then the boat » glidédinto a litte nookkbéetweentherocks, wud stvandcd ona bit ohn each. ~~ “Stay here till I go and see thewld-ayeman, and haye her dog chained,” Said Ferris, as he sprang ashere and_ disappeared in the stloomi. “The loud baying of a dog reached the exrs of Katri- na au ninute afterward.” - ’ “Pwill not stay here? she said, af ‘she rose. fron: the bottom of the Hoatand tricd to pierce the gToonn af the night with strain- ing Vision, ‘Setter to perish alou@ On the wild sea’? ; sresoepicty she. took up an.oar aud,pushed.the boat away from the shore: tre tide apy enred to be running Cbb, for as soon as she was. clear of the rocks, she felt the boat drifting swiftly away from the island. Whither, she Knew not, cared, not. It Wasaway from him. m " pee & roa _ Darkness yetnpped her from sight—she could not even sce the islind, though thesound of the water dashing against it was yet heard, ¢rowihg Moreand more famt as-bex boat drifted away. > Again and Again she heard bichon, and then she heard the ‘barking of the dog, which had probably been loosened to find her it she was y@t omor near Ure island. But'the sounds grew less and. Bees Ot Cireat ai dl ss last she deard nothing but the dash of wa cei sean, ani the howling winds abovey : Which ay she Was dritting, Whether it was oufto sea, ar to- a. the!shore, irom which she had, been carried, she did mot eho Wiki (9! oe 1. een ee gee BG , All (els atte theavind senacd do ineredseyand the waves to | grow higher and higher... The cold water dashed over her in spray wetting her’ to’ the’ skin. ? shivéring, drenched throush, she at last though of wrappilug herselt im the saul which Ferris had lowered,” , ae : cee Tt was thick and as soon.as it was folded about her slice felt much warnicry The rocking,to and fro of the boat, aust the compara- , tive peace of mind, Which stcteeded the terror’she had felt in | his presence, allaidcd to lu heramentallwand bodily, and ina lite hile the poor exhausted girl fell into a sound sleep. : 4 4jv"a 3 CHAPTER XXXITIo" ‘ ; With'a qnickstep; Ephraim, Tonpkins oJed, ihe way to the dwelling or the fisherman, Of whom be had spoken—Yacol Yerks by name! ote j ; ; Afi ugly looking Scotch terrier greeted them savagely as they bugean dhesbtie house. ~ oe ee rs *Yacob, call in your cur—there are gentle folks here that wish, to see you! cried Ephrain. . ee es AG Y ~ “Geide tulks mit YOu, old ‘see-saw 2! Daf Gs A kelly story. Youd -petter' go, play mit your fiddle orshell pecans, Ldinks, Go i avaxmit you, Dominic, or I make my dog Schnaaps pite you!” oo ’Calkyotr dvccdffy eb put an ounce of lead throu his eareussy? sheuted tee dwart in his shrill voice... ' ,Bhis sound brought the Dutchman, a fat, good-natured looking mun, to the door of hi¥ rude dwebling ri . Qe Secing strangers, there, he called bis exclted dog in, and then looking at Epil rat’ for an-answeér, ‘asked what was wanted by hiswisiters, % ) 90 Te I “they: want to hire your boat and you to anags a chap that bas pun aivay with niy béavunkalon leered for eld Granny Sera telrs isla,” its mine pout und me to go on de sound, eh?» Well wave me, ner yet mine poat. Dunder it will plow. to- it, to chase intt. . “Ehey Vv dey cut] nig hwPiiy ie ; ‘ : ai ‘uLook here, my man—you'yve got a beat That we must and willaaye !? cried ther dwant, ystepping forward. ofivew are wit hi Meee be taken cure of—it Dot we may lose it and then you will Bact gwefpaid fer if Go with Us iW the Boat and you shall have f 13. { SE ve golden sovereigns } 1 : . h—what das you say? Five pieces of gold—you got*em'mit you, nowany Jeétic mans?’ / 2 { y a : “Yes! saad Martin, shaking a purse of gold before him. “You had. hetter go.” »“Fliminel—I dinks just so tco.” ot q ' fhe Dntehman went back into his hut and made some chance in his’ rig’ Then he came out, Nissnariing dog at his heels, apd led the Way. downto a smallartificial canal, Whielbhad been dug into the bank rear the water. In this. there was mooreiha pretty fair sizé@ sloop boat, capa . “Yunipm, yup inlectle mans, if you is captain of dere odder mens,” said the Durehman. Martin fotfowed by, the rest of his party, entered the boat. i*Yump in, oldsee saw, und tend de main sheet, while I aiakes oor nutde chibg? said the Dutclanan. i ; { The wasigg yt, Sprang in with alacrity and seized hold of the rope indicated, while The fishermen ran up the fib of the boat aud let go the shere fastenings. In aninstant tie boat nioved out on fhe walter, ane was'soon clear of the land. : “You waht to go where, now?” asked the Dutch skipper or, ing. glee hagelgol fins : ap 2 With e yell of mocking aap, Rr pcarsey athe formpof, | ble of doing good service on the water. . os 2i5G ‘p tEY j qitot. vtygtl vit ‘ bats ys ' rp hirst toward dn Mand just Visible eff (o> the east. Toward that the boat we pursue was steering, When Ty dastsaw ite? ile Thunder! That was what becanic of iny, pistol. “Tintst “Martin, * , ; rir atghi Koop my eyes on you, mv girl.” i : : “f do not fear death,” replied Katrina, shuddering, only bocause the shadows or night were: closing overt the water!) be an island nhead, but now even the sight of; that wyas lost to wiew, Where he was going, or what would be his next act of CUWARTES XXX. Ajarlin Sewall stoo | whh pallidiface, bloodshot eyes and quivé ips, gazing on the boat whizl: hore John Ferris and lel): -0+—____—__ OUR NEW DOLL. BY REY. A. M’ELROY WYLIE. It is truth but too plain- “Tt is a beauty, isn’t it? almost as large as you are— you little witch! Flaxen hair—rather pink complexion —brown eyes—fine dress with long train, and blue shoes too}? and our litule Carrie dances up and down with de- light. A great birth-day wasn’t it, that you thought you bought for two cents? é That’s better than yoursham plays on the stage. In- deed this is real life, what a splendid prophecy of the fu- ture? Itis better than a tonic. Here is drinking the whole contents of the cup and seeing no imp at the bot- tom either. It is an angel. : Now on the crowded street car, see how that full-faced enthusiastic little creature wins her way! That sober countenance, marked with the business cares of the day —see, how it relaxes, then melts into a smile; angels be- gin to dance about the eyes of the man of cares ! He, though a stranger, takes the little girl with the big doll; aud she is soon at home on his knee. The whole car-crowd drop their paper-holding hands to listen to that dear little child’s electrifying prattle. Never did Agassiz lecture more enthusiastically over the fin or caudal extremity of some unknown species, than does that child chirrup over that waxen piece of infan- tile imitation. (goa Let others grow ecstatic over vertebre of the accan-. thopterygious, or over a feather from the fringilla, but commend us for ecstacy to a bright, healthfal, three year-old, with a big doll—newly given. ; Here is the young woman without disguise. What 1s pent up—suppressed in the older—rushes in and out, sing- ing on the wing, as birds in and out of an open cage. What coddlings! what crib lullabys! what pattings and pouncings—laying down and taking up—what enthu- siasm of gushing tenderness ! ‘ “Look! look! my dollie! she can cry! she can shut he eyes and open them!—she shall sleep softly in her little bedstead. I'll sew for her, and sing her to sleep, and dress her, and take her out—and send for the doctor when she is sick—have you any little girl like me at home ?”? : That touches the man of care. Perhaps that opens a fountain in his heart—gushing forth anew at the recol- lection of some little one, whom angels long ago carried away. Perhaps even now he wears, like the great states- man of Marshfield did, a little sock pinned over his heart. Perhaps he has no little one like her, perhaps never had —then I pity him. awaked to four-fifths of the joys of this lower life. His life has been shut up in two or three rooins, and those not the best, when he might have had sunshine in the whole house. The time seems short when mother and children arrive at Cumberland street—what an effect upon the whole car load! All were smiling, and much of genial good na- ture found its way to the surface. Gentlemen and ladies had been kindly forward in offering places on their knees for the children, and the conductor was wonderfully po- lite in springing to the platform and tenderly helping the little ones out. ; Home reached—the new doll drove away sleep from the baby mother for a long while—a prophesy of sweet cares and anxieties in the future! Early in the morning the jwe-year-old, waking in a snap, flashed over the three- year-old out of bed, made a dive for the doll recumbent on the sofa, and, before any arrest could be made, was: off into another room to have the first treat in a corner at coddling the little inanimate new-comer; and the whole performance launched another day in a tide ef laughter— oiling the:family movements for another twelve-hours. - And yet, do you believe it, there are those,’ and you'll not have far to go before finding them, who, with unre- flecting criminality, will lay the murderous hand upon the very fountain of in-coming life, and destroy all this beau- ty and glory which comes in, freighted with happiness, without its peer in human experience!! O, ye who talk about the cares and troubles of children. —take it all back—every word of it—and let the little child lead you into the purest paths of innocent plea- sure and joy you ever trod! Despise not one of these lit- tle ones, for except ye be like them—in innocence, human- ity, and faith—ye shall not enter into the kingdom of the blessed. For one, reckon me among the society of those whose angels always behold the Father’s face. —_——__ +--+. Battles! Battles The new story of “LITTLE BUCKSHOT,” has a battle to almost every chapter, and they are fought by live men— not fancy pictures that never existed. Our youthful. readers will read it with an avidity it merits. Ready next week. His consciousness has never yet | “HAVE CHAKITY.’’ BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. On hearing the beautiful song, written by Francis 8. smith, “Have Charity,” sung to its fine accompaniment! “Have charity!’ sweet charity, The noblest theme thatever rang, Throughout creation’s vast domains, Or ever angel voices sang! Not merely charity, that gives A pittance to the wretched poor, But charity that gently throws A mantle o’er the evil doer. That sees in every human breast A latent spark of fire divine, (Though dust of years its light may dim,) Obedient to the Master shine! The charity that Jesus had, Whose blameless life taught love below, The charity that gives alike To bosom friend or bitter foe. In Heaven’s blest abiding place, Where ‘we shall know as we are known,” We'll need no earthly charity, For love will bind our hearts alone. ee HOW FAN'S FOLLY ENDED. — BY PEARL CLIFFORD, “Here Iam but sixteen, and y says I ama young lady and must conduct myself as such. Mamma has taken me from Madam nfay’s, and intends “pringing me out” this winter. How shocking it is to be rich and have a fashionable mamma. If I wear my hair brushed back in loose curls, I look childish and silly, and Mariette is called, and I have bale ges ye of agonies to look stylish and womanly. Then, put on that sweet blue dress of mine, braided so ith. white, mamma has my maid substitute a heavy silk flounced, puffed, ruffled, and dear knows what. And now,—oh, dear !—she has invited that puppy, Adolphus Charles Chesterfield here, to fall in love with me,- and, and—” and Fanny Sefton finished her soliloquy with a burst of tears. ce It was crue all she had uttered, Mrs. Sefton was a wealthy widow. with two children: Clymer Sefton and Fanny, our heroine. The young man was studious, hand- some, and agreeable, but was oftimes bored by his moth- er’s constant reproofs. She was intensely fashionable, looked, dressed, ate, and would have died fashionably, I think, if the fashion had been set. . Poor little Fan, full of young life, as a kit- ten, had been o to P A one bie onee school, ie the age of six, and rem: ere until my story opens, knowing but little of her mother, yet loving her tonaly’ almost idolizing her handsome brother, who visited her often, and always brought her a fairy st.iy book, or a box of bon-bons, and raced with her eh os nel large and well cultivated garden, from where he returned with his hat crowned with flowers, and a hi nosegay scholar, owing to the large sums of money paid madam for tuition by Mrs. Seftone “Now, Fanny; I wish you to leave off your boisterous | style of acting, and remember There, do draw your feet in, and sit in a more d ed | manner; and—how often must I remind you, curls are unbecoming your style of face. Tell Mariette to brush them out and fix them in puffed chignon, and let her fasten that tiara of rubies and diamonds in your hair. Also I desire you ear your ruby silk, with the Mech- lin lace flounce; and for tne last time, Fanny, I wish to request you to discard all childish follies, and dress, and act as a young lady |’? and Mrs. Sefton arose with stately dignity and'swept her rich silk from the room, and poor little Fan indulged in the above soliloquy, and ended in tears, when a knock at the door aroused her, and Clymer entered, caught her in his strong arms and jamped her up and down till she burst into a merry langh, then seated himself in a Voltaire chair and drew her petite form-on his knee, and with tender caressing words drew from her the cause of her sorrow. “Well, my sweet sprite, we'll circumvent mamma, who means weli no doubt, but she has yet to learn that life is not a puppet show, and that we possess souls as well as . Now pay particular attention to what Iam going to tell you, and then you may call Mariette, to dress you Up ike a pretty, overgrown doll, and place you in an tude for Adolphus to see and adore.’ Then followed a whispered conversation, with nterrup- tions from Fan’s rosy lips, and Clymer kissed her and left pinned in his button-hole, for Fanny was a privileged } you are a young lady. % Clymer Sefton is always a welcome guest at their fire- side, because he contributed so happily to Fan’s folly, and he is amply repaid ior lis kindness as Fan leans to press kisses on his brow. ——— > 6 <4 The Officers Of the U. 8S. Army bear frequent witness in their letters to. us, of the truthfulness of Ned Buntline’s pictures of red life on the Plains. Several of these gentlemen figure prominently in the new story of Western life, LITTLE BUCKSHOT, which will be commenced next week in the NEW YORK WEEKLY, The officers and men of the old First N. Y¥. Mounted Rifles, will greet their former favorite, the gallant LIEUTENANT -COLONEL WHEELAN, in his new role as a regular officer, on such duty as “Ned”? saw him doing, last summer, when he was after the Ogallalas. STEALING GRAPES, BY HANNAH HOPPER, Marinda Parker peered through the shutters from the sitting room window, and saw that there was a boy 1n her rape arbor deliberately picking the fruit and dropping it into a basket which he heldin his hand. Nothing would disturb Marinda quicker or more than to have a thief in her garden, especia}ly in her grape arbor, and she flew to the front door in a passion, catching a cane from a peg as she did so, determined to use itif the boy camein her way. She ran toward the garden gate flourishing the cane and crying: ' Leave, you thief, or Pll show you how this cane feels over your head.” - The boy looked up an instant, then kept on gathering the rapes, usnds was horrified at the boy’s boldness, and she stopped short at the gate and gazed at the young scoun- drel with eyes and mouth wide open. Finally she said in an angry sarcastic tone; “You've taken possession here I see. is equal to your thltevish propensities. gathering all the grapes?” “QO no, ma’am,” said the boy in a respectful tone, ‘I think one bunch more will be enough, and I am greatly obliged to you for them.” “You young rascal! who gave you liberty to steal my grapes?’ said Marinda, getting more and more excited and flourishing the cane menacingly. “Noone gave me liberty,”? said the boy, “but poverty drove me to do it.” “Poverty, eh! Poverty drove you to steal grapes. She drove you in a very singular direction, I always thought untilnow, that poverty, set people first to thinking of the necessaries of life instead of the luxuries.’’ “I gathered the grapes for my sick mother,” said the Your boldness Do you intend “Why didn’t you ask me for them?’ said Marinda in a kinder tone. ; “Because,’’ said the boy, “I did not believe you would ‘gr mh ey request, and rather than have my poor mother go hout them when she desired them so much, I came 0 your arbor and took them without permission, and f am greatly obligéd to you, and will pay you for them as S00 as Tam able.” “You are a very strange boy,” said Marinda Parker. “Where does your mother live ?” “In Grab alley, on the top floor of number 16," said the “And what is your name? “Samuel Brand.” “How old are you ?” “Thirteen.” “Well, take your grapes, and carry them to your mother; you are welcome to them, but when you wish any more, come and ask me for them,” said Marinda. “O, thank you, ma’am,’’ said the boy, ‘‘you are very kind. Iflhad known, 1 would have asked you for the grapes, but no one has been kind to me; all look at me in such a cold and suspecting manner that I thought no one would believe me, and my mother is so pale and feeble, ma’am, anu the grapes looked so fresh on these vines, I determined to risk everything and procure a few bunches forher. Good morning, ma’am, if ever I can, you shall pe paid for every grape I have taken.”’ The boy walked away leaving Marinda gazing after him in wonder. : “A singular boy,” she muttered, ‘‘a very uncommon boy; Ilike him. If his mother is sick, and they are so poor as he says, Something should be done for them... 1 hope there isva littie feeling left in my heart for humanity if they do call mé an old maid, and say 1am odd and singular. I was not always SO, and it ain’t my fault I haven’t a husband, the room, and in an hour's time, Fan, with a stateliness that would have been very amusing to sensible ind vidual, sailed into the drawing-room. 2 ing brightly, the perfume of rar from the conservatory, and Mrs. § introduced a young man of three a (so —aeeneeree t invisible light haired, light eyed, with ve ] der dainty feet, with very tight Pvery fine’ cloth, and plaited and ruffled li p ace D 2 ce ne tie, and an eye-glass st nded @ delicate chain of gold, and a studied: bew, an “aw yas, chawming !” at the end of every sentence. — Was the description Far | gave her brother, hardly ing to take breath, half cry- ng and wholly laughing. ~ he days passed:by, and every evening found the young exquisite paying his devoirs to Fan, and Mrs. Sefton actually kissed little Fan, so elated was she at the con- templated union of ‘Adolphus Charles Chesterfield to Miss Fanny, only daughter of the wealthy Mrs. Sefton; and after a while Mrs. Sefton left off playing propriety, and Fan shocked the exquisite Adolphus—until that young man exclaimed : ‘Miss Fwan, weally you suwprise me.” And Fan continued: ‘Yes, indeed, dear Adolphus, [really would ’tan any man’s hide off of him that dared refuse to take me to the opera, theatre, or any place I wanted to go; and if he belonged to any aristocratic tamily, like yourself, my dear, I would pelt him with our service of Sevres china, if he dared tojoin any society, or club !”” (Adolphus belonged toa club called “The Wiite-Kidded Cream,’’.and our roguish sprite knew it). Adolphus moved nearer the door as Fan finished, and stood up to her fullest hight, (which was scarce four feet,) with her hands on her hips, in true washerwoman fashion. It was hard work for her to keep her pretty bright face in such a shrewish pucker, but she did, greatly to the youth’s horror, who involuntarily held his eye-glass up to his very wide open blue eyes. Mrs. Seiton very inopportunely entered, and Fan sank majestically into a chair, and Mrs. Sefton spoke of the coming wedding, for Adolphus had ere this been charmed into asking that lady to consent to giving her daughter to him, but failed to note the horrified look, that dwelt on her future son-in-law’s face, as she spoke of their bridal tour, and ti: louse that she would present Fan on her wedding diy. The latter bait caught the young man’s ear, and tle horrified look gave place to a com- placent smile, as he glanced at pretty Fan, all demure dignity, and it was decided the w piace ina month’s time, as in a week or two she would make her debut in society, and afterward to have a wed- ding, would render Mrs. Sefton’s daughter the theme of the elite for weeks to come. So Adolphus bent low over Fan’s little hand ana pressed it to his blonde mustache, very much as one would handle a young chicken, and Fan walked right up to her brother’s room, snatched the book from Clymer’s hands, and threw it across the room, and threw her petite form on his knees, and wept on his broad breast, and after much coaxing and caressing, he learned that her destiny was undeniably fixed—that she could not shock him enough to leave her; and declared ‘“‘she’d drown her- self before she would marry that fixed-up monkey; he don’t love any one but his precious self anyhow, and I wish—oh ! how I wish that—”’ ests We will not say what her wish was; but that night she fell down three or four steps, and Clymer ran and brought her in his arms'to the parlor, and laid her tenderly on the sofa, then ran Out for a doctor, and brought in Dr. Hopeill, who looked very wise through his green glasses, brushed his grey hair the wrong way, and declared the young lady’s fall would prove a very dangerous one. nat this burst into a loud langh and turned very crimson in the face, which the doctor, looking still graver, pronounced “symptoms of insanity.” He spoke of ‘“‘am- putation” being necessary, while poor Fan’s lady-mother shrieked and fainted, and when brought to her senses she was so thoroughly alarmed for the daughter that she forgot whether it was “the fashion’ to faint; and Adolphus Charles said: “Aw, it 1s horvible |”? and left the parlor, after bidding Mrs. Sefton a tearful good-by, in| which he stated that “of course he could not marry a cripple or crazy girl,’”’ and Mrs. Sefton, too mucl: flurried and anxious, hardly missed him, while the doctor looked wiser than ever, fixed some powders for the young lady, to be given every hour, and then bowed himself out and ran up stairs to Clymer’s room, burst in upon him, caught et young man around his neck, and nearly choked m. “It’s done, Cly; and I think Fan’s folly has ended very sensibly, for she has accepted me on condition that I frighten Chesterfield, and I’ve done it pretty effectually, I believe; and Clymer, I love that darling sprite above all earthly things, even better than the diploma with M. D. to it, that I received last week,’’ and Guy Lorne pulled off the grey Wig, disclosing very dark hair, and without the green glasses his eyes were very bright and brown. - And Fan, too full of fun to remain long inactive, said that the doctor’s green glasses injured her eyes, and his ptions (mostly composed of sugar) ‘‘nauseat her,” and summoning up all her audacity one day, she confessed to her mamma that she was not a bit injured, and she guessed it was Guy Lorne that was playing doc- tor, for he had fallen in love with her and said, he would die of a broken heart if she, Fan, did not have him; and she did rather admire her brother’s friend, &c. And Mrs, Sefton, with a deep sigh of relief that Fan had no broken limbs, gave a reluctant consent to Guy Lorne’s marrying Fan, for Guy was rich and talented, and bid fair to be an honor to the profession; and Mrs. Sefton Was sO angry at her once idol Adoiphus, that she the more readily consented, stipulating Guy should wait one year for Fan. me ws He did wait, and thought her worthy a longer service; and though years have now flown since sth were eae one, Guy still thinks Fan ‘the sweetest little wife in the world,” and she retorts that “any. fellow was. better than that dancing jack, Adolphus; and she only married him to be rid of Adolph.” ding should take |. for Ish , have been married long, long ago if Charley cBride mad been true to me.” / into the house, muttering these she entered the kitchen, “put sket a bowl of currant jelly, Nail e tea, sugar, a half-a-dozen “Of day, a bottle of wine, and every- } ould be good fora sick person.” " ( med to obey without questioning the object of her mistress, commenced immediately to obey orders, and Marinda Parker prepared herself for a walk to Grabailey. Halr an hour after, with the market- basket in her hand, she climbed the five flights of stairs in 0. 16, and rapped on a door im the dark filthy hall. s—=<—_——_ ~ - A Christian View of Mrs. MeFarland’s Conduct. The Northwestern Advocate (a religious paper) takes the following sensible view of the notorious case concern- ning which so much has recently been said and written : We have a very simple law, which has borne the noblest fruits, and which has become the guardian instinct of domestic life; it is that a married woman cannot receive decjarations of love; to offer them is a personal insult, to receive them isa damning shame. Much more cannot @ woman when m receive promises of marriage, to be redeemed when she shall cease to be a wife. In what- éver form put, such a declaration as that made by Rich- ardson in this case, is a “tReet outrage upon social law, a profane invasion of the sanctuary of domestic peace. We grant as much leniency as may be asked for the man; the act was shameless to the verge of harlotry. - We believe that much should be conceded to women suffering in marriage; for this very reason we deprecate the disgrace of every.other woman who like this giddy creature seeks n relief, but cannot find it because one has made that of every other odious and con- iptible.s What can be said, what must be said, to do ce to a divorce suit which is instituted and carried rough to effect an exchange of husbands! What is left fsecurity in marriage if good men can honestly bid against husbands who are obnoxious? What security can any court have for the honesty of the evidence or the clearness of the applicant, when once it has learned that women first contract new affections and then urge for divorce? It is a downright assault upon our fundamental con- victions, our whole social theory, to attempt to sweeten these bitter lessons of the Richardson marri.ge. It was a blow at every family when Richardse:: ueclared his purpose to marry a woman seeking divarce; it was a blow at all wives who may justly seek divurce for cruelty, for on them the recoil of this blow must fall, Henceforth the lover lurks in the purlieus of the court, animates the lawyers, and, if he be warm in affection, pays the ex- penses of the fair sufferer... How long would it be if this were not the punishment, before any wife might consider any proffer of a better home or a larger fortune, without indignation or moral revulsion ! It is too common to assume that divorce will be no re- lief to abused women unless they may marry again. We doubt it much, but, admit the fact, it will still be a dang- erous and immoral rule that a quasi engagement to new bonds may intensify the pursuit of relief trom the evil. Every woman of purity will distrust herself when the offer of a new love awakens Zeal to hunt down and cruc- ify the old, when she feels the first risings of flames which degrade her because she has no right to feel them. While mauried she is to look but one way, to one duty, to one love; she falls when, within the enclosure of marriage bonds, she forms attachments to another man; she makes courts to consecra‘e her impurity. ——— > @+4 Antoine Ladue, Born a trapper and hunter—as they say out West of one who knows no other trade, and now a prominent scout in the United States service, near the Rocky Mountains, is one of Ned Buntline’s heroes in the inimitable story of Little Buckshot, which, fall of real characters, is destined to take the reading public by storm when it appears in the NEw YORK WEEKLY next week. rotor rte To Correspondents. BG We are constantly in the receipt of lettérs from contrib utors desiring to know how soon their MSS. will be published We have grown tired of answering such queries, and can take no notice of them from this time henceforth. As we receive contributions we notice them either as accepted or declined, and if accepted this is the last the author will hear of them till they appear in our columns. If contributors are not willing to abide by this rule, we had much rather they would send their favors elsewhere...... We cannot Ponger consent to take charge of letters intended for contributors. We are always anxious to oblige our friends in every way possible, but our time is limited, and the matter in question subjects us to much annoyance and loss of time. We must, therefore, decline to take charge of* any letters intended for contributors after this date...... We will not undertake to return rejected MSS. under any circumstances; we have so large a number to go through that itis utterly impossi- ble for us to keep the run of them, and contributors must either keep duplicate copies, or sacrifice their labor, if we do not use their favors, Gossip with READERS AND ConTRIBUTORS.— Apollo.—The affair is not a humbug—it is all that it pretends to ye: barefaced gambling........ M. J. E.—\st. We must decline giving ycu the details of our private business. 2d. Foolseap is the paper used generally by writers. You write a passable hand Michigan.—lst. We have a number of Lawrence Leslie’s sketches, entitled ‘‘The Romance of History,” in hand, and will publish them from time to time. 2d. No. 3d. ‘Kosei- usko’s Early Love’ appeared in No. lof the present volume of the New YorK WEEKLY........ Ladg Violet.—There is no anti- quarian society in New York City. The Historical Society, the office of which is at the corner of Second Avenue and E. Eley- enth street, might purchase the papers in your possession. Your best course to dispose of the papers would be to advertise them. Boe eae 's Sick.—The fare from New York City to Washington is about $8 both summer and winter. By taking the New Jer- sey Central you can go to Washington without lying over await- ing connecting trains......: sior.—We know nothing at all about them........ Subcsriber.—The address is not in our posses- Mow. ci<2. Maud Muller.—1st. | You are correct in your criticism. The announcement, by accident, contained the error, and it was thougbt best to make no correction, as that would have in- volved an explanation, 2d. You write a es hand....... eader.—The proxer way to do advertising is to write your ad- vertisement, send to the papers in which you want it to appear, state the number of times you want it published, and request the bill to be forwarded at once, and pay it. Do not get into debt for advertising, but manage so that you shall always have a balance at your banker’s beyond your indebtedness. If a man cominences business by getting into debt, the chances are that he will end by going into bankruptcy. Let no one persuade you to spend, because you can get credit, a greater amount than your income...... emplar.—ist. It would be proper for you to speak to the lady did you meet her in the street. tionwas entirely different from a bail-room introduction, which gives no right to ciaim acquai e after the dance for which the parties have been introduced is over. 2d. Yes. 3d. If you will read the “Knowledge Box” you will find recipes for removing pimples in it almost every week. 4th. No....... Vic Wild.—The experiment proved a success in the instance to which you refer, but we do not advise you to try a like one. Too many people regard marriage asa subject worthy of less grave considera- tion than the shape of a new bonnet, or the pattern of the com- ing vest. saat appear toforget that marriage is a union for -life—that it isfravght with happiness or misery for all the years they may live—that no matter how successful in attain- ing the objects of their ambition they Ps be, 4 there is not love at home all their successes do not bring contentment. Do the courting before marriage—study the character of the one on whom you have set your affections, so that you may know whether there are not traits in disposition, temper and char- acter which would render your married happiness an impossi- page eee Orde ...Shoo-Fly.— answer CS EER. Old Nick.—\1st: Dr. Robinson troduced ‘the character into but two of hisstories; but imitators have tried to make their weak efforts popula. the character. They succeeded in showing h imitators. Re A notorious pou 3d. A very good trade.. d, Jr.—See No W. Poule Jr. vee eda Weg - Roulet.—We wiil not sell the ergra\ ings which appear in the New York WEEK- EPs .S. J merson Partridge.—1st. The cities of Sodom and Go- morrah were situated near the fertile valley of Siddim, and their sites . re now covered by the southern portion of the Dead. Sea. 2d. The sphinx, a fabulous monster of ancient mythol- ogy, was represented by the Greeks as having the winged body of a lion, and the breast and head of a woman; while amon the Egyptians it was represented with the head of a man an the body of a lion—they had sometimes the head of aram or a hawk, ana sometimes that of a snake with the body of a lion. Tne Egyptian sculptures are supposed to be symbolical repre- sentations of monarchs, or of Divine power. The great sphinx at the pyramids is supposed by Lepsius to represent King Cephren, the builder of the second pyramid. The Egyptians called it Hor-m-kho or R-m-sho, “The sun in his resting piace.” It was carved out of a rock which broke the view of the pyra- mids, and is near the eastern edge of the platform on which they stand, with its head turned toward the Nie. Itis elevate 45 teet above the present level of the soil, and only the head ana shoulders are now visible above the sand. Some years te th sand was cleared away by the explorer Caviglia, and it w found that in approaching it from the river a sloping descent cut inthe rock for 135 feet ied to a flight of 13 steps and a level platform, from which another flight of 30 steps descended to the space between the fore paws of thesphinx. The hightfrom the platform between the protruded paws and the top of the head is 62 feet; the paws extend 50 feet, and the body is 143 feet long, being sculptured from the rock, excepting a portion of the back and the fore paws, which have been c with hewn stone. The countenance isnow so much mutilated that the outline of the features can with difficulty be traced. The space between the prcunere paws appears to have been used asa temple, in which, at least in later times, sacrifices were per- formed to the Deity.. No opening has been found anywhere in the figure, which is undoubtedly of solid rock. Though the proportions are colossal, its outline is pure and graceful; the expression mild, graceful and tranquil; the character is Afri- can, but the mouth, though the lips are thick, has a softness and delicacy ot execution truly admirable...... J. W. €.—Both names represent one person, and he has sufficient rascality in him tosupply a small community of saints with more than a needful amount of leaven of sin...... Elkhorn.—The Protestants throughout the world are outnumbered by the Catholics, It is estimated that there are 160,000,000 Catholics in the whole world, and 88,000,000 Protestants of all denominations......_. R. Herbert R.—Chambers’ Encyclopedia is an excellent work— in fact one of the best works of the kind which has ever been ublished. You cannotget any other work equally as excel- ent at solow a figure.......Jaud.—ist. Burke Brentford, author of “Squirrel Cap,” is not a brother of the lady named. A bro- ther of the lady isan author, but he doves not reside in Phila- deiphia, and he did not write “Squirrel Cap.” 2d. The state- ment that a story like ‘‘Squirrel Cap’? can be written in a few hoars is simply ridiculous, and should be: sufficient proof to you that the fellow who has been talkiug to you on the subject is as ignorant as he is mendacious....7. t Cob Dock.—A prisoner on trial for murder can object to a certain number of ea without giving cause why he does so. This is called in legal phrase, “peremptory challenge.” The number of jarymen who can be so chailenged differs in differ- ent States. We believe that the prisoner can challenge five ju- rors peremptorily in the State of New York...... Buffalo Jack.—I1st. The ecuntry in the immediate neighborhood of Lake Superior contains little game. Deer are scarce; and the animals which are hunted for their furs—as the beaver, marten, otter, and silver fox—have been almost exterminated. Wolves are rarely encountered, and the largest animal often met with is the porcupine. The lake contains many varieties of excellent fisb, and brook trout are common in all the rivers and brooks which ey into Lake Superior. 2d.:It is about one thousand miles from New York City to Lake Superior, and the expense of going there would be about . 3d. “Little Buckshot’ will be commenced in No. 33. 4th. A poor affair. You wens, get any kind of a good gun under $25. 5th. “The Boy Whaler” ran through 27 Nos., which will cost $1. 62......7. B. B, T.—A will made, signed and properly witnessed on a Sunday, is a legal doc- ument, and will be admitted to probate just as readily as though it had been made on any other day of the week......Che som.—Very fine brick are made inthe vicinity of Milwaukee, and many other places at the West. In ne uth, also, brick are extensively made..... Doubting.—We think the young lady isright. She thinks you are too young to marry, and kindly intimates that she doesnot wish you to pay her particular at- tention. Herreception ofthe attentions of other young men is pretty good proof that she does not love you with an overpow- ering passion. Take her advice, and cease annoying her with attentions which she does not regard with favor ....,.Helmet. —A quack...... Kate F. D...We know nothing of the reputation of the physician named...... tant Reader.—Address your in- quiry yg Commissioner of the Land Office, Washington, D. C...... Will o the Wisp.—If you wish to improve in conversation you must go into society. By reading and storing your mind with information you prepare yourself for conversation; but you must mix in the company of well-informed people, before yon can expect to become a fluent and agreeable conversation- alist. any men of deep rning make but poor figures in society, because they have not accustomed themselves to min- gle in miscellaneous companies...... Perpl —Ist. In this country it is not considered improper for a man to marry his dead wife’ssister. In England there 1s law against such mar- riages, h_strenuous efforts are now being mace to repeal the law, . If convinced that the lady does not care for him, he had better remain silent...... A. R. T.—Type can be bought from-any type founder....Clarence Stanhope.~lst. Munson’s is oe regarded as the best. 2d. The mixture can be used with- out injurious effects. 3d. You write a good hand.. W. J. Emmons.— ist. Take aswitch and whip the clothing with it, then leave them in the sun fora few hours. 2d. In retiring from or entering into any public building, a gentleman who is incompany with a lady should lead the way, so that he can make a passage tor the Jad 3d. Your penmanship is up to the bookkeeper’s standard. easy s rax.—lst. In the game of euchre a misdeal—where the’ discovery is not made until the trump has been turned—deprives the dealer of his deal. 2d. Where a player deals out of turn, and the error is discovered before the hand is played out, the deal goes tothe person entitled to it, and each of the adversar- ies of the player who dealt out of turncan add one point to his score. Where the mistake is not discovered till after the hana has been played out, it cannot be rectified without the consent of all the players. 3d. No &Snn in playing has a right to ‘‘stock” ove: doing it should be deprived the cards, and any one society a witness and a minister of lust when she asks the4 brown, each quill withaser | the company would be hundreds of miles away... THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #2= of the privilege of playing with honorable men. A ‘“‘stock’’ is the trick of a blackleg...... James Burlinge.—\st. The only way in which the acquaintance of a modest woman can be made is through a proper introduction. 2d..You should do anything which your mother wants you to do, so long as it 1s not dishon- orable.... Howard Klub.—\st. The gentleman should always bow first to a lady acquaintance, no matter how long he may have been acquainted with her. 2d. A man can live on about the same amount of money in San Francisco that he can in New Yorks, Hy; Unfortunate.—The institution is one of the most infa- mous quack concerns in the country. Instead of spending your money and destroying your health with quacks, go ato good hysician....J. #2. R.—It is possible that Paul Morphy, since he ecame famous as a chess player, may have been beaten, but we have never seen any statement to that effect..... H, Blachart. —In the descriptions ot books, *12 mo.” means ‘tduodecimo’’— that is, a book composed of sheets which are folded in twelve leaves to the sheet...... H. W. Snyder.—We gave as much space to the subject as we thoughtnecessary for i ar orough explana- tion, and we did not care 10 make the New_YorK WrrEKLy a ve- hicle for mere technica! disputation...... Operator at Monmouth. —Ist. There are in New York the offices of ten telegraph com- anies, with innumerable stations scattered over the city. We ve not the space to give themames and locations of the com- panies and stations; nor have we the time to become acquainted with the names of the operatorson the different lines. 2d. The office of the Atlantic and Pae raph Company is at No. 33 Broadway. F. Wilmarth is President, and C. A. H Secretary... .Night Hawk.—The Sa and night-hawk are both of the North America goat-sucker species. The whippowil is ten inches long, and has an extent of wing of 19 inches. The plumage is difficult to describe: the top of the head is longitud- inally streaked with black; the throat has a narrow white col- lar; the abdomen and terminal half of tail whitish, the former indistinct with transverse bands and mottl! of brown: wings fies of reddish on both webs; the bristles at the base of the billare very and more thap an ort a yun. ‘The p led, tha neon quill the longest, ae tail rou ° hawk out 93-4 inches ong, with an extent of 23 inches; the plumage a black above, slightly mot- s varied with grayish, r mark of pale head nee € and the shoulders with y i on the throat, and reddish blot and grayish transversely banded with red brown. The common name a hawk, nor does it fly by ni d day, and its favorite time is from an hour be 0 it passes the night on the ground or tree, while its alli chuck-will’s-widow and the whibaees are then most and noisy. The food of all three of these birds is al moths, caterpillars, crickets, and praecare tates You must watch the papers which publi S. of cireus companies, and from Chena can learn j abouts of the companies. We cannot gi concerning them which would be worth aught to you, a8 we might state hat a company at the time of our writing was in Monkton, aud when you received the paper it is probable that W.S. Haymond. —ist. You write a good business hand. Itis not handsome writing, but it is easily read. 2d. We understand that the teachers have inet with fair success in their efforts. 3d. Both bookkeeping and phonography can be acquired fom books. The first, bya person of ordinary intelligence, in a few months; the last by a year and a hali’s severe labor. Bennett’s system of bookkeep- A is held in high esteem. 4th. You can get a clear, transpa- rent soap in the following way: Shave in thin slices one pound of brown bar soap, and put it in a junk bottie half a pint of alcohol. Without corking the botile, place it in a basin contain- the Then remove the bottle from the water, and turn out the liquid to cool. Before cold add a few dr : on to scent...... 0.—Your poetic efforts are immature produe- tions. You must study the grammatical rules for versification before you can expect to see your lines in pee beets Joseph H. —You write a commonplace hand......A Lover of the Weekly.— The sentence should read, “The pupils can take their seats,”’ or “Each pupil may take his, or her, seat.”...... E. H. and Snooky Snodgrass.—To harden your feet, wash them twice a day in water i which rock salt and alum have been dissolved.....-.. Homestead Law.—You will have to pay fees amounting to about | Hero Strong.—We cannot give you the information; but it is likely that almost any resident of ton can supply it....-. Allie Planch.—The difference which the circulation of blood makes in the right and lett arms is so slight that no one but a tnorough anatomist would be able to appreciate it. The nse of The introduc- by plagiari: | ‘ lever was the originator, and how peurile his | 2. the one arm more than the other is what gives it the greater strength. The left arm of the left-handed man is alwaysstronger than his right, and the right arm of the right-handed man is al- ways stronger and the muscles more fully developed than in the Set ATin, yet ee Ambitious.—Ist. Bennett’s System _of Bookkeep- ing will give you the required information. 2d. We could give you the processes by which different kinds of glass are made, But after we had given the mformation you could not make glass. What would you think of a person who would expect to make a watch from the information contained in a newspaper paragraph? You might just as well attempt to construct a watch from sucha “recipe” as to e glass without a practi- cal knowledge of the process...... Payne.—You are right........ James H. Hale.—\st. Your subscription ends with No. 32 of Vol. XXV. 2d. We do not know whyyoudo not get your papers. They are mailed from this office regularly every week. The fault must lie with the mail. 3d. Mrs. M. V. Victor will not write hereafter for any paper bat the New York WEEKLY, no matter what other papers may advertise. We need notassure you that she 1s one of the most polished and poweriul writers of the present time—a writer whose works have received not only the approval of a large and intelligent class of readers in this coun- try, but that also of the most intelligent readers in Great Britain. She is, indeed, a strong addition to our corps of excel- lent contributors. ...........- Cc. H. K.—The_ False Heir’ com- menced in No. 41, Vol. XXIV,, and concluded in No. 29, Vol. 3 3 dO De Vere.—See answer to ‘“Hindoo Kosh,” in No. 31..........-Humbug.—lst. In some States you can peddle articles of domestic manufacture without a license; but in the majority a State license is required. Licences can be got in the different States at different charges. For instance: in Pennsylvaniaa license to peddle goods on foot costs but $8, while in Rhode Island it costs $75. 2d. Yes. 3d. We are unavie to tell whether you could make it pay toopen a news agency in Albany or uffalo, as we know nothing whatever of your fitness for the business......... Shoo Fly.—Men who marry sisters are brothers- POT so... Rose of Kendale.—The gentleman never lectured on temperance......... Orr.—lst. Your handwriting isnot up to the bookkeeper’s standard. 2d. You made a present to a lady, and because you are not on the same terms now with her that you were when the present was made, you thi "asking her to returnit. Such an act would be the extreme of meanness. . Ranger.—\st. The physician bears a good reputation. 2d. We shall publish no more stories from the pen of the writer named..... -......Constant Reader.—lst. There are undoubtedly men in your own neighborhood who can translate Hollandish into English. 2d. If you inform us w ca the lameness, we may beable to uid you; without such knowledge we cannot give you advice likely to do any good. 3d. Eastern Kansas resents a succession of ric’ oer grass-covered hills, and tertile valleys, with an_ abundance of timber on the streams; the central part of the State is thinly wooded, and partly occu- pied by a vast desert extending Ato ew Mexico; and the West- ern part has every requisite for a fine grazing country, with many tractsof forest. 4th. You write a fair hand, but your spelling will not bear criticism......... .Zarl.—Ist. “Recherche” means “of rare attraction;” “repertoire”? has exactly thesame meaning as the English word “repertory;’’ ‘‘encore” means “once more.”? 2d. Neither the banjo nor accordecen is difficult to master—more’s the pity. We cannot comprehend how any one could calmly contemplate undertaking to learn to play on either instrument, unless such come a misan- D.—See last number...... ; Fson thrope and was anxious to keep all his fellow beings at as great a distance as possible. Had Timon lived in thetime of banjoes and accordeons he would not have had to fly to the mountains and caves for solitude; he could have gained his point more thoroughly by learning to play on one of the instruments named. 8d. You write a fair hand. Ena.—Gold is the very best thing for the purpose..... .....Jdoseph Manning.—You should visit some library in your city and look through the works on en- gineering which you will find there, and w youmeeta work which suits 50% make a note of the publisher, and purchase a copy of the k. We might recommend to you many works, all of them excellent, but none of them, perhaps, the kind of _ book which * eg require, ee thereby te spend money without pro st. See answer to “Hindoo Kosh” in No. 3l. 2d. A quack. 3d. There is no such dispen- sary; but any regular doctor will treat you........ Bet —Yes..... L. M. Wood.—\st. The fellow isa quack. 2d. You write a good hand, which would be in every way excellent were it a little larger. Donotuse blueink. Itis almost invariably dim and difficult to read...:......S. A. Jerome.—ist. The original mean- ing of ‘‘sanguine” was ‘thaving the color of blood;’’ but it is now used to signify ‘‘anticipating the best,’ “full of hope.” 2d. If the laay does not wear the ring on the first finger of her left hand it will not be regarded as an creseeart rie 3d. It is acommon mistake to suppose that the bath and Sunday are the same day. Thisis notthe case. Sunday was the day anciently decicated to the worship of the sun and was the first day of the week, asit stillis. When Europe was christianized the day was dedicated to the worship of God. The Sabbath of the Jews (from whom we take the custom of resting from ail labor and giving the day to worsh!p) is our Saturday. Inthe Homilies of the English Church occurs this passage, which ex- plains the difference ina few words between the days: “So if we will be the children of our heavenly Father, we must be careful to keep the Christian Sabbath-day, which is the Sunday.” 4th. The proper way to write an inscription for a ring is, “J. A. S. io J. AS Inquirer.—1st. The fundamen- tal difference between stenography and phonography is that ) stenography represents by the position of the characters every letter of the alphabet, while phonography deals only with the actual sounds, and analyzes these, arranging them according to their mutuai relations. Phonography has almost entirely su- perseded stenography. 2d. Write to the Ameriean News Co. for Munson’s Work on Phonography. 3d. Youcan get an inkling of chemistry from books, but that isall. _Buck’s Chemistry is a good work for beginners. ......... D. D.—ist. He can place the ring on her finger at the time of the engagement, if he has itin his possession; but it looks better to present the ring a few days after the proposal of marriage, as the having the ring in the pocket at the tlme looks as though the gentleman were _per- fectly satisfied what would be the answer ere he asked the question. 2d. The engagement ring. is worn on the first finger of the left hand.....°.... Wild Biil.—_i1st. There issome game in the vicinity, but no large Sage 2d. You could not get a decent popsep tor $2.50. 3d. The first is dead, and the latter still TR ice Aenea Cook County.—A notorious humbug. .._ ....Jgnor- ance.—There is, we believe, but one State inthe United States where the marriage of cousinsis prohibited. In the State of New York there is no law prohibiting such marriages.......... Henry Burns.—Your penmanship is excellent.......... Stratford. —A postmaster has no right to withhold letters which are sent to any one who can prove that he is the one for whom the let- ter was intended. But, we think, a postmaster who refused to give letters addressed to James Thomsov which were called for by David Williams, would be sustained by the courts. It ap- pears to us that David Williams would have difficulty in proy- ing that he haa a right to letters uddressed to somebody else. . F ibd bint Sieh . H,—He bears the reputation of understanding the ‘diseases which he treats........-....- aba iss « Constant Reader.—If you'll put up with such endearments being Offered to the lady to whom you are en; d, We must award you the doubtful honor of being the coldest blooded lover that ever sued to a pretty woman. You should at once give the lady to understand that you decidedly object to the attentions of the gentieman who sits.so often in the “lap of luxury’”’—that if he can hug her without stint, you will at once break an en- gagement where you're not permitted to play star parts—that while you love her with unwavering devotion, you don’t care about seeing so many devotees kneeling at that particular shrine—that if she’ll have you she can, but that she can’t have both you and t’other, as you won't be Satisfied to half of her MONT T. > 502 The following MSS. have been accepted and will be published in the New York WEEKLY: ‘Jeremiah Scruggins;” “You and_1;” “Out of the Jaws of Death,” and ‘A Soldier’s Letter and the Answer.”..........The following are respect- fully declined: “Twilight Musings;”’ “A Mother's Grief;” “Reno’s Grave;” “The Surrender of Fort Donelson;’’ ‘“Marga- rethe Ziethen’s Love;’? “Maude’s Choice; ‘‘A thriiling ad- venture;’’ and “‘A Race for Life.” ————_ > 0<+—______ YEATON AND BOONE, of Salem, Ohio, in last January sent us money fora clul) of nine. We forwarded the pa- pers until we received a notification from the Postmaster to discontinue them, as there were no such parties in the tow1, and the papers were not taken from the post-office. Last week we received a letter of complaint from Yeaton and Boone, and at once forwarded the missing numbers. Again we received a notice from the postmaster that the papers were not taken from the post-office. Will Yeaton and Boone find out the cause of this us at once? trouble, and notify Ot ~- Look out for “LirrLe BUCKSHOT” next week. . W: “a ve you any information — ing water, put the basin on the stove, and boil ten minutes, sof oil of bergamot or lem. | Gy | j } ; | set: nite miei a eee j 4 u i b a | Sw ee « oo ~~ -- ? > ~ Pew yn 4 } } +” ' a ‘ * : & g= ‘sLITTLE DAISY.?? BY S. W. PEARCE. A little flaxen head, Blue eyes that dance in glee, And lips, like cherries red, Are prattling merrily. All day those little feet Are toddling on the floor, In search of mischief bent, Till daylight’s gleam is o’er. And when the sunbeams fade In beauty down the west, “Our Daisy” safe is laid Within her cosey nest. But ere her eyelids close, Bowed at her mother’s knee, She clasps her little hands, And prays most earnestly: ‘Dear Jesus, keep me safe From harm, the darkness through; Please bless my dear Mamma, And good, kind papa, too.” “Amen,” her parents cry; Her little eyelids close, And with a peaceful smile She sinks in calm repose. Conrad, the Convict; THE BRAND OF CRIME. By FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE, AUTHOR OF “RAMON THE OUTLAW,” &c. &¢. (“Conrad the Convict’? was commenced in No. 31. Back Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER V. VIVIAN WARDER IN PARIS. At the close of a bright afternoon in the month of June, 1867, just five-and-twenty years from the date of the opening of our story, a handsome young Englishman was among the passengers who got out cf a long train in the northern railroad station, Paris, a busy throng of ee Pegi attracted by the opening of the Great xposition. Vivian Warder, for that was the as yet undisputed name he bore, stood on the threshold of manhood, a superb specimen of his race. He was the image of Regi- nald Warder at the same period of life, and had nothing of the sinister expression which vice had stamped upon the face of Ralph. For his education, physical and mental culture had gone hand in hand. He was none the less brilliant scholar because he was the stroke-oar of an Oxford boat club, and one of the most daring riders in ali Yorkshire. Frank, manly and pure-hearted, with none of the shamefaced reserve which makes most young English- men so difficult of access, Reginald Warder had sent him to the continent to travel alone, without any fear of danger to his morals, for Vivian shrank instinetly from everything impure with the delicacy of a woman. Well dressed, amply supplied with funds and let- ters of credit, well informed and full of spirits, he launched forth into the foreign world determined to see and enjoy as only youth can. From Calais to Paris he had noted every object on the road with the eagerness of a child. In conversing with his French fellow-passengers he had laughed heartily at his own mistakes—the mistakes of a man who has only a book-knowledge of a foreign language. Still he had made himself understood, and that was a good beginning. Whien he took leave of his companions in the railway car- riage, they all felt as if they were parting with an old friend; an aged priest gave him his blessing, and a pretty little French milliner jooked unutterable things. Vivian anathamatized the long delay occasioned by his having to wait his turn for the examination of his bag- gage, but that formality was at length gone through with, and he was at liberty to go where he listed. In the Rue de Dunkerque, a neat cab, with its glazed- hatted, red-vested, metal-buttoned driver, stood inviting- ly handy, and giving the direction “Grand Hote!—Boule- vard des Capucines—drive slow,” Vivian threw himself into the back seat, all eyes and ears for the delightful novelties that surrounded him. The tall houses with their airy balconies, the signs, all French, the neat-stepping grisettes, with their pretty quilted caps, or wearing nothing at all on their glossy, braided hair, the cab-drivers cracking their whips inces- Santly, the sounds resembling a volley of pistol-shots, the Baxiilag ac soldiers, the portly well-to-do shopkeepers, b g and sell-satisfied, the bright-eyed little street- loafers, the workmen in blouses, the great country carts covered with canvass tilts, drawn by stout Norman stal- lions, and driven by pretty girls in snowy caps, all con- vinced Vivian that he was either dreaming or else in Paris, the city of his dreams. Then, turning a corner, the broad line of the boule- vards opened on his view, thronged witn such a tide of human beings as reminded him of the strand toward sunset. Ominibusses, carts, carriages, American buggies, mounted chasseurs, and civilians on horseback, filled the Streets, while Parisians of both sexes, travelers of all nations, and wearing every costume, infantry soldiers, armed policemen, native idlers and gossips, moved along the sidewalks in an unbroken stream. The life-long dream was realized—this was Paris at last. An Englishman of susceptibility is more impressed by the first sight of Paris than an American; the continent to smoky London seems so great, and the street archi- tecture is so much more brilliant than what he sees at home; while the American, accustomed to our matchless atmosphere, and to superb buildings of New York, misses two great elements of wonder. The streets were unusually bustling when Vivian ar- rived, fur the Emperor Napoleon had given a grand review of troops that afternoon in the Bois de Boulogne, in honor of his guest, the Czar of Russia, an occasion that came near being fatal to both, for it was only by a miracle that the pistol shot, fired by a hireling brandy- crazed Pole, failed to kill both emperors as they saf together in a carriage. Vivian’s carriage drove into a beautiful courtyard, surrounded by the buildings of that niagnificent hotel, which fills a Londoner with astonishment, but which an American sees without surprise, accustomed as he is to far more extensive and more palatial public houses in his own country. It was well that our young traveler had engaged a room long beforehand by telegram, otherwise he would not have obtained lodgings in the vast caravanserai which was filled mostiy by Americans. After bathing and dressing he sallied forth, and as he strolled along the boulevard, might easily have been mistaken from his costume and ease of manner for a Parisian. While most of his countrymen flaunted their nationality, and wore their English hats and grey tweeds, and huge red Dundreary whiskers, and carried inevita- bie Murray’s under their arms, and tramped along in clumsy English overthoes, tured up at the toes, Vivian had provided himself with a glossy French beaver, a dark frock coat, pearl-colored pantaloons, neat-fitting boots, aud grey Kid gioves, His face was closely shaven, except where a light blonde mustache slightly shaded without concealing his upper lip. Many a bright eye glanced at him in undisguised admiration as he moved quickly and gracefully along the street. But When he came to order dinner in a crowded res- taurant, his accent clearly betrayed his nationality and swelled the amount of his bill—strangers, during the pe gst paying a heavy premium for their foreign origin. Forth again into the open air after a good dinner, our young friend seemed emerging into fairy land. How he, fresh from the narrow sidewalks of London, marvelled at the broad footways, wide enough for streets, and level as billiard-tables, with their double rows of ladies and gentlemen seated at open air tables before the glit- tering cafes, sipping coffee, claret or lemonade. The crowd was denser than ever, for not only was it a holiday, but the close of their daily occupations had re- leased thousands of workpeople who swelled the tide of promenaders or sat on the benches along the curb-stones under the continuous lines of trees. All the worid seemed represented in the moving throng. Here came a stately Turk, wearing the flowing robes and red fez of Stamboul, there a Hungarian magyar in a splendid hus- Sar costume of crimson and gold, then again an Arab, black-eyed and black-bearded, all in white. There were beautiful Englishwomen, plump and fresh-colored. and American girls far lovelier and more graceful, girls who a fortnight before, had been tripping down Broadway, accompanied by brothers and lovers as stylish as the Parisian themselves. But who is the sylphide, attired without ostentation, but with exquisite taste, every fold of whose dress is ar- tistic, Who wears such a love of aliat on her braided ra- ven hair, whose eyes are so bright without effrontery, whose nose is just a little bit turned up, but prettier than |’ ifit were Grecian, who has such tiny feet and slender ancles, who is so well gloved and well shod, and who walks with such elastic grace? Vivian knew at a glance that it was thatcompound of all thatis problematical, contradictory, bewitching and bewildering—a Parisian woman. : After la Parisienne came a bronzed and decorated soldier of the Crimean and Italian campaigns, last from Africa, probably. How quiet and unconscious was his bearing! No swaggering swashbucklers. are these men, who have really served with distinction. The rufflers and braggarts are those who have only smelled powder tive ae We liave said tat every new object filled our young traveler with delight. the Onal Jine of the Rue de la Paix; he noted how grandly the bronze column of the Place Vendome, sur- mounted by the figure of Napoleon the Great, rose against the d re sky. PB the beautifal church of the Madeleine, with its colummned peristyle, Vivian stood in the Place de la Con- corde with its obelisk;.on, one side, the garden of the Tuileries palace, on the other the superb avenue, leading in a straight line to one of the most famous monuments of Paris, the Arch of Triumph, . ‘compassion, was serene. THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. The fountains were playing—the bugles of an infantry regiment were heard in the distance—daylight was giving way not to darkness, but to light, and a thousand illu- minations were describing their arabesques on the plane of the city while yet the glow of the sunken sun was lingering in the western sky. Vivian paused enchanted. How grateful, on that summer night, was the rushing sound of the waters as they sprang aloft in the evening air, and fell in silver showers over the Tritons and Nereids that guarded their marble basins ! Long shadows were falling from the colossal statues that represent the great provincial cities of France, while, dominating all, the red granite monolith that once tow- ered above Thebes reared its tall shaft against the Paris- ian sky. Vivian sat down on a bench and recalled what he had read about the scene he now beheld for the first time. He remembered that this same square once bore the name of Louis XV. , “Yes,” he said to himself; “and here stood a statue of the King, surrounded by female figures representing Strength, Peace, Prudence and Justice, all in honor of the man who surrendered the reins of State to Pompadour and du Barry, who led the life of Sardanapalus, who sup- plied his losses at the gaming-table by robbing the public purse, who speculated in corn and stocks, whose fond- ness for a favorite, cost the royal treasury, in five years, one hundred and eighty millions of pounds, whose ill suc- cess in war cost France vast territorial possessions in America, who had no respect for the sanctity of his sub- jects’ homes or the honor of their wives and daughters, who abolished the parliaments and asserted the supre- macy of his will over the law. Yet this man was styled the well beloved, and an attempt upon his worthless life was punished by the infliction on theassassin of tortures that would have disgraced the barbarism of the Chinese penal code !”” Vivian as an Englishman had a hearty hatred of op- pression.. His kindled imagination called up a vision of the scenes enacted on this spot. He saw before him the column of republican pikemen escorting the unhappy Louis XVI and his ill-fated partner, Marie Antoinette, back from Versailes, humiliated and despairing, with Theroigne de Mericourt brandishing her sabre, the fatal ‘man with the long beard’ heading the march, and the heads of two faithful lifegu carried aloft on poles in the midst of the rabble route. : E Time it was to change the name of the place to the Square of Revolution. What seas of innocent blood were shed here in the name of liberty by the accursed guil- lotine ! “Who can forget the baptism of blood?” exclaimed Vivian, to himself. “Who can forget the martyr who was brought to this Golgotha on the 21st of January, 1793? Other days beheld crowds of victims; that day only one. He who had been all his life weak and wavering, dis- played in that supreme hour the firmness and courage of a Christian martyr. His countenance alone, of the many thousands here assembled, agitated by hate, some few by His lips moved; but only those nearest to him knew that he proclaimed his innocence, and pardoned his judges, for the drums rolled furiously, and the fierce cry ‘Long live the Republic ! drowned his last syllables. Then it was that his confessor, the Abbe Edgeworth, bade him adieu in the memorable words, As he glanced to the left along} ‘Son of Saint Louis, ascend to Heaven!’ Scarceiy were they uttered when the blade descended, and Louis the both belong, would suffer their most valuable member to serve out his sentence—hard labor for life—without sup- plying him with the means of escape? They knew that, With a little assistance, no prison in France could hold me. Soyou see me again free as air. A brief seclusion is all that came of my sentence—all except——” here his brow grew dark as a thunder-cloud—‘‘the indelible brand upon my shoulder—the accursed T. F.* Conrad paused a moment, and then added: “When my seething flesh hissed beneath the red-hot iron, I uttered no cry of pain—I did not give the scoun- drelly authorities that satisfaction—perhaps I did not feel it, but the iron entered deeper than the surface; it entered my soul, and I swore then within myself to set all laws at defiance, and to recoil from no crime that barred my way to fortune. I was sentenced for burglary, the indictment for forgery not being pressed because one was enough. You taught me the skillful use of the pen and the jimmy, the red-hot brand added the knife and pistol to my stock in trade. But enough of this,’? he went onina lighter tone. ‘Was not your surprise at seeing me af- fected? Perhaps I am indebted to you, father, for the means of escape ?”” The eider man shook his head. “When you were taken away, my dear Conrad,” he said, “Ilost all hope. An ordinary provincial prison— even Mazas here in Paris. could not have daunted me— but the triply-guarded Toulon—I thought you lost for life. “Therefore you made no effort?’ asked the convict. “T had not—I thought the effort premature. I thought atthe commencement of your incarceration, you would be so strictly watched, that any attempt at securing your escape would fail certainly and elose the door of hope; whereas, if you disarmed doubt by a cautious submission to your lot, you would then inspire confidence, and there might be a@ reasonable chance of getting you out of limbo, You reason very well, sir,’”? said Conrad, coldly. ‘‘And I suppose in three or four years, after my back had been broken, and my hands caloused, and my head turned gray with anguish, you would have begun to move as your sworn duty as a member of the League, to say noth- ing of our relationship should have prompted you. Sometiing of this I learned of our President.” «You have seen him then?’ “Of course. Ihave been out of prison some time—long enough to let my hair grow and to dye it black. The League, it seems, has done a good business, My divi- dend, as a stockholder, was very handsome. I don’t be- lieve a single legitimate company is more solvent or more honorable. The honesty of thieves is proverbial, Our association might give iessons i oraiity to the Credit Mobilier—of course, I mean in the custody and distribu- tion of the funds—as to the legitimacy of their acquisi- tion—that is quite another question.” “And what do you propose doing now ?”? “T propose doing somehody, that you may be sure, sir; but as yet the victim’s name is unknowntome. There are plenty of wealthy strangers here.” 3 “Butisit not hazardous to come to Paris—right into the jaws of danger ?”” ¢ . “Excuse the vulgarism, governor, but you are joliy green,’? said the young convict. ‘You know the sailors say that the safest place to put your head in during a sea- fight is ashot-hole. The very last place the police would look for me is where 1am bestkaown. That my disguise Sixteenth was a headless corse. What illustrious vic- tims followed! Marie Antoinette, Charlotte Corday, Madam Roland, and a nameless host. No wonder that France has once more rebaptized this place, and sought to banish the era of murder by the name of ‘Concord.’ ”” Let us pardon a very young gentleman, fresh from the university, his somewhat sophomorical declamation, ad- is perfect is shown by the fact that you, my own father, a professional, familiar with all sorts of disguises, failed to identify me—so with the President of the League. It was even hard to convince him that I was-the veritabie Conrad Rivers. No, to a man of my nerve and resour- ces, this is the very place forme. I have taken lodgings at the Grand Hotel, and this very morning I met.one of dressed to himself. We are afraid he forgot poor King Louis, and his luckless wife, and the other victims, very shortly afterward, as he strolled through the illuminated galleries of the Palais Royal, with their endless rows of jewelers’ shops. Into one of these he sauntered, having been attracted by some exquisitely-fashioned breastpins, of the newest style. Vivian was no coxcomb, but he had a pardonable weakness for diamonds. As the plate-glass window of.the shop displayed, in im- mense letters, ‘‘Ici Von parle Anglais,” with the English translation beneath, “English spoken here,’”? Vivian ac- costed the shopman in his native tongue. Greatly to his disgust, the man replied: “Ze man vot spikes Angleesh, he not een—he be just gone out.”’ Then Vivian aired his college French, but the trades- man was too obtuse to understand him, In this dilemma, a person who was lounging in the shop, and whe had been eyeing Vivian very keenly, civil- ly volunteered his services as interpreter. The stranger was a stout man, very plainly, almost shabbily, dressed. His exact age could hardly be con- jectured, for, though his face was not that of an old man, yet his thick hair, beard, eyebrows, and heavy mustache had turned gray. Vivian accepted his services, and soon concluded a bar- gain with the shopkeeper, through the medium of the in- terpreter, much more to the satisfaction of the purchaser | the boy and trained him to vice. the detectives who arrested me, stopped him, and in- quired the way.” , ' “Nobody can deny your courage,’’ said the father. “I was only questioning your judgment.” “Leave that to me,’? replied the convict. old head on young shoulders.”’ The preceding dialogue has shown the reader two men, one just escaped from prison, the ofher richly deserving it. We have seen that both were under false names, but that they claimed the family name of Rivers. Yet this name of Rivers no more rightly belonged to them than the names of Grammont and Craven. _ The elder of the two men, as the reader may have con- ectured, was no other than Ralph Warder; the younger, the child he carried away from the porter’s lodge at War- der Hall, as detailed in Chapter IV. He had kept the letter of his promise to Janet Prince— he had made no attempt on the life of his charge. But he had done worse— he had perverted, the mind of He had taught him all the accomplishments he possessed himself—had made him an admirable linguist, a consummate penman, a splendid horseman, a master of all arms, offensive and defensive, and then showed him how all these acquire- ments could be applied te scuemes of deception, fraud, and violence. ‘ From tne day of Sir Lawvence’s funeral, Reginald War- der had neither seen nor heard of his guilty brother. And there was sufficient reason for this. Ralph Warder leit “T have an than the seller, for the stranger detected and foiled an at- tempt at imposition on the part of the jeweler, who ha one tariff of prices for English travelers, and amuchlow- | fi a er one for his own countrymen. ; The manner of the stranger was so gentlemanly ths Vivian could not tfink of lis being a valet de place on tt lookout for employment, and 8d, tendered him lis thank instead of offering him a fee. The stranger disclaimed any service, and then said: — ‘You should take some lessons in French conversation, sir. Isee, from your efforts at speaking, that you have studied the grammar of the language; but you should practice taiking it.’ ‘ “I purpose doing so,” answered Vivian. “Every man isselfish when his interests are at stake,” replied the stranger, with asmile. ‘Might I venture to offer my services as a teacher ?”’ ae cy your profession??? asked Vivian. ‘Tt is. ; ‘“‘You speak English so perfectly that I presume it is your native tongue.” ; “You are mistaken, sir. I am a Frenchman; but I have made the mastery of your language a matter of bus- iness. I write and speak several languages.’ He handed Vivian a card, on which was written: / “Maurice Grammont, Teacher of Languages, Hotel Beau-Sejour, Boulevard Poissoniere.”’ “Mr. Grammont,’’ replied Vivian, “I will call on you to-morrow morning.” “At what hour ?”? “Eleven o’clock.”? “Very well, sir; 1shall expect you. My terms are mod- erate. ‘No matter for your terms,”? answered Vivian. “If I make satisfactory progress under your tuition, you shall have no reason to regret receiving me asapupil. Here is my name, sir.’’ He handed the teacher a card. Grammont extended his hand; but Vivian did not hap- pen to notice the action. “IT beg pardon,” said the teacher. “I thought it was your English custom to shake lands on taking leayve.”’ “My dear sir, excuse me,” said Vivian, hastily. He took Grammont’s proffered hand. ‘The teacher shook it warmly, and tears came into his eyes. ‘To-morrow, tien, at eleven, sir,”? he said, reluctantly relinquishing the young man’s hand. “Without tail, Mr. Grammont. Good-night !”’ “How the old gentieman squeezed my hand !”? thought Vivian, as he walked away briskly up the Rue Vivianne. “He must be very poor, and pupils scarce with him. I am glad I happened to meet him, for his sake and mine.” In twenty minutes he reached his room in the Grand Hotel, in twenty more gave audible demonstration of his being sound asleep. ¢ CHAPTER VI. THE RETURNED CONVICT. At ten o’clock the next day, Mr. Maurice Grammont, as he called himself, was seated in his room in the Hotel fate when three distinct raps were heard at his door. On his invitation to enter, a young man, attired in an Englisb. traveling-suit, came in. There was nothing par- ticular about his dress, except that it was London all over, and nothing peculiar about his handsome, florid face, except that he wore a profusion of hair, glossy black curls, heav# beard and mustaches ana jet black a with light blue eyes, rather an unusual combi- nation. “I say, d’ye speak English ?’’ was his salutation. “Tam told that I speak it perfectly,’ replied Grammont. “That’slucky, for l don’t speak a word of French—rath- er an awkward predicament here. I wanta few lessons. What d’ye charge ?”’ “Ten francs an hour.”? “Pay in advance ?”? “With strangers, sir.” “Ti’s all the same tome. There’s my name,’’ He handed a card, on which was engraved “Hon. Au- gustus Craven,’’ to which was added in pencil, “Grand Hotel, Boulevard des Capucines.’’ “Pil take my first lesson now, if you like,” he said, sit- pe down, and placing two five-frane pieces on the table. ‘Do you wish to study grammar, Mr. Craven ?? “Study grammar! No. Teach a feller afew phrases, 80 that he can order his dinner and chaff the pretty shop girls. Ilearn by the ear very quickly—heavy boots |” “Very well, then,” said Grammont, “I will dictate a sentence very slowly—you repeat it after me, and then I will explain the meaning.’ ‘Proceed,”? Grammont pronounced a French sentence very slowly, and was preparing to repeat it, when the Hon. Augustus Craven caught up the phrase, and uttered it like lightning with the purest Parisian accent. Grammont looked at him in surprise, and then pushed the money toward him. i. ou have no occasion for my instruction, sir,’ he said. Instantly changing his voice, the visitor said: “Have I humbugged you, or are you humbugging me? Don’t you know me?”? “That voice |’? cried the teacher. ‘Who are you?” “Your dutiful son, Conrad Rivers,’’ said the young man in his natural voice. “But how did you escape from the gallows ?” cried the teacher, astounded at the disclosure, and displaying little of that pleasurable emotion, which even a criminal father may be supposed to feel on meeting a criminal son, from whom he thought himself separated for life. of Toulon could hold a man of my ingenuity and daring ? Now did you think the Felons’ League, to which we “The galleys | Bali! How long did you think the fey the country under the assumed name of Paul Rivers. whom he gav ena of Conrad, supposed e i her, and-had nd history of and wealthy | e exceptional from a genuine ve of evil. : ) ~of such men shows that a semblance of prosperity is ined by them with more toil and troubie than honest success would have required, that their triamphis only illusory, because it produces no genuine happiness, that they are almost always detected and punished in the end, or, if they es- cape human justice, that their crime carries the punish- ment along with it, in an amount of mental suffering compared with which physical chastisement is as nothing in the balance. - « Whether these two men, one born to evil, the other per- verted to it, deliberately trained to it, will escape the consequences of their crimes, will be seen when this faithful record of their career is brought to a close. Their interview was not very-cordial, and the manner of the elder Rivers, as we sliall continue to call him, was very constrained. He frequentiy consulted his watch, and finally told Conrad that he had better go, because he wus expecting a gentleman at eleven o’clock. He was painfully anxious that the young convict should not meet Vivian Warder. “I suppose you think your company isn’t good enough for me,’’ said the convict, rising. ‘Very well—I’ll take myself off, for I, too, have an engagement at eleven o’clock.”” The two men shook hands coldly and parted. “T should like very much to know who this person is he is so anxious to keep out of my way,’ thought the con- vict. “I must know what game he is running down and have a share in it, if it is worth the trouble.” He looked at his watch. it wanted ten minutes to eleven. He hurried down stairs and crossed the boulevard. Without raising his head, he managed to get a glance at the front of the hotel, and saw his father cautiously look- ing out of the window and watching him. So he jumped into a carriageand ordered the coachman to drive to the Porte St. Martin, but he got out at the cor- ner of the Rue Faubourg St. Denis, and, walking a couple of blocks, turned back through the Rue de l’Echiquier and Rue Bergere, which run paraliel to the boulevard, into which he turned by the Rue Rougemont, and, keep- ing close to the wall of the Hotel Beau-Sejour, walked into the carriage-drive and waited for the expected visi- tor. He had made good use of his time, and eleven 0’- clock had not yet struck. Exactly on the stroke of the hour, a fashionably-dressed young man made nis appearance at the porter’s lodge, and inquired for Mr. Maurice Grammont, teacher of lan- guages. Now there was nothing remarkable in this. Rivers, to cover up his nefarious transactions, and also to obtain in- formation which he turned to unworthy account, actually did teach languages and receive pupils. But what struck the convict with astonishment was that the young man he saw before him was the living image of himself, unless all the mirrors he had ever looked into were false. The same blonde hair, blue eyes, florid complexion— the same figure—the same gait! It was a miracle, yet one of those mivacles of which there is abundance of positive proof. ; Here was a mystery he resolved to probe to the bottom. At first he thought of following the young man up Stairs and breaking in upon him and his father unannounced, in hopes of learning something from their surprise. But he instantly dismissed this project as too crude. The bet- ter way, he concluded, would be to wait until this myste- rious person whom his father was so anxious to keep out his path—a very suspicious circumstance—should leave the hotel, and then he would track him unobserved. With this view, and certain that his father was now en- gaged with the stranger, he crossed the boulevard, and, sitting down atone of the little tables on the sidewalk outside of a cafe, called for a glass of lemonade. While waiting in this way, he took the precaution to hold up a newspaper before his face, so that if the elder Rivers looked out cf the window, he would not detect him, but, in reality, over the edge of the paper, he kept a vigilant eye on the single doorway of the Hotel Beau-Sejour, cer- tain that no one could leave the house without his see- ing him. At the expiration of an hour, the young man who had so excited the convict’s curiosity, left the hotel and leis- urely strolled down the boulevard. At the same moment the convict rose and walked in the same direction, but on the opposite side of the way, keeping his eyes fixed on the object of his scrutiny. The young man, unconscious of observation, turned into the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, crossed it and en- tered the house, the convict, here known as the Hon. Augustus Craven, being close behind him. The-young man said a few words to a waiter, and then went up stairs. The Hon. Augustus Craven na the waiter if he knew the young man. 4 “Yes, sir. Thatis an English gentleman, like yourself —Mr. Vivian Warder, of Warder Hall, Yorkshire.” “Does he stop here ??? “Yes, sir.” “How long has he been here” “No longer than you, sir. He arrived from London last night. He is a very liberal gentleman,” added the waiter, ‘‘and is Said to be very rich. ‘He has just ordered a sad- dle horse to ride to the Wood of Boulogne.” ‘¥At what time?’ *% F. stands for Travaux Forces, (Compulsory Labor).—Editor. ne a a SS at rr SR Ye er enn nem “door had closed on the young man. “He little knows “Four o’clock.” “Well,? said the Hon. Augustus Craven, “I’m glad — mentioned it. Let me have a horse at the same 10ur.”? “Very well, sir.’? “Vivian Warder,” thought the convict. “How came he to look so exactly like me? If hedid but know it, it is @ very dangerous resemblance. With that face and figure, hair, and eyes, he is certain of receiving more at- tention in Paris than will prove healthy or agreeable.” CHAPTER VII. A DASH FOR A LIFE. Let us now cast a rapid glance backward and see what passed at the Hotel Beau-Sejour, between the teacher of languages and his pupil while Conrad the Convict was Waiting and watching. Ralph Warder, alias Paul Rivers, alias Maurice Gram- mont, received Vivian with a cordiality that surprised him, for there was in hismannermore warmth than French politeness or gratitude for patronage could account for. There were even tears in his eyes as he shook the young man warmly by the hand. The astonishment this re- markable demonstration caused inthe visitor was so manifest, that the elder man felt constrained to make some explanation. “My dear sir,” he said, ‘‘you so closely resemble a very dear young friend of mine—a friend too dearly loved, too early lost—that your appearance has greatly agitated me. I was struck with it last night and to-day more strongly. In fact, 1 am so much moved that I feel incapable of giv- ing you a lesson to-day. Indeed, if you heed what I say are will be no question between us of any lessons at all. “This speech was so strange that Vivian began to enter- tain the idea that Mr. Grammont was partially insane, or perhaps grief had warped his intellect. He sat down and Waited patiently for some further development. “May I crave to be informed, Mr. Warder,’ continued the teacher, ‘‘how long you propose to remain in Paris?” “That is quite uncertain, sir. Iama man of leisure, but I don’t think 1 can tear myself away from the fasci- nations of this city short of six weeks, at least.” “Mr, Warder, you must leave Paris instantly.’’ “Leave Paris instantly !? echoed the young man. ‘*Yes,’? said Ralph, earnestly. Every hour—yea, every moment's delay is fraught with peril to you. And you must not only leave Paris, but France. Lose not a mo- ment’s time in setting out for the frontier. Disguise yourself and flee. You have enemies here who are plot- ting your disgrace. I cannot be more explicit. Fly! if you would avoid trouble and shame.”’ ‘Decidedly,’ shought Vivian, “the poor man is crazy.” With this conviction, instead of assuming an offended tone, he replied, very quietly though firmly: “T certainly cannot take your advice, my good sir, un- less you explain yourself more fully. I aman English- man just graduated from the university, visiting Paris for the first time, not knowing a soul here; having no ene- mies—for I have given no occasion for enmity—and how I can be in danger, passes my comprenhension.”’ “T know whereof I speak,’? was the rejoinder, “but I can give you no explanation. My lips are sealed. Prom- ise me that you will leave France at once. I have told you all Idared—more would be fatal to me and do you no good.”? Vivian revolved in his mind all possible contingencies. Discarding the theory of insanity on the part of Gram- mont, the only danger he could conceive of was one com- mon to allstrangers in the city—thatis, there might be some scheme on foot. to rob him; this person might be cognizant of such a plan on the part of some professional thief or thieves, with whom he was afiiliated, and, ina moment of compunction, had felt bound to give him this vague warning. Hecould conceive of no other danger, and this he treated with sovereign contempt. In the first place, he had perfect confidence in the efticacy of the im- perial police, always strong and vigilant, and doubly so now, when the honor ofa city that opened her gates to the wide world and invited all comers to her Great Expo- sition, was at stake. ‘Robbery and violence in public and reputable places, Was simply impossible. There remained tne danger of theft and injury in the low haunts, to which curiosity sometimes attracts trav- elers, and Vivian had no thought of exploring the sub- terranean strata of the great city. But the conduct of Grammont inspired distrust, and Vivian mentally resolved that he would never again set foot in his room. “You will pardon me one question, sir,’’? he said. “Wonld payment for a score of lessons in advance be of any present service to vou?” “lam in no present want,” replied the teacher some- what haughtily. ‘1 dislike the idea of receiving money before I have earned it.” . “AS you please, sir,’’ replied Vivian. ‘And since you are indisp' to give me a lesson to-day, I will bid you good morning.” “Young man,” said the teacher gravely, ‘I hope to find that you have taken my advice, and that I shall net see you here again |” >) Pomerat “You certainly will not,” thought Vivian, as he bowed and took his leave. : ie oN -*Rash boy !? said Ralph Warder to himself, when the trouble that is in store for him. How I longed to: him to my heart and tell him all. Yet he would nave recoiled from the guilt-stained mau whe claimed him for ason. The time will come—but not yet—when he will pardon my sin for the love that prompted it. The time will come when [ shall once more confront that brother who grasped ali his uncle’s wealth, while I was an out- cast and a fugitive, and say tu him: ‘“Youw-have reared mg son in luxury and honor, J have trained yours in in- famy and slame. Give me back my gallant English gentieman, and take your galley-slave in exchange.” Conrad and Vivian must not meet—yet, how to prevent it, except by getung Vivian out of France? Supposing I denounced Conrad to the authorities—then the poignards of the felon’s league would punish the treachery, and I should not witness the consummation of my schemes. In what a complicated maze of entanglements a life of intrigue and guilt plunges its victim. I might have been honest, but—it is too late, now—it is too late |”? Meanwhile Vivian, throwing care to the winds,was en- joying a saunter along the brilliant line of the boule- vards. ‘ At four o’clock he mounted his horse in the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and cantered forth gaily in the direc- tion of the Bois de Boulogne, surrounded by fellow-eques- trians, and in the midst of a tide of glittering equipages. Five minutes afterward the Hon. Augustus Craven vaulted into his saddle, and taking the same direction, rode as briskly as the municipal regulations allowed until he had come in sight of Vivian, when he tightenea his rein and followed him at a more moderate gait. Close behind Vivian, and equally, though unostenta- tiously, observant of his movements, was a third horse- man; @ Man superbly mounted and very fashionably dressed. His lavender kids, the bouquet in his button- hole, which he had just received from the fair hands of Isabella, the flower-girl at the corner of the Rue Scribe, above all, his peculiar style of horsemanship, seemed to indicate that he was a member of that aristocratic asso- ciation, the French Jockey Club. So thought every one who looked at him—except the Hon. Augustus Craven, who knew otherwise. The Hon. Augustus Craven, alias Conrad, the convict, knew toa certainty that this stylish cavalier was one of the keenest and most daring of the French detectives. He was the very official who had arrested himself a year ago—a memorable date; for his trial, conviction and sentence had followed in a rapid series. George Derville, the detective, looked no more like the man who had a year ago laid his nand upon the red- branded shoulder of Conrad, than he did like Louis Na- poleon, but the convict was too keen an adept in the art of disguises to be deceived. He recognized a man by the expression of his mouth and the glance of his eye, by the very play of the muscies of his face, even it his features were distorted, his complexion stained, and his hair dyed. Yetso superior was his own art, so magnificent, if we may use the word, his audacity, that he did not hesitate to ride up alongside the detective and accost him. The Britannic accent he gave to his bad French was inimitable. He inquired the way to the lake in the wood, and Der- ville courteously responded, eyeing him, however, with the professional vigilance that never abandoned him, even in the most careless moment. Conrad had the hardihood to prolong the conversation, and was Satisfied that he safely underwent the scrutiny of the official. Both these men, as they rode side-by-side, kept an eye on Vivian, yet neither showed that he was on the look out. After a courteous interchange of commonplaces, the Hon. Augustus Craven feli back, and allowed the detec- tive to precede him. All at once a cry arose from the riders and coachmen in advance of them, and a horse came toward them at a frantic gallop, insane with terror, and bearing on his back a youthful female rider. Her hat had fallen off, and her beautiful black tresses streamed wild on the wind. She was pale as marble, and her lips were closed firm, but there was no trace of ignoble terror in her counten- ance. She kept a firm hold of the reins, and sat back in the saddle, throwing her whole weight upon the horse’s mouth. She succeeded in drawing his head down to his breast, but not in checking his mad career. The infuria- ted brute instinctively avoided the carriages, but it was only to imperil the limbsof the rider by bringing them almost in contact with the trees he grazed in his light- ning course. His’ path was directly toward a huge pic- turesque pile of jagged rocks overhanging the deep water. As the animal came on with the speed of a whirlwind, Vivian wheeled his horse and snatched at the bridle, but missed it. Dashing his spurs rowel-deep into his horse’s flanks, the young man goaded him into a flight of speed equal to the runaway’s. A moment more and both riders would have been dashed to pieces; but just atthe crisis of their fate, Vivian, throwing his right arm round the lady, tore her from the saddle, while, exerting all the strength of his left hand and arm on the savage curb-bit of his own horse, he threw the animal on his haunches and held him quivering on the spot. A loud cheer rose from the mounted gentlemen who witnessed this daring and successful act, while more than one lady fainted from the intensity of her emotions. The lady Vivian had saved, however, had a heart as courageous as his own, and though the pallor of her face was intensified and her breath came short and quick, she was able to speak and to thank him, as he dismounted and lifted his fair burthen to the ground. The whole perilous adventure had occupied less than a minute, and almost at the moment of the rescue, a white- haired gentleman reached the spot, pale with agony, |a smile. ss | Working and poor. threw himself from his horse, and took the young lady in his arms. ‘Are you hurt, Clara?” he asked, in a trembling voice. “Not a particle, sir,’”? she answered. ‘But that I am alive fo tell you so is owing tothe heroism of this gentle- mau. The old man grasped Vivian’s hand and thanked him warmly. An exchange of cards followed an invitation from the young lady and the old gentleman to visit them. They proved to be father and daughter, Mr. Norman and Miss Clara Vane. They were from New York, and, as a matter of course, were guests at the Grand Hotel. Mr. Vane glanced with a shudder at the pile of rocks on which lay the lifeless and mangled body of the run- away horse. “Dm glad that brute is dead |? he said, ‘for the scoun- drel who let us the horses, will suffer in his pocket. He promised me a Safe, easy-bitted horse for Clara—and I promise him a sound thrashing as soon asI get back to the city.” At this moment a young man came up with Miss Vane’s hat, which he had picked up at a distance, and courteous- ly presented it. An empty carriage was haiied, the young lady handed into it, and with a smiling adieu to Vivian, she left the scene of dread, her father riding beside the carriage. Vivian followed at alittle distance, ‘the observed of all observers.’ “That was a gallant deed, sir,” said the Bon. Augustus Craven to the detective. “Oh! yes,*? replied the detective. plenty of pluck—but for all that “What? asked Conrad. “Nothing,” answered the detective. Good afternoon, sir.” And he spurred after Vivian, while the Hon. A. Craven cantered alter both. (To be continued.) “The young man has “Nothing. THE SKY TRAVELER; OR, THE MAGICIAN OF THE LAKES. By P. HAMILTON MYERS. “The Sky Traveler’ was commenced in No. 30. Back num- bers can be had from News Agents throughout the country.} CHAPTER XI. Melburn, exulting at the defeat of the Sioux, sought out Lewanee, and again importuned him to go in search of his lost friends. in was not yet noon, and the young man readily com- plied. “I must step down, first, to the city by the sea,’ he said, ‘‘and buy a ‘long eye’ or the pale-faces.”’ “Pray, do not let another day pass }”? “Another day! Nay, I will return in half an hour; and then the search will be easy.” They walked out of the camp as they talked, and Lew- anee sat down under a tree to put on his moccasins. “Why go so far?” asked Melbourn. “In Detrois there are——”? The answer came from the tree-tops, aud died away in the distance. “Let my father wait for me here !?? “ask for a tel-es-cope !’’ shouted Melburn after him; but Lewanee was dozens of miles away, and heard him not. *¢ ‘Long eyes,’ indeed?’ he said. ‘*What will a nautical instrument-maker think of such a customer? He will never understand him.’’ But the young magician was cleaving the air with strides which soon brought him over the great metropo- lis, where he hovered long, unseen, descending to roof- tops, and stepping from block to block, until he caught sight of a huge wooden telescope projecting from over a shop-window. “Long eye !? he exclaimed, exultingly; for weli he re- membered the shape of the wonderful glass through which he had once looked. It was with difficulty that he could find a place in the crowded street to descend; but he did so at last, wonder- ing greatly what all the people were doing. They had seemed to him, from the clouds, like so many ants, round a populous hill, running aimlessly in all directions; but he had thought that when he got nearer, he should at least find that they had guns or fish-lines in their hands, and that they were starting out in pursuit of game. But in this he was now disappointed. Dodging into a vacant door-way, he removed his slip- pers, thrust them under his belt, and stood revealed to view. Many people stopped, and turned te gaze at him; but he was not followed nor interrupted, as he made his way to the instrament-maker’s shop. An elderly man, With a gray beard, was at work in a corner of the room, and to him Lewanee sald: “My father |”? “My son |? replied the old man, coming forward, with He was an honest, benevolent person, hard- “Lewanee wants a ‘long eye,’ ’ continued the youth, looking around the apartment. “A what?” asked the other. - Now the young man had spoken figuratively from hab- it; it was not for want of comprel the language of the pale-faces, for this knowledge, as we have said, ~ his art gave him. : “A telescope, my father,’’ replied. Lewanee, ‘‘and the best you have.”’ * “Phe-e-w!? whistled the veteran, in some surprise. “You ? And does my son know what a good glass costs ?”” The Ottawa thrust his hand into the breast of his doublet, and pulled out a large wedge of gold, which he laid upon the counter. “Ts if enough, my father ?’’ he asked. The instrument-maker took it up in great surprise, handled it, weighed it, and then said: “It is too much.”’ Lewanee laid another beside it, and said: “Take both, but give me your best glass, and be quick. I have far to gu.” “But ILcannot cheat my son,’ replied the shopman. “Take one of these back———” “Nay, it is a gift, and since you are so honest, and seek not to cheat the red man like many of your people, Le- wanee Will bring youa bag of the yellow earth next week. But be quick now with the long eye.” Old Abel Day was spry enough now in waiting upon his extraordinary customer, who was quickly supplied with his best telescope, and with minute instructions how to use it. Lewanee was so much delighted with it, on trial, that he drew two more piecesof gold from his breast, and gave them to the astonished Abel. “Take them,” he said. “This is worth a hundred such lumps. Good-by.’’ Abel Day could do no more work that afternoon. He closed his shop, took his gold to a broker and sold it, and then went home to tell his wife and children of his good fortune. They rejoiced with him, for they had long en- dured the stings of poverty, but they laughed at the idea of the Indian coming back with a bag-full of gold. They had no such hope as that. CHAPTER XII. Lewanee, in the meantime, walked a little way down the street, looking for a place where he could stop and put on his magic moccasins, when he espied a bird-fan- cier’s shop, and, being interested, he paused and looked in. There were hundreds of cages, big and little, hung about the room; canary birds were twittering; turtle doves were cooing; gaudy parrots were screaming, and orioles, and bullfinches, and gray mocking birds were adding their varied notes to the melodious discord. He listened to hear what they said, and was not sur- prised to learn that all were complaining of their hard lot in being cooped up in cages, and were pining for green fields, and flowers, and sunshine, He had no time to talk to them, especialiy as there was a large white-headed eagle, hanging high above the others, with whom he wished to have a word. “What is the king of birds doing here?’ he asked, stop- ping beneath the royal prisoner and looking conipassion- ately up to him. “Thinking of the forests and the mountains, and the broad lakes,’”? was the mournful reply. ‘Who speaks? Is there another wretched captive here, of our race ?”” “Nay, itis l—a red-man, and an Ottawa. You know our people, for we have roamed the same forest together.” “Yes; I know the red-men; poor, wingless creatures, yet happier than those I see around me. Who taught you to talk ?”” ‘All creatures talk, even we poor, wingless men,” re- plied the Ottawa, smiling. “Doubtless you have some kind of language,’ replied the haughty bird; “but who taught you to talk the great universal language of the eagles? I never heard of such a thing before.” “No matter—since I have learned it, and can talk to you. Do you wish to be free?” “Look at the feathers that | have beaten from my wings against these cruel bars. I long for my home, and the company of my mate and eaglets.’’ ‘Well, my friend,” said the shopman, “you have looked at that bird a good while. Do you want to buy him?” “Yes—Lewanee will buy him,’ replied the Ottawa, taking out a wedge of gold and laying it upon the coun- ter. “Is it enough?” : The surprised merchant, who was sharp and covetous, and altogether unlike the honest instrument-maker, weighed and examined the gold, and then said, greedily: “Have you any more of these ?” “Is it not enough?’ “Not for bird and cage. for both.” “Nay—I want not the cage.” “You cannot carry him withoutit. Heis very wildand fierce, and will surely get away from you.” ‘“Lewanee does not want the cage.” “But I want another piece of gold. The bird is well worth it.’’ “Take it then,’ said the angry boy; ‘“‘and now give me the eagle.”’ The man pocketed the gold and then said: “Nay—but you must help yourself tohim. You haven't bought the cage you know, and I’m not going to handle him.” “What's the matter? What’s the matter?” asked the impatient bird, of Lewanee. ‘‘Why don’t you set me free, as you promised ?”” “I’ve been buying you of this knavish fellow,’ replied the Ottawa, approaching the cage. Another such as this will pay “Buying me! Im a free eagle. He don’t own me, Why don’t you shoot him? or let me out, and I'll pick his eyes out in a hurry.” “Nay—you must keep still and obey me. Wil you promise’? “Auything, to you.” “When I take you out to the door, you must fly to the top of the nearest steeple, and wait there for me.”’ “For you. You never can climb so high,’’ said the bird, Jaughing, “Wait and see.” “Y will?’ Lewanee took out his bird, which, te the astonishment of the shopkeeper, proved periectly decile in his hands; and setting him upon his shoulder, walked with him to the door where a crowd had gathered. ‘He will surely get away from you if you ain’t careful,” Said one. “Pshew! Pshew! Ti! Hil’? shouted a mischievous mewsboy, and the eagle spread his broad pinions, and soared up—up—up, followed by the derisive shouts and laughter of the spectators. “fT told you so,’ said the shop-keeper, buttoning up his pocket tightly. ‘The boy’s a fool.’ s “Get uv gun! Geta gun and shoot him,’ cried another, “There he goes straight up to the steeple of St. Paul's.’ “Let him alone,” said Lewanee, “it is my bird, aud I gave him leave to go,.”? “Flo! Ho! Hit Hi! You did—young leather-legs—did you? Does your squaw ma know you're out? ho! ho!” The disgusted Ottawa found the crowd thickening around him, s0/as to leave little chance of break'ng through it, so he stooped down where he was, and hastily put on his magic slippers, “Whatil you take for your mocassins?” shouted one. ‘Where is he? He is crawling out between our legs,”’ said another. 3 } “\Who hit me in the face?’ cried several others, on whom the Ottawa bestowed a few parting kicks, as he rose unseen above their heads, and floated after the eagle pp to the steeple of St. Paul’s. Here I am,’? ne said to the bird. “Where? I don't see you,” “No matter. Your eyes are getting dim, Good-by, Don’t stop here # minute, for they are getting ready to shoot you down there.” “Good-by, then—take care you don’t. fall going down,” and the royal bird again went up, up, up into the clouds, until all of St, Paul's looked, smaller to bim than a canary’s cage, and the dome of the new City Hall looked like a robin’s eeg Npon the ground. Lewanee had clung to his telescope through all these events, and was how Walking the air with bis usual rapidity. Indeed, being a Mttle behind time, he began to run, and being rather absent-minded, tuinking about all he had seen, he crossed Lake Superior, and was six or seven hundred miles up in British America before le knew it, “It's growing cold,’? said the sky-traveler as he looked around him; *‘but here [ am, journeying off toward the North Pole. Dll. wrep up warm and go there some day.”’ So saying, he turned and retraced his steps, and soon descended beside the impatient. Meluurn,. haying been gone nearly an hour. CHAPTER XIII. “Have you seen my boys?” was the first question of the anxious father. “Nay not yet. Lewanee will rest a minute, and then he wil look them up. ‘Alas! | fear they are already slain, or taken cap- tive " “Nay; there are no red men within tnree days’ journey, except the Ottawas and the routed Sioux, Lewanee has has looked.”’ “But they may starve in the wilderness. They have neither guns nor ammunition with which to procure game.” “But they can make bows and arrows. They are not children. Or they can ran down the prairie dogs; or kill the grey squirrel witn a swift stone. They can eat roots; the sweet articnoke is everywhere; and, nay, they wiil not starve.”? But Melburn was hopeless of such resources, and he was glad when the young tan, after a few minutes’ ex- amination and ‘display of his prized telescope, announced his readiness to depart. “J shall flu@ tnem with ‘this,’ he said delightedly, pointing the glass toward the camp from ‘which they were balfa mile distant. ‘See; it brings iny father, the Great Elk, almost here.’ If he would but speak now Lewanee could hear him.”? ' Melburn laughed and explained as well as he could the young Ottawa's mistake, “My father is wise,” replied the young man, donning his slippers and again climbing the air. **Good-by. Wait for me here two or three pipes and Lewanee will bring you news.” “Heaven grantit,’? said the anxious man, Melburn’s fearsin regard to his son and young Sill were well nigh verified. They had not been taken captive in- deed, but they were lost on tne prairie, were without food, and were nearly famished and exhausted. Grief for their lost friends, added to their wretchedness, and in a state bordering on despair, they lay down at mia- day in the long grass of the prairie to rest and gain a little strength. With the boldness and resolution of youth, they had started out, believing that in some way, although they were unarmed, they could effect the rescue of their friends frema band of Indisns. Me a Now their more limited hope was to gain a little food and eseape starvation, : ' ay When they had rested they rose and staggered on to- ward the edge of a stvip of timber-land whiclt ‘skirted a little creek. ae As they approached it, they saw an armed Indian stand- ing at the wargin of the wood watching them, and their first impulse was to turn and run the other way. “Let us go on,’? said, Ernest Sill; ‘we cannot escape him, if he chooses to pursue us, nor can we defend our- selves from him. Let us throw ourselves on his mercy.” “The mercy. of an Indian !’? replied young Melburn: ‘avho ever heard of such a thing 2? He is only waiting for: our scalps. I will not go any nearer.” Mad ~ Bat while they hesitated, the Indian approached, and,’ as if to allay their fears, he left his gun ssanding against. a tree. “But he has his hatchet and knife,”’ Said Melburn. “Neither—look—he is only a boy, and he is bowing to us, and waving his hand.” «All treachery.” «) don't believe it,” said Sill, going to meet him. trust him,’? Wellhe might, for it was the young Ottawa, who had seen them from the clouds; at first, like black specks moving acress the prairie, but on using his wonderful glass, had discovered that they were men, and probably tlie same that he was searching for. So he descended to the wood and waited for them, and now discovering their fears, he had advanced with paci- fic gestores to meet them. Harry Melburn took courage and followed his confiding friend. He was not naturally suspicious, but he had been educated to distrust Indiams, and he was willing enough to be undeceived in regard to their visitor. They were both soon shaking hands and conversing with the Ottawa boy, who, they were astonished to find, talked English very plainly. “We are starving,’ said Earnest, looking into the mild eyes of Lewanee. ‘So 1 see,’? was the reply. red-man’s country ?”? “We were shipwrecked on the coast,” replied Harry, sadly. ‘My father and sister were tuken prisoners by a band of barbarous, ferocious, horrid Y “Tut—tut. Skip the hard words,” said Ernest, in a low voice. “Remember whom you are talking to.” +s a band of brave red-men,’’? added Harry, accept- ing the amendment. ‘Your friends, perhaps?’ “Not at all. The Ottawas are not. robbers nor thieves. They live on what the Great Spirit gives them. They shoot the wild deer, Spear the red salmon, and raise sweet juicy corn.” “Yes, yes," replied Harry, the pangs of whose hunger were revewed by these words; ‘‘and we are starving. Will you lend us y-ur gun, young man, to shoot a prairie aog? We passed sume but half an hour ago.” “Shoot a prairie dog!’? exclaimed Lewanee. didn’t you run thom down, and catch them?’ “They are very swift.” “But they ruv to their holes, and you could dig them out.”? “We have nothing to dig with, and they will bite," said Ernest. “Bah ! at their white hands. “But come with me and [ will give you something better to eat than the ground dog, Come !”’ Ile Jed the way to the wood, and then said: “Sit bere in the shade and rest till I return.” Then be walked out of tréir sight, put on his mocca- sins, and, rixing into the air, Was very quickly back to the spot where the elder Melbourn waited for him near the Ot- tlawa cnucampmment. . , “My father’s children are safe,’ he said, as he de- scended poiselessly at the old man’s side. “Safe! gufe !? shouted the overjoyed father: ‘det me fly and tell Flora.” “Nay, wait.. They are safe, but faint with hunger. Go to the Singing Wren and tell her to send me a bag of food: venison, and fish, and corn-cakes. Tell her nothing. She will ask no questions.” Melburn complied—and while the Indian maiden put up the food, the father and daughter wept with joy and grati- tude at the happy tidings. “Yes, Harry aid Ernest are alive, and we shall see them again,’’ repeated ihe father, after they had given way to the first outburst of their joy. ‘Welcome, poverty, now, since they are safe.”’ “You have not lost ail, father ?" “No—much, but not all; we shall have a competence left, if we c#n only get back Safely home.” “And something with whicn to reward this noble youth 7” “Yes, we must reward him richly, if it takes all that re- mains to us,” $T2ad ‘What are you doing in the OWby The bag ef food was prepared, and Melburn hastened to carry it to Lewanee, who was already appareled tor flight, and was consequentiy invisible, “Where are you, my son?’ pe called anxiously. “Here—here—in the very spot where you Jeft me, under the nigh oak. Give me your sack.” Meiburn laid it Gown as near as he could to the spot where the voice came trom, and, aS it instantly disap- peared from view, he knew the magician had laid his hands upon if. “Good-by !? again came from the tree-tops, and, in a very brief space ol time, the Ottawa had traversed the air . one Ps € Se =) WO CONF AOD Cre You are children,’ replied the Ottawa, lookin x moe back to the timber in the prairie, ond had alighted a dozen rods distant from the hungry men. They were impatient, and had grown doubtful of his re- turn, and Harry was already suggesting his fears that he would reappear with a band of warriors at his back, when he came with his bag of food instead. CHAPTER XIV. The starving men flew clamorously to meet their bene- factor, and, ere the sack was half open, they were diving into it, clutching what they could and ravenously devour- ing it. ; Ah, only he who has experienced them, knows the pangs of starvation and the bliss of allaying them by a substantial meal, Harry and Ernest continued to eat, and to express their eratitude to the Great Giver, and to Lewance, until he pra- dently checked them and closed the bag, not without some remonstrance on the part of the diners. “What capital cooks these Ottawas are !’‘ exclaimed Harry, smgacking bis lips. ‘Never was gach venison.” “Nor such delicious fish,’ said Ernest, We “Nor such corn-cakes! They are sweeter than manna! Would that the white women Could Jearn your people’s skill in cocking.” ; Lewanee laughed, and said the secret was not a deep one. ; oie yet ae “Eat but twice a week,’? he added, ‘‘and your dinners will always be delicious.” : But when the hunger of the young men was appeased, their greater grief returned, and they bastened to solicit the aid of the young Ottawa in prosecuting their search. They were profuse in promises of reward—in gold—in weapons—in ammunition—in blankets and trinkets, and all that could tempt an Indlan’s‘cupidity. °° “TTelp us to save them, and all that we have in the world shall be yours,” they said. “And the fair maiden—shall she also be mine?” asked Lewanee, with a sly twinkle of the eye. A flush of wrath crimsoned tie face of Ernest Sill, who Was about to repiy angrily; when Harry, smiling, laid his hand upon his arm and said “skip the hard words, Er- nest.”? : ‘ “7 Will,” replied the youth; smiling in turn and giving tothe Ottawa “the soft answer that tarneth away wrath,” instead of the fierce words he had meditated. “No—she cannot be yours, my friend, since she has al- ready promised to be mine. Do you uuderstand??. “Notienactly. You can give back her promise.” “Never—never !"’ : “What! Not to save ber from being a squaw of the dreadfui Sioux” for Lewaneeé can save her.” eR Us ‘Save her then for me/? exclaimed Ernest, grasping the Ottawa’s hand, and looking first imploringly into Ins eyes, and then pointing to the sky, as he added: “The Great Spirit will bless you.’ “What know you of the Great Spirit of the red-men ?’’ “There is but oneGod.*? “Lewanee does not know that. Some of our wise men say that the Goa of the white men is stronger than our Great Spirit, and therefore we are driven away from our old homes, and from our father’s graves.” ‘-Nay—there is but one Ged—and we are all brothers.” “So beit. Lewanee will help his brother. Hedid but jést about the maiden. In two days you shall ‘see her again.” . 3 : “And my father?’ asked Harry. ; : “And your father.’’ The two young men looked anxiously and doubtingly at each other. They had little hope, but they gladly accept- ed the services of their new ally. wi : “When lam gone 1? said Lewanee.?> >) .! : ‘Are not we to go with you?” asked Ermest, hastily. “Nay, not withme. When lam gone you! must travel northward, half a day's journey, when you will'reach the lake. There you will find a boat waiting. for you, and in it will be provisions.’ : » eelsnuog! ; ‘ “How snall we find if??? . IHR! : “It will not be. far off. Look up and down the shore. When you have found@it, you must ‘row westward, till you see the smoke from an encampment.on’the shore. Lewanee will be there, ana will meet you.”.. “And then shall we start with a band of Ottawa braves after the Sioux?” asked Ernest, eagerly.) . ‘ Bat while they questioned him, the: Ottawa walked rapldly away into the woods, and though they followed: him alittle way to question lium further, they speedily lost sight of him. i ivlashy i He had stopped: behind a large tree, and slipped on his moceasins, arid was far.on his liomeward way, while they stood wondering how he could so soon have got out of theit sight. isa od "9a .coleagy O50 Lewanee hurried home, and selecting the lightest of a little fleet of bark canoes, which were moored in’ the mouth of a creekmear the Ottawa éncanipment, he veg its bark cable to his belt and .nose into \the air with without difficulty. Having nis telescope with him he was able after stepping twenty or. thirty down the lake, to.see the fatigued young men panting. along in the at which they would reach the water, and there le moored | the boat. s Geet { j boy! Then he returned for a bag of provisions, which he placed within the canoe, and about sunset’ he stepped once more across the country, (if was not two minutes,) work,) to see that allwas right, and that his white friends were coming to no harm. ibe It was not all right. A grizzly bear had come out of the wood, (for the prairie didnot extend to the lake shore which was skirted here by a dense forest,) and.was snif- fing around not far from the canoe, the provisions which he had provably smelled away up in tie hills, - ; He had almost reached the boat when Lewanee came hastily over him, ana called out in the bear language: “Get out of that, old chap !? ; pa iG 444 “I shan’t do.it—get out yourself!’ was the quick reply. But the bear looked around wonderingly, for he saw none of his race near him. (ol eg Lewanee was about to aim his rifle at the. intruder, when the generous Ogil’s counsels came to mind: “Slay nothing wantonly—not even a grizzly bear,” and he remembered that the huge animal was only obeying its instincts and that he ought not to be offended at him. But he could notlet him eat the food designed for the -young men, and so he resorted to remonstranece, ) He alighted on a tree very, near the shore, and took off his moccasins just.as, grizzly had placed his) paws upou the boat. - é it Jo Sil Bali VF Www “Hold on!" he cried again. ‘That's my bag of meat and corn. You must letivalone.’§ -) 5 | “Who are you?’’ asked grizzly, looking around for one of hisrace. ‘And where are you? I. don’t see you,.’’ He spoke gruflly and continued to advance into the boat, which toppled with his weight. « 07 “-Here—in the tree! Look sharp now—and , keep your paws.off that bag. a... \« ae: Sift # Bruin looked in the tree. i } nis “Oh it’s one of them two-legged chaps,’’ he; said, “and he talks bear-talk quite, plainly. That’s strange ! Yours is it,”? he added scornfully, as hestruck one paw through the bag. ‘You had better come down and get it, if it’s yours. ve About this time Lewanee came out to look: for the voyagers, fearing some harm might befall them, and a few minutes’ walk througu the air brought him in view of the nearly stationary, cance, which at first glance, he thought was empty, for he had not, brought his telescope; with him, ; Alarmed, he hurried forward, and now stopping a few hundred feet above the boat, he saw the two young men! looking so pale and haggard that he feared they were dead, But he descended nearer to them, climbing slowly down the air, and was greatly relieved to perceive that they were only sleeping. : Yet he felt saddened to see their exliausted state, and he began to reflect how he might help them on thein journey (which was not yet half accomplished) without disclosing to them his magical powers. ) Nothing could be easier if they did not a;wake; and, having assured himself that they slept soundly, he seized the bark rope or cable, which lay coiled in the bow of the boat, and strode forward, pulling the fragile vessel rapidly after him. : lie was compelled to walk slowly, (for him,) and’ take very short steps, not more than forty'rods Jong, lest he should upset’ the boat, which darted like an_ arrow through the water, and Jeff a foaming wake far behind it, Lewanee found it difficult to keep near enough to the water for his present purpose, for the cable was not long, ahd he lad a constant propensity to rise... Still he managed ‘to set tllem some twenty miles on their way. while they’ slept, aud he wonld have towed them much further but for an unfortunate accident. In his eagerness he went too fast, and, despite bis watcbfulness, he rose so far, in taking one of his steps, that he pulled the canoe almost out of the water, in - pert position, and threw both the'sleepers into the ake. : Astonished and fully awakened by their sudden bath,, the. young mien looked wildly around them, but they could not see their boat, and, being very far from land, they gave themselves up for lost, ’ Lewanee had descended and was pushing the canoe silently toward them, forgetting that Wnhile in contact with lim, it was, like himself, invisible. The detached oars, Which were floating near, could be seen, and, Ernest and’ Harry did not doubt that their any sinking sloop, nor my father and his children, nor the wigwams of the Ottawas, How is this?’ He know something of picture-writing, as practiced by savages, with rude hieroglyphics, but the mystery of a written language, based on an alphabet, was quite in- comprehensible to his untaught mind. Melburn told him, it was impossible to explain this wonderful art to him then, bat if he could come and so- journ with hima few months, aiter, he reached his home in Baytown, he would teach him-to both read and write. “My father is goed,” he said; ‘*‘Lewanee will walk over every doy ahd take alesson, but he cannot stay away from his people... “All right. .L had. forgotten your powers. Truly, the walk will not be as much to you as our children take dajly in going to:school, | Come, and vwe shall be rejoiced to see you. Come, and there shall be rich and handsome presents for my son, whe has gayed our lives,”? ‘The Giver o1 life is on the other side of the sky,” re- plied the youth reverently. © =. “Very true. .Lewanee is. but an instrument; but it is right to thank him.” WAR: tnd’, ‘He will come and see his white friends te Then taking up the writing again, he said: ‘It must talk more. 1t must offer the yellow gold.” “T have thought of it, but I am destitute here; and I can only promise—”,, ; ‘ “Promise the gold to be paid here, and it shall be ready; all that he wants, and all that my father wants too !”” “What? Can my,son do this? , We are already your debtors beyond measure, and thought to reward you in part. “Lewanee has spoken. My father shall not go home empty-handed. The young magician has a home under the great mountains, where the earth is yellow and the foot sinks ankle-deep in the golden dust.?’ Greatly wondering, Melburn took the brichen letter, and added to ita promise ©f,ample,pay to tis hoped res- cuers, but be did not make the offer as munilicent as the magician had warranted, alte jot: f “And now,’’ said the Ottawa, ‘tell the men. in the great canoe not to harm the bird which brings the letter.” “The bird! hy , . . “Yes, Lewanee bas a pigeon which has agreed to go on this errand. Teil them to, handle Gray Wing. gently, to send their answer by him, ane to follow the course of his flight to the shore.” . , ~ “Trnly this isaland of enchantment,” thought Melburn; but he complied wondcringly, saying: “They will think 1t but a well-trained carrier pigeon. I hope he will come to no harm.” ” “Gray Wing.is wide awake, and will watch for signs of danger. He will alight near the mildest looking man, and at the first hostile sign, if such there should be, he will be off like a flash, Soaring up to the clouds. I have in- little vessel had sunk, “It must have sprung a leak and filled while we were sleeping,” they said, as they started to swim feéebly for the distant shore, Which they had but a very faint hope of reaching. © The magician pushed the boat, now this side of them, and now on that sice, and wondered that they took no Rabies f it; but suddenly remembering the cause of the | difficulty, he removed his hands from it, splashing the water as hie did s0, to arrest the attention of the swim- WiGteni.. y “Phere’s the boat now,” shouted Harry. ‘It has come up again. Hurrah !?? ° “I thought it strange that so light a thing should sink,’’, replied Ernest, swimming quickly to it. “It has probably been only just below the surface—but how is this? There is no water in it, or only a very little.”’ They clambered in, wondering greatly, and came to the conclusion that they must have tipped it, and fallen out in their sleep, and that they had pot, until this minute, been wide enough awake to discover the littl cockle-shell, although it was so near them. , “We were more scared than hurt,’ they said, as they ‘picked up their oars and resumed their voyage; but when they looked shoreward, the landmarks were very dif- ferent from those which they remembered last to have seen. ; “We must have drifted’ a long way while we were asleep,’’ Ernest said; “but whether we have gone for- ward or back, it’is impossible to tell.” But at nightfall, the smoke of an encampment was seen about a mile ahead; and while they wondered whether they could so soon have reached tne Ottawa tents, and ' feared to approach them, Lewanee came out in a canve io meet them. Of course they did: not know him at first, but they would lot flee from oné man, and they soon discovered that It was their generous friend who was approaching. structed him, ‘To-morrow. morning he will go, for the Stormy Petrel is yet a Gay’s journey distant.” } Pease : CHAPTER XVII. : ’ Lewanec took a sky walk over to the Rocky Mountains that morning, and after some search’ for land-marks, alighted on the high roof of the golden cave. He looked in and saw a dozen or more grizzly bears, some of which were asleep with their heads resting on their paws, while others were walking about, and others were standing knee-deep in the cocl ace The Ottawa entered through the crevice, and alighting on a hig! ledge, took off his moccasins, and called out to the animals in their language. In fact, his ‘‘good morn- ing” was a very respectable roar, and was answered by a general rearing, in which so many voices said so many different things that it was difficult to comprehend them. “Good morning.” ‘How do you do? “Why, it’s the fellow that shot Big Tusk !’? were among the phrases that his ear caught, but they all langhed and looked pleased loose knot of the string, as it had been iustructed, until it gave way anc the note fell upon the deck. Captain Gaspar saw rothing intelligent in this act; it seemed but the natural desire of the bird to free itself from an incumbrance, but when the pigeon picked up the fallen note in its little bill, and broughtit to bim, and Gropped it at his feet, keeping just out of his reach, and then hied away aguin to the mast-head, he was greatly astonished, “A marvelous bird, truly |! Nay, Tarquin, donot shoot,” he exclaimed, as the latter emerged jrom the cabin gang- way with his gun, ‘‘it has broughtus a message, and I really believe it is waiting for an answer up there on the mast. I never saw such a human expression in a bird’s eye before.” “How on airth did you git the note away from it with- out killing it?? “How? Why he jest flew down here and pulled it loose, and dropped it, and then flew back agin, as much as to say ‘that’s for you??? “It's lottery numbers probably,’? Tarquin said, ‘tor the price of stocks, or a love note, but whatever itis, it is mot meant for us”? Very great, however, was their amazement on reading the message ana learning that it tas meant for and hud been sent to them, “And we’re tu follow the bird,” said the captain; ‘‘and there he sits looking at us now, as much as to say ‘are you ready to have me start aud show you the way?’ If declare to gracious, Targuin, | feel rather scary about all this. lt’s kind 0’ out of the nater.ot things -hey ?’ “There is nothing to be afraid of. The bird cannot hurt us, “No; but who sent him?’ “Why, a shipwrecked family, if says; and they are ready to pay us liberally for helping them, | That’s what. concerns us chiefly, I reckon.” ‘ ‘I don’t know, Shipivrecked people are not apt to be very flush of money. a4 airaid 1 a lure of some king 70a bird is too intelligent. I-am afraid itis a rom—— “From what?! “Why, from the Prince of Darkness.’ “What—a dove? - Never, captain. If it had been a crow now, or a hawk, one might suspect something of that kind; but a sweet little blue-eyed pigeon—never. I'm not afraid of that, though I was going 10 shoot it, like a brute. See if you cannot eall it down bere.” The captain laughed, and, having writtema few words of reply on the note, he beckoned to the bird to couie down, holding out the bark-paper and_ string to indicate: his wishes. Gray Wing shook his head. ; 7 And the two men looked wonderingly at each other, and lavghed half in fear. b Phen “He is a well-trained bird,’’ said the mate; “that’s all, © I guess. I’ve heard of their doing wondertfuller things in juggler’s shows,” re “He is afraid of you, Tarquin,’’ said Gaspar, the other end of the vessel, und I will try bim alone.” The mate went, andthe bird when again summoned, : lug the captain closely from that lower elevation. AG The signal te descend and receive the paper was re peated, but.the dove again shook its head more peremp- torily than before. yt The proposition evidently exceeded his instructions. Gaspar then laid the note upon the capstan and walked quite off the qnarter-deck, aud to his surprise Gray Wing descended, and having flown several times around the stern of the vessel, suddenly darted at the paper, and seizing it with its bill, few away with it slowly toward the south-east, ; i “Wonderful! Amazing!’ exclaimed Tarquin. “What did you write 7" “IT wrote that Lwould stand in toward the southern ‘to see him, and when the commotion had partly subsided one of them begged him to come downand have a talk with them. ~ But Lewanee excused himself—in fact he did not quite dare to trust them. “I'm sorry to disturb you,” he said, ‘but you know thie bargain between us, and 1 want the cave now for half an hour or less." “All right. You're quite welcome,” said the chief spokesman, (or spokesbear), ‘Come along, brothers; but won’t you stay and dine with us when we come back ? lve got a fatleg of deer back’ there, and there’s lots of halfpicked bones around the cave, besides.” Lewanee thanked him, and ceclinea the invitation, not witbout some unavoidable show of disgust. “He looks as if he thought 1b wasn’t nice enough for him,” said one of the animals, in a low voice;i. é., in a mild grow]. “I hate such airs. What right has he to He greeted them cordially, and then led the way back to the camp. : “Have you heard anything of the Sioux, or of our friends, their captives? Shall we start to-night in pur- Suit of them ?* Erfest asked, anxiously. *] have heard of them,” replied Lewanee. ; “When? Where? Weretbey alive? Can we rescue them? How many warriors have you—and how many nave’ “My brother asks too many questions,” “Answer one of them, then. Are Flora and her father alive ?”? j “They are alive.” * “And can we——” : But Lewan€e plied his paddle vigorously, and widened the distance between himself He Jooked back #milingly, and said “Wait )? They approached the shore near the mouth of a creek, where many canoes were moored, and near which was the encampment, . ‘ , - A crowd came to meet them; and among those who came Was 2 White-haired man, and a beautiful maiden, who darted ahead of ‘the throng, and; rushed tothe ‘snore, where sie waved a white kerchief in the airy... ; porteee te a shoutof joy, and sprang from the boat, alighting breast-deep. in. the wa er, whence he leaped and plunged forward until le clasped the weeping gui in fis arms? | -6 eito oot His « 709 1 4) 92 In another moment, the canoes touched tle shore, and Harry was embracing his father and sister; and the for- nd. l&s questioner. demonstrations ef transport and delight. Leis i fed $onii2.. * oH + a) ye CHAPTER XVI. The Ottawa people knew but little of Lewanee’s agency in reuniting this happy family, though they knew he had, in some way, rescued the father aud daugliter out of the, hands of the Sioux, But they were hospitable and kind, and gladly entertained the friends: of the young brave, ‘and made them welcome.as long as they chose to stay in the camp. They did not choose to'stay long. When a day or two had been given to rest, and to recountiog,their perils and escape, they longed to return home; but, alas! their home was on the opposite side of the great lake, hundreds of iniles distant, and they had no hope of seeing it again for a long time. rst ' “Weshall have to stay here until the encampment breaks up, and the Ottawas return to their winter liome,’’ said the father. ‘Then we can go with them in safety, anda hundred ana fifty miles east of here we can find means of recrossing the lake.” LS But it would be a month, and more, before the Indians were ready to go, and it seemed impossible to wait so long. : Melburn applied to Lewanee in this strait, and he prom- ised to assist him as far as he could without apy open dis- play of his magical powers. This secret he insisted on guarding as far as possible, and where no life was at stake, he would not needlessly risk disclosing it. “My Jather saw a sail yesterday on the lake?’ he said. “Yes; a dozen miles off. lt did not come nearer to us, and it may be weeks before there is another in sight.” “In sight! Lewanee will walk out and look for them.”’ “And then??? i cons, shall see. There may beaway. Lewanee will think. ' Melburn knew that but few vessels traversed this part of the great lake, and that none came near the south shore, here, where all was a wilderness, and he had little hope of aid from such a source. But Lewanee laughed at his fears, and having put on his magic slippers, he mounted into the air, and was soon a score of miles from the land, traveling westward to- ward the head of the Jake. When he had gone about fifty leagues he saw a sloop, bound down the lake, and he descended and alighted upon«its deck, where he walked about unseen, listening to the conversation of its captain and crew, and examining its cargo. Ilaving obtained what information he could by these means, he leapt again into the buoyant air, and leaving the laggard vessel quickly out of sight, he sped home- ward and reported wiat he had seen to his friend. “Tne Stormy Petrel will be opposite the lodges of the Ottawas in two days,” he added: “will my father be ready to go ?? “He will grieve to leave his good friend,’ Melburn said, taking the young Ottawa’s hand, “but he is ready. He hears the voices of little children calling forhim. But how shall we get to the sloop? It will not come near enougl for signals to be seeu, an} Flora will bot dare go so far in a little canoe; Our terivic shipwreck has made cowards of us both.” “Nay! Lewanee must thiak. There space; Flora must not be frightened ’ On the next morning the magician came to Melburn and said : “My father is wise? is time, and Hie can make a talking paper ?” “Yes, he can write |’ replied the other smiling. ; “It is more than the mugician can do,”’ said the Otta- wa sadly. ‘Well, he must write to the men on the great canoe, or sloop, if such is its name.” “And how can a letter be sent?’ asked the other quickly. “Lewanee will find a messenger. servants.”? Pen and ink, and paper, of course, were wanting, but one of the young men bad a pencil, and the Ottawa pro- Tire birds are his order us out of our cool cave just in the neat of the day—a fellow with only two legs? I wish I had him Zown here !"° It Was a large, surly-looking bear that said this, and one which Lewanee did not remember to have seen on his for- mer visit; but although he Neard him plainly, he knew: the words were not intended to reach his ears, and: he’ took no notice ofthem. —s_ 5 pai s oy When the cave was Cleared ‘he descended, and soon filled a small de@er‘skin bag, which he haa brought witlr him, with the golden sand, in weight equal to his own body, for he knew that he could transport as much as this, and he did not care at present for more. His store- house was always open to him, and he conld come when he would, and help himself to its contents, and while it was gi a by a score or more of grizzly bears, he had no fears that.any one else would attempt to explore it. So many winged dragons, or three-headed cerberi would scarcely have been a surer protection, Then the cave was far out ofthe track of travel, and probably no white man had ever trod those mountain wilds, and very few, even of the red race, ever went near it. The contents of Lewanee’s sack were not all gold. Tialf or more was earth and dross, which he intended to sepa~ rate after xeaching home, but there were fifty or sixty pounds of the precions metal, which was enough for his iend’s loss by the suipwreck, and if he chose to bestow npon him, he couid doit at some future time. ~* - 1 When he arrived hone te separated and melted the gold by a process known to-his people, and having made itripto little bars which were easy to handle, he took resent purpose, as it would more than make good his mite est people looked on, pleased and wondering, at, these |tpese to Melburn, whose astonishment and delight sur- tet spassed expression. ~ . “iItwas injvain that he sought to decline a part of the munificent gilt. “ie ree “Stis nothing,” said the Ottawa, other bag of it tor her wedding ‘present one of these days, and perhaps my father'shall have more. We shall see. Ogil, the wise, who has gone to the happy huntiug grounds, advised me to bestowit on none but the worthy, and sparingly onthem, It 1s like medicine, he said—use- fulin small doses, but when taken too freely it often does more harm than good,” ‘ ; Melburn made no further demur to accepting his ‘‘small dose,” which he roughly computed at fifteen or twenty thousand dollars value, but he did not make known his good fortune to his son and to Ernest, because his bene- factor uesired them to remain in ignorance of his mag- ical powers. . : Yo Flora he was permited to tell i she already knew the Ottawa youth to be a magi , but the daugh- ter’s delight was mingled with misgivings. “Is it. right to receive this—oh, my father?’ she asked. “How know we but it is obtained by some unihal- lowed art?”? The father handled and weighed the yellow bars, and replied smiling: “We will hallow it by good uses, then, my child. Sure Lam, that it is the genuine article, and that it will never turn to chaifin’ my hands.” Early the next morning Lewanee stepped over to the cave inthe rock, and called ferth Gray Wing, who was among his feathered subjects, and who prompuy re- sponded to the summons. y ’ Gray Wing was a handsome, smooth-coated bird, with a glossy, purple neck and bright eyes. He Knew well the duty which was required of him, amd he was very glad to he employed. “Come to me on the shore near the Ottawa lodges half an hour hence,” said the magician. “J will, my master,” perso 1 bird: “hut you must 1 “Flora shall have an- bid your surly door-keepers ‘to, let’ me pass.’’ «J will speak to the panthetAbout it.» You shall not be hindered, and if you do your errand well you shall be free to go and come at all times hereafter.” “Thank you—oh, my master! What joy will be mine; I shall dart through the air, and bask in the sunshine, and bathein the purling brooks. Thanks, ch, my mas- ter !? a Lewanee convers°d awhile with some of the other ani- mals; heard some complaints, adjusted some grievances, and then hurried back to the encampment, where he sought out Melburn. “Come with we to the beach, my father,” he said, *‘and bring the talking paper with you. Gray Wing will meet us there, ana the Stormy Petrel is already in sight.” “In sight! Then my eyes are dim, for I have watched since daylight for her flowing sails.” “Nay—not quite in sight down here,” replied the Otta- wa. . “I did not mean that; butif you will Jet me lift you only to the highest tree tops, you can see her.”? “Thank you. I will take your word, and remain on the earth.” Gray Wing soon came, and after circling a few times above the heads of the two men, alighted confidingly on Lewanee’s shoulder, anc peered inquiringly into his face. “J am ready—oh, my master,” it said; ‘‘but do not let this stranger harm me.” “He will not harm you,” the magician replied, and seat- ing himself on the grass, he bade the bird hop down, so that he could fasten the message around its neck which he did loosely, and instructed Gray Wing how lhe could himself detach the string which held it. Then, after having given the bird a few last words of caution, it few away and was soon only a speck in the sky. CHAPTER XVIII. Gray Wing's outward journey was qnickly made, and Jonathan Gaspar and his rough mate, Tarquin, saw, with cured a strip of the smooth white paper-like bark of tue birch tree to write upon, and he stood by, looking won- deringly on, while his friend rapidly trac -d a few lines upon it. 4 When it was done, to his ear. “1 do not hear it !’? he said, ‘but I know it will talk to your white brothers. What will it say?” “It will say,’’? replied Melburn, reading from the bark: “A shipwrecked family implores assistance in the name of humanity. We are on the southern coast in the camp of fnendly Indians. Come to us, There will be signals; flying from the highest trees to guide you !"? i ‘ ae again took the letter and looked it over care- ully. “} do not see any tall trees or flags here,” he said, “nor Lewanee wae the bark and held it surprise, the tired dove wheeling above their slow-moy- | ing vessel; and finally alightic g timidly upon the mast. | “Here's a visitor,?? said the captain, gazing at the bird, | whieh, with outstretched glossy neck and curiously twist- | ed head, was closely examining them. ‘Here’s a visitor, | Tarquin,’ who is lost on this great lake, and does not know bis way to the shore.” an “And there’s something arourd his neck,” replied the sharper eyed mate. “Some news of value, perhaps. Keep still while I get my gtn from the cabin, and we’ll have the tidings and a little pot-pie besides.” — ‘“@isappeared below, and Gray Wing instantly jited at the captain’s feet. to seize the bird, butit hopped ing to the capstan, pecked at the VE ve SS ‘ “exclaimed Jonathan, reaching ont | Visited them. store, and look out for signals. As to the rest, we will see. « Gray Wing, after a flight of abont a mile, turned back, caracoled a few times in the alr, as if to attract atren- tion, ov see if the course of the vessel was changed, and then resumed its course without further pause. The wind was favorable for the sloop, which made reasonable progress, and about the middle of the after- poon Captain Gaspar was coasting the southern shore, a mile or two from the beach, and an hour Jaten he dis- covered several white flags fluttering from tree tops, and saw the smoke of a bonfire which had been built at the edge of the water. iw + $ le was afraid to go nearer lest there migiit be hostile Indians ready to board bim; but while he deliberated, a canoe came out with only a white-laired man in it, who, with difficnity, managed the little bark. It was Melburn, of eourse, and they did not hesitate to admit him on bourd, where he told his strange siory and excited the sympathy of, the rough men lor his: mis- fortunes. ? inquired eagerly about the wonderful bird which hi Did he send it? Wasit his? How had he trained it? And last of all came tle true Yankee ques- tion, what would he take for it? Melburn satisfied them curiosity as far as he could withour betraying the cotitidence of his red friend. “it belonged to an Ottawa youth,” ne said, “and he himself had nothing to do with sending it, except to write the message which had accompanied it;” and then, to divert further inquiry, he began to talk of the price of passage fer himself and family to their home on the other side of the great lake. - This was a congenial subject to Captain Jonathan, who no sooner found that Wts shipwrecked friend was not poor, but was {ree and liveral In lis notions of compen- sation, than he,found a@ pretext for demanding about fourfold what his services were fairly worth, The bargain was readily made, but Gaspar refused to go any nearer to the shore with bis sloop, lest the Indians might prove treacherous, avd Melburn agreed to bring nis family out in a canoe, as the distance was hot great, and the waves were very small, _ “Even Flora will not fear this,’ he said. SUbAt A So Lewanee’s guests went away, parting with their frieud and benefactor with no little regret, and hoping that in some way they might be able to manifest their gra- titude to him when he came to make his promised Visit. The young men, not knowing all that had taken place, offered their watches and jewels, being anxious to be- stow something upon the preserver of their lives, ' Lewanee thanked them, but declined everything with a royal air, and he even insisted on sending a freshly slaughtered buck and some smaller game with them to the sloop, in order that his friends might fare well on- their voyage. “It was well thought on, and mighty clever in him,’? said Captain Jonatuan Gaspar. “We've got nothing - aboard but salt. pork, and salt fish, so that a little some- thivg fresh will be dreadiul welcome.” (To be Continaea). > e+. NEW PUBLICATIONS. Ten YEARS IN WALL StREET. By Wm. Worthington Fowler. Publishers: Worthington, Dustin & Co., Hartford, Conn. Any one who wishes to obtain a knowledge of the mysteries ef life in Wall street, with an introduction to the leading “bulls’’ and “bears,” can find a no more agreeable instructor or lrvelier com- panion than this very pleasant book. It is full of anecdote and description of well-known “operators,” and makes the reader chuckle and laugh all the while it is explaining and enlighten- ing him about “pools,” and “‘corpers,” and “rings,” and “cliques.” We have found the book both entertaining and in- structive. Arthur Lumley has furnished some twenty-four fine illustrations, among which are portraits of Cornelius Vander- bilt. Daniel Drew, L W. Jerome, Jacob Little, Henry Keep, Addison G. Jerome, Jay Gould, and James Fisk jr., Views of the Stock Exchange, of the Hall of the Board of Brokers, of the Sub-Treasury, of the Gold Room, together with many, ether scenes taken from the life—some of them comic and some trag- ic. The work is a credit to the publishers in printing, paper, and binding. GeorcEe CANTERBURY'’s Witt. By Mrs. Henry Wood. Pub- lushers: Messrs. Peterson, Philadelphia. This is one of the most interesting novels of a lady who has few rivals in skillfal con- struction of plot and artistic delineation of character and pas- sion. We commend “George Canterbury’s Wil” to our readers as a novel which will be found eqrally as interesting yas, “East Lynne.” Tue MicDermots oF Battycrorix. By Anthony Trollope, Publishers: T. B. Peterson & Bros Like «dl Mr. Trollope’s novels this one is interesting from its fidelity to nature, aud the skill with which the author delineates the shades of character. ‘The MacDermots of Ballycloran™ we have found most entertaining reading. Tie Younc Wire's Cook Book is one of the recent and most phia. After the young wife has given this work a little study she will be able to vie with the best French cooks in preparing soups, pies, stews, meats, fish; sauces, and all the delicacies and substantials which enter into the economy of the table, Tom Burxn's TEMPERANCE Society, is the title of a vety beau- tiful temperance taie, trom the pen of T. S. Arthur, which has just been issued by the National Temperance Sucrety and Pub- lication House.. It isa stery which cannot but do -good and afford pleasure to all who may read it. ‘ ‘ ConsuGAL Sins AGAINST THE Laws or Lire 4xp Heattu.—By A. K. Gardner, A.M., M.D. This treatise comes to us highly re-- commended by medical men and tue press as well worthy of perusal by the public. % ts Tar DRINKING Fountain Stontes, is the title of a volume of., Temperance Society and Publication House. —__—— + «+ MARRIED. 43 fe bridegroom assembled to witness the ceremony, everything passed off in the most agreeable manner. happy couple have our warmest wishes for a happy successful life-voyage. May their path be strewn with roses, And pleasure gild their hours, And may they never fee! a thorn, While treading ’mid the flowers, _ * « ACAI ROSS ATE TLL ITT LLL BE EI AR PARTIR 5 _ But their curicsity exceeded their sympathy, and they | yaluabie publications of the Peterson Brothers, of Philadel- — &. At Chicago, on the 3d inst. in Chri t's Church, by the» Rev, Chas. E. Chesney, Dk. G. E. MCPHERSON, to : Lucy A. HIGGINSON. agii { eatdy A large number of the friends of the fair bride = { and md. 5) fe enlissury ~~ © og oifered hiin money; and when that was refused they . . me ** = 4 “Go tof. fluttered half way down and alighted wpoma yard, eye- . | eer nagunensitti te on afi tyme pleasant little tales, which has been published by the National. . r Sp lg Binge i Seat a ce > the pene an a ———. Miss te pain te Le AR SE ALEC BE ye igi oa te CIENT a AON SO wo rere ae Or ati fini Peep sees om ec o> Se poten aap werent ee TI 8 Sa IR EN ee nig ncaa , PN PEE ence on peor i Nn 4, ~ a | > : e CG. WEMYSS, 3 ASTOR PLACE, r* wholesome.. Try it; if you wish to prove its § kles For Moth Patches, Free & TSE “PERRY'S MOTH. AND FRECKLE LOTION.” The only Reliable and Harmless Remedy known to Science tor removing brown discolorations trom the Face. Prepared only by Dr. B. ©. PERRY, 49 Bond 8t, N. Y. Sold by Drugsists every where. | w22-13t ENOCH MORGAN'S SONS’ SA POLIO ine De and cheapest thing in use. SAPOLIO wiser tiaeuley Gi Uistng Woon work, &¢., &., &¢. ; SA POLIO" ion Sedinna ait erat Stitwees. SAPOLI@—aiertanal usw arate SA POLLO — "fer ivone ciesnins aud general uses is indispensable. ‘Try itand yowH like it. Depot, 211 Washington St., New York. .\ Everybody uses it. Sold Everywhere. w22-eow-tf IVORCES LEGALLY OBYAINED IN DIFFERENT States.— Desertions, etc., sufficient cause. No publicity. No charge until obtained. Address, M, HOUSE, 78 Nassau st. [w30-l3teow Maes PHOYOGRAPHS, WONDERFUL AND AMUS G.— JV$25 eents'a package. “Library of Love, 50 cents. _ Send to W. New York. [w30-4teow LSA GH * - -'* SOUPSAND BEEF TEA FOR THE MILLION. Strengthening Nourishment! Economy in housekeeping!! LIE- BIG’S COM NY's EXTRACT OF MEAT, the same that re- ‘ceived the highest prizes at Paris. Havre and Amsterdam, and that issupplied to the British, French. Russian, Prussian, and other Goyernments.. None genuine without the signatures of Baron Liebig, the inventor, and of Dr. Max Y. 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For Summer Com- laint, or auy other form ot bowel disease,in children or adults, tis an almest a certain cure, and has without doubt, been more successful in curing the various kinds of CHOLERA than any other known remedy, or the most skillful physician. In India, Africa, and China, where this dreadiul disease is. more or Jess $6 révalent, the Pain ‘Killer is considered by the natives, as well those climates, @ sure remedy; and] Kuropean resideuts in a s t while itis a most efficient remedy for pain, it is a perfectly medicine, ev.uin unskillful hands. Sold by all Druggists. w30-2Leow. WSSYCHOMANCY, FASCINATION, OR Charming. 400 pages; cloth. This wonderful book” full instructions to enable the reader to fascinate either, ; any animal, at will, Mesmerisi, Spiritualism, and hundreds of other curious experiments. 1) cents. ee It ean he obtained by Sending adiress, with postageyto T. EVANS & CO., 41 5S. Eighth St., Philadelphia, _ wiSateo “2 TURE. Inuclose 25 cents to Drawer 40, Elmira, N.Y. [w: we + i Fane Photogrphie Copy of a SINGULAR PHENOMENA IN ax iy Rustic Initial Stationery, One uire best Note Paper and Enve'opes to match, stamped with a beautiful Rustic Initial, (any letter desired,) all elegantly rfumed, at only Kitty cents a Case. ; + verhe ‘oa also contains one Faber’s Pencil, one Pen Holder and two best Fountain Pens. as a , The cheapest way to get your Writing Paper. Try one box. Money will be refunded to all who are not perfectly satisfied. Torn scrip, if genuine and not more than one-tenth gone, take ‘in payment Address ta , walt C. D.'Coreman, Lock Box 26, Ypsilanti, Mich s7F\{ME IS MONEY."*—Watches superseded--The Dollar Time Keeper—A Perrect Gem.—Elegantly cased in. Oroide of Gold, Superior Compass Auachment, Enameled Dek fiiner and, ‘Brass Works, Glass Crysta!, size of ladies’ watch. ill denote correct time, warranted, superb and showy. case, entirely of metal. This isno WOOD Compass. Is entirely new—patented. 10,000 sold in three weeks. Only $1 each, three for $2, in neat ease, mailed tree. Send for circulars. Address the sole manu- facturers, MAGNETIC WATCH €O, ) 9a) w25-13t Hinsdaie, N. H. if » Importer, 79 Nassau street, N. ¥. Send tor circular. w24-I3t fyi : ROYAL HAVANA LOTTERY. $390,000 in Gold drawn every 17 days. Prizes eashed and infor: mation furnished. Highest rates paid for doubloons and allekimds of gold andsilver. TAYLOR & CO., Bankers, 16 Wali st., es WM. KNABE & COVS (BALTIMORE) WORLD-RENOWNED Grandad, Square, and Upright PTANOS Used at the Aéademics of Music of New York and Brooklyn by the Italian Opera, Richings’ Opera, Ole Bull’s Concerts, and all the Jeading Eutertainments in the United States. These Pianos are betore the Public 36 years, and upon THEIR EXCELLENCE ALONE have attained an UNPURCHASED pre-cminence that pronounces them unrivaled. Every Piano is fully war- ranted for Five Years. ALSO, NEW PIANOS RENTED AND SOLD ON INSTALL- MENTS. J; BAUER & CO., General Agents, 69 Washingiou Sv, Chieago, Ih. 650 Broadway, New York. w25-10t y N. Gy NENRA x $20 ADAY toMALE& FEMALE _ Agents fo introduce the BUCKEYE $20 SHUTTLE SEWING MACHINES. Stitch alike on both sides, and is the only Lt CRBNSED SHU STLE MACHINE sold in the United States for less than $40. All others are intringements, and the seller and the user are liable to prosecution and iinprisonment.. Ourerr FRex. ws-lyr Address VW. A. HENDERSON & CO., Cieveland, .O. er $o5 w22-13t a da j Beautiful Woman. All women know that it is beauty ather than genius which all generations of men have worshipedin the sex. Ladies desiring beauty, a soft, smooth, and beautiful com- plexion and skin, should us2 Geo, W. Laird’s “BLOOM OF YOUTH.” This delightful toil- et preparation has recently been chemically analyzed by Prof. C. F. Chandler, the chem- ist to the Metropolitan Board of Health. The “Bloom of Youth’ is pronounced harmless, ac@ free from any ingredient injurious to health, Sold at all Druggists’ and Fancy Goods tores. Depot 74 Fulton street, N. Y. PROFITS to Agents on a new Ilustrated Book. Send stamp for circ “we rs BIG Hi w23s-tt B. BURR & CO., Hartford, Conn. a DT Wa 7 te A(\TD PIMPLES ON THE FACE. ~—Comedones, Black-Ileads, Flesh Worms or Grubs, Pimply Eruptions ana Blotehed disfigurations cu the Face. originate from a Suppressed Secretion, and are positively cured by PERRY’S COMEDONE AND PIMPLE REMEDY. Tt tones the Skin, opens the pores, exudes morbid Secretions and contains no Lead poison. Prepared only by R. B. C. PERRY 49 Bond street, New York. Sold by all Druggists, Send for circular. wil5-l3t A DAY !—40 new articles for Agents. Samples sent free. , II. B. SUAW,. Alfred, Me. BUOK.—Ageuts sell 300 per week. Price $5. , Ad- dress L. STEBBLNS, Hartford, Conn. w28-4t w28-4t 1870. & ~ TO .$29.+IMITATION GOLD WATCHES.—JOIN POGGAN, Q “Corporal Green!” the orderly cried ‘Here!’ was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of a so dier who stocd near; And “here” wasthe word tie néxt replied, “Cyrus Drew !"! then a silénceé fell; This time no auswer followed the call; Only a rear-man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded he cou d not tell. There. they stood in the falling light, These men of battie, with grave, dark locks, As plain to be read ay open books, While slowly gathered the shides of night. The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, And downin the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew, And crimsen-dyed Was the river’s flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, That day in the iace of a murderous fire, That sweptthem down in its terrible ire, And their life’s-blood went to color the tide. “Herbert Cline!’., At the call there came Two sialwart soldiers into the line, ‘ Bearins between them this Herbert Cline, Wounded and bleedivg to answer his name. “Pzra Kerr!” -and @ voice answered “Here!” _ “Hiram Kerr!” but no man replied. ‘ "They were brothers these two, the nda shudder crept through the ‘Epbraim Deane!” Then a soldier spoke, : Jeane Carricd our regiment's colors,” he said, — oy Vhenour ensign was shot. Lleft him ¢ead ; ‘Just after the cuemy wavered and broke. “Close on the roadside his body lies, I paused a moment, and gave him to drink; He murmured his motuer’s vame, I think, And death caine with it and elose@ his eyes.” ‘Twas a victory, yes; butit cost us dear, a For the company’sro!l when called atnight, —~ Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty who answered “Here 1” Sats at ee * This beautifol little peem was copi ano 0 ‘by a reader ot the New le poem: us quest that it be published in our coiummse think it will ve to most of our readers. AND HOW SHE PAID & BY URS. MARY J. HOLMES, — a Author of “Marian Grey,? “Hugh Worthington,” “Rose Ma- ther.” “Darkness and Jaylight,” ‘Lena Rivers,’’ “Home- stead on the Hillside,” “Fempest and Suusbive,”’ Maude,” ‘Ethelyn's stake,” “Cameron Pride,” “Meadow Brook,” “English Orphans,” “Dora Deane,” etc.,efe. “The Leighton Homestead” was commenced in No. 17.. Back eerers may be Obtained trom any News Agent in the United a CHAPTER XXVIIL. eon aR _ EDNA GOES TO LEIGHTON. . Owing to some mistake Roy did not.get Edna’s see- ond letter, telling him what day to expect ber, eon- sequently there was no one wailing for her at the station; and learning that Leighton Place was only tbreesquarters of a mile distant, she determined up- queea. On the hills there wzs that soft, pur h h ze, which only autumn brings; and the s bove was without cloud, save here and th sing, featuery mist, which intensified the he goldea sunshine d herself recalli: : in this still hour th that tae i pmuct of heaven on cart to Indeed, everything around he: seeme much like Heaven for her toc lon: : . > * " at last she reached the gate which Sonea into th Leighton grounds, slie was obliged to stop and rest upon a rustic bench, beneath one of the maples which shaded the park. y ashe ft She was there at 1 st—there at Charlie’s old home, Roy’s home; and her eyes were feasting themselves upon the beauties, which, had not been overdrawn either by Ch-rlie’s partiality or Maude’s enthusi:sm. Eyerything was beautifal—from the green, velvety turf, the noble elms, the profusion of bright flowers a.d shrubs, intertwined with statuary and cool white ures, showivg in the distance where stood the h :nd- some house, with its brozd piazza and friendly open doors, all basking in the warmth and sunlight of that ‘autumnalmorning. She thought of her picture, and said to herself i® Fi “Tt is like the original, though rot equal toit;” and ‘then, with asad kind. of asmie, born of a sudden héart-p.ng, she glanced toward the river, and saty what she knew must be the roof of the Gothic Cot- tage, whither she ouce iztended moving Roy end his motuer, so they would not be ia the wey of the gay- eties with which'she meant to fii the house. That time lay far back in the*past. She had learned a great deal since tren. Cuxarlie was de.d; and his gr ve was there on.a little knoll to the right of the house. about it, aud she could see the marble gle.ming through the evergreezs; and though she shuddered, as she a.ways did, when she recalled the awful night of nearly two years ago. Sho felt no very bitter pain that it was hers to go first alone to the home she had thcugbt to call her own. Time, waich will hezlal- mest any heart-wound, had been very kind to Edna, acd though she always remembered Charlie with sadness and pity, thcughts of him had long since ecased to make her unhappy; and when ‘at last she ieft her scat by the gate and pursued her way to the house, Roy was far mere in her micd thaa the boy Charlie, who slept under the evergreens, all uncon- scious that his wife was standing now at the very por- tal of hig old home, «nd ringing for admission. toy was away that morning; had gone to Oak- wood, where Maude was just at present. Fond as ever of croquet she had gotten up a little party, and invited Roy. Jack Heyford was also there for a day or so, together with one or two young ladies from New York, friends of Georgie; and go the game was a very merry one, end just at its hight when Hdna’s ring was answered by the servant girl, who, inviting Edna into the library, bade her be seated while shes carried her card to her mistress. Holding it close to her poor dim eyes, Mrs, Cuurchill made out the word “Overton,” and knew the expectéd stranger had come. “How awkward that Roy should be away,” she said, ag, declining the servant’s offered aid, she made her way alone to the library. it was a peculiarity of hers not to be helped by any one if she could ayoid it, and there was something touching and pitiful about her as she walked slowly through the hall, trying to seem to see,with one hand partly extended in front, and making sundry grace- ful, cautious motions, Edna heard her coming, and arose to meet her, her cheeks glowing snd her breath coming pantingly at first, but when she saw tue pale, languid woman, who stopped just inside the door, and whose hand seemed feeling for something, all her nervousness lett her suddenly, and quick as thought she darted forward, and grasping the uncertain hand, ex- claimed; | face held so close to her own, and passed her hand "| gesture of satisfaction, se said: ; | your hands and hair. You are a litile bit of a girl, | ed itself softly ea Edaa’s shoulder in a caressing kind her trunk and making the journey on foot. |- gne of ‘those bright, b Imy days in e-rly Sep-| heavens, while the Hudson slept so ca’m- ‘Mrs. Churchill, here lam; Miss Overton. lead you to a seat.” ; It was a blit. e, silvery toned young veice, expres- sive of genuine interest and sympathy for the poor blind woman, who did not refuse Edna’s offered as- sistance, but held her hand, even after seated in her chair, “Tam glad to welcome you, Miss Overton,” she said; “but am sorry you had to walk. We did not know-you were coming to-day. You must be very tired.” Edna assured her she was not; sand then Mrs. Churchill continued: “T cannot sea. you ag distinctly as I wish I could, for I like to know the faces of those I have about me, It is terrible to be blind !” Her lip quivered as she said it, and instantly there awoke in Edna’s bosom a fee’ing akin to love for this woman, who was her mother, in one sense of the word, and before whom she knelt, saying cheevily : ‘Let me come nearer to you, then. Perhaps you will get an idea of me. I don’t mind your looking at me as long as you like.” And Mrs. Churchill did look at the fresh young Let me over the mass of golden brown hair, and lifted one of the heavy curls and beld it to the light; then, with a “There, that will do. I think I know now tolerably well how you look. I certainly know the fee.ing of and Maude rightly named you Dot. She is at Oak- wood now; snd Roy is there t:is morning. They are having a croquet party, I believe. Maude is croquet mad, I think.” ; : Then it ocearred. to Mrs. Churchill that her guest might like to see her room, and she arose, saying: “T do not like being led; it implies too much Lelp- lessness; but I thank I shall not mind using you for my guide. Tecan lean on your shoulder nicely. lam glad you are so short.” withal in her attentions, : the house. and commenced her own toilet for the evening. Mrs. sion. Her choice fell at last upon a soft grey tissue, tua-maker, and praised by Ruth herself as faultless, her complexion relieved the rather sober hue, while a bit of scarlet geranium, which she fastened in her hair, hightened the effect. ‘Will Roy recognize me, or that Miss Georgie Bur- ton?” Edna asked herself many times, and as ofien assured herself that they would not. ‘Roy probably did not notice me specially on t2e car,” she thought; “while that bruise on my forehead and my terrible agitation and distress must have changed me so much that Siiss Burton will never dream I am the girl she looked at with sucu virtuous wrath.” There was scarcely achance of deteciion except through the bair, and as that, stead of falling neg- ligently around her face and neck, was braided back from the forehead, and fell over a comb at the back of the head, Edna felt but little fear,and awaited, with some little impatience, the return of Roy, hop- ing deyoutly that Maude Somerton would be one of those who might accompany him from Oskwood. The table was luid in the h:ndsome dining-room, and the dinner was waiting to be served, while far down the ayenue Edna caught the glesm of-white The soft, white hand, grown now a littie thin, rest- of way, and the two went slowly from the library and out into the wide i all, through which blew the warm September wind, sweet with the perfume of flowers it had kissed in ity passage acrors the garden. To Ed- na it seemed as if. she had gained zn entrance into Paradise, as through either open door she caught glimpses of the beautiful grounds, stretching away to the winding river in one directlon and back toward tbe Catskill bills in the other. Slowly up tbe long flight of stairs they went, till they reached the ball above, and Mrs. Churchill, pointing to a door, said: “That is Roy’s room, and the one farther down, where the door is shut, was Charlie’s, my other son, who died two yearsago, Yours is this way, opposite ‘mine. I hope you will like it. Georgie Burton said it was all right.” 4 They were in the room by this time, and with a cry of pleasure Edna broke away from the hand on her shoulder, and running to the window, from which the grounds, the river, and so many miles of country could be seen, exclaamed: =, “Oh, Ido, I dolike itsomuch! Itisalllike Pairy- land; and seems a dream that I should ever be in a place like this! I hope I shall not wake and find it ; that would be very dreadfal !” wasstalking more to herself than to Mrs, 5 this place “Almost She hesi-_ ar nearest ov agine, from the color’ ing suit; and Iam glad, for IT would have you in bright colors. Iam sure they | Suit you better,” she said, laying her hand‘again on Edna’s shoulder, and asking if she cared to dress for Wee ch! “Because, if you do not, thereis no necessity, /as Roy lunches at Oakwood. He willbe home to din- ner, and some of the young people may come with hima.” This bronght tolight the fact that Edna’s trunk was still at the station, whither Mrs,Churchill imme- diately dispatched a servant for it; then leaving Hd- na alone fora time, she bade her rest, and amuse herself in any way she liked until lanch was ready. It was avery delicate lunch, and seryed in the pret- tiest of little rooms,where the French windows open- ed upon a raised bed of bright flowers, whose per- fume filled the room, as did the delicious air of that soft September day. There was fragrant chocolate, and whice, home-made rolls, fresh from the cook’s oven, with peaches and rich, sweet cream, and the daintiest of sponge cakes; and the silver and the lb iO “rat She knew ib was, for Maude had told her alt. china and liaen were perfect in'their kind; and Mrs. Churchill, with the gentle, subdued expression on her pale face was very kind and attentive to the young girl sitting opposite her, and wondering ifit could be herself, Edna Browning, there at last at Leighton Place, amid all thege signs of wealth and luxury, and with only Charlie’s monument shining through the | distant evergreensto remind her that she was not the Miss Overton she professed to be. They went out to the grave thatafternoon. It waa a habit of Mrs. Churchill’s_ to visit it every day, and she asked Edna toaccompany her, and leaned upon her as ste went, and began talking to her of Charlie, her poor boy, whowas killed. It would be difficult to teil just what Hdna’s emo- tions were as she stood by Charlie’s grave, and read his name and age,cut deep into the marble. Mrs. Churchill had taken a seat on an iron chair which stood near by, and thus freed from her Edna leaned heavily against the monument, and felt for a moment as if she were suffvea:ing. But ske never lust a word of what Mrs. Churchill was saying of her boy, or failed to observe how sedulously any mention of Charlie’s wife was at first avoided. After a little, however, Mrs. Churchill said : “As you are to be one of the family, Miss Overton, you cannot well avoid hearing Roy or some one speak of ii, and so I may as well tell you that Charlie left a wife—a very young girl, to whom te had been mar- ried that very same day, Edna was her name; and they tell me she’ was pretty, but I never saw her but once, and then searcely noticed her. We don’t know where she is. Roy cannot find her. She is teaching school, and keeps her place of residence a secret from us.” ‘‘You must be sorry for that,” Ednareplied. “It would be so pleasant to have her with you—a daugb- ter is better than a stranger.” ‘Yes, perhaps so,” Mrs. Churchill answered slow- ly; then, brightening a little, she said: ‘i did feel hard toward her at first, bub I do not now; and I think I should like once to see the girl Charlie loved and died for before I am wholly blind.” There was something so sad and touching in the tone with which Mrs. Churchill said this that Edna involontarily walked swiftly to her side, with the half-formed resolution to fall upon her knees, and ery out: “Ob, mother, mother! Charlie’s mother! Iam she! Iam Edna! Look at me! love me! let me be your daughter!” But something held her back; and Mrs. Churchill thought that the hand laid dresses and heard the sound of Merry voices as Roy and his party drew near. _ In her dress of rich black silk, with a soft shawl wrapped around her, Mrs. Churchill sat upon the pi- azza and kept Kana at her side, where sae command- ed a good view of the approaching guests, her heart giving a great bound of joy as she recognized Maude Somerton, tripping along in her usual careless man- ner, with Jack H yford in elose attendance. A little in adyance of Mande walked a tall, straight, broad- shouldered man, whose manner prociaimed him the master, and whom Edna knew at once as Roy, and whom she scanned so earnestly as almost to forget the brilliant woman at bis side, Georgie Burton, who, if Roy bore himself like the master, bore herself equally like the mistress of Leighton, and pointed out to one of the party, who wasevidently a stranger there, some fine views of the river and of the mountains in therear. They were allin high spirits, talking and laughing, and so abserbed in each other as not to see the twoladies awaiting their approach, until Maude suddenly exclaimed: , *Jack! Jack! see, there is some one with Mrs. Churchill. It is, it surely is, little Dot!” and with her usual impetuosity Maude broke away from her companions and bounding up the gravel walk and the wide steps of the piazza, caught Edna in her arms and nearly smothered her with kisses. ’ (fo be Continued). - : Pleasant Paragraphs. —In advance of his debut in our own Columns as the hero ofa romance, “Little Buekshot” seems to have awakened the enthusiasm of the poetic muse; for one of our esteemed contributors, in®idmiration of the scout’s valiant deeds, lifts him into the realms of immuortality, aided by the wings of the lavely ‘‘Shoo Fly.” pe ‘ eth BUCKSHOT. ~, ©. Ring out the news over hill and glen, _.. Astory from: Ned Buntiine’s pen, ~The WeErxkty has brought out again; Tis Written in ashrilling vein— I feel, I feel, EF feel Like reading it all through, Ned Buutline’s last and pest romance, In plot and power too. Shoo Fly, dou’t bother me, Shoo Fly, doit bother me, « Shoe Fiy, don’t bother me, _ For Buckshot fius my heart with glee, . Qh! hoy I love, I love To read of Littie Buckshot. Little Buckshot, the White Whirlwind, No braver on the ¢lainps you'll find, Protected by ihe fair one’s king, And bated by the savage mind. I feel, I teel, I feei, And so my mother said, The Weex y has the chwvicestitalcs That ever I have read. .: Shoo Fiy, &e. Conrad Wentworth, the hero scout— Most skilliul guide [ve read anout— No sooner hears the whoop and shout, Than hies the savave foe to rout. I reel, I teel, I feel Ned wicids a magic pen, Draws ch.racters both wild and weird Of living girls,and men. Shoo Fiy, &. Red Cloud and his son, Rattlesnake, True charac ers, and wide awake, John Reshau—fitted for the stake— The greatest villain ever spake, IT feel, I feel, i feel, That's what my sister said, I'd like to read the Werk ty through Betore I go.to bed. shoo Fly, &c. Frankita, Spanish maiden fair, Whose beauty is be Yond compare, Warren—iis daughters pure and rare— All havesimportant parts to bear. Though many tales I've read OF wild life in the West, Little Buckshot, the White Whirlwind, I must pronounce the best. Shoo Fly, domt bother me, Shoo Fly, don’t bother me, Shoo Fiy, dowt bother me, For Buckshot fills my heart with glee. Oh! how LI love, Llove To read of Little Buckshot. Jay AitcH DouBLEYou. A COOL PROCEEDING. A boy who had been engegeu as Cook by a bachelor black- smith, was one day holding some he: iron while his employer hammered it, and accidentally burved his fingers. ‘You foul,” said the blacksmith, “you might liave known that iv weuild burn you. Hereafter, when you Wish to ascertain if anything is hot enough to burn, spit on it, and if it doesn’t hiss ivs cvol.” The next day, when tbe blacwsmith came to dinner, the bey gave biunsome soup. “Lt’stod %ot, Lthink” said the blacksmith. “Oh, no,” returned the boy, “I just tried it, and found it 1 cnoush.”. Thus assured, the blacksmith took a huge mouthful ot the scalding soup, which he quickiy sputtered out from his burnt mouth. “You rasepl,”’? he roared, collaring the boy, “why did you tell we thatic was cool’ “{ tried it just the way you told me, sir,” the boy auswerea; “Tspic on it and it didn't his.” DietrRica. “BAREFOOTED LN THE NECK.”’ At a vocal enteriaiment, the ciber evening, one of the lady singers worea low necked diess. A lutle girl of three years, seeing her, exclaimed, to the amusement of those in hearing: “Oh, Mamma, what mubes her go barctooted in the neck.” Isaac T. it. Brown. ANOTHER WHITEWASHING Your “Whitewashing the Crystal alace,’” In No. 27 of the New York WEEKLY, retuiods me ofa joke of the same kind; but in this case the seller was sold. Harry Bobbs, a well known politician and practical joker, spent most of his idle moments ata provision store at the corner ot 13th and Pine strecis, Philadelphia, kept by a friend who could appreciate a good joke, One day,on his way hume, he metan African wilh his whitewash bucket and brush, and ac- costed him with, “I say, have you anything to do to-morrow ?”' “No? said the darkey; *: utoin’ tickler that I knows of.” “Well.” continued Barry, “L want you to bring your brush and bueket, and whitewash ibe awning of ths provision store at the corner 0! 13tu and Pine streets. Be tuere before 6 o'clock in the morning, and have it doe as soon as possible.” ‘Bet your hile I'll bedere,’? responded the darkey; and true to his word, at daylight the next morning, he went to work witha will, and had jast finished putting the second coat of lime on the awning, which had only be. n in-use a few davs, when the owner arrived and was about sending for a policeman, when the darkey wanted to kuow whatright he haa to interfere. ‘Mr. Bobbs told ine to doit, and) Use gwine to wait here for my monvy.” He was told where Harry lived, and went there; anc mn answer to inquiries by the servant, said: ‘Tell Mr. Bobbs. Tse done de whitewashing, and wants de money—two dollars and a half.” Harry was compelled to pay the bill, but emphatically declared that when he wanted any more whitewashing done he would hire a darkey that did not know hint. EMANON. A POOR COMPLIMENT FOR THE LADY. § Two gentlemen, wel! known to the legal profession of Ingian- apolis, were recently annoyed by the prospect of the matrimo- ninal union of two young branches of the respective families. One is a criminal lawyer, the other a judge; the former has a daughter, a young lady and the Jatter a son, a young man. As young men are very apt to do, this young man was int he habit of visiting this young lady; and one evening, while sitting by her side, chatting very pleasantly, her father opened the parlor door, and beckoned the young man out in the hall. The young man, suspecting no evil, obeyed the motion, and upon reaching the hail,was more foreibly than po.itely informed tbat so softly upon her hair was put there from sympathy unless be at once took his hat and “got out,” he (the lawyer) would be compelled tu kick him eut. The young man hastily only, and felt, an increase of interest in this Miss Overton, who seemed so kind and gentle and delicate They stood an hour or more by Charlie’s grave, for Mrs. Churchill liked to sit there under the shadow of the evergreens, and then at last went slowly back to It was getting near dinner-time; and as soon as Mrs. Churchill dismissed her, Edna went to her room Churchill had said Roy would be home to dinner, and probably bring some of the young people with him, and Edna experienced a cold, faint feeling at her heart as she thought of the ordeal before her, and tried to decide upon a dress appropriate to the occa- which had been made by Rath Gardner’s own man- It was very becoming to Edna, for.the brillianey of 0 oe ee t 4 : mr —— “ae — : . . - — withdrew. A day or two after, the lawyer met tbe judge on the sirecr ani related the cireumstancesto him. The > slapped thelawyer ontpe back, and said, “You did juse r sir. If my sem or any other young man were to call upon your daughter, he deserved to be Kicked out of the house.” Lion arr. A CONCATENATION OF NEW YORK WEEKLY HEROES AND HER Isaae T. H. Brown, who. in No. 29, velunt credson metion concerning the Nsw YORK WEEKLY hevoe. and b is inforn.ed that “Squirrel Cap’? has g ne tu Europe to cor “Conrad, the Conyici,”? about getting the “Locksmith of Lyuns’’ to remeve the ‘shadowed Altany’ that the ‘Mystery of tbe Black Diamond? may be diselosed. “The Rose of Keudale’’ says she won'tlet them move it. but “Scheming Made.on,” for whose capture “£15.000 Reward—Dead or Alive,” has been Offered, fuvers the removal: and’ “Little Buekshot’ is deter- mined t assist her juthe undertak ng, though hee bas to “raise hair’ and scalp “The Magician of tiie Lakes” to accomphsh his : JODIE. purpose. THE ACTUAL TRUTU ABOUT IT. “Squirrel Cap,” aceempaunied by the “Lock sailed to “Leighton Homestead” in the ‘1 of which vessel “Sarnacle Beékstay” was en, tain. r- rival, he remarked to his: Ginpauiomthat * Faithful Margaret” wasas “rue as Love Goulo Make Her,” and the question “Who Did Lady Vioiet Marry”? nad been. solved by the ‘it oy Miner.” While there, by means of the *K-y of Gold,” he entered ‘The Crimson Room,” whic! tums “The Shadowed Altar which the “Rose of ve? end ‘ihe Flower f Sada’ bloom. He there dscovercd that it was ‘Tre Lost Bride” “Who Owned the Jewe.s,” and thatshe would give “£15,000 Reward? jor the return of “fhe Diamond Collar.’ ‘He also discovered that “Conrad, the Convict.” and ‘Ramon, the Out law?’ hid entered iatoa plot with “The Sky Travelers’? and “Seheming Madclon” to send a*‘L tde Buckshot” through the head et “fhe Man in Blue,” because he hed been ‘Redeemed by Love,” an@ rad deserted then to read “The Conspirator’s Dooin’’ to* fhe False Heir,’ who swere he would cut the last “Notches on the Suck’ with the knife fo: merly used by “Buf: falo Bili’” bet row owned and in the possession of “Daniel 2 N. H. Drake. Bovne, the Vinenderbolt of the Border.’ N. ANOTHER The “Witelx,of the Ocean,” Whater,” suys that since Heir” hive disappeared, she will see what “T Lyons” an quirrel Cap” pay ‘‘Edna’s Debt.” Shc Tell whoun * iy Violet? mati i—provided thatt Kendale’” semus @ bouquet to the editors of the WEPELY. STRING eting on the advice of ‘“T “Faithtul Margaret” and te ROMULUS. MORE EVIDENCE. “Squirrel Cap” hasengaged “ihe Boy Whaler” to pilot “The Witch. fihe Ocean” to “tne Leighton Flomes:eatl,” wh he expects tose The Rose of Kendale,’? whom he left with “ihe Locksmith o¢ Lyons.” In going tothe Homestead he met “Tre False Heir,” who asked him “Who Did Ledy Violet Marry 7” Henry Ciay Fisk. LITERARY NEWS. “The Teiress' of the Sandal Wood Chest” econcea‘ed ‘The Flower of Suda”? in “The Crimson Reom,? whict was locked with The Key of Goldy’ made by “The Loeksmith of Ly ” ons, Her whereabouts was discovered by the lady. “Who Owned the Jewels,” who plucked “The Rose o: Kendale’ and gave it to “Lady Viol-t’*.6n, the day she was married to Squirrel Cap. At the same time “The Flower of Suda’’ was presented to “Faith- ful Margarer,?? who pinned it inthe batronhole of “Coerad the Convict,” whowas-rescued “Outof the Dark’ by “Tbe Man in Blue.’ ALLISON. 4A AND YET ANOTHER. Do you think ittrme that “Fatntul Margaret,” “The False Heir,” yet “‘As:True as Love Co ula Make Mer,” weutin “The Witen:of the Ocean” with ‘-Littie Bucksiiot, the Waite Whirl wind,’” to Bigeon:Hollow tosee Aunt Jerusby, and pick wild strawberriesior.‘‘The Rose of Kendale,”’ to prescnt to “Lady Violet? whenshe comes *'Qut of the Dark” reevsscs of “The ShadowediAltar?’” Trbere is some foundation tor the remor, for [have heard that ‘The Ranger of Raccoon Ridge” stepped from behind Josh: Bil'ings, In cCompavy wih “The Locksmith of Lyons” and. Elder Plum, to witness the ceremony winch was to be performed by the Rev. T. be Wiit Talmage, just where they were all standing, on ‘*Th- Leighton Homestead,” where Edna-Paid Her Debt to ‘‘The Man in Blue,’ with Jebial siab for a wiiness;.and he had just left’ “Butfilo Bill’ and “the Flower of Suda” in “The Crimson Room,” looking for “The Diamond Collar,” which belonged'to “YT e¢ Heiress of the Sandal-Wood Chest,” for I think that she ‘Owned the Jewels.” Lissik. oa A DRAMATIC JUMBLE. “The Fair One with the Blonde Wig” went out “After Dark” to visit “Unéle Tom's Cabin,” there to meet “Rip Van Winkle,” who was’supposed to Le “Lost at Seni? - She was accompanied by ‘Barney the Guide,’ who took herthrough the “Fairy Cir- cle” and across the “Field of the Cloth of Gold.’ where they were met by “The Little Desective,”’ with the “Emerald Ring,” which he had just recovered trom “Fri:z.”’ who had plead “Not Guilty,” accusing “Lictle Bmiy” of leading him into the “Twelve Temptations,” which he narrowly escaped by the aid of the “Forty Thieves,” whom “Ouc: Americua Cousin’ had brought from tbe “Sea of Ice’? with “Simbad the Sailor,’ who was badly burned by the “Red Light”? while “P »ying with Fire.” After many adventures they all reache@ “Heme? and are now quietly seated “Under the Gaslight,” hearti:y tred of the “Lottery of Life.” MILIE. “PLIPPITY-FLOPPITY.”’ A country girlonce-went to the city to pay a visit to one of her old and best friends; this friend was murricd to aricn city merchant, and was a leader of fashion.. In city etiquette, of course, the visitur was verdant, and madk numerotts mistakes. Her frie. d wished to initia e her fully into the “mysteries,” and as they were going to a large ball, gave hier the following iustructions, viz: “Eut only one small cake and one saacer of ice-cream, and when.your attendant presses you to take more, answer that you have masticated asufliciency, and more would be a superfluity.” Things went.on smoothly unul her attend- ant asked her to partake of mere refreshments, when, to the borror of her friend andLamusement of the eompesny. she an- swered, in a loud voidé:: “I have evaporated insufficiently ; any more would go flippity-floppity.” You Bet. To P. P. ContriputEeRsS.—Chirles Mirry.—An old story. We de- sire ouly original matter—anecdoteswhich have never been in print... Rory O More.—Welcome ; but give us only new inci- dents........The following. MSS. are sceepted. ‘Startling Ep- itaph;” “A Stranzer to Pieiy;” ‘Honorable Introduction; ’ “Trisuman’s Retort; “Cursing: the Judge:” “Big Feet;” “Mutton Head;’ “Irishman aud the Salad; “Stole for a Liv- ing;” “Plum’s Exp:rience;’ ‘“Johnny’s Goat.”..... The fol. lowing are respectfully declined:. “Gustavus and His Girl;” “Yankees are Coming;” ‘Preity Rough; ‘“fhe Wreng Man;? “In His Wife’s Dress;” “A squall;’ ‘Boots and Breeches;” “His Wholesome:” “Philosopher and Boatman,” “Noise in the Bushes; ‘‘Patent Machihe.”’ ‘The Fenian’s Blow;” “Play, Play Again;’ “The Snooting Match; “Mistaken Iden- tity ;?? “A New Machine:” “A Little-Floweér;” ‘Three P. P.’s,” by J. K.; “Jokes.” by Roach C.;.“Ringing Him In,” “One of the Rocks;” “Letter trom Mrs. Nicholas Doodlebammer:” “Strong Shoemaker,” ‘‘Medicines and Sharpeners,’ ““A_ Hint to the Verbose; ‘“‘A Growing Item,;’” “A. Fartridge, Esq.:” “new Hampshire Cemetery;’ ‘‘An Old Joke.” ——- r o-4 Items. of Interest. a@- To commemorate the visit of Prince Alfred to Bom- bay, it was proposed Lo set aside a sum of money to re- léase the deotors from the city jail, The report getting abread, a large number of debtors apphed to their cred- itors for arrest, in order to secure the payment of their debts by the city, and.the jail was speedily filled to over- flowing. 8a At St. Malo,. France, a superstition has existed for a hundred years ‘hat deaths ouly cecurred during the fall of the tide. The French Academy gravely sent a commit- tee to investigate tne fact, When the parish register was found, to reveul as Many deatls during the flow as the ebb ol the tide, nap A new process:has been discovered by which sul- phuric acid is used to; greatly imerease |} the amount of whisky produced from a given quantity of corn, giving a still more dapgerous.and poisomeus article than under the ola methods. 1 Bar Tue Empress- of Austria shot herself through the hand, in trying to. wrest trom her son a loaded revolver, with ‘nich he was playing. The accideni gave rise toa rumor that the empress hau committed suicide. kay An artist tried to photograph a group of Chinamen, at Mormon Bar, Cal.,. but when he got his camera prop- erly to bear on them, and lifted the black cloth to take a sight, tlie Celestials fled in dismay. ka A young lady in Centerville, Md., while at work in her yercen With a hoe, strack au oyster shell and caused it to fiy up. The edge of the shell struck ter mn the eye, destroying the sight. £a~ An interesting suit is pending in Louisville, involv- ing tne title:to about fiity milion deilurs worth of proper- ty, located In the best part of the city, and which is claimed. by the heirs of Jahn Campbell. pap The weather telegraphs of Europe now predict the condition of the weather, trom fngland to Sicily, many hours beforchand, with perfect regulanty, and almost un- erring certainty. |. AG The C:own Prince of Austria is called a “dulJ, in- “doent, good-natured lad, who cares fer nothing but dancing, andmusic.”’ kay A Woman itt Londea lately swallowed three sove- reiguS, and alter a few mentys died of ulceration of the stomach, produce i by the impact of the coms, Sar Sixteen niillion bettles of champagne were pro- duced in Fratice lust year, of which more than three- fourths were exported.. +) “py Victor Hugo has authoriged all persons drawing Yup petitions for tue pardon of criminals sentenced to death, to add his name-tothe signa\ ures. gap The King of Italy pardoned, last uals; the Eniperor uf Austria, 110; aiid the King of Prus- sia, 45. Bar Thirty years age-a keg of butter was let down into a Pennsylvania well to cool. 1b was taken cul, recentiy, uutl found sweet. nq A portion of the cargo of a vessel which arrived at Boston a vay or Uwo. since, culsisted of filty thousand “suit Doues.?? ; Ba An obServerin Washington says of the U.S. sena- tors: ‘Most of then: sit, Walk, and taik with their hands in ineir pockets,” fie: An average of forty thousand cigars a week are muue li the lineis Stale prison. AGr An ortesiaw well at lowa City has been sunk 400 feet, and pure waser found. Aa lo Junvazy and February Cairo had but one show- er oi rain. xap North Carolina bas sent 87,000 partridges to the Nort curing tue pust Season. gar A “Shoo Fly? stage line has been established be- tween Eimira and Horselreads, Sar Two American sailors recently fought & duel, in Liverpool, with Kuives, anu one was Killed. BG- A gentleman of Dubuque, aged $2, has just em- barked on the sea Of Matrimony, pap Jn twenty-three weeks there have been twenty rainy Mondays im Boston. ga A New Hampshire fire originated hy a enild being put to bed and given a.kerosene Jamp to play with. gap The influx olammigrants to all parts of Oregon is unprecedented, Pwr : > At Berlin, in the'space of one week, recently, eight suicides were committed. 5a Des Moines county, fowa, has a sheriffess. Her nume is Mrs. Latty. Shé acts as deputy for her husband. inka BurNetr's Cocosiny semoves dandruff and prevents baldness. by year, 225 crim. CASTLES IN THE AIR. BY JENNIE STOVIN. Ah, yes, you’ve come and found me Sitting in my favorite chair, Busy with a foolish scheming, Building castles in the air— So stay beside me, dearest, And watch them fairly rise, Till they take their tints of beauty From the coloring of the skies. There’s our home beside the river, The fairest in the world, Where we watch the passing vessels With their snow-white sails unfurled; The house, with many gables, That above the willows shew; With the oriel-tinted windows That in the sunset glow— Casting floods of golden crimson On our steps of pure white stone; O’er the urns of solid granite, With their trailing vines o’ergrown. Now we stand upon the terrace, With the dial still in sight, And the peacocks strut in giory, Like rainbows in the light; And we hear the birds above us As they pass on pair by pair; And we know they too are happy Building castles in the air. Then we stroll round by the fountain By its murm’ring waters stand, And the gold and silver fish, love, Take biscuit from my hand. Then we enter near the arch-way To the oaken paneled hall, Where the shields and ancient armour Cast shadows on the wall— Then I hear your voice beside me, So I turn and see vou there; And find all things except your love Are—‘‘Castles in the air.” Ot Romance of History, CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK, “ENGLAND'S INJURED QUEEN,” BY LAWRENCE LESLIE. In the City of Brunswick, in Germany, stands the grand old cathedral of St. Blaize, it is massive in construction, liberalin extent, and venerable and interesting for the centuries that have rolled over it, and the associations that cluster round it. Beneath the spacious pile are exten- sive vaults, in which for centuries the deceased dukes of Brunswick and their families have been deposited. The curious traveler may enter these dark and gloomy abodes where the close fetid air tells the story of death and de- cay, and by the glimmering light of the waxen taper, that serves to make the gloom more oppressive, and causes the dark coffins to stand out in ghastly distinct- ness, he may count the corpses, which the dates tell him are the accumulation of more than six centuries. Here among the most recent dead are the remains of a gallant soldier, who lost his life fighting against Napo- leon at Jena, and a few feet tothe right lies the body of his son, aS welearn from the inscription, who fell at Waterloo, while gallantly avenging his father’s death. Between these two, separating father from son,is a plain coffin, bearing the simple inscription, ‘‘Caroline.”’ Within that leaden casket reposes the ashes of an Eng- lish queen, wife of George IV. and daughter of the illus- trious house, amid whose mouldering relics, it was her dying wish to be laid. There is much of mournful interest in the history of this unfortunate woman. United at an early age to one of the most dissolute men of Europe, openly discarded after a few months of shameful neglect, and followed throughout her remaining life by all the bitterness, mal- ice and persecution that malignant hatred could invent, or kingly power command; her existence was a continual battle against injustice, and death, a relief from sorrows under which ordinary hearts would have broken, long years before. The malice of her enemies culminated in her arrest and trial for crimes of the grossest nature, and the civilized world looked on in wonder and disgust at the spectacle of a wife of unexampled forbearance, arraigned at the instance of a husband notoriously debauched and cruel, and charged with immoral practices by the most shameful libertine of the day. Jaroline Amelia Elizabeth was the daughter of the duke of Brunswick, born on the 17th of March, 1792, At the age of twenty-two she was married to her cousin, Prince of Wales, and subsequently George IV. of England. On the day of the marri»ge the bridegroom was so intoxi- cated that he was unat..< to stand, and was supported by his groomsman while the services were performed. After the ceremony they started for Carlton House, which had been set apart for their residence, but on the way the drunken prince quarreled with his wife, and passed most of the bridal night in astate of drunken insensibility. Even when sober he gave little attention to his young bride, and spent most of his time in drinking, gambling and lewdness. A few weeks after his marriage he at- tended a dinner party with his wife, inviting one of his old mistresses—Lady Jersey—to accompany them, and forced the poor woman to tolerate her society. To one who-had left the protection of her own kindred fora home among strangers, these marked indignities came with crushing force, and many and bitter were the tears she shed. In the meantime, the sweetness 0f her dispos- ition, and uniform kindness to all with whom she associ- ated, was winning her many friends, among whom was the prince’s father, George III. who warmly espoused her cause, and during his whole life shielded herto the extent of his ability, from the persecution of his way- ward son. In January following the princess gave birth to a dangh- ter, the unfortunate Princess Charlotte, but the event produced ne amendment in the conduct of the recreant husband, whe uow gave himself wholly to his many mis- tresses; and, before his wife had recovered from her ill- ness, she was waited upon by the Countess of Cholmon- deley, who stated that she was commissioned by the prince to say that he had resolved upon a final and com- plete separation. The princess refused to listen to these verbal declarations, and stated that if he had indeed re- solved upon such a course, the announcement of it must come directly from him and in writing. He soon after sent the required notification, and, though still suffering from her illness, she immediately sent the following re- ply: “The letter which you announce as your last to me, obliges me to communicate it to the king, with this, my auswer. * * * J have now no protector but his ma- jesty, and if my conduct meets his approbation, I shall be, in some degree at least, consoled for what I have and may suffer, “Y retain every sentiment of gratitude for the condition in which I find myself as Princess of Wales, and enabled by your means to indulge in the free exereise of a virtue dear to my heart—i mean charity. “Tt will be my duty, likewise, to act upon another mo- tive, that of giving an example of patience and resigna- tion under every trial. “Do me the justice to believe that I shall never cease to pray for your happiness, and be “Your much devoted “CAROLINE.”? Thus the separation was accomplished just twelve months from the marriage, and three months after the birth of their child. The princess soon after left Carlton House and retired to aan humble residence in .the village of Carlton, where ske passed the weary days Of her worse than widowhood in.acts of Christian benevolence, visiting the sick and re- lieving the wants of the destitute. It was while thus en- gaged that she effected that firm hold upon the sympa- thies of the nation which she ever afterward retained. Her wrongs soon became known in almost every house- hold of the realm, and in all her subsequent misfortunes she had earnest defenders around the hearthstone of nearly every humble home in England. Her husband had no sooner succeeded in relieving him- seif of her presence, than he renewed his connection with his former mistress, Mrs. Fitzherbert, abandoning forever the woman he had induced, by the false offers of an wnappropriated heart and hand, to leave the home of her fathers. Not only this, but he com- menceé a series of persecutions and indignities as unprovoked as they were severe, placing temp- ters in her way, and causing his paid spies to hover around her, hoping that he might discover something by which he could ruin her reputation, blacken her charac- ter, and inflict upon her all those injuries which toa true womanly spirit are most calamitous and crushing. His base desertion and cruel neglect had secured to her the nation’s sympathies, and so Jong as she lived and was respected it was a living, speaking proof of his guilt. Hence the conspiracy to destroy her, He‘introduced into her service, in the character of ser- vants, the unprincipled agents of his malice, whose zeal he-stimulated by promises of liberal rewards, in case they should discover any proofs of the princess’ unchastity. In a short time these corrupted creatures began to whis- per to one another of gross immoralities which they had detected, which the partisans of the prince caugh* up and published tnroughout the nation. A few years before the princess -had become interested in a beautiful boy, the child-of.a poor widow, and adopted it. Her calumnia- tors now asserted that this boy was the result of her criminality, and the pretended adoption a device to con- ceal her crime. The prince professed to be greatly shocked at her inde- cencies, and demanded the appointment of a commission to examine the proofs, and report what action should be taken to bring her to punishment. This commission met on the 7th of May,.1806, and continued the session two months. The bribed witnesses were summoned, and gave in their testimony, which was of the most damaging char- acter. They swore to specific acts of criminality extend- ing over a period of several years, and involved nearly a dozen persons, to all of whom the prince was known to be bitterly hostile, showing that he calculated on bring- ing down several of his enemies at a single stroke. The << THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. cement ——ae princess was horrified and almost overwhelmed at the boldness of the conspiracy. But kind friends came to her assistance, and the power of the plot was broken, Under a rigid cross-examination the perjury and corruption of her associates were exposed, and, notwithstanding the commission was composed mainly of the prince’s parti- zans, they were forced to dismiss the charges as un- worthy of belief. The news of her acquittal was received with tumultuous joy by the populace, and she was the re- cipient of congratulatory addresses from all parts of the kingdom. Soon after this event the king, George IJI., gave a bril- liant dinner party at the palace, to which she was invited, and the enstranged husband and wife there met, The meeting was unexpected and embarrassing to both. They bowed, exchanged a few words in a low tone, which the by-standers were unable to hear, and passed on. Both of them lived many years after, but they never met again. Years passed on, and the prince continued to resort to every means to sadden the life, and break the heart of the unfortunate wife. In 1814 all England was ablaze with enthusiasm to re- ceive the monarchs of the continent, who, after the fall of Napoleon, visited that island. A grand reception was accorded them at the royal palace, but by the influence of the prince orders were given that the princess should not be admitted. She immediately wrote a letter to him, warmly protesting against this harsh proceeding, in which she said: “Srr:—The time you have chosen for this fresh indig- U4 ; az ra nity is calculated to make it peculiarly galling. Many illustrious strangers have arrived in England, among whom, as I.am informed, is the illustrious heir of the House of Orange, who has announced himself to me as my future son-in-law. From their society I am unjustly excluded. Others are expected, of equal rank to your own, to rejoice with your royai highness on the peace of Europe. My daughter will, for the first time, appear in the splendor and publicity becoming the approaching nuptials of the presumptive heiress of this empire. This season your royal highness has chosen for treating me with fresh and unprovoked indignity; and of all his majesty’s subjects I alone am prevented by your royal highness from appearing in my place, and partaking of the general joy, and am deprived of the indulgence of those feelings of pride and affection permitted to every mother but me. “T am, sir, your Royal Highness’ faithful wife, “CAROLINE.”? To this letter the writer received noreply. Theshrewd- ness of his advisers could devise no justification of the unwarranted outrage. In the meantime the Princess Charlotte had grown to womanhood, and notwithstanding all the efforts to the contrary, she warmly espoused the cause of her mother, and defended her against the calumnies of her father and his friends. This infuriated the prince, who, by the in- sanity of George the Third, had become the virtual king, and an order was issued forbidding the mother to see her daughter again. This blow was almost too much for a heart already overburdened with sorrow, and the unhappy woman sought relief in travel. She left England in August, 1816, visited her native land, then Switzerland, where she spent some weeks in the society of Maria Louisa, the ex- empress of France, and continued her travels throughout the continent, and the East. The prince was so pleased with her departure that he gave a supper to his friends, at which he proposed as a toast: ‘‘To the Princess of Wales, damnation—may she never return to England !”? While she was abroad, the king died, and the Prince of Wales became the sovereign, and she, in fact, became a queen. She instantly returned to assert her title, but was met in Paris by a proposition to accept $250,000 a year, and relinguish all her pretenisons. This was indignantly rejected, and she arrived in England amid the wildest joy of the nation. But she was at once confronted by another conspiracy, boider, wickeder, and more cunningly devised than its predecessor. During her travels she had been continually shadowed by spies and informers. Her servants had been corrupt- ed with the king’s gold, and were willing to testify to whatever promised the surest and amplestreward. A commission, secretly sent out, had collected the deposi- tions of these suborned witnesses, and the moment Caro- line arrived in England, this testimony was presented to Parliament, and her speedy trial demanded. Undaunted by this unexpected attack, she at once pre- pared for a vigorous defense. Lord Brongham, since so distinguished in the annals of English jurisprudence, warmly enlisted in liér cause, with a zeal and energy which could only spring from a conviction of her in- nocence. When these new charges were prefered, the queen wrote a long and touching letter to her husband, review- ing her wrongs, and censuring his conduct with merited severity. Among other things, she said: “In withdrawing from the embrace of my parents, in giving my hand to the son of George the Third, and heir apparent to the British throne, nothing less than a voice from Heaven would have made me fear injustice‘or wrong ofany kind. What then was my astonishment at finding that treason against me had been carried on and nur- tured, and perjuries against me methoaized. and embod- ied * * * by order of the father of my child, and my ie- gal and natural guardian and protector. ‘“‘As long as the protecting hand of your late ever-be- loved, and ever-lamented father was held over me, I was safe. But the melancholy event which deprived the nation of a virtuous king, bereft me of a friend and pro- tector. You became king, and to calumniate your inno- cent wife, was now the shortest road to royal power; and to betray her, was to lay thesure foundation of boundless riches and titles of honor. The interests of the nation were sacrificed to the gratification of your desire to aggravate my sufferings, and assure my humiliation. * * * “When to calumpiate, revile and betray me, because the sure paths to honor and riches, it would have been strange, indeed, if calumniaters, revilers and traitors had not abounded. Your court became less a scene of polished manners, and refined intercourse, than cf low intrigue and scurrility. Spies, tale-bearers and conspirators swarmed in those places which had before been the abode of society, virtue and honor. * * But I had one consolation left—my child. But to permit me to; @mjoy this was too great an indulgence. * * * Even 0@ the slave mare the ery of ‘Oh, my mother! mcg) man kn BUFFALO BILL’S FIRST FIGHT.—THE NEXT INSTANT, TUMBLING END OVER END IN HIS Oh, my mother! Oh, my child! Oh,’ my child!’ has prevented a separation of the victims of avarice. ——— - a ect But you, more inhuman than the slave-dealer, re- morselessly separated us. Instead of being honoring and protecting me, agreeably to your solemn vow, you have pursued me with hatred and scorn, and all the means of destruction. You wrested from me my child, and with her my only comfort and consolation. You sent me sorrowing through the world, and even in my sorrows pursued me with unrelenting persecution. Having left me nothing but my innocence, you would now, by a mockery of justice, deprive me of the reputa- tion of possessing that. The poisoned bowl, and the poignard, are means more manly than perjured witnesses, and partial tribunal; and they are less cruel, inasmuch as life is less valuable than honor. If my life would have satisfied your majesty, you should have had it, on ‘the sole condition of giving me a place in the same tomb with my child; but since you would send me to a dis- honored grave, I shall resist the attempt with all the means it shall please God to give me, CAROLINE,”’ The trial commenced in the House of Lords, on the 17th day of August, 1820, the queen attending in person, and being placed within the bar like a common felon. After two months of patient investigation, the wicked char- acter of the prosecution became so palpable that the king was glad to withdraw the charges, and she was acquitted. The news of this event was everywhere received with the liveliest gratification, and she was overwhelmed with congratulatory addresses. In the meantime the day approached, when her hus- band was to be crowned king of England, and when she should, in justice, be acknowledged as queen. She at eS SS 3 once determined to be present on the occasion, and de- mand the recognition of her rights. No sooner was her intentions known than positive orders were given to seciude her; and, to make the matter more certain, it was arranged that no one Should be admitted who could not present a ticket of admission from the king’s master of ceremonies. i On the day appointed for the coronation, the queen made her appearance at Westminister Abbey, leaning on the arm of Lord Hood, and demanded admittance. The officer on guard was immediately summoned, and asked for her majesty’s ticket. “She replied that she had none, and as Queen of England, needed none. He pro- fessed his regret, but said that he must obey orders, and that his instructions were to admit no person whatso- ever, without a ticket. “Did you ever hear of a queen being asked fora ticket before?” demanded Lord Hood. “This is your Queen !” ‘““My orders,” replied the officer, ‘“‘are general, and with- out exception.”’ ! “J present to you, your queen,” said Lord Hood, with warmth. ‘Do you refuse her admission ?”? “T dare not suffer her to pass, without a ticket,’ was the reply. At this moment Lord Hood exclaimed, “I have a ticket”’ and, on producing it, the officer observed that it would admit butone person. He offeredit to the queen and she was half inclined to enter alone, but asthe doorkeeper never move his wagons, he had better get his party away ly, and they would carry him. For such men never de- sert a comrade while life lasts. The mountain leader determined to get this man to the Platte, when he could make a raft and get him down to Kearney, and he knew that by keeping the banks of the river for a breast-work, and wading the edge of the stream, he might get his party out of the scrape with life. He saw no other chance. So, aS soon as it was dark, they left the wagons and crept away, McCarty keeping little Bill close beside him, They made slow progress, for the wounded man was the bulkiest one in the crowd, and heavy to get along'‘with, The Indains soon found that their game was getting away, and they set fire to the grass, for it was late in the summer and had got dry, and for a time it was feared the whites couldn’t get ahead of the fire. But they did, and while the blaze lighted up the country, so every mov- ing man on the plains could be seen, the whites got under cover of the banks and waded in the cool water. The Indians, maddened at the thought that they would lose the scalps they wanted so badly, made several des- perate charges now, but it was of no use, They lost warriors every time and fell back disheartened. The leader of the white men now gave hismen a chance to rest, drawing them together on a little level spot under a bluff, and putting sentinels out to guard against surprise. Little Bill volunteered on this duty, for he was as wide awake as the best, He hadn’t been on post long, before Xo aprce eo — er had the remotest idea of opening his mouth. roy from there, Only one of his men was wounded very bad- | inserted the “pry” under his end of the log and jp waited, while his face grew red with the exertion, \ qt; Sweat stood out in bead-like drops, for Evarts to sje him. He did so atlast,and then Brown, who byy that “retaliation is sweet,’ suffered him to fully te ¢ strength of his arm before coming to his aid. Ti } was at last nearly in its place, when, by some misch it rolled back, knocking Evarts down and crushing 9 his legs under its ponderous weight. Even then the, fering man did not forget himself, but kept his lips fir closed, suffering not a word nor a groan even to ex them. Brown was determined not to be the first to sp though, to his credit be it said, he did his best toe: cate the prostrateman from his painful situation, very soon had elevated the log sufficiently to allow Ey to withdraw his bruised limbs. “If he can’t speak when he is in sucha fix, I’m sn won't,” thought Brown, as he cut down the legs of Ey boots to ascertain the extent of his injury, No bones) broken, but Evarts was not assured of that fact till s of the others came up. One day about a month after the accident at the log bee as Evarts was riding past a Swampy corner ol neighbor's farm, he saw Brown trying Without hel extricate a fine cow from the mire. ‘‘For the sake of the dumb brute, which I don't wa! see suffer,” thought Evarts, “Pll get out and gi lift.’ Evarts had not quite recoveted from his lateness, his arm was as strong as ever. Brown was busy his efforts over the cow, and did not see his neighbor til he stood at his elbow. He gave a start of surprise his sealed lips did notopen. With the timely assist: of Evarts, the cow was soon standing on solid earth, in perfect silence the men parted and went tileir way And thus these neighbors lived. If the house of one took fire, the otherwWas read assist in extinguishing the flames}; or if one was sick neighbor would ride post-haste after the doctor; bi acknowledge so much as by # word that peace was sired was something that neither would do, And yet harmony was finally restored and the families reunited in neighborly friendship. And thi the way it Came about: The neighbors were members of the same church, : during service, occupied slips facing each other, bright Sabbath in spring, when the earth was puttin her beautiful green and the air was sweet with the fume of early flowers, these men took their places in house of God. Perhaps the glories of the morning n their hearts grow softer as they thought of that where spring ever reigns, and of the day which ist one eternal Sabbath. Certain itis that each looked. into the workings of his own heart as the organ pe forth in music, which seemed to the two men Sil there, with bowed heads, almost heavenly. The minister arose and pronounced this text: “B ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will : Father forgive your trespasses.’? Simultaneously with one impulse the men looked at each other they forgiven each his brother? Conscience answ sno.) After the services were concluded the neighbor: turned home. “Come, wife,’? said Brown that afternoon, “letu down to neighbor Evarts’,. We hayen’t been there t many years.”’ Intuitively his wife understood what he forbore to and they set out together. In the little valley w rolled between the houses they met Mr. and Mrs. Ev on their way to visit them. Without hesitation or barrassment they ciasped hands, ‘“Neighbor,’’ said Evarts, “if there ever was anyt between us which calls for my forgiveness is it fr granted.”’ “And I can say the same with all my heart,” respor Brown. “We have lived neighbors and yet not ne bors too long, and hereafter we will be friends a§ we neighbors.” Reader, did they not do right at last in following divine injunction, ‘forgive or never be forgiven?” —______—_}}>-@—~q__ DOESTICKS: LETTERS. GIN-AND-MILK CLERGY MANICS. In these days of so many wondertul oddities, whims anc centricities on the partofallsorts ot men of every Class, nomination, business and station in life, I don’t Know th person has any special call to feel astonishedat anything anybody does, anyhow or anywhere. When your morning paper teils you of one man who atte ed to commit suicide by swallowing his suspenders—of ano enterprising individual who did commit suicide by cutting throat from ear to ear and then hanging himself; or by h ing himself first and then cutting his throat from ear to ear as to which of the two operations was accomplished first 1 couldn't positively say, the facts only being that they found man dead, hanging by a halter from a beam in the barn, w slit in his neck big enough to let the life out of a regimentofr when gentlemen in Galveston walk into church with their on, and amuse themselves smoking cigars during thesery when a ‘Fifteenth Amendment” voter a hundred and two y old, walks seven miles to the poils to avai! himself for the time in his dark life, of his newly-acquired right of sufir when a theological discussion in Fali River, Massachasetts, minatesin one of the theologians murdering the other wit lager-bier glass; when weread of such a marriage as tha DEATH- declared that no preparations had been made for her re- ception, she changed her purpose and withdrew. AS she turned away iond, derisive laughter broke forth from the crowd of subservient instruments of the prince, who had witnessed her discomfiture, and as the sounds fell upon her ear, She burst into tears and begged to be taken home without delay. The heartof the brave rome was broken, and two weeks after she breathed ler last. In her will she had expressed a desire to be buried in the tomb of her ancestors, and directed that the inscrip- tion on her coffin should read, ‘‘Here lies Caroline, Eng- land’s injured Queen.’? The former request was grant- ed, but the inscription, though placed as directed, was at once removed by the English government, and the simple word “Caroline” tells where the injured wife and moth- er at last found rest, secured from persecution only by the ghastly gloom and solitude of. the grave. BUFFALO BILL'S First Fight ; or, A Boy Among the Reds. BY NED BUNTLINE. Bill was only twelve years old when he first saw a real Indian fight. He had been hired to go with a drove of Government beef-cattle to the forts in the mountains west of the Missouri, for it seemed safer to kill tame cat- tle for meat than to hunt buffalo and Indians too—so the Government folks thought. What was the odds? The good people foot the bills, you know. There were thirty mountaineers in the party—men of the old sort, who had never worn anything but buckskin or fur, and didn’t know how to eat off a plate with a fork; and the McCarty brothers, as good men then as ever rode a horse on the plains, had the contract, and commanded the party. They went on safely and nice till they got into the Chey- enne country, and “Little Bill,’ as he was Known then, thought it fine fun. They were about forty miles west of Fort Kearney, and had stopped to noon ina pleasant place nearthe Platte. They ate dinner, and while the Cattle fed most ‘of the men dropped to sleep under the wagons or around them. Suddenly a gang of Cheyennes, and a pretty large one too, came tearing down, yelling and shaking their robes, and shouting. The men woke to find the cattle off on the stampede, and the Reds all around them. Bull, who was asleep with the rest, jumped up, pistol in hand, and seeing a group circling at full speed right by him, fired, and thought he saw one drop. Maybe he did, for he was good at a tar- get even then. “Good for you, young un,’ cried the elder McCarty. “Boys give ’em fits, or we'll lose hair as well as cattle !” By this time all hands were awake, and the Yager rifles, with a ball and three buck-shot to acartridge, began to ring out spitefully. But the Reds were not idle. Two ofthe best men in the party were killed at the first fire, and several others had been hit. The Indians were so sure of whipping the white men on the first dash that they rode in very close. But now they began to tumble fast, and it made them scatter. But they hung around, firing all the time, while a few followed the cattle and kept them on the run. McCarty now made a breast-work of his ox yokes and wagons, and, with small loss on his side, but heavy to the Indians, held his own against repeated charges, till night came on. Then, as the Indian force kept increasing, he made up his mind, as the cattle were gone and he could AGONY, DOWN CAME A HUGE WARRIOR. at the edge of the bluff. over his head he saw a black lump between him and the sky. He had a shot-gun_now, with thirteen buckshot in the barrel. He took good aim at that Jump and fired. The next second, tumbling end over end in his death-agony, Gown came a huge warrior. The rest now poured in a harmless fire, but no more of them peeped over the bank. McCarty had started two of his best men to the fort for help as soon as he reached the river; so, having a good position there, he held his. ground. But the Indians didn’t give up their hopes of getting him by starvation, ifin no other way, till a little after noon of the next day, and then they left, for they saw the troops coming from the fort at a gallop, and knew there was no use in waiting. This was a nice commencement for Bill; for out of some sixty reds put under, he was sure he had “wiped out” two, and he had shot at a good many more. T asked the hero how he felt when it commenced. “My hair was very long then,” he said, “‘and I thought they’d take me for a squaw, dressed up in boy’s clothes, and it made me awful mad !”" “But were you not terribly frightened ?”’ “No. Ireckon I was too young to know what danger was. I thought it was fun! I’ve seen the time since that such work wasn’t a bit funny 1’ ><. NEIGHBORS, AND YET NOT NEIGHBORS. BY HELENA DIXON. There were no finer farms in Chester than those be- longing to James Brown and his neighbor Charles Everts. Both farms were equally well fenced, well watered and well stocked, and both were provided with large and convenient buildings, and ample orchards. The farmers were both estimable citizens, honest and upright in their dealings with others, and rigid church members. Each was the respected head of a promising family, and each, alas, the possessor of a revengeful, un- forgiving temper. The farms joined, and the dwellings, situated on the slopes of opposite hills, were scarcely more than a stones- throw apart; and yet, with all these advantages for a mutual and happy intercourse, years had passed since either of them had entered the other’s house. There was continual war between them. They never halted each other on the highway, or elsewhere, to try their powers of tongue or muscle, as antagonistic neighbors general- iy do. Their enmity was too deep and bitter for that. For years these men had not exchanged a word. Not even a nod of recognition ever passed between them. But they never let an opportunity of showing their ani- mosity pass unimproved. If Mr. Brown’s cattle happened to break into his neighbor's fields they rarely went back without limping, and often returned with a round charge of peas, shot from the gun of Evarts, lodged in their flanks. Then, if the latter's geese put their long necks through Brown’s fence, or his hens strayed over the dividing line in search of insects, they were sure to be decapitated with stones from Brown’s unerring hand. If Brown’s horse took sick, he would send twenty miles for assist- ance, though there was not a better farrier in the county than Evarts. Then, too, if Evarts wanted some new kind of seed, he would go a day’s journey, in the busiest season, to procure it, though his neighbor might have a plenty to spare. This mountain of ill will. which grew more formidable as years rolled on, was at first only a mole-hill, which sprang out of a seemingly trifling difficulty about the Jocation of a line fence. The site for the fence was finally settled by a competent surveyor, but the hard feelings could not be got over. The women and children shared the feelings of their respective household ‘ heads.’’ Mrs Brown would turn up her Grecian nose whenever Mrs Evarts walked past, and would call her an ‘‘idle, gossiping thing, who had better stay at home and attend to her work, instead of being always gadding;’’ and Mrs. Evarts would say that Mrs, Brown ‘‘needn’t put on airs and act proud as Lucifer, since her folks were nothing, nor nobody, and she herself ‘no better than she should be.’?? Then the little Brown’s would speak of Mr. Evarts as “the stingy old hunks,’ and Evart’s children invariably alluded to Brown as “‘old wall eyes.” : One day Brown and Evarts attended a ‘log rolling,” made by one of their neighbors. By some unavoidable circumstances the two were left together as “‘rollers.’’ It was their duty, when the logs were drawn up, to roll them together in proper shape for burning. ‘The heap was commenced by rolling three together. . The fourth, which happened to, be a large one, was to be got onto these. Brown picked up his handspike, and Evarts took his, each in his stubborness ignoring the presence of the other. Evarts tried to raise the log, as though he alone was at work, while Brown tugged away without heeding what his colleague was doing. Of course the proceedings of one only retarded the work .of the other, At length they saw that they must work in concert, although neith- Mr. James F. Pickleton to Miss. Sarah S«rdine; whes worthy deacons, who have a mortgage on the clurenh prope steal the church organin the night and sell it berore morni pay their debt; when we hear of a minister otherwise appare sane, giving up a salary of $7,000 per annum, always promptly on quarter day, and deliberately accepting a chi in Peokickville, Lowa, the congregation of which only pre him $2,000, and won't pay him more than $1,800, and will a him take $900 of that in “store pay,” and the balance in due anu “donation parties; when, I say, I see all these things a score of other things in the papers; things which a few years would have been deemed impossible, 1 can hardly find it in mind to be surprised that in various bar-rooms in this city see huge notices to the following effect: “The new Clerical Tipple, Gin and Milk.” Now I’m not much of a stickler for religious games and servances, or I don’t myself care whether a-man goes to Baptist, Congregationalist, Methodist, Universalist or Ro Vatholic Church, or, in fact, whether he goes to any or a them. Solong as a man treats me honestly, fairly, ki charitably, and above all, offen, he 1s a good enough Christia to suit my own individual purposes. But it ssems that one Sabbath day lately, a eertain Reve1 Divine, forgetting the Reverence and the Divinity, and b especially anxious to secure a favorable notice of his Sund sermon in the Monday’s papers, did then and there, hisser being duly delivered, aw so (but for the kind}y offices of reporter) duly consigned to that great absorber of most mons, Mr. O. B. Livion, invite two or more reporters to go ° him and partake of “refreshments.”’ Of course, I need ha add that the reporters accepted the invitation. The Reve) Mr. Browyne led the way to a whisky mill, where he was dently well-known, for, on a password given by him, 4 vate door was opened and the party admitted. He asked reporters to order reireshments, and these, said reporters, * a reprehensible modesty which should forever disqualify t from aeting as reporters again, absolutely refrained, out o spect for the clerical cloth, from asking for their longec drinks. Out of deference to the white neck-ie and the 1 tailed coat, (black, and cut in the iatest fashion) the gentle of the Fourth Estate ordered neither ram nor Whisky; nei Rye nor Bourbon appeared on the festive board; Sherry, and all the Champagnes were thought of with a sigh, but ordered; even Hard Cider ana the harder Apple Jatk, thc loved much by these gay reporters, were not spoken for; { had resigned themselves toa dry and dusty meal, when deniy the Rev. Mr. Browyne astonished and delighted then by at the same time asking them what they would haye, then ord ering a huge glass of “Gin and Milk,” for himself—of which he instantly drank “five-fingers de whatever that may mean. To say that the reporters rejoiced at the change in the as} of affairs, and at once ordered and drank unlimited quant of “Gin and Milk,’ is but to say that reporters are reporters, when they find a good thing, they “go for it.” The “anbout stomachs” of the party is proven by the fact that the Reve Gentleman, not having money enough to pay for the quant of gin that had gone the theological “milky way,” was c pelled to ask credit of the barkeeper, who, knowing his tomer, made no objection when told by the reverend er tainer to “Chalk it up to me.”’ ‘Well, that’s about all there is of it. The Rev. Mr. Brow: wanting to be well advertised (reported) in next day’s jouw lent the reporters his sermon to copy from, lent his own so help them copy, and then liberally invited them to lunch, treated them all to unlimited quantities of Gin and Mil which turpentine-lacteal mixture, he also drank a buclet/ul the same more or less. Of course in a very short time this little eat-and-swill tr action came to the knowledge of the authorities of the Chu over which the Rev treater to Gin-and-Milk was pastor, what was worse still, the facts became known to the publi large. Now this latter circumstance was troublesome. the sin of their minister been only known to the officers of Church, they would doubtless have thrown the mantle Charity over his derelictions, and kept the story of the w matter quietly smothered in the vestry records. But when reporters knew it, of course the whole interested world k it; and when the said interested world began to talk abou the Church was scandalized, and the affair had to be loo into. The offending- Reverend was cited to appear before a k individuals, who constituted themselves into a sort of relig court-martial. This P. C. M. sent for the Rev. Mr. B. The i Mr. B., like a sensible man, sent for the Rev. Mrs. B. Thet Mrs. B. sent for their mutual friend, who was also their mu son, about nineteen years old. The mutual son, naturally properly, sent for the reporters who had witnessed the stru; of the Rey. Mr. B. with the now historical “Gin and Milk. At the appointed hour. the C..Martialists, the Reporters, the Reverend Mr. Browyne, were assembled, besides many ot people, who evidently wanted to find out’ much more of and Milk than they already knew. oe Well, the trial went on. The Rev. gentleman didn’t seen think he’d done so very wrong in ministering to the wants of friends in a manner other than by mere sermons—he said was himself at that time fatigued, had no doubt they also w and so had asked them to lunch with purest intentions. A the “Gin-and-Milk,” why it was a drink he had invented h self, and with the natural pride of a discoverer in his new dition to human knowledge, was anxious to display to his c panions his proficiency as a concoctor of agreeable and in uating drinks; his skill’ as a—in short—-his wonderful acqu ments as a practised Professor of “‘Combined Tmbibib?es,”- prove to them, that, in addition to his theological titles of D. L L. D., anda score or less of other letters Which mark hin alearned Divine, he was/also entitled to add the mysteri letters “‘H. M. O. T.,’? which. being rendered into the yuls meaneth, “Head Mixologist of Tipalars.” | : The.defence of the Reverend Mixologist of Gin and ot Tipulars, was so ingenious, and he was se well borne outin he said by the reporters, who lived ina futile (as it prov hope of further unlimited Gin, and no end df Milk, that he) virtually acquitted of all blame ; 3 Subsequently, however, he was tried ina more formal m ner and dismissed from the church, this distinguished gin-a milk clergyman, ‘‘all of the modern time.” Respectfully, Q. K. PaitanpEer Dosstickxs, P. ] —___—_ > @<__——_- A Mexican Beauty Plays a prominent part in the new story of “Lit BUCKSHOT,” ready next week, and tries to capture heart of its hero. But it is mortgaged. > ~~