FRANCIS
FRANCIS

 

 

THE LADY
BY

eae

~

CHAPTER IY.

‘“Jerusaiem!’?

This was the first exdlamation whiclt Zenos*Bangs made
when he followéd Captain St. John up the ladder and
81004 Oh tie almost snow-white deck of the Witch of the
Ocean, and from that hour he got a nick-name on that
ship, for fuli half her crew, and many of her officers had
heard his singular exclamation of surprise. From that
alee he was Known by the sobriquet of “Old Jerusa-
em. ;

The size of the ship, the long brass eighteen-pounder
cannon, six Onaside, each one polished as bright as
new-coined gold—the rows of boarding pikés around the
masts, the naked, glittering cutlasses in racks inside of
the bulwarks, battle-axes in iteir beckets, the rigging all
coiled away in rings, the staunchions about the hatch-
Ways of burnished copper, all :received a wondering, ad-
} Ihiring look from hls distended eyes.

“Call all hands to muster, Mr. Crouthers, said the cap-
tain to tle officer who received him, with his cap raised,
a8 he came on board.

“Aye, aye, sir!’ replied the officer.

A few moments later the boatswain reeeived the same
order from the lieutenant, and then he and his mates
prefacing the call with.a few shrill notes from their pipes,
shouted hoarsely over the ship, on deck and below:

“All hands to muster}?

_ Introducing Mr. Bangs to the first lieutenant, Captain
St. John told him toremain where he was afew mo-
ments, while he went below to fill out his Gommission.

Meantime the crew of the ship mustered up from be-
low until they stood full two hundred strong on the deck
forward of the mainmast, while on the quarter-deck the
officers assembled with their side arms on.

‘Jerusalem, what an allfired lot of men you've got in
this ere ship!” said the astonished Bangs.

“Only our full complement—just enough to fill every
oe mph rope. said the lieutenant.

ie captain now came up with ge Tr € -
Ment in his hand, ’ etal

As le etepped to the after-capstan, and unrolled it,

every officer and man removed his hat.
2 ‘Officers and men!” he said, in aloud, clear voice,
by authority.in me vested, I have filled out this blank
commission of purser, With the name of Mr. Zenos Bangs;
and Thereby proclaim him a purser ik the Republican
Navy of America and of thisship. You will hereafter
know ahd respecthim as such.”?
in thee pe he aepicies ence) makes he handed
chment. ‘ 2 fir
Sacer he aad hen, addressing the first

“Order the boatswain to pipe down, Mr. Crouthers,”’

The lieutenant touchea his cap, gave a sign to the
er aitand the ay with his,mates, blew the pro-

: ’ 1e crew dispersed a ickly
ine tcgellie persed a8 quickly as they had
And now the ward-room officers came forward to greet

 

 

 

 

 

 

S. STREET,
S. SUITH,

HDWARD

 

ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1870 BY STREET &

4 Proprietors

SS

A RENEGADE
A WILD AND THRILLING SEA-STORY.

The Witch of the Ocean:

OR, —————~

OF THE SILVER SPRAY.

their new messmate, for thenceforward Mr. Bangs was
to mess with the lieutenants, surgeon and officer of ma-
rines.

Zenos felt a little awkward in his new position, but the
kind manner in‘ which he was received. served to wear
away his embarrassment, and he was.soon quite at home,
talking and asking questions.as freely as if he had known
his new friends for half a life-time.

Toward night Captain St. John had his cannon all
double-shotted, the pistols and muskets loaded, and ex-
ercised the crew at quarters for an hourormore. Be-
fore piping them downhe made them a short, stirring
address, telling them that he intended that night to run
past or through the British fleet below.

“You know,” he said, “how many disguises our good
ship is prepared to put on, and we must exercise all our
skill, .our -patience, and our activity to. meet every emer-
gency, and face; boldly every peril... lf we are captured,
for many of us there will be a short shrift and a speedy
death. For the rest,. the miseries of a prison-ship, to say
the least. For myown part, [ will meet death before I
will accept captivity.’? ;

‘Aye, and we'll al sink or swim with you, cap’n!”
shouted a burly tar, flinging his tarpanlin high in air.

“Aye,aye—three cheers for our brave captain!’’ shout-
ed another.

“Cheer after cheer rose from the crew, in. which the
officers joined, until the distant caves of Dunderburg roll-
ed back the sounds.

Soon the river began to show the effects of an increas-
ing. north-easterly wind, the waves rising and foam danc-
ing on their lively crests,

“What will be our rig to-night, captain?’ asked the
first lieutenant just before sunset.

“That of a ship until we approach the city, for we can
carry so much more canvass in that rig,’’ said Captain St.
John.. “But be ready to strike the mizzen-mast and send
down the forward yards before we pass the palisades, for
if there is news below of a ship coming down, a schooner
might pass unsuspected.”

“Very well, sir. Everything is ready and the men well-
drilled to their work. How soon will we start ?’’

“The moment it is twilight. You can shorten in the
cable, and get the anchor nearly atrip now, so that there
will be no delay when it is time to make sail.”’

“Very weil, sir.’’

In a few moments the lieutenant had the capstan
manned, and bégan taking in slack chain.

The captain now watched, witha well-satisfied eye, the
rapid drift of the clouds overhead, and the prospect of a
dark, windy night gave him hopes of success in his peril-
ous endeavor to get to sea.

: CHAPTER Y.
Night had set in, with a starless sky, a chilly northwest
wind sweeping from over therough Atlantic, and rousing
the waves of the Hast and North rivers into mimic fury,

 

“NEW YORK, MAY

BETWEEN H&AVEN 4. ¢

while below, in -the bay, and. alidve, on. the Sound, the
storm-lashed waters dasneu high and roughly.

But, at his wine, with a choicé coterie of revelers, com-
posed of officers of botii the afmy and navy, Sir Henry
Clinton. sat, heedless of the stérm without—indeed, for-
getting for the time both the dignities and duties of his
high station. Having no doihts in his mind of being
speedily able to crush what héconsidered a puny rebel-
lion, he entertained a most contemptuous opinion of the
man.who proved himself fo benot only the greatest gen-
eral, but the purest patriot.of tis age.

“The old toast,” cried one ofthe guests—a short, fleshy
man, in naval uniform, with avery red face. ‘A short
war, and a bloody one! That ig what brings promotion.
As to prize-money, these Yankées ave too poor to yield
us any of that—worth fighung for.’

“Phe old toast!’ cried Sir Henry.

And wWithy jingling giasseg dnd rude laughter, it was
drank by all at the table.

At that instant an orderly eaime into the room, and ap-
proaching Sir. Henry with uncovered head, whispered
something in his ear,

“Bring the man here. if bis business is urgent, I will
attend to it; if not, Pl ere pim to the halberds for dis-
turbing us at table.’’

 

 

 

 

The orderly witndrew, #10 ‘ih a minute more, ushered
in the tory renegade, Jofin Ferris. The face of the spy
was flushed, his dress was ¢évered with mud, and he
looked as if he had ridden hap@to reach his destination.

“Well, what do yon want, ? You are the leader of
the tory company styled the’ii@pyks, are you not?”’

“lam, Sir Henry—and have bfought you kuews worth
a full purse of gold.”

‘Hal Thatis best judged of after Ihearit. What is
the news ??

“7 can place in your hands 2 nobleman who deserted
from. your service at the outbreak of this rebellion. And
with him, @ full-rigged, fulemanned, and well-armed
ship-of-war, belonging to. the new republic.’’

“Man, are you telling the truth ?’’

‘Wf T were not, I wonid not d#re.ask for pay from you,
Sir. Henry. You. knowme. Have I ever yet deceived
you?” J  )

“No—no—yow have not. Whois this nobleman?”

“Sip. Henry Marston—now ealling himself, and com-
missioned as, Captain St. Joh, by General Washiogton.’?

“Mister Washington, if you Renee, man. I allow no
one focali that rebel @ general in my presence. But
where did this Marston, whose d¢sertion I remember, get
a ship?

“He built, rigged, fitted her RY, and launched her on
the banks of the Hudson, some’ Yorty or fifty miles up, in
a deep cove, so well concealed naturaliy, that only those
in his employment and confidence knew anything about
it. To-day she was haule@ outin the river, ready for sea,
and Ihave good reason te beieve sie will try to come
down and pass your fleet to-night: To tell you of that, so
that you could intercept ahd capture her aad him, I have
ulmost killed the best horse this side of the salt sea.
Now, do [ not deserve the purseof gold?”

“Yes, if your information turfs out correct.
acquainted with the river above?’

“Yes, general.’

“Then, if the admiral, here, wants your services, go
with him. Admiral Graves, you have heard the man’s
report. He has aiways proved truthful before. There-
fore I believe him now. Such aship, and such an officer
as Maiston proved himself to be, while in our service,
must never be allowed to get to sea, for he would play
the duse with our transports if he got outside.”

“If he is on the river, I'll defy him to get out,’ said the
admirali—the same one who had ma? thas the “old toast”?
which had been drank so heartily. “And the sooner I
go off aboard ship, to signalize orders, and throw outa
cordon of boats to watch the river, the better. it is blow-
ing fresh to-night, and is ag dark asa boot outside. It
would be a good night forthe man to try to run by us,
but he never can do it when my » Gi are stretched

Are you

26, 1870.

 

SMITH, IN THE CLESS°S OFFICR OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK.

LERUS

 

¥iH--JOHN FERRIS ELEVATED.

athwart the river. Iwill start a sloop or two up the
river, besides, to meet him, with orders to give the alarm
if they meet or see anything suspicious.”

“Allright, admiral—I leave the whole mafter in your
hands. And if you succeed in finding this ship your pilot
shall have double his usual reward.”

“Thank you, Sir Henry. But what shall Ido with my
horse? He needs care, and I would not lose him fora
thousand golden guineas,” said Ferris.

“He shall be well groomed and cared for in my own
stables. Tell my orderly so as you godown. And now
take a glass of brandy to the heaith of the king, and then
be off with the admiral.”’

Tue British general, with his own hand, filled a glass of
brandy for Ferris, which the latter drank off, toasting the
king as was usual with men of his class in that day.

“Heave ahead with me, now my man—the sooner I’m
on beard the better. Wecan talk as we go,’’ cried the
admiral to Ferris, as he rose from the table.

They went down together to the street where Satan
stood, his once glossy hide of black now white with foam.

Ferris told the orderly, who stood near, what the gen-
eral had orderea him to.do, and saw that the stable-
keeper was leading the horse away, as he went on with
the admiral.

“How cun a vessel move up the Hudson with this
wind?” asked the admiral, anxious to see what Ferris
knew.

“If she starts from the eastern side of the river, she
could lay her course up, close-hauled, with her yards
braced in sharp,” replied Ferris. “The wind is easterly
enough for that.””

“Well, we must risk it,’ said the admiral, “After [have
the guard boats out I'l] go on “board the Vulture, one of
my best light-draught sloops, and we will ourselves ron
up the river. Where was the ship when you saw her?”

‘‘Inemnid-river, just below the narrow strait which opens
into the Highlands, admiral. When I was ten miles be-
low, from 2 hill-top I could see the bare spars as slie
lay at her moorings, while I was riding as fast as I could
to the city.”

“Aye—it is likely that she lay there until dark. This
wind ought to bring her down here by or before midnight,
if she is sharp-built and well-rigged.”’ ;

“She is both, sir,’ said Ferris. ‘And well armed and
full manned beside. Though J have not been on board,
Lhave a manin my band that has been there, and from
him 1 have learned the most I know of her.”

“J care not for her men or her arms if I can only inter-
cept her,’’ said the admiral.

By this time he had reached his boat, which lay, with a
full crew, at the Castle Garden stairs, and bidding Ferris
enter it and sit down, he said to the coxswain:

“Be off ina hurry, Evans—I must be aboard at once!’

“Ave, aye, sir—up vars! Let fall and give way with a
will!’ cried the coxswain, and in a minute more the
twelve-oared barge was speeding through the water in
the direction of one of the many red lights which were at
the mast-heads of the war-ships in the harbor.

Soon the boat was near the huge dark hull of 9 large
ship, and was hailed by a sentinel.

“Boat ahoy! What boat is that?’ came from a senti-
nel or watch on board.

“Tne fleet!” shouted the coxswain.

“Right, fleet—come aboard!” replied the sentinel, as the
boat Kept on its way, the answer telling that the admiral
commanding was in the boat.

CHAPTER VI.

Just as the shadows of coming night began to deepen
into darkness, Captain St. John gave the final orders to
run the anchor up to the bows of his ship and make sail.
The wind had greatly increased in strength since the hour
of sunset, and by the time the anchor broke ground all
the sail the ship could carry, with the wind on her quar-
ter, Was courses, topsails, topgallantsails and jib, flying-
jib and spanker. Studding sails she couid notbear. Nor
could she have been hauled on a wind in that breeze with

 

{Three Doliars Per Year.
!1Zeo Copies Five Dollars.

 

 

 

 

more than her three topsails and jib and spanker set,
without danger to her spars if nothing else.

At the wheel were two of the oldest and ablest seamen
in the ship, and close beside them, his eyes on the com-
pass in the binnacle and his ears open to the low, frequent
cry ef a leadsman in the chains near by, stood Dennis
Fiannigan, a pilot who had been on the river and. coast
for thirty years, in fact ever since he liad first set foot on
American soil.

Dennis had been too longin the country not to have
become somewhat Americanized in dress and habits, but
his brogue Was.as rich, his wit as fresh, and his heart as
lively as that of the latest arrival from the green Gem of
the Sea.

By the time the ship was headed down the river, and
the rushing sound made by her sharp prow clearing the
water was heard, the twilight deepened into utter dark-
ness. No longer could the black, massy bights of Dun-
derburg be seen—the rocky cliffs around the Highland
narrows vanished from view, and all sight of land was
lost.

“It’s dark—very dark, Dennis. Do you feel confident
of being able to keep usin the channetall the way down?”
asked Captain St. John, as he approached the pilot, and
glanced anxiously at the compass.

“Confident, captain darling? Sure if I was half as con-
fident of gettin’ in a good word wid Saint Peter after I
died, so a to get through the first gate above, ’d be a
happy ould boy intirely, I would. You may belave, sir,
I’}i do all 1 can for St. John now, so that St. Peter will be
pleased wid me hereafter!”

“Well, Dennis, all our trustis in you to-night. What
time will we get abreast of the city if this wind holds fair
and fresh ??”

“Not far from midnight, captain dear. And ifit kapes
as dark ag it is now not one of the blackguards on watch
below will see the like of us craping through and amongst
‘em. They'll have lights set av coorse, and that ’ll be
guidin’ for us |”

“True, Dennis, and if we are abreast of the city by mid-

| night we’ll.be in blue-water by the break of day.”

“Barrin’ all accidents we will, captain dear !’ said the
pilot. “Kape a point more westerly !’’ he added to the
helmsmen. “We're huggin’ the rocks on the east shore a
bit too close! There, steady so, till we strike ten fathom
again. Then luff to the ould course !”’

With the whole watch on deck, every man and every
gun ready for instant use, the noble craft drove swiftly
on.

The hours passed, and every eye on board was yet
sleepless, for all Knew how perilous was the enterprise,
how the merest accident might yet make it a failure.

It lacked scarce an hour of midnight. The dash of the
Waves against a bold shore close at hand could be heard
very plainly. Yet the leadsman in the chains gave deep
soundings.

“Where are we now, Dennis?’ asked the captain.

“Down by the rocks they call the Palisades, captain
dear, and——oh, bad luck to it! Dye see that now !"

“Light hol Dead ahead! Port, port your helm or
we're into her!’ shouted a look-out forward, and at the
same instant as the ship’s head sheered from her course,
there was seen alight, and a rushing black hull, with
scant canvass set above it, passed so close that it seemed
for an instant as if the vessels must collide.

A shout—so quickly given that it was indistinct, was
heard, then the stranger was lostin the gloom to the
northward, but her whereabouts in another minute was
made known by the thundering report of a cannon, and
then rockets and blue lights flew upin a perfect shower
of fire.

“A ghip-of-war on the look-out for us evidently, or she
would not be so qnick with her signals !”’ cried St. John.
“She is heaving about already, and there go answering
signals below. We have waked up a hornet’s nest, I fear!
That ship, from the glance I had, 1 think is the Vulture,
one of the fastest on the station. But it is not the speed
that we have to fear—she is about already, and there go

 

 

 

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her signals. She signals an enemy’s ship. Mr. Crouth-
ers, the sooner We are schooner-rigged the better for us!”’
“Ay, uy, sir—all hauds to work 1’ cried the first lieuten-
ant in a tone just loud enough to be heard on board.
twas wonderful, with allthe yard apd must ropes
ready rove, how swiftly after the square sails were clewed
up and furled, the rig of the ship was altered. It matter-
ed not fer the darkness, every rope and block was in
its place, each man Knew where to take hold, and in an
incredibly-brief space of time with the mizzen-mast un-
shipped and @very¥ard down, the ship was transformed
in a fore-endeatt schoener, a
looking on@@bt that; iy
White, all ;

its

is was’ going on tain St. TON: 4
watching ete nals made by the vessel up the riverye nd

  

the vessels an

“Pot your he
shore, sir? said he to his first lieuteénants) “Th
is coming downs fast, right{@Stern of us, and’ ¥
well get out of depway. Dhovgh were it outsi
water, I would Hef shun the encounter, Butt
we brought. to!bay, a hundred War-dogs would:
us. So we must run if we can, and fight when?
longer be avoided.”

Brought to, with the wind nearly abeam, the ship, now
in her new rig, keeled nearly rail under to the fresh gale,
but she shot swiftly over into the smoother water on the
windward shore. Them slacking, off sheets she again stood
down the river. Her speed now Was not nearso great as
when under her square Sails, for Then ‘Sle. spread thrice
the amount of canvas. But it was evident {rom the) fre-
quent lights seen on the lett bank that they were already
at, or Closely approaching to, the upper end of the city.

Now, below, from one side of the river to the other,
could be seen lights flashing and rockets rising, from ves-
sels or boats, which told not only hew general the alarm
was, but what extraordinary measures hadbeen taken
to intercept a passage.

“Och, but this is aswate pictur
said-the old pilot in his droll was
multitude of ughts toward whic ‘they were speeding.

The captain made no answer. ‘or he had been intently
watching the course of the Yuilure, exhibited by the fact
that every five minutes since she had passed the Ameri-
can vesse} under the Palisades, she had fired an alarm
gun. ;

“I must

oats below.

  

  
 
  
 

an’t it, Captain dear ??
as he glanced at the

get rid of that ship!” he said, in a tone only
loud enough te be heard by those close by him.

Then he gave directions to the men at the helm to keep
away ona course which if she did not head-reach him
would throw her in speaking distance cf the enemy.

“Ready every man to board if the enemy discovers
who we are, but silence until then!’ he cried, ina low,
Stern tone.

On—on the vessel drove now, under free sheets, and St.
John ordered a dim light hoisted in her fore rigging, In
a little while it was evident that the twoships woulu pass
very close to each other, as one was heading eastwardly,
and the other standmg diagonally toward the Jersey
shore. 4

The American crew stood silent and almost breathless
at their guns, expeeting cach instant toe hear their young
captain give the order to fire, before the vessels should
come crushing tegether. The Isuglish vessel was now
fairly in hailing distance, and her deck ofticer seemed to
have been informed @f the vicinity’ of the other, for he
shouted through a fumpet:

“Schooner, ahoy! What schooner is that?”

“Fhe schooner Sally Stiggins, from Harlem Creek,
bound over to the Jarsies with empty barrels for cider !”
cried St. John, with a strong nasal accent.

“Have you seen aship on the river to-night?’ asked
the English officer again.

“Yes—l kind o' think ‘twas a ship, some kind of a
square-rigger any how, was clewin’ up, and furlin’ in the
Spuyten Dyvel Cove, jest as we come out !”’

“Good. Give the word or you’lbnet pass the boats be-
jow. . You shall have it for the good news you've given
us. Kine George atthe heln, will pass you anyWhere
to-night.?

ioe sir—I'm only goin’ arter ancther load of
cider.”

St. John, as he said this, heard with wild joy the orders
on board the Vulture to luff, brace in the yards, and Lre-
duce sail, as she at once changed her course fer the mogth
of Hariem Creek. A

“Now tor the gauntlet!"! he cried, with a cheerful Voice.
“Fortune is favoring us nobly, my bravecomrades, and if
we once pass the lines ahead we will have no trouble in
getting to sea.”

Silence was yet preserved, and the transformed ship
sweptswiftly on. If was new evident that she was ap-’
proaching the lower part of the city. .The lights ashore
were very thick, On the river they were plentiful also,
their hight from the water showing that they were sts-
pended in the rigging of the Many war-ships and tran-
Sports at anchor there. f

Suddenly, as the vessel Swept on, she was hailed from
a Deat close alongside.

“What schooner is that ?
shouted.

“Got no ’éasion too, ] reckon, with King George at the
het P? cried St. John, in this nasal twang,

“No—yor are all rignut | Keep on your course t? shout-
ed “Ig. Sate and te yessel Was svon out of peagh opi
oat. a : Pas

‘Twicemore—once fort
Was St. J6nR failed, bat

cOuAcrsign passed Inm, a

ey
Piog

Heave too or we fire!’ was

a ship*and - once front beat’

8 ready frejoinder with thi

he sve) proudly,and safely.
; oo T

of boats and the anchorage4
passed. Aud it waS none too

repg th ie wind began to Jessen, and

already im the east thesfrayish, tinge began to appear

which indicated the approach ef days

“Our object is accomplished; We have passed the most
imminent danger,’ said St. John. But we must have
every Stitch of canvas onif the wind slackens, or daylight
will find us even yet too. close tothe enemy. Up with
our light spars and square-yards, and in with the mizzen-
ay “We have becn a schooner long enough for to-
night. ; -

Again the busy crew were at work, and, like magic,
the change was made. When tlé day dawned the beau-
tifulship, under @ cloud of canvas, with her republican
flag fying, was moving majestically down New York
Bay, between Staten Island and Long Island, not a sail
to be seen ahead, and only one slip under canvas
astern.

That ship was the Vulture, under reduced sail, stand-
ing down the river close along tue Eastern shore, having
yainly songht for the ship which had been reported at the
mouth of Harlem Creek.

St. John could not now repress the joy he felt at hav-
ing thus outwitted the enemy, and to show lis triumph

     
  
 
  
  

 
  

ort tine the core
r vessels Was

    

ooeeantd

shortwasted and Clamsy-

mh ee and [aif boldiy across to theleastern.
en Vulture.

“Then it’sin a mighty short time we’ll be heading
away to the nor’ard and east’ard, captain, dear,’’ said the
pilot. “There’s a bit of a channel that isn’t laid down on
the charts, but it is myself that knows it well; and if they
try to foliow us, there’s not wan iv thim but’ll be kissing
the hard sand.’?

Captain St. John smiled. He had every confidence in
the knowleage of his pilot, and as tomnis “leyalty, no
doubt; for where is the true Irishman to be found, who—
once free from British tyranny—dovs bot hate the gov-
ernment Which has so leng-oppressed and enslaved his
| Bative land ? : : ee

; CHAPTER VIt. Pie
John Ferris stood by the side of Admiral Graves, on the
forecastle of . the war-ship Vulture, a8 she ram down the
iver, opposite..the city, just as.day was dawning, In
vain they had ned every nook and inlet above, along
the rivér, to findithe square-rigged vessel which the Jer-

ssey_ sch@oner
pinien fave come part of We way down, and then turned
back When hercommands® found his passage 80 Comy
pletely blockaded, the admiral» determined to ran down
to his fleet, and give fresh instructions, and again bun up
the river in search of the rebel ship. ;

Suddenly, Ferris, who had a spy-glass in (his hand,
looking through it down the bay, uttered a cry of angry
vexation.

Pointing to a ship covered with canvas from her truck
to tre decky he said:

“There she is! There is the same craft that I saw up
the river. J would swearto herina fleet of a thousand
sails,

“Impossible!” cried the admiral. “She never could
have passed my line of boats and vessels without an
alarm being given. It cannot be she!”

“What slip would carry the Yankee fleg over a British
ensign, union down, but the one we have been looking
for? Itell you, sir, 1 know the ship. In all your fleet
there is no vessel so tauntin her spars, or with such a
spread of sail.’’

“You are right, there.
lines, unseen and unattacked.
with all that start; pursuit is almost useless.
alarm must be given.”

Turning to his signal officer, the admiral gave the or-
der to signalize: “Anuenemy to leeward, Make sailin
chase.”!

Then, firing alarm guns in rapid succession, he crowded
op every sail he could sect. But he saw plainiy, that un-
less intercepted from outsiue, the ship would surely
get tosea. For, fast as the Vulture was known to be,
tae American evidently dropped her every minute. And
when at last the frigates were seen coming up, having
been completely deceived in the character of the ship
that passed them, the rage and disappointment of the
admiral knew no bounds.

But anger could not help the case. When the frigates,
notified by signal of the nature of the craft which had
been fairly under their guns, hove about also in chase,
the American was stretching out to sea, through a chan-
nel entirely unknown to them, and not downon their
charts.*

For a little while only was the chase Kept up, for the
American left his pursuers so rapidly that it was folly to
hope to overtake him. But the admiralywhen he ran back
in the Vulture swore that he would fit cut a half-dozen
cruisers for no other purpose that to overtake that ship,
and capture her.

Even yet he had no idea however, that the ship and the
schooner bound to the Jarsies were one and the same.

CHAPTER YII.
Again the renegade tory and spy stood in the presence
of Sur Henry Clinton.
“So,’’ said the lpr general, with a flushed and an-
gry face, “Sir Henry St. John Marston has got to sea with
iis ship.”

But how could she pass our
Icannot see intoit. And
But the

“J brought you news of herbeing launched and ready to
come down, apd I piloted the Admiral as far np the
river as he was willing to go. It was not my duty to dis-
cover or to seize the ship. I piloted the Vulture safely,
that was all I could do. I donot merit anger from you.”

“True, man—trve! But it is vexatious to have that
ship get to sea. Tuere is fault somewhere. But why was
{ not sooner informed of her existence ! She should have
been destroyed on the stocks, She should never have
been launched, or fitted ont.’
“I know it, your Excellency. But so secretly was the
work carried on that I never got even an inkling of it un-
til yesterday morning. I knew that Sir Henry Marston
vas boarding at the honse of Iians Vanderbilt, but
thought he was merely courting his pretty daughter, and
fooling away 2is time.”

‘Who is this Hans Vanderbit ?*

“4 rich old farmer, a Hollander by descent, who is as
yank @ rebel as ever cursed the king.”’
“fe must be punished |! Ile must be punished |” cried
the British general.
*Leave me to see to that, Sir Ilenry,’’ said Ferris, bit-
terly. ‘My hawks shall attend to Ins case. His cattle
ghall be inside your lines in less than three days, and if
he:bas @ roof left to cover him, it will be because fire
can’t born it.”
“You tories are more bitter against
“who are im fhe regular servico-of ihe

    
  

the rebels than we
eing.?4,

him. But Sir Henry, ? trespass on your time? If you
think I have earned the gold you promised me, I beg that
you will order it paid to me, so that Ican get back to my
r I do not want to lose any time in rewarding Hans
Vanderbilt for the hand he bas had in building and_fit-
ting out that ship, andio harboring her commander.”
The general rang a bell on his table. :
“Send Major Brayton, the paymas‘er, here !’’ he said,to
the servant who answered it.

In a short time the officer entered the room.

“Mojor, pay this man Ferris one hundred guineas, and
charge it on the recret service fund,” said Sir Henry.
Mojor Brayton bowed his acquiescence to the order,and
saying to Ferris, “Come with me, sir’’—left the room iu
his company.

CHAPTER IX.

Black Satan had been well fed and groomed, while Fer-
ris was absent on the water, and when the tory, once
more mounted on his back rode out of the city to rejoin
bis villainous command, the horse bounded wildly on,
spurning the ground over which he leaped as if he never
had felt fatigue,

 

and mortify them. he hoisted ‘the British flag union down
under his own colors, and fired” gan after gun in rapid
succession.

lie soon saw that he was noticed by the ships astern, |

but they were now out of range, and if the wind held, lis
escape to séa was a certainty.

“How do you like this, parser? he asked, the cide-
yant schoolmaster, heavy-eyed from watching.

‘Jerusalem! but you did feol’em slick!’ said Mr.
Bangs. ‘Jest to think they, were so close and didn’t
dream ‘twas us.’?

“Sail, hol’? shouted a look-out forward.

Captain St. John caught a spy-glass from near the 'bin-
nacie and went forward. The sight he saw was not plea-
sant; but no change in his countevance said so.

“Go below, sir, to my signal chest,”’ said he te a young
Hieutenant, “and geo Nos. 13, %, 2) and 5.. Run therm up
forward as Ihave named them. Haul down our own
flag, afi there, and hoist the English flag at the peak.
There are two frigates below ccnilng in from sea, and we
must pass them under a false Dame and 4 false flag, or
else, With provably four tities our furce in men, and full
thrice our weight of metal, they would sink or capture

 

  
 
  
  

us if we. would submit.to capture. If fortunate as here-
tofore, all will go right. And now let every man be

ready for battle, if our rase should’ be discovered.’
In'2 few minutes the English eclurs were at the peak,

  
 
 

 

and a signal number at tie fore, siguilying the vessel fo be
H.-B. sty’s ship-df-war Arethusa. ‘ Captain St. Join

went below, and soon returned in the full uniform of a
captain in the Royal Navy, and bac several of Bis officers
near him On the quarter-deck similarly dressed.

With cyery sail set, below and aloft, which could pas-

ibly the Sea Witch moved swiftly on, but the
idently dying away and St. Jolin cast many
an anxious look to windward.

“Oh, blow, good. Boreas, biow! he muttered.
us out into blue water, and we ask ho nfore.”
yes were now on the ships ahead, which came up

xy bay, making Short ticks, as was necessary
heavy draught of water.
closely, guod Dennis,” said Captain st.
nvif weean possibly so steer us to
it will be all the better.
hip inthe shoalest water I can,
et her touch, must we?!
it, no, for once aground, we would

rn—they are aware now of what
full a dezen of them.”
jounds! So they’ are. Let tem kKape on
side, and if they don'tlearna hit of the
“yer seen before, lef Dinnis Mlanhagin be

  
 

 

 

“Watt

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
     
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
   

  

  

fool?
vigates will not. take the hint till we
,? said St. Jolin, anxiously.
spense one way orthe
t “Ten minates gore

atlOf that nearest frigate."
; run in three fathoms, on the edge
said. the pilot, a§ he told the helnis-
( & point more westerly., °- :
Sohn now placed himself in & conspicuous position
weather side of the ship, 80 that the spy-glags
oin the frigate could cleatly make out his uni-
ddenly a sigual floated from the masthead of
nearest frigate.
en the knowledge of {4e ex-ofticer of the Royal Navy
opporiunely into play.
> asks where.the Arethusa is bound,’ hesaid. "Get
i4d—3-—8 from my signal-chest. The answer
Sadiniral at Halifax, with dispatctes.? That
 CROUS for passing on without stopping to

 
 
  

 

  

Is:

 

“1 TS proved; for as the frigate could nof run with-
in hail, on account.of, the shoal water, she stood of on
the other tacky and now the American ship, Wes tairty to
leeward of bo:h the.frigates,

: stern, the whgie bay, some eight or ten miles

da white with Canvas, and gun after gun was

) by the smoke of the guns, though
ou rts came faintly over the water,
“wenins Lon, a Wind. jusfas secon &S we get far
enough out,’’ said the captain, “for it is our DEst point of
sailing, and in an hour more every oue of them—Lrigates
and al will %

 
      
        
  

fired, a
the sound of th

  

 

be after us!

Mile afrer mile was passed over swiftly, and the city
| was left jar behind.
| It was nearly nignt, and only a couple of leagues now
intervened between the spot where John Ferris halted for
a moment to rest and water his horse by a wayside
spring, apd the quarry rendezvous of the Hawks.
While the horse was drinking and afterward cropping
a few tufts of grass growing on the bank, .the tory took
out his bag of gold, and cut of mere pleasure began
counting it over. For having counted it when he re-
ecived it from the the paymaster hie knew Well that the
bag contained one hundred golden guineas—no niore,

0, 1eS3.

«“Lifty of these I shall hide in the old spot for my own
treasury,’? he muttered. “Oftem the Hawks will Know
nothing. ‘They’ll think the other fiffy good pay for a ride
to the city and back, and I'shall have my share of that,
too 1?

The goliloquy of tne tory was suddenly cut short ina
singular manner. He was sitting under the thick branches
ofa large oak tree, and sudden as thought, before he
could even cry out, a rope with a noose in it was thrown
over his head, and drawn light agit encircled his body just
velow his shoulders, thus pinioving both arms.

“Hoist away, boys! Up with the tory, boys! Make on
Absolom of him, all but the hair!’ cried a shrill voice,
which he instantly recognized as that of the hated dwarf
who had interfered uud saved Katrina Vanderbilt from
ruin.

Instantly he felt himself rising in the air, but his ascent
was checked when six or eight feet. clear of the ground,
leaving lim hanging with the rope just high enough on
lis body to keep him in a perpendicular position.

And now, almost blinded wif rage, and suffering from
the tightness with which his weight drew the noose ground
him, he looked down and saw the ‘dwarf spring out from
a clump of underbrush, followed by half-a-dozen soldiers
in the Federal uniform.

He locked for his horse, and saw that it, too, Was strug-
gling in a necsed halter which confined it to the body cf
the tree under which he hung.

“Here's British gold, boys! share it among you |) cried
the dwarf, a3 he picked up the bag ofsovereigns and tossed
it to the solders. “I Will not dirty my hands withit. That
picture tp there is worth a thousand pounds to me. lia!

Jack Ferris, how do you like dancing on‘ nothing?

The rope wil be abont your neck yet. But dtisnt time

yet, “Youd must run a little lunger, jast a litle longer, J:

Ferris! Hal ha! dance—why don't you dance, Jack

Ferris?”

“Fiend | Jeb me down] yclled Ferris,
“Team not a fiend. You'll sce the

 

nat

 
     

  

arch fiend soot

gnough,” cried the dwarf. “How did you icave Sir Henry
Sinisa? Got paid for your news, didu’t you? What a

pity these patriot soldiers should lave the goid to drink
the health of Washington with I”

“Ay, and the health of Martin, the dwarf, too !* cried
one ofthe soldiers.

“Yes—huitalh tor Marin,
others, ,

“Mush, boys, hash! You'll hurt the feclings of Jack
Ferris—loyai Jack Ferris—if yeu cheer me. isn’t he a
beauty up there, hanging like a gourd ona vine? Wouldn't
you liketo,getdown, Jack? Waat would you do, Jack, il
should relent and let you down?’ °

“Out your body inte inch pieces {* yelled Ferris, flercely.

‘Make hashed meat of me,eh? Hast is good inits way,
bat I'm not fat efiough for killing yet, Jack Ferris, Neither
are you. But you'll improve with rest. We'lllet you take
anhap up there forthe night, for it ism’t iikely anybody
else Will pass this way, to-night. The sun is just geing
down. It looks showery too away. to the south-east} But
you won't get very. wet, Jack. The water will rue as
fast.as it. falls. Come, boys, get up your horses. We'll
ride on. and leave Jack to reflect on the difference between
a robe around the body atid che around the neck.”

“For me sake don’t leave me up here all night. Ill
die before 1¢!'! groaned the tery, as hesaw that the
mew were really getting ready to leaye him,

“May be you will, Juck, but youl have pienty of time
to pray. And that is nore than you gave Walt Sutherbee

when you strung him up for being loyal to his country.

“4

the dwarf!’ shouted the

 

  
 
 

 

  

 

 

 

* Now known as Gedney's Channel.

’

ndd reported. Thinking that the ship)

“Through no fault of mine, Sir Henry !* said the tory. },

4 i ie ,
+*°Te be sure; Sir henry, and Food son too we have “hink is ey Se and [ lies
ng so, Hot (vey. puysue with uprelenting fawake high ys you forgive
hatvea’? lias ot taat man Weeorge Washington set me, t Big and did you-erer tells a lie,
price on my head, Calling mé a tiief, and a murderer” thou in cours never, Youis always so good. 1
Nothing can save lim, thopgh} if ever hestands whefe | wonder what mak@s me bad? Do you know, sister
bullet of imine cam reach lis heart, for I will not spare | Georgie?! F : e ’

a a ee amare eee =

bash me up!?
“Yes, wretch, yes. 1 don’t care. Leave me if youewan
to. lcan die cursing yon and your great Washington

down as I would a wolf !”?
the bitter words of the tory.

used after rescuing Katrina from her peril.

Inaiew seconds his beautifal white herse
the’ spot. = ; - ,

leaped into the-Sadale. ‘Look U
herse yonder, and his master too. | They would like to't

find that you can fy like a white clond of
bréath of the strong north wind.
here. Away, my Pearl of the Derma 04
these spirits of darkness to the emb¥ace of night.’
An instant more and Ferris groaned out hig misery,
Only his horsedieard hin. we fe
(To be Continugaae

supen

SWEETS!

 

BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER.

There's not a thing, whate’er it lacks
In beauty or completeness—

There’s not a noxious flower or plant
Butdwns some drop of sweetness !

The wild bee roves on pinions bright,
Through gardens fair and sunny;
Yet often gathers from the weeds,
A goodly share of honey !

The darkest clouds shed brightest rain—
The night the sweet dew genders;

And through her hosts of tiny stars.
A gegne of grandeur renders!

And thus itis with human kind
The souls we think the poorest
Bereft ofsweets, we sometimes find
The truest and the surest!

Thi} re not always what they seem,
Of s0frecly given,

We'll takethe bitter with the sweet
And trustthe reusi to Heaven,

Leighion Womestead;

EDNA’S DEBT,
AND HOW SHE PAID IT.

BY MRS, MARY J. HOLMES,

Author of “Marian Grey,’ “Hugh Worthington,” “Rose Ma-
ther.” “Darkness and Daylight,’ ‘Lena Rivers,’ ‘‘Home-
stead on the Ilillside,”’ “Tempest and Sunshine,” ‘Cousin
Maude,” “Ethelyn's Mistake,’ “Cameron Pride,” “Meadow
Brook,” “English Orphans,’ ‘Dora Deane,’ ete., etc.

 

 

“The Leighton Homestead’ was commenced in No. 17. Back
numbers may be obtained from any News Agent in the United

States.
CHAPTER XXTY.
GEORGIE AND JACK.

Georgie staid_in Chicago nearly two months, and for
that sacrifice nientally urrogated to herself the right al-
most to a martyr’s crown,if not to be canonized as a saint.
She had foun@ Annie better than she expected, and that
of itself was in seme sort a grievance, as it implied un-
due onxiets, ifpot actual deception on Jack’s part.. In
order to get herthere, he had represented Annie as being
worse than she was, Georgie thought, and at first she was
inclined to resent it, and made herself generaliy. disa-
greeable; that. is, disagreeable to Jack and Aunt Luna,
but not to Amnie, the li.tle child, whose arms closed so
convulsively around her neck, and whose whole body
quivered with emotion when she first saw her sister
Georgie, and knew she had really come. Two days Geor-
wie sat by her, gazing intently at her, and listening to her
prattle, until there came a softer look into her face, and
her eyes lost’ somewhat of their cold, haughty expres-
sion. Annie told her everything she could think of about
her young teacher, Mrs. Churcnill, who had gone, no one
knew where, and about herself and her little joys, and
griefs, and faults. Everything bad which she had done
was confessed, her impatience and fretfulness, and the
falsehoods she had told. These jast were confessed with
purning blushes, and head bowed down in Georgie’s lap,
while with a faltering vojce, Annie said:
i “Thave askead¢

 

         

= ey

« IT don’t fee!
fi ;

Oh, how abased and sinful Georgie felt while listening
to this innocent little child, whose garment she was not

More too than you would give me if you had a chance to

But mark me, if I do get down from this I'll hunt you

The dwarf langhed sarcastically, but made no reply to
The soldiers were now
mounted, avd he blew the same whistle which he had
bounded to
ids Ste A .
“Ab, my Pearl, my preity Pear! /” cried the dwarf as he
and see that black
t.
thy speed perhaps, andsd tiey may soe days They wal

™ ; (tae
Batave must not job
, and leave

put

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #>

she tiad already lost too much time there in Chicago.
_ “Georgie,” andJack began to get in earnest, ‘by los-
tj} ing time, 1 suppose you mean losing your chance with
- | Roy Leighton. I’ve never said much to you upon that
subject, but now I may as well free my mind. If Roy
Leighton really cares for you he has had chances enough
to make it known; and that he has not done so is pretty
good proof that he does not.care. But supposing he did,
and supposing he aSks you to be his wife, will you marry
him, without tellinchim all?”

‘Most certainly | wii and Georgie’s eyes flasied de-
fiamtly.. “I need hav¢g no concéalments trom you, ivho
know me so weli, andffell youplainiy there’s scarcely
anything 1 would not do to secure Roy Leighton; and do
you Imagine l\would tell him a story Which would so
surely thrust him from me? A story, £00; whi¢h only
you know; and \you remember your Oath, do you/not?”

She said the laSb words slowly, and ler eyes fastened
fhomares upon, gaek as asnake’s \might restimpon a
bird, | ae

“Yes, 1 remember my oath,’ and Jaek retarned her
gaze ubflinchingly.

Something in lilS Manner made Georgie winee a little,
and resolve to change her tactics. Sweetness and gentle-
ness had always4old on Jack when nothing else could
move him, and so she tried them now, and her voice grew
very soft, and reverent, and beseeching, as, laying her
hand on Jack’s shoulder, slié said:

“Don’t let us quarrel, brother. I de want to do right,
even if I cannot tell that dreadful thing to Roy. Iam not
going home either so much tesee him as for another rea-
son, of which I ought perhaps to have told you before.
Jack, I can’t tell Roy, but I am trylg to be a better
woman, and have made up my mind to be confirmed
Whenour bishop comes to the little church near QOak-
wood, which will possibly be week after next. Aunt
Burton is anxious for it, and is going to arrange to be
there; and so you seel must go. You do not. blame me
now, lamsure, You respect religion, even if you do not
profess it.”

Her hand pressed more lovingly on Jack’s arm, but he

shook it off, and, starting to hi8 feet, confronted her with
a look which made her shiver and turn pale,
‘Blume you?"? he began. ‘Respect religion? Yes, 1
do; and respect it so much that sooner than See you take
those solemn vows vpon you, knowing what I do, I would
Oren ae. oath a hundred times, and feel [ was doing
right.” ,

Georgie’s breath came pantingly, and the great drops of

sweat stood around her lips asshe asked: _

“What do you propose to do?”

He did not answer her question directly, but went on to
say:

‘Ido not profess to be good myself, orto have the
first principles of goodness, but my mother, who died
there in that hed’’—and he pointed to where Annie lay—
“Knew whet religion was, and lived itevery day; and
when she dled there was a peace and a glory around her
deatit-bed, which would not be around yours or mine,
wer we to-die to-night. Iamnot judging harshly. By
their fruits ye shall Know them. He said so; the man
Jesus, Whoni mother loved and ieaned upon, just as really
as she ever leaned on m¢, and whom she taught Annie to
love and pray to,until He is asmuch her companion when
she is alone as youare when you are with her. Georgie,
there is Something needed before. one kneels at that
altar, aS you propose doing, something which you do not
possess. You do not care for the thing in and of itself:
You have some selfish object in view, aud I will not be a
party to the deception.” .

“Will you drag me from the altar, or tear the bishop's
hands from my head?" Georgie asked, beginning to grow
both alarmed and angry at her brother, who replied:

“No; but hear me, for this I will do; If you gQ to con-
firmation, and if before or aiter it Roy Leighton asks you
to be his wife, and you do not tell him the whole truth,
L will do-it for you. - He shall not be deceived."*

“And your Oath??? Georgie asked, in a choking voice.

“T break my oath, and do God service in breaking it,”
Jack answered.

 
 

 

1 [YOM Georgie for a time, ave

acme

| Keep one too; and if you don’t want Roy to know wliere
| you are he never shail rom ime.’’
} Maude wrote to Edva tuat night, and told her every-
thing about the Leightons which she thought would 1p-
terest her, and then with feverish impatience waited for
matters to develope, and for her next summer’s vacation
when she meant to goaguin to Rocky Point, and Satisfy”
herself. ae :

After Maude’s’sudden exit fromthe room Roy did not
renew the conversation whici Her entrauce had inter.
rupted. He was thinking of Rdna, and Georgie's chance
Was lost agains. But when inthe spring he vecided upon

is trip to Hurepe, he half made up his mind to take Geor-

ié Burton with nimy He knew it would please his moth-
ef and from all thafhad passed between himself and the
jady he felt that he Was i Some sort bound to make her
his wile; and why Walt @My longer? She was at Gak wood
now. She had lef New York @arlier than usual on the
plea that city air did M6bagree with her as formerly; she
lelt tired all the time; she told her aunt, who ever read y
tO gratify Wer dailing’s slightest Whim, consented toleave
New Yorkatieast 2 month earlier than usual, but never
dreamed that the real cause 0! Georgie’s pretenaed Wear-
ipess was to be found in the pl@agant litle house over in
Jersey City, where Jack lHey10m@ was settling himself,
Although constantly assuring Herself that her fears were
groundiess, Georgie could not shake? the nervous dread.
that by Jack’s presence in New York the biack page of her
life might somehow come to life. She went over to Jersey
several times, for she could not keep away, but she took
the Hoboken Ferry, and then came in the street car to the
corner near which Jack lived, thinking thus to avoid meet-
ing auy one who knew her, and would wonder what she
was doing in Jersey City. Still it was not 80 inuch through
herself as through Jack thatshe dreaded recognition; and
until he was fairly settled and at work, and swallowed up
in the great Babel, it w«s better for her to be away; anu
so she went to Oak wood, and Saw Roy every day, and was
so soft, and sweet, and pious, and interesting in her new
role of half-invalid, that Roy made up his mind, and
started one morning to settle the important question,

His route lay past the post-office, and there he founda
the letter Edna had written Manswerto his own. He
read it in the shadow of an old elm-tree, which grew by
the road-side, and under which he reined his horse for a
moment. Tere was nothing remarkable in 1t—nothing to
startle one, either way, but it turned Roy’s thoughts

sent them after rné frolle-

some little girl whom he had onéé séch in the cay, Bxwtabout

 

a year ago, and wno was now bis sister, She wrote a
very pretiy hand, and she seemed so grateful forthe few
crumbs of interest ie had given lier, that he wished so
much he knew where she was. Hf he did, he believed he
would take her to Europe, instead of Georgie; but net as
his wife—he never thought of such a thing in comucction
with Edna—but as his sister, for such she realiy was,
And so, with her letrer in his hand, he sat thinking of
her, while his pony fed upon the fresh grass by the fence,
and feeling no check from bit or bridle, kept golng fur-
ther and further away, unul, when Roy's revere was
endcd, and he looked abeut for bis horse, be saw him far
down the road, in the direction of Leighton Place, instead
of Oakwood. Roy started alter him. at once; butthe
pony did not care to be canght, and seeing lis master
| coming, pricked up his ears und started for home, where
Roy found him at last; standing quietly by the Stable
door, asif nothing had happened. That circuinstance
kept Roy from Georgie’s side that Gay, and when on the
morrow he saw her at bis own house, he was guilty of
experiencing a feeling of reiief that he had not committed
himself, and would have no cne’s luggage but his moth-
er’s and his own to look alter in Europe.

He sailed early in June, and Georgie stood upon the
wharf, and watched the vessel as it, went down the bay,
and felt such bitter pain in her heart as paled the roses
on her cueek, and quenched someof the brightness of
her eyes.

“Roy is lost to me forever,’ she said to herself, as she
re-entered her aunt’s carriage, and was driven back to
Madison Square.

 

 

 

And then there was silence between them for ten min-
utes or, More, and no sound was heard except the occa-
sional dropping of a dead coal into the pan, and the :ow,
regular breathing of the little child, so terribly in the way
nf the Woman who had so unexpectedly been brought to

ay. 4

She gave up the confirmation then and there, and after
sitting silent a few moments, arose and went toJack, and
putting her arms around his neck, cried aloud upon his
shoulder, and called him the best brother in the world,
and wished she was haifas good as he, anda great deal
more which Jack took at its fair valuation, He was used
to ber moods, and knew about how to prizethem. Still
in this instance he had been a little hard on her, she
thought, and so he kissed her back at last, and said he
was notangry with her, and bade her go to bed lest she
should be sick on the morrow.

Stil, as long as he remained unmarried, there was
hope; and though her youth was rapidly slipping away,
she would rather wait.on the slightest chance of winning
Roy Leighton than give herself to another. Aundso, that
summer—at Saratoga, where she reigned a belle—she re-
fused two very eligible offers: one from tne young heir
of a proud Boston family; the other from @ widower of
sixty, with a million and a half of gold, and seven grown-
up daughters.

{To be Continued.]

————__>-0~<
Every writer now engaged upon the New YORK WEEK-
ty is trying to write a story which will’ surpass any
previous effort.
a ee

 

She staid a week after that, and when at last she went
away, ler diamond pin, ear-rings, bracelets, and two
finger-rings of diamoniis and emeralds lay in the}
show window of a jeweler’s shop where they bonght
such articles; and in Annie’s hand, when parting
With her, she thrust a paper, which contained the sum of
$1,500, and the words, *‘To help make the first payment

ne new house.”’
held her.as nothing less than an angel of good-
nd generosity, while Jack, Who understood now
é had eae ister coming from Jachery’s shop,
if? “Tiere are noble traits in Georgie after

      
  
 

‘The bishop came to the little church near Oakwood at
the appointed time, but Georgie Burton’s proud head was
not one on which bis hands were laid. Aunt Burton, who
had gone fora week or soup to her country house, and tak-
en George with her, liad urged her to it, and so too had the

 

worthy to touchy but #ho had exalted her so highly, and
held her as someiin erfect. Perliaps she might have
solved the mystery weich troubled Aunie so much as to
what made her 80 given te the bad, when she wanted to
be good. She might Mavgtold of hlood or bloods, so
tainted with ceeeit t y Single « of it in one’s veins
would make the fount i - But she did not do
this; she kissed and comforted the child, and folding her
arms about her Said, with a gush of real, womanly feel-
“Oh, Annie, my darling, What would I give to be as in-
nocent as you; continue what you are; sliun a lie or cle-
ceit of any kiud as vou would shim the plague, and pray,
darling, for me that | may be half as good as you.”

She lifted herself up, pantMmg with emotion, while An-

nie looked wonderi igiy at her,

why, sister Geo" sie ahe said. ‘You can’t be bad.
You are the goodest Wo know. I does pray for you
that Jesus will take e of you, but never that He’d
make you good, because I thought you were,”

“No, child, Lam not-—-I am not,” and the proud Georgie
sobbed aloud. ‘l’m tot good, but i love you. I want
you to remember that, Annie, whatever may happen; re-
member that I do love you, Oh my dirling, my darling.”

There was some terrivle pain tugging at Georgie’s heart
—some fierce struggag, 10 be, going en, and for a few
moments she erie: “$2 @ little child, while Annie looked
wonderingly on amg tocomforther. After that, she
never gave way avin, But was her old; assured self. Of
the influences Warr ag within her the wrong one had pre-
vailed, and siie had chosen to return to her formal life of
ease rather than ve vain where her duty clearly lay, and
where the touch oi u little ehila’s hand, and the constant
presence of that littie child might have ayailed to lead
fier away from the ruinous path ‘she was treading.

Between herself and Jack there was @ Stormy interview
one night after Aunie was asleep, and the brother and
sister sat together before the grate, talking first of the
past and then of the future. Jack had received, as he
tnought, an advantageous offer to go to Jersey City and
enter,an insurance @licc. There was a louse there too
for salé on very reasonable terns, ana Jack’s friend urged
him to buy it, and have a home of his own. How Jack's
heart beat at the thought of a home of his own, with no
constantly recurring rent-bill to pay, and no troublesome
landlord ‘spying about for damages. A home of his own
which he could improve and beautify as he pleased with
a sense of security and ownership, and where pethaps
Georgie mightbe indaéed to stay a portion of the time.

In Annie’s present helpless condition it was desirable that
she should not often be jeft alone, and as old Luna must
at times be out, Is sem@amesessary that a third person
should form apart of Jaek’s household, and who more
fitting and proper eine provided she could be

   
   
 

made to think’§o. did not expect her to give up
Aunt Burton's home, Hits laxuries altogether; only
for atime he wanted Hem ahd he was revolving in his
inind how to tell hémso when she surprised him with the
announcement thas “she was going back to New York in
azfew days; thao she wad as staid longer than she in-
tended doing, @ lly alter she found how well Annie
was, and how Ht @ needed Her except for company.”

Jack was astemigued. He had fully expected Georgie
te remain with him whfil spring at least, and he told her
so, and told ef further of his plans for the future, and
his hope that she would be interested in his new home, if
he had one, an@Stay there a portion of the time. Geor-
gie heard him bough, but there was an expression in
her RiNGk oes, GYbICH Boded ill to the success of Jack’s
plan, and her Feleg When sie spoke, had in ita cold,
metalic ring, Wiigh nade Jack shiver and involuntarily
draw nearer to the fee.”

“7 bury f Syeetep hh y ee Jack, you must he crazy
to propose suc mag. “Wiiy, J’d rather emigrate to
Lapland, ont and out. lcan’t endure tue place, and I
don't see why you wan't togo there. Yeu art aging well
here, and these réonis are yery comfortable.”

The fact was Georgie dic not care to have JatK and An-
nie quite so near to herself as they would be im Jersey
City. Chicago, where she knew so few people, was # safer
place for her, andghe quietly opposed the change, With-
vut however changmeg Jack’s opinion in the least.

‘Are you not afraid that your return to New York will
bring up old times ?-- There are those there still who have
not forgotten,” she said, and in hereyes there wasa kind
of scared. look, a3 ji they were gazing on some horrid
picture of the past.

“And suppose they de remember,” Jack said, 4 little
hotly.. “There's uething in the past for which | need to
blush; and surely no one could possibly recognize in the
heiress Georgie Burton, the i

“Flush, Jack, Ll won’t hear what I was even irom your
lips,’ Georgie said, fiercely. ‘Perhaps,there 7$.20 dan-
ger for myself, but I never walk tho streets even now, as
the daughter of Ralph Burton, without a fear of meeting
gome one whd remembers. » Still L know. that as Miss Dur-
ton, of Madison Square, | ani safe, but as your, sister, in
Jersey City, I stionidnet be; and 1 will run no risks.”

“Not for Annie's sake?! Jack asked; and Georgie an-
sivered:

“Ne, not for Annie‘s sake,*) though her chin quivered a
little as she glanced at the sleeping childs

‘Then they talked on and on, Jack trying to persuade
his sister fo stayawith him at least a little longer, anti she
as persisteutly refusing, saying sue must be nome, that

~~

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

rector; and when Georgie gave asa reason for holding
back that she was “not good enough,” the rector said she
had set her standard far too high, while Aunt Burton
wondered where the good were to ve found if Georgie
Was not of the number, and eried softly during the
ceremony; because of her darling’s humanity. What
Georgie felt no one knew. She sat very quietly through
the service, with her vail dropped over her face, and only
turned her head alittle when Maude, who was among
the candidates, went up to the altar. But when Roy
Leighton too arose, and witha calm, peaceful expression
upon his manly iace, joined the group gathering in the
aisle, She gave a stait, and the long lashes which dropped

 

Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Squirrel Cap.—To_ Remove Prupres.—Wash every mornivg with
alotion prepared by mixing te feltowing ingrediemts; Sab- «
carbonate of soda. 36 grains; distiodeimseberes ounosSyressence

of roses 6drops. Vimples ere usually eabsed by im pirity of the

bioed, hevce an external ap. heater sigc 4
uSiy the wash given 2boVe, pHoed
sarkaparilis, and take Neco dda
éragzist of whom you purebase tag
Iron Mowds.—Rub the spot witha lye
or.salis of lemon, and warm water. Let it remain for a few
minutes, and then rinse in clean va te .—VARLOUS
Dyrs.—the following recipes may be tor wool, hair, fur,
or silk, To dye Liack, boil the articles fortwo hoursin a decoc-
tion of nutgaids, and atiterwurd keepthem fortwo hours more
ma bath composed of lozewood and su’phate of iron; kept during
the whole time at a scalding heat, but not boiling. During the
operation they must frequently be exposed to the air. The
commen proportions are five parts of galls, five of sulphate of
iron, and thirty of logweod, sometmes a little acetate of cop-
per (verdigris) 1s added toimprove the color. Woolen cloth, be-
fore it receives a black colar, isusually dycd blue; this 1enders
the color much fuller and finer than it would otherwise be. If
the cloth is coarse, the biue dye mnvay be too expensive; in that
case, 2 brown color is given by means of walnut peels. To dye
wool drown with walnut peels, noting more is necessary than
to steep the cloth in a decoction of them till ithas acquired the
desired eolor. The depth efthe shave muy be regu!uted by the
strength of the decoction. I th: cloth be first passed through a
mordant of alum, the color is brightened. Silk is dyed in the

  

 
          
   
 
  

  

 
 
  
  
  

3 i by the,
sMollie.—To Extract.
powdered oxalic acid,

  

 

upon her burning cheeks, were moist with tears. She
had not expected this of Roy. He was not one to talk
much of bis deeper feelings, and so only his God, and his
motner, and the rector knew of the determination to lead
anew and better life, which had been growing within
him ever since Charlie’s sudden death. ‘Be ye also pre-
pared, for in such an hour as ye think not the son of nan
cometh,’ had sounded in his ears until he could no longer
resist the Spirit’s gentle wooings, but gave himself to God
without reserve of any kind. There was a slight stir per-
ceptible all through the congregation as Roy went up and
stood by Maude. “He was a member worth getting; he
at least was sincere,’ even the cayillers atthe holy site
thought within themselves, and when it was over, and he
came down the aisle, all noted the expression of his fuce
as of one who was in earnest and honest in what he had
done. Georgie saw it, too, and for a moment the justice
of what Jack had said asserted itself in her mind, and in
her heart shé cried out:*‘*Roy ought not to be deceived,
and yet how’ could I tell him, even supposing n

She did not finish the sentence, but she meant, ‘‘Sup-
posing he does ask me to be his wile.”’

And Georgie had again strong hopes that he would.
Ile had seemed very glad to see her when Slie came up
to Oakwood; had called on her every day, and shown in
various ways how much he was interested in her. There
was abeut her now a certain air of softness and humility
very attractive to Roy, and he had fialf hoped that when
he knelt at the altar, Georgie might be with him, and
had felta little disappointed that she was not. So much
as this he said to her that night, when, as usual, he
called at Oakwood, They were all alone, and Georgie,
of her own accord, had made some allusion to the morn-
ing service, when Roy spoke of his wish that she had
been with him, and’/his disappointment that she was not.
Georgie had borne a great deal that day, and liveda
great deal in the dreadful past which she would so much
like to have blotted out. Her nerves were uasirung,
and when Roy said to her so gently, and still in a sorry
kind of way, “Why didn’t you, Georgie?’ she broke down
entirely, and, laying her head: upon the table, cried for a
moment like a child.

“Oh, Roy,” ‘she said, at last, looking up at him with
her dark eyes full of tears, “I did want to; did mean to,
but 1am not good enough, and I dared not, But I’m so
glad you did, so glad’'—and she clasped her pretty hands
in a Kind of tragic way—‘“Jor now you will teach me,
won’t you?”

Roy was but a man, and knew nothing of that scene in
Chicago, and Georgie was very beautiful to look upon, and
seemed so softened and subdued that he felt a strange feel-
ing throbbing in his heart, and would without doubt have
proposed taking the fair penitent as his pupil for life if
Maude had not just then come suddenly upon them and
spoiled their fete-a-iefe. Georgie’s eyes were a little stormy
now, but Maude did not pretend to notice it, and seated
herself very unconcernedly before the tire, With her cro-
cheting, thus putting to an cnd any plan Roy might have
had in his mind with reference to Miss Georgie Burton.

Maude hiad scarcely seen Roy before, since her visit to
Roeky Point, and gee (ei him all about quaint Uncle
Phil, who was his agent there,aaq of his niece, Miss Over.
fon, the prettiest little creature, to Wham she had given
the pet name of “Dot,” she was such & weewl Of a thing.
And then the conversation. turned upon Charhé, sit
Chartiets wife; and Maude asked ifanything had yet been
heard from her, of if Roy knew where she was. Roy did
not except that she was teaching, aud would not let him
know of her whereabouts.

‘“STow dg you know she is teaching, then?’ Georgie
asked, a@ Htlle sharply; aud Roy, replied, innocently
enough:

“L know through an aunt of hers, to whom I wrote last
Christmas, éSking her to forward to her niece, a box of
jet, which I sent to Edna.”

“Oli-h [) and Maude jumped asif she had been shot;
then. quickly recovering herself, she exclaimed: ‘That
dreadiul pin and pat her hand to her collar as if the
cause of her agitation were there.

Maude had received an impression. Things were al-
ways coming to her, she was wont to say, and something
had come to her ndy, which.made her quiver all over
With exciteinent, and sent her at last to tier own reom,
where Sliv bounded about like a rabber ball.

“I knew flere was something queer about ler all the
time, but Lnever suspected that. ePoor little Dot; how
L, must. have hurt her fvelings with my foolis& taik of
Charlie, if she really is his widow, and I Know she is, tor 1
remember now how interested she was in the Letghtons,
and how many questidus she asked about Rey and his
mother; and then that box of jefe Pm sure of’ it—per-
fectly sure; but, Dotty, if } can ferret out a secret, I can

 

 

 

 

sane manuer as wool, except that as itimbibes a large quan-
tity of tannin, the quantity of galls must be increased to twice
as much, and the silk must remain lovger in the solution. To
dye green, boil the arttele first in alum-water for an hour; then
for three hours in a preparation ecraposed of four ‘ounces of
verdigris, two quarts of White Wine-vinegar, and tour quarts of
water. To dye yelorr, make a strong decoction of black oak bark,
sufficient to cover the article to be dyed, and for each pound of
goods add a quarter of a pound of alum apd one ounce of chi -
ride of tin. -Asimple method of dying green isto prepare a
yellow dye of black oak bark, as direcied nbove, add yraduaily
the sulphate of indigo, until the proper sbude o1 green is pro-
duced, put in the article tobe colored, stir well, and letit beil.
A Live dye is made thts: one ounce of puiverized indigo dissely-
ed mm six ounces of concentrated oil of Witriol makes what the
druggists call sulphate of indigo. If the indige be cood, and the
acid sufficiently strong, the solution may be nade in a gluss bot-
tle. For fear of failure in both of these particulars, it is as well
to buy the sulphate of indigo ready-made from the drug-store.
For one pound of goods dissolve one-half pound of alum in suf-
ficient water to cover the article to be dyed; add a littie of the
sulphate of indigo; put in the goods, boii for a short time, ane
rinse well. Phe depth of color may be graduated by using more
or less of the salphate of indigo. Inali these recipes, rain or
other water should be used, and the articles should be weil
rinsed after dyeing......Anxious.—This correspondent wishes a
recipe for making trausparent pemade forthe hair. Can any
of-our readers furnish us with one ?...... W, H. Olicer.—No.....>
ZIou.—We do not know the professional reputation of the gentle-
menwhom youname. We would advise you to ,consult some
respectable physician who has made the disease with which you
are afflicted a apa Avoid quacks. Your complaint is of so
long standing that it may be difiicultto cure. We have heard
that moderate counter-irritation by means of seions or strips of
blistering plaster may be employed in the neighberhocd of the
seat of the disease. The dict should be ru.ritiots and digestible,
with a liberal allowance of red meats, ami scmetimes of ale or
wine. Iron, or cod liver oil the phesphatcs, and tonics wili be
useiul...... Shkinflint.—See answer to K. K K. in No. 20....A Con-
stant Reader. —SHORTNESS OF BREATH.—This may be remedied by
taking plenty,of outdoor exercise, such as walking up hui, run-

 

 

 

   

 
  
 
 

ning, rowing, &c. The exercise Should be very moderate at first,

not allowing it to fatigue. Afterward i be gradvally ia-

creased...... S. £. K.—To Repucre WEN Mr. William

Banting printed a pamphlet in Engl: ibject named,
has been repul

but we are not aware that the work lished on
this side of the water.. We can giye you, however, the substasce
of it. The dietary Which Banting observed fo reduce his wei. ht
from 202 pounds to 150 was tlus: For breakfast. four ounces of
beef mutton, or any kind of brefied fish or cok menty excepting
pork, salmon, eels and herring. A large cup ef tea withont milk
or sugary a litile biscuit or an cunce of dry toast.. For dinner,

five or six ounces of any fist: or meat (execpt these prohibited)
any vegetable (except potatoes, parsnips ond beets) one. ounce
of dry toast, ripe or cooked ruits, alld any kind of poultry and

a2 Cup

same, Fog tea twgor three ounces o! fruit, dry tuast, ana
of tea without mifk or sugar. / And for supper three o
ounces of meat or fish, with a glass or two of Claret or 3
Food which contains sugar
rapidly creates fat, and 1
horror of corpulence...
PERSPIRING.—Wash the
or in alcghol....Joe.—
—SHAMPOONING THE HAIR =
for making'ihe ariicle he uses, but having tried the toll
we can recommend it: Take a basin and pour init
‘arm sott water. Beat upin it the yolk of an e
cleanse the bair thoroughly with it. Afterward we
with clean tepid water....... Joseph.—Use Huseed oil W
Constant Reader.—To*Curt tHe Harn.—There is no p:
which will make naturally straight hair assume a} panent
eurl. The following will Keep the hair in curl for a sirort time:
Take borax two ounces, gum egrabicone drachm, avd b c
(not boiling) one quart, stir, and as soon as the ingre
dissolved, add three tzblespooniuls of strong spirit
On retiring to rest, wet the heir with the above liquid,
it in twists cf paper ag ystial. Do not disturb the hair ti
ing, wgen unt and form ffito ringlets... .Heighdaddy.—Ba
your eves ty warm milk and water....Lecomotive.—1l, To Mae
Goop Harr Om.—Mix well over the fire a pint of oi! of sweet
almonds and an ounce of spermecetl, when cold, stir in a tea-
spoontul of oil of bergamot and two grains of r
with extract of alkanet reot it imparts a dark de fc
2. To Make Brackeerry Branpy.—Ten quarts f blackberries
make one gallon of juice. To one golon of juice add four
pounds of sugar.) Boil and skim it. Strain, and add one ounce
of cloves, one ounce of ground ciunstion, ten ¢ ed putmegs,
and boil again... When cool add one quart of Lestbraudy or
whisky. BLackBERRY ConpraL.—Three }< unds of ripe biackber-
ries, one pound white sugar; let therm stand twelve Pours; press
the juice, and strain it. Ad@.one-third of good spirils; te every
uart a féaspoontul of finely powde It is at once
At for use——BLACKRERRY WINE.—Hruise. th
to every galion add water. Let tf
twenty-four hotirs liv:
into a cask, to 'y
tight, and let stendu
will be ready without s
R.G B.—1; See No. 16.) 2
answer,

   
   
 
 
  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

 

   

4
A

 

 

 

  

 

  
  

 
     

 

re
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ed

   
  
 
    
 

 

 

 

  
  

sugar;

e fall er, and the wins
aining } €6,—See No. 22.
We think your haudwriting would

 

 

>o<+—--—_--—---

Nathan D. Urner, Jasephine Pollard, Wm. Ross Wal-
lace, Mrs. M. A. Kidder, Nathan Upham, Emma Alice
Browne, Alice Carey, Jennie Stoven, and a large number
of others are engaged ali the time to write pocms for the
NEW YORK WEESLY,

 

 

 

 

 

 

moe oe Fn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

sere

 

‘
i i

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

.

Pee |
SMOOTH SKIN

BEAUTIFUL COMPLEXION

FOLLOWS TOE USE OF
HELMBOLD’S
CONCENTRATED

EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA.

It removs black spots, pimples, moth patches, and all
eruptions of the skin.

 

IN THE SPRING & SUMMER MONTHS

The system naturally undergoes a change, and

HELMBOLD’S
Highly Concentrated

EXTRACT OF SARSAPARILLA

IS AN ASSISTANT OF THE GREATEST VALUE.

 

YCUNG LADIES, BEWARE!

OF THE INJURIOUS EFFECTS of Face Powders and
Washes. All such remedies close up the pores of the skin,
and in a short time destroy the complexion. If you would
have a fresh, healthy, and youthful appearance, use

oe
eS

wer

 

 

BY CLIO STANLEY. .

Good-night! Tis but a little while
Of doubt, and fear, and pain,

Ere, under day’s sweet, sunny light,
We two shall meet again!

Gcod-night! Soft shadows downward creep,
The day is doomed to die;

She bids her sweetest flowers farewell,
Why shonid not you and I?

They sleep, dear love, and night's still dews
Brighten their tender bloom.

Ah, would not we for such bright life,
Endure a little gicom?

Good-night! good-night ?* and if it be
That no more, hand in hand,

We tread the pleasant boundaries
Of this sunny border-land.

Yet in a world of cloudless skies,
Where flowers, immortal bloom,

Will greet the morning light that breaks
The darkness of the tom.

 

BY THE PEERLESS AUTHOR.

The Rose of Kendale.

By the Author of ‘Peerless Cathleen,’? and
“Lady of Grand Court.’?

 

 

[Tie Rose of Kendale’ was commenced in No. 20. Back num-
bers can be had trom News Agents throughout the country.]

CHAPTER XVII.
‘hen first I met thee, warm and young,
There suone such hope about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
Idid not dare to doubt thee.—Moorx’s MELoptEs.

It seemed that the clatter of the horses’ feet had ceased
—the troup had passed on some other way; and now the
carriage stopped before the tlireshold of a tall, gloomy,
evil-looking house of seven stories. The street was nar-

 

 

 

HELMBOLD’S
EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA.

 

NOT A FEW

row, dark, fetid in odor; a few wive-shops of the lowest
cluss were the only places where trade seemed to be
flourishing.

Evangeline looked deadly white, through fear. Har-
grave offered her his arm to descend, with an expression
of the most chivalrous deyotion on his handsome face.

She almost tottered to the ground; then Eustace was
lifted out, and in silence old Ephraim paid the cabman,

| who drove off without uttering a word.

Still obeying tue silent, imperious gestures of Ephraim,
Hargrave lifted the head and shoulders of Eustace in his
strong grasp, and between him and Ephraim, he was

 

Of the worst disorders that afflict mankind arise from
corruption of the blood.

HELMBOLD’S
EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA

IS A REMEDY OF THE UTMOST VALUE.

 

HELMBOLD’S

carried intothe house, 3nd upthe filthy, winding, nar-
row stairs. Where will not the step of love follow the
beloved one?

All up the unutterably loathsome staircase; up, up, in-
terminabie, lengthening out, it seenicd, as they proceed-
ed. Evangeline followed, gasping fer breath, and yet
not once faltering—not ounce looking back toward the
fresher air, and the escape from the horrible mansion,

At length there seemed to be a pause—they had reached
the sunmit. Ephraim put a key into a door, turned it,
and entered a garret paved with round, red tiles; but the
arrangement of everything in the little den was the per-
fection of neatness. .The bricks shone with Cleanliness;
there was a square of green carpet in the middle of the
floor; the bed was made, and neatly covered with a coun-
terpane of black, scarlet, and blue cloth. There were
only two chairs; but there was a little writing-table,

EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA | Washesiaus, and’ lasts, & glowing tire roaring 32

Cleanses and renovates the blood, insiils the vigor of
health into the system, and purges out the humors that
maKe disease.

 

QUANTITY vs. QUALITY.
HELMBOLD’S
EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA. |

The dose is small. Those who desire a large quantity
and large doses of medicine ERR.

 

THOSE WHO DESIRE BRILLIANCY OF

gleaming bright. ; 5 B

Ephraim locked the door of his strange little domicile,
put the key into his pocket, and then laid the still insens-
ible Eustace upon the bed. Evangeline sank upon a
chair by his side, and bent over him. ‘

He was in the deepest, the most perfect, the most tran-
quil of sleep—a repose like that of a child of three years
old. His face had even taken a little color on the cheek,
and the beautiful lips were slightly apart, showing the
gleaming of the white teeth.

“He will sleep,’’ said old Ephraim, offering the remain-
ing chair to his other guest. which Hargrave as court-
eously declined. ‘He wiil sleep till this time to-morrow.
Ibave thrown him into a mesmeric slumber, the most
‘profound of which humanity is capable. To-morrow
night he will accompany me toa house I[ havein Nor-
mandy; he will be ill some time—vwill need careful watch-
ing and tending.”
|  }evangeline clasped her hands.

“Let me come,’? she said; “oh, Mr. Ephraim, let me
come and be his nurse, his sister, his servant.’’

Hargrave almost shuddered at the passion, the self-
abasement of her words. She, the delicately reared, the
highly born, the beautiful; #e, worse than a beggar, hunt-
ed of the law, ragged. lost to all sense of seli-respect, #
ruined, wretcned man, shipwrecked on the quicksands of

 

Compice xion passion, and, bitterest pang of ail, thankless forthe great

Must purify and enrich the blood, which

HELMBOLD’S
CONCENTRATED

boon of her love, rude, insolent in his misery to the deli-
eate aristocratic creature WO knelt at his feet.

Hargrave ventured to interpose,

“Evangeline—Miss Stanfield,” he exclaimed, “you
could not! Yow accompany this gentleman and your
friend into the country ?”?

“] suppose you mean to say the world would talk about
me?’ she said, with a curl of her lip. “Well, I will give
it-leave. Hideous old women over their whist shall shuffle

EXTRACT OF SARSAPARILLA | away my fair name among tbetr cards, shall mix it in

Invariably does. Ask for HELMBOLD’S. Take no other.

 

HELMBOLD’S
CONCENTRATED

EXTRACT SARSAPARILLA

IS THE GREAT BLOOD PURIFIER.

 

HELMBOLD’S
HIGHLY CONCENTRATED

FLUID EXTRACT
SARSAPARILL

ERADiCATES ERUPTIVE AND ULCERATIVE

t tions of feeling.

Diseases
OF THE TURGAT, NOSE, EYES, EYELIDS, SCALP, AND
Skin,

Which so disfigures the appearance, PURGING the evil
eff-cis Of mercary, abd removing all taints, the remnants
of DISEASES, hereditary or otherwise, and is taken by
ADULTS and CHILDREN with perfect SAFETY.

TWO TABLE-SPOONFTULS of the Extract of Sarsaparil-
la, added to a pint of water, is equal to Lisbon Diet Drink,
and one bottie is equal to a gallon of the Syrup of Sarsa-
parilla, or the decoctions as usually made.

AN INTERESTING LETTER is published in the Medico-
Chirurgical Review, on the subject of the Extract of Sar-
saparilla, in certain affections, by Benjamin Travers, F,
R.S. Speaking of those diseases, and diseases arising
from the excess of mercury, he states that ro remedy is
equal to the Extract of Sarsaparila; its power is extra-
ordinary, more so than any other drug Lam acquainted
with. Jt is, in the strietest sense, a tonic, with this in-
valuable attribute, that tt is applicable to a state of the
System so sunken, yet so irritable, as renders other sub-
stances ofthe tonic class unavailable or injurious.

HELMBOLD’S

Concentrated Extract

SARS APA RILLA,

Established upwards of 19 years. PREPARED aT

H.'T. Helmbold’s
DRUG AND CHEMICAL WAREHOUSE,
594 BROADWAY, N. Xi)
And 104 8O0UTU TENTH STREET, PHILADELPHIA.

Sold by druggists everywhere, Price $650 fer six bot-
tles, or $125 per bottle, delivered to any address.

Nove are genuine unless done up in ad ‘steel engraved
wrapper, With Jac siniile of my chemical Warehouse, and
signed Wi. T. HELMBOLD.

 

with the aroma of their strong tea. Young girls shall

shrug their shoulders, and thank Heaven they were

brought up differently. Young genulemen whose atten-

| tions have not flattered me, and for which attentions I

| have been ungrateful, shall (if they like) whisper to their

| friends ‘that they were mistaken in that girl.’ Allof this
will sound to me as idle and not so musical as the voices
of the winds and the roar of the » aves at Earnscliff.”

; “Oh, you are cruel, cruel!’ said the young man, and
he covered his face with his hands and sobbed. “Even
as is your love for that young man, so is my love for you,

; Evangeline. Suffering, and scorn, and reproach shall not
drive ine away. Iam still your slave, Evangeliue—your

 

‘ slave till death; but I would not have you do what should
{ give tne cruel worid leave to talk.

It would so pafu me

‘to hear it profane your pure bame.”’

| “Forgive me, Wargrave,” she cried out, suddenly pene-
trated with the strength and earnestness of his devotion,

| his unselfishness, his noble purity, and she offered hun

pos hand, which he took and kissed with a passion of
ecstacy.

Just for a moment arose in the feminine heart of Evan-

geline a comparison between the two young men—thie
} one lost through disappointed passion, the other, while
| suffering the bitterest of disappointments, still brave,
{ gentile, self-sacrificing.
i ‘he human heurt is capable of strange sudden revolu-
For a@ moment—jusct for a moment—
: Evangeline felt staggered by the vision of truth, unsel-
} fish constancy, aba noble Manliness which her soul saw
‘as through a Vista, and the sleepiug Eustace sank into a
; position less exalted. She understood how that disap-
{pomted love had made him selfish, brutal, reckless, in-
{stead of ennobling him; and while intense pity swelled
j in her soul, 1¢ seemed to her that for an instant love wus
; gone. He came back, however, the next moment, plant-
ed his arrow in her suffering heart; and in place of the
warm enthusiasm for Hargrave which had kindled itsell
in ber soul, there arose only that cold respect, that pas-
sioniess gratitude, which had ever been the utmost ot her
regard for the young Sailor,

Then old Epbraim arose, and put his hand solemnly
upon the head of Evangeline.

“Bless you,’? he said, “vless you for your unrequited
love for him, As for her—she who has ruined him body
and soul—as for her husband—fox-hunting Chesterton!”
—us Ephraim uttered that name, his deep-sunk eyes
flashed, aud he stamped upon tie ground—*you shall see
their punishment. He,’ pointing io the sleeping young
man, “might soon ride over their heads if te would. His
day is coming. Alas! | waited too long. [ waited till the
fruit was too ripe; and | lear it will crumble to ashes in
my mouth. He would only rave on about her if you gave
hin. England to-morrow for ils lieritage, and placed a
crown upon his brow. He would laugh at principalities
and powers. He is lost forthe loveof a woman. But
you, bright lady, shall not lose name or fame if it please
you to travel withus into Normandy to-morrow night.
Bring your maid with you, and hire a lady-companion.
Take a carriage and pack into it all necessaries; then
drive on to Vernon, a spall farm on the Rouen line, meet
the train that will stop there at half-pasi twelve to-mor-
row night, and Come on—come on with me, and—my boy
—you, you may save him at last—who can say Y’?

Evangeline stared in wonder at the odd old man.

“My boy—mine,’? he repeated, firmly; “he was a pris-
oner. Heis execrated. J] fear he is on the rapid road to
deuth; but he is to ride aloft first—yes, first.”

Evangeline!’ exclaimed Hargrave, ‘you will not—you
dare not dosuch a thing, Oh! may I Kneel, may I im-
plore?’ and the excited young wan sank upon his
knees.

Old Ephraim looked at him steadlly,

“She will not take harnf in following us, I tell you,
young man. | love ier—yes, as if she were my child; and
Ll would not counsel her to her shame. Oh, the world sball
hear of strange tidings ip a few days. Place anu power,
paluce and pearls shall cramble away from the hands of
the cruel as the splendors in the Arabian tale fade into
emptiness und darkness. I tell you she shall have no
shame if she accompanies us, Trust me. Come with her
as escort, if you will, She shall have a lady-companion,
and her maid—who can say anything ??

“{ have my mother in Paris,’ said Hargrave. “She
adores me; she would give me her life if I asked it.
Shall my mother come, Evangeline? and inay I be your
escort 7?”
sa it as you will,’ answered Evangeline, list-
essly.

Her thoughts had again grouped themselves about the
seuseless, unconscious Enstace.

“Ic is arranged, then!’ exclaimed Ephraim. ‘Join
these friends—4ruavel in the night—trust yourself with
me. You need bring no money,” added old Ephraim, with
a®% pecullar glance at Hargrave; “1 have ample for us al),
And now, my young friends, 1 am about to dismiss you,
ihave most important writing te do; but first——”

 

 

 

26-2

Here he went to a cupboard in the wall, and took out a

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

long bottle and two high glasses. He drew the cork from
the bottle, and poured out a liquor of a pale yellow color,
which frothed in the glass like champagne,

“Drink this,’??> he said; “it is not alcoholic.
vive you, and do you both good.”

Beth Evangeline and Wargrave felt a certain confidence
inthe old man. They were, besides, both of them fa-
tigued and thirsty. ‘They drank the pale, frothing liquid,
which was cool and delicious to the palate, and then they
both of them arose and bade the old man good atter-
noon.

‘Bless you! oh, bless you, for saving him!’ cried Evan-
géline, bursting into tears.

“To you I say bless you! Oh, bless you, for loving him!”
replied the old man; tenderly.

And then he clasped and even kissed the hand of Miss
Stanfi2ld; and the young lady descended the narrow Stairs,
and found her way to tue squalid street,and from thence,
leaning onthearm of Hargrave, toa cab-stand, where
che tovk a carriage, and was driven to her sisier’s
10use.

How the next day passed, what hasty preparations she
made for the wild journey, she could never afterward
remember; but the mother of Hargrave was, as her son
had represented her, an adoring mother. She acted un-
der the auspices of Harry, and she actually drove to the
door of Lord Chesterton and invited Miss Stanfield to ac-
company her on a visit to some friends in Normandy, as
her son had pressed her to go there with him, and she
had no lady friend whom she believed would enjoy a trip
into the country so much as Miss Stanfield, who had late-
ly been looking so pale.

Hargrave was presumptive heir toa barontcy, he was
possessed of a good private fortune, and he was cousin to
some dozen lords; therefore the worldly Claribel saw no
reason to oppose her sister’s intimacy with the family. It
thus came to pass that Evangeline set off in the carriage
with Mrs, Hargrave, unopposed by any Of her relations.

It was astormy afternoon of winter. Now and anon
there fell blinding, violent showers of hail and half-frozen
rain. Then the wind uprose and shrieked along the
country roads, through which the clesely-shut carriage
was driving.

Harry Hargrave had told his mother everything—his
own wild, hopeless love for Evangeline, and her strange,
blind devotion to a man who loved her not.

Mrs. Hargrave was a little, dark, enttusiastic woman,

With impetuous feelings, kept oniy in check by a natural
and delicate refinement, but she adored her son with a
passionate adoration, else would she never have consent-
ed to travel she knew hot where, 10 meet she knew not
whom, and to incur the responsibility of conducting Miss
Stantield on an extraordinary expedition which had for
its end the sheltering of an escaped prisoner, about
whose wonderful deliverance, by divt ol mesmeric influ-
ence, all Paris was chattering. =.
Tne echoes of this strange story
ed London.
Mrs. Hargrave, we repeat, loved her son as few mothers
love. She was the reverse, the very antipodes of the
Countess of Kendale, who had driven her son into exile
and broken lis wife’s heart by her crueities.

It will re-

indeed even reach-

 

Mrs. Hargrave, looking at the beautiful face of Evange-
line, felt her heart stir with angeragainst the young lady.
She to refuse her son—to run away with indifference from
precious love like his; what could her lieart be made of ?

The two ladies traveled for some time in silence, each
occupied with her own thoughts. Nor was this silence
broken until Vernon was reached, the town where they
were tomeet Ephriam Hargrave and the unhappy pa-
tient, Eustace,

It was not much more than half-past nine. When this
town wasreached they drove to a hiotel, ordered tea, and
waited in one of the drawing-rooms by the side ofa glow-
ing fire, for the hour at which it would be proper to go
co the train.

Evangeline cast off her bonnet and heavy wrappings,
and sat with her eyes fixed on the fire, buried in pro-
foundest thought.

Mrs. Hargrave watched her. At last she said, suddenly:

*You look very, very sad, my dear, I wish I could com-
fort you; but what am I to do, or say, or advise?’

“Alas, dear, Kind Mrs. Hargrave |’? cried Evangeline.
“How much 1 owe you for giving me your protection in
this expedition, otherwise I suppose the world would
have talked away my fair pame as is the wont of the
world, and its chief pastime, unless you had come with
me.

Mrs. Hargrave smiled sadly.

“I pity you, my dear; but it seems to me so unaccount-
able that you should distress yourself with any deeper
feeling than the philantrophy of a friend for this poor,
dear young man, Wliom your sister has maddened. 1]
blame you not for going to see him, for assisting him to
escape, even for following himup now on his removal,
that you may judge whether ornot he will be well and
tenderly cared for, but that you should feel for him any-
thig more than warm, tender, sisterly affection—oh, that
surpasses me |?

“As if,’ replied Evangeliney with a gloomy smile, ‘‘one
heart could take measure of the feelings of another? asif
one human soul could gauge another? Itis a weakness
—a meanness—a faulty, unfeminine feeling to love where
there is no return! Be it so. Lam Weak, mean, un-
reminine even, Mrs. Hargrave.”’

And Evangeline smiled an angry, bitter smile,

Her feelings were evidently so genuiue, her suffering so
real, that much of Mrs. Hargrave’s anger melted away
while she looked at her, and listened to her,

“Theresis one,” said the mother, after a pause; ‘owe
who feel§ the same hopeless hove for you which you wasje
upon anosher.” et

“Your son?’
pressed her hand upon her beating heart. “Ah, Mrs,
Hargrave, I sometimes wish I had never seen Eustace,
for then—then assuredly I shonld bave loved Hargrave;
he is the model of an English gentleman, brave as a lion,
gentle as a dove, handsome, giited with fine powers ol
mind, excellent tastes, charming manners, spotless name;
he loves me—and yet, yet 1t is Ull nothing, worse than
nothing—there is another, execrated, lost, mad, wicked
in his miséry; and yet himm—all ggunt and ill, and savage
and ragged as he is, I love, 1 lovey i love!”

And the voice of the passionate girl rose into a wail.

Mrs. Hargrave was abgry no more with this girl who
did not love her son. She saw how a giant passion for
another possessed her like a spirit stronger than her poor
humanity.

At the appointed time the two ladies drove to the sta-
tion there to meet the train from Paris. They had not to
wait long. Presently it came puffing up, stepped, and
Hargrave leaped out on the platform.

He grasped the hand of his mother and of Evangeline,
then whispered: ‘All right—get in!” and be helped them
into the luxurious first-class carriage, where a lamp cast
a pleasant, subdued light upon the soft purple draping.

Leaning back amid the padded spring cushions was
William Eastace, white and rigid, only the occasional
twitching of his lip showed Het he was alive, for there
was mpon his faultiess face Stotiy look of death.

Evangeline started when she saw him—stairted and
grew white as he was himself,

By his side was old Ephriam, dressed in black like a
docior, a black velvet cap on lis head, his peculiar hatch-
et face lighted up by a keen expression of intense anxiety.

“Does he leok ill?” he asked, eagerly, of Evangeline.
“J__] have had him with me ever since yesterday, and 1
cannot so easily see the change.”

“Oh,” cried tvangeline, ‘it is the face of one who ap-
prouches the unknown country,’

She took her place, ag she spoke, opposite to Eustace,
and Mrs. Hargrave aud ber son ranged themselves on tlie
sume side. Then the train moved on.

‘He 1s vnconscious,”’ said Ephriam, “and nothing will
rouse him; no, not for an instant. Oh, my pour boy! my
poor boy!”?

And the strange old man wrung his hands.

It was a weird, unearthly journey that; the storm rose
and the wind howled above the rvar of the engine.

Old Ephriam, in his black, long coat, velvet skull cap,
and with eager hatchet face, looked almost like some nec-
rowancer of the middle ages.

The unconscious Eustace, whose splendid dark eyes
seemed fixed on some fathvmmless mystery apart from the
earth and its inhabitants, was another being, unique,
majestic, awful in hisabstraction. One felt while Jookiug
at him that his soul might be discoursing with spirits.

Hargrave and his mother Watched the pale, tearful
Evangeline. ,

And so the night sped on, and the train with it, and it
was abont four o’clock of a Winter’s morning when they
stopped at a certain little quaint town in Normandy,
which we will cail Bao,

Here old Ephriam descended; and now it appeared that
unconscious, stiriess, aS Eustace had been during the
journey, he Was still capable of mechanical movement,
and when Ephriam called to him to arise he absojutely
staggered to his leet with the assistance of Llargrave, and
stepped on to the platform, Hvangeline followed.

Hargrave hastily enveloped her in a cloak, and then she
perceived that a carriage was Waitlug—a close carriage
drawn by two horses.

“Enter—enter!”’ cried Ephriam, in a tone of command.

The whole party were burried into the carriage, which
was large and commodious, and the prancing horses
sprang away ata pace which proved their high breeding.

Mrs. Hargrave inight well question whither she was
going, only her perfect trust in her son’s judgment reas-
sured her; apd now there was an hour’s fast driving, and
then the carriage stopped before the tall iron gates oi
some country chateau.

A call was answered by the gates falling back, and the
carriage rolled under an avenue of trees, A long drive
brought them in front of am enormous chateau of gray
stone, which stood out pale and huge against the dark
aiate sky, which was relieved only by the faint glimmer
of stars.

“Welcome,” said old Ephriam, as he descended, ‘to
the Chateau of Roses—ihuat is the name I have given,
ladies, to the property which I have bought; it is prettier
than its old historic title of the ‘Chateau Noir,’ or the
Black Chateau,’

“A property he has bought ?’* murmured Evangeline, to
herself. ‘Weird and wonderful old Epiriam, did he not
sell his gooseberries and Carrots in the market town every
Saturday? did ne not work hard? and except that he told
fortunes, did not the vijlagers account him as one of them-
selves? Is he really in league with spiritual powers that,
he has been able to buy himself a property hke this?” and
a shiver ran through her frame.

Meanwhile a servant had rung the house-bell, and tne
door feil back. The whole party were perfeculy dazzled
by the blaze of light winch burst upon them now,

The hall which they entered was very lofty, for the roof
went up to the top ol the house; a great, winding stair-
case of black marble led up with a grand and palace-like
sweep to the upper yooics; the floorof the hall was a Mo
saic of green jasper and biack marbie. There were statues
of knights in armor standing all round the hall. Each

 

knight was carved from a block of black marble. A lurge,

cried Evangeline, qnickly—and she |

pe

= 2 Dae ITT =

bright fire burnt in an enormous fire-place; spread befure
it Was a rich carpet of gorgeous scarlet, purpie, and gold,
and green; and there were chairs and couches of purple
and gold placed round a table laid out with a dainty mag-
niflcence that might have honored a king’s repast Two

for beauty and rarity in design.
this house the Cnateau of Roses.

One of the remarkabie features was that each knight
held in his hand a fantastically shaped basket of china, in
which was placed earth, and wherein bloomed a rose tree
covered with exquisite blossoms—some were faint pink,
some glowing vermeil, some yellow, some delicate
White, some rich crimson. Upon the table were three
enormous vases of gold enameled with jet, one centre
vase, and ene at each end of the board; roses and white
camelias flourished in each of these vases. The perfume
from the whole, drawn out by the heat of the fire, filled
the majestic apartment with a delicious fragrance.

Three servants, in a fantastical livery of black and gold,
appeared suddenly upon the scene, and the sound of the
drawing of corks and the bubbling of wine made a liquid
music.

Then, to the ever-increasing surprise of Evangeline, old
Ephraim turned round and spoke to these servants in
flowing, fluent, graceful French, untinged with English
accent.

Afterward, bowing to the ladies and to Hargrave, he
entreated them to seat themselves and to partake of his
poor hospitality.

Three other servants entered at the same moment, bear-
ing various hot dishes, and, in fine, the whole party sat
down to this strange, splendid feast.

Eustace, leaning agawinst the soft, purple cushions of a
high-backed chair, looked still with his abstracted gaze
into vacancy; nor could the utmost efforts of Ephraimin
duce him to lift his gilded fork to his lip.

One of the servants handed a goblet bubbling over with
champagne to Ephraim, who held it to the lips of Kustace.
Then the young man drank slowly, and with effort, but
any attempt to make him taste food was worse than use-
less. Handsome, stony, abstracted, the unhappy young
man was indeed as a specter at the feast.

Fatigue and long fasting, combined to make all the oth-
ers enjoy the repast. When it was over, and there only
remained wine and fruit on the table, old Ephraim pray-
ed his guests to turn toward the fire.

Evangeline and Mrs, Hargrave had cast off their cloaks
and wraps. Mrs. Hargrave gave signs of weariness, but
Evangeline, her eyes fixed on the half-reclining form of
Eustace, looked the impersonation of a deep unrest.

Hargrave ventured to walk over to the couch whereon
she sat, and to take his place beside her.

“] trust, ladies and geutlemen,’”? said old Ephraim,
bowing to all of his guests, *‘that you will kindly consid-
er the Chateau of Roses as your home, and the servitors
as your sei vitors, while you remain here, Every arrange-
ment for your comfort has been made—fires in all the
rooms, hot-water pipes laid on, and a bath-room to every
chamber. If you want in-door amusements, there is a
billiard-room, an adinirable library, several pianos and
other musical instruments, I hope you will like my pic-
tures and statues; 1 flatter myself that I have a tolerably
fine collection, My stud is a good one, and if the ladies
like driving out, L have four different carriages. I hope
you wiil be able to while away the time until next. week,
when I have engaged a troupe of actors from Paris to
come and perform a certain piece, of which I am the an-
tuor, and which all the gentry of the neighborhood will
be invited to witness slso. I Shall ask several guests
from Paris—among them the Right Honorable the Earl of
Chesterton, and his countess.”?

Evangeline almost started to her feet with amaze when
Ephraim spoke thus, then pointing to Eustace, she ex-

claimed:
“They will see him—take him to prison! Whatdo you
“No,

mean ??

“They dare not—they will not,” replied Ephraim,

[ have a safe talisman to protect him, nay, to bring them
bending to his feet, even as in the story in Holy Wnit, the
Hebrew brothers came bowing tothe feet of Joseph,
whom they had sold to be a bond-servant; but, ch, it is
too late! too late!’—he clenched his hand and shook it
with an expression of hopeless anguish in the air, ‘Had
1 been quicker, had I not waited tosee my plot ripen too
long, 1 would have taught him’—pointing to Eustace—
“to laugh in their faces; put I boped, I prayed, that be
might learn tolove you. QOh,.poor human hature, how
it deceives itseif!”.and the old man sobbed; then raising
his head suddeply, and dashing the tears from his
eyes: “Even yet 1 will humiliate them; I will make Ches-
terton bite the dust, and She—she shall, weep such croco-
dile tears‘as those weep whose mean ambitions are
foiled.” : ;

“Mr, Ephraim,” said Evaneeline, “yon are not what
you appeured at Earnsclitf.. Whom, sir, have I the honor
of addressing ?

But the answer of the old man was strange and eva-
See o4

“Tam known in this neighborhood as the Chevalier of
the Chateau of Roses. In Paris they cull me Monsieur le
Comte de Bellchase, for I have bought a patent of French
nobility, and Lam on intimate tering with his Majesty
the Emperor. Tbis I say not to boast,’? added the oid
man, bowing and smiling, “but because I would haye
Miss Stanfield to understand that in accepting tre poor
hospitality of the Comte de Bellchase she runs no risk of
being accused of associating with those of mauvais ton.
Oh, world, world, how enipty are thy honors! how false
thy painted gauds! Not all thy gilded glorics could re-
store reason, or give length of days to him who lics
‘there wrecked @n the Is of passion!?

But Ephraim had called

And then tne ola man. bowed bis white head, and his
strange, powerful face was hidden from the gaze ol
Eyangeline.

CHAPTER XVIII.
For lucre’s sake and sordid gold,
The gentie, lovely maid was’sold,
And sent to sweil a mournful band
Of captives in a foreign land.—Otp BaLiap,

We left Fancliette standing by the side of Elsie, in
Kensington Gardens, and Mrs, Jonas Todd scolding her,
that lady dressed meanwhile ina suitof superb violet
velvet. .

“{ was doing no harm, madam,” cried Fanchette; “this
isan old, old friend of mine, who has known me eyer
since I was a little child.” mt. ‘

“A nice companion, truly,’? sneered Mrs, Todd; ‘‘a nice
person to have near my childreu, whom I wish brought
up as ladies.” :

“Like their mamma!” cried Elsie, who was always
ready with an answer. ‘ i ‘

“Terrivie woman!” cried Mrs. Todd, frowning. | “I will
have you given in charge of the police!’ ;

Fanchette glanced about in terror. Sucha thing might
be done, sie feared, and she. was relieved to see that no
officer of the law was within hail.

“And now linsist upon your coming home at once,”
stormed Mrs. Todd. “If I had not a party to-night, and
if I did not wish you to play the piano for quaurilles, 1
would turn you off this very moment.”’

“Stop,” exciaimed Elsie; “your address, Lady Fan-
chette.’?

Tne title sounded strangely inthe ears of Mrs. Jonas
Todd, who stared, and frowned, and wondered for an
instant.

“15, Bayshiil Crescent, Bayswater,’’ replied Fanchette.
“And, Elsie, be cautious. Ob, if news comes from Italy,
if ”

 

“What is allthis wild talk about Lady somebody—l
missed the name!’ cried Mrs. Todd. ‘You do not think,
Miss Ivan, 1 bope and trust, that lam so weak as to be
taken in by yonder woman’s cant, and tou suppose you
some earl’s daugiiter in disguise ?”

“Oh, no, madam,” cried Fanchette, growing white to
the lips with fear of discovery. ‘Oh, no; 1 hope you will
not have any such thoughts,”

“I know this, tnat iam beginning to grow very, very
dissatisfied with you,’’ exclaimed Mrs, Todd; ‘‘and unless
you reform, i shall be under the necessity of dismissing
yon. Come alorg.”’

Fanchette- hurried away, and Mrs, Todd made her en-
ter the carriage. Tne whole drive home she kept on
scolding.

That evening, dressed in her plain, black silk, stately
as a duchess, beautiful a8 a princess in @ fairy tale, Fan-
chette entered Mrs. Jonas Todd’s drawipg-rocms, The
carpets had been rolled up, the gaudy furniture put
aside, the grand piabo Was 1p a recess, and straight to-
ward that waiked Lady Fanchette, with a slight bow to
those assembled,

Close to the piano stood a tall, fair young man. A
quizzing, mocking expression was in his blue eyes.

Where in the wide world had Fanchette met him be-
fore? He was thorougily well-bred, a perfect gentle-
man, that it was easy to perceive, aud far superior fo the
generality of Mrs. Toda’s usual guests,

He looked earnestly ut Fancuette, started violently,
wondered, as she had done, where they bad met before,
and then, as she bent ber beautiful face toward the inatru-
ment, he approached her and exclaimed:

“Great Heavens! Lady Fanchette Germain!”

“Hush, hush, hush, l entreat, implore youl’? she ex-
claimed, “Qh, if you understood my horror of the
doom I?

“I know all, Lady Fanchette,” he replied; ‘England
has rung With your story; aud ] marvel that you do not
place yourself under the protection of the law. It would
sbicld you from the fate you dread. Great Heaven ! and
to think of such exalted beauty, such bigh breeding, ac-
cepting a postition of servitude in the family of the in-
tensely vulgar Jonus Touds. Oh, Lady Fanchette, you do
yourself tujustice. My father and mother, the Hamiltons,
a wel known county family iu your own county will gladly
receive you until the law protects you from the countess,
Nay, let me entreat you to leave to-morrow, J and my
sister will call Jor you ina carriage.”

The reader will pertaps recollect Hamilton, agay young
gentleman, Duval’s companion, when he first went to
iook at Lady Fapchette throug: the tvees at Kendale.

Fanchette played the quadrilies fast and furicusly, un-
knowing what shedid, while Hamilton, completely en-
slaved by her beauty, bent over her and endeavored to
persuade her to accept the hospitality of bis family.

Suddeny Mis. Jonas Todd—green satin skirts, false
emeralds apd all—walked up to the absorbed young pair.

“Miss Ivau,’ she said, *tnis is improper conduct; Us
gentleman, the son of a county gentleman, of high breed-
ig, Can have, or ought te have, nothing to say to a girl
like you. Perhaps, Mr. Hamilton, you are vot awere,”’
continued Mrs. Todd, turning teward the young man,
“that this day I discovered this girl in the Kensington
Gardens on iotinate terms with a gipsy woman.”

“Eiste 1? exclaimed Hanulten,

“Yes,’? replied Fanchette, in a low tone.

“Why, this 1s worse ani worse!’ cried Mrs. Todd.
“You kpow each other; you are intimate it seems? This
is mice, Yuly 1 the kind of persons Ihave mtroduced into
a FeEpeCIaliY house, uuu nade instructress to my daugh-
ters.

 

Jax

oo. 3

enornious chandeliers lighted the hall, each one a jewel!

Mrs. Jonas Todd was a very vulgar woman, and the
polished Hamilton was not accustomed to such people.
His blood boiled, his temper rose, 4nd in an éyil moment
he betrayed the secret of Fanchette.

“The lady whom I have the honor to prostrate myself
before,”? he said, bowing very low to Fanehette, ‘1s the
only daughter of the Right Honorable the Earl gf Ken-
dale; ava you will find her name in the peerage, tlle Lady
Fanchette Germain |’

A wild murmur of astonishment ran like an electric
shock through the assembled guests.

“On, why, why, why, have you betrayed me, Mr. ifam-
ilton ?? cried Fanchette. “My grandmotner will find me
—I shall be sougnt—I 2 ,

Fanchette paused.

Mrs. Jonas Todd smiled a sickly smile, and approached
Lady Fanchette very slowly.

“lam sure,’? she said, simpering, “I feel honored—
honored beyond my powers of expression at the conde-
scension of Lady Fanchette in entering my poor home.
But why have yeu come in disguise? Oh, bad I known,
Lady Fanchette, I would have received you like an honored
guest, the best bedroom, | am sure, wih the blue damask
hangings, and ‘the large pier-glass, and the marble-top
cae kk continned vulgar Mrs. Todd, im her confu-
sion,

Fanchette was far too well-bred, too true a dy, to
show Mrs. Todd that she did not believe her words. She
smiled, bowed gracefully, and murmured low in gentle
tones which sounded very much like thanks.

“And now | am sure I hope you'll consider this house
your home, my dear, darling, beautiful Lady Fanchette,
until such time as your poor pa can hear from yon, and
come und fetch you, Oh, wear, if I had known this
was an earl’s danghter,’’ she said, turning suddenly and
flercely upon Mr. Jonas Todd, a fat, meek man, very
much under his wife's rule and governance, ‘I would not
have sent her to mend all those stockings, but you would
have it. She was impertinent. Men are such tyrants,”
continued Mrs, Todd, bursting into a flood of tears.

“On, my dear, my dear! cried Mr. Todd; “it was I
said there was an aristocratic air about the young lady,
and you said, ‘then it must be put down.’”

“Mr. Todd has been drinking port wine!’ shrieked
Mrs. Tedd. “Oh, what a trial—what a trial for poor,
meek, patient, suffering woman. Men are savages—and
tyrants—and drunkards,’ continved Mrs, Todd, giving
way to a burst of vivlent, hysterical weeping.

“Oh, you had far, far better come awry trom these peo-
ple,’ whispered Hamilten; ‘“tney are dreadful people.”

“I think if they will protect me, I shail do better to wait
until I hear from Captain Duval, who is in communica-
tion with the earl, and only yesterday i gave this address
to E!sie. 1donot know where to tind her to send an-
other. I must wait until I hear from her.”

“As you please, Lady Fanchette,’’? replied the young
man, gravely. .

So it was arranged that Fanchetfe wasto remain. A
great fuss was made over her, the guests tried to restrain
their curiosity, but they coujd not help staring at her,
commenting on her beauty, and crowding about her with
fruits, ices, and other nice things which Mrs. Todd bad
provided for their refreshment.

Fanchette sat apart talking with Mr. Hamilton; from
him she learpt that hia Jriend Duyal expected to be in
London in three days time.

“fle was, and isin a terrible state of anxiety regard-

ing you,’? continued Hamilton; “for it seems he wasin
league with the earl to forward your escape Jong ago. He
is a tine feilow, Duval, true as Steel, bruveas a lion, gene-
rous as a prince.”?
Fanchette colored faintly while listening to these praises
of Duval. The young soldier had never spoken of love to
her, and yet she divine by instinct how deep his feelings
were toward her.

The guests departed at about twelve o’clock, and then
Lady Fanchette found the lady of the house, waiting to
conduct her to that bandsome, best bed-room, with blue
damask curtains and marble-top washsiand, whereof she
baispoken. A cheerful fire was leaping up the cnimney,
and Fanciette thauked Mrs. Todd With as much grace a3
if she had believed her kinun«ss to be genuine; the truly
well-bred never disclose their -eelings Of contempt unless
the occasion be strong enough to demand it.

Down stairs by the sive of the drawing-room fire, Mr.
and Mrs. Tudd were indulging in the vulgar luxury of
brandy and water, now that the guests were gone.

“Do you know Jonas Todd,” suid. Mrs. Todd, turning
her green satin skirts over her Knees so as to Save them
trom being injured by the fire; “ao you know that the
old Cov ntess of Kendale is in London now? and that she
lias offered one thousand pounds to whoever will give her
up her rebellious grandchild aiiye—one thousand pounds,
Mr, Jonas odd.”

“}3 a largish sum,” said Mr. Todd. ‘It would pay off
the mortgages on the housesin Galt Crescent, Mrs. Tedd,
aud it would leave me two hundred in hand for my ex-
pens:s. lwant numbers of new things pow spring 1s
comivg on, and then money is always so very uselul.”’

There Was more talk between the pair.

Meanwhi.e Fanchette slept tranquilly. The next day
instead of being given stockings to mend, Mrs. Toda in-
stalied her in the dining-room by the side of a glowing
fire, gave her albuns, and sketch books, and magazines
to amuse lier, and plied her with questions about the fash-
ions and custums of the great. Fanchette told her a
great deal ubout dinners, dresses, mioves of expression,
and soon, and Mrs, Toud promisea hersell to dazzle apd
surprise her friends wilh her newly acquired Knowiedge,

“Mr. Todd will be bome to dinner at six,’ said Mrs,
Todd, shutiung her goki waich and staring at Fanchette,
“Do you like French. dishes, my dear??? fi:

“Yes,” said Fanchette; ‘swe never dined without them
at Kendale.”?

“On, dear me,” said Mrs. Todd, “I think [ must have a
man couk, my dear.” Ht ; ‘i

A clief,” said Fanchette, smiling; “that is the French

name for a man cook.”
- At this moment came a loud ring at the deor-bell. Had
Fanehette been looking at Mrs. Todd, she would have
seen tuat lady start a guilty start, and blush a guilty
blush; but Fanchette was lookipg ata book of prints.

She heard footsteps on the stairs, a voice that she recog-
nized. The vext moment ihe door opened, and there en-
tered the old, crooked Countess of Kendale, and Miss
Schnell.

Fanchette bounded like a frightened hare, her eyes
flashing, her teeth clenched... The old countess, whose
yich crimson velvet dress, trimmed with ermine, like the
royalrobe of a queen, aroused the envious longings of
Mrs. Toud, shook her jeweled hand at Fancrette, and
shook her head with its gray wig, ifs artificial flowers, its
plumes of white featvers tipped with gold. '

“Ah, L have caught you,” shesaid, “rebel sinner, What
have you cost me? But never mind; anger would be
thrown away en you. Ob, you shall nevor «scape wgain.”

“Mrs. Todd,” said Fanckette, “you are a cruel, wicked
woman. You are like Judas.”

Terror and avguish spoke jouder in Fanchette now than
her mstinets of politeness oy her high breeding.

Mrs. Toad turned toward her lacy and smiled,

“Your gracious ladysiip,” she said, ‘I lost no time in
letting you know.”

“Yeu shall have your money, good woman,’’ returned
the countess, roughly.

Mrs Todd bit her lip with mortification,

“1 am sure it was not the money tempted me,” she said.
“It was a sense of What was right.” ;

“On, then we'll give it to the poor,” replied the grim
old countess, with a bitter smile.

“My lady, Ihave a large family and heavy expenses,”
cried Mrs, Todd, ‘and i shell, yes, f shall certainly expect
the meney au

“Goou woman, hold your peace,” returned the rovgh
old countess, in her masculine tones. ‘i don’t want to
talk about you or your family. I tell you you shall lave
your money.”

“What an old she-bear,” muttered Mrs. Todd, in @ ter-
rible passion, to hersell; but she smiled and bowed to the
countess, :

“Come,” said the countess, approaching Fanchette with
a hood of black satin snd a lurge silk paletot, pul on these.
1 tell you your fate is fixed now.”

“} um resolved,” said Fanchette, hereyes flashing fire.
“Tam as tirm as you, cruel grandmother, 1 will die first
—oh, twenty times over rather. I will refuse lood |”

“Defer your threats, rebel. There now, come along.
Nav, don’t think to struggle. 1 havetwo strong women-
servants outside.”

Fancbette was too indignant to struggle. The two
strong women-servants were outside, and Fanchette, once
more a prisoner, was hurried down the stairs and into
the carriage of the countess, which was waiting at the
door,

Old Miss Selnell was in brown velveteen, as usual,
and she wore a funny straw hat, trimimed with scarlet
ribbons.

“Op,’? she said, clasping the hand of Fanchette with
what she meant for uifection, “oh, my dear little nun,
you shall not escape us again. St. Annunciata claims

ou. You will come and live and adie on the italian
frontier.”

“And diel’? repeated Fanchette, withdrawing her hand.
It seemed to the poor child after that, that all was a whirl
of confusion.

The carriage in which they were rolling through Lon-
don streets, was a traveling carriage packed tightly with
luggage. It went on and on for hours, They were driy-
ing toward the coast.

Sometimes Fanchette seemed to sleep, but if was
nightmare sleep, which refreshed her not, Once, wakin
in the night, she Jound her graudmother’s maid holdi
galts to ber nostriis apd old Miss Schuell chafing hei
tands, She had then fainted. At Guwn she heard the
roll of the sea, and looking out, saw the great gray ex-
pause of the ocean lying chill and wild, and dcSu'ate, un-
der the morning sky. And then sie stepped out of the
carriage and op to a steamer; from tneuce to a cabin,
where she lay ill and moaning. Theu sae was roused
and brought up to deck, and from thence to a bieak
shore. Then another curriage, then a station, then hours,
bours, hours of weary travel. Her sorrow had stunned
her, and she lay half between sleep and waking all the
journey into Iialy. ’

They stopped, at times, at foreign towns, and rested
the night at strange inns; on agail in the Mornlugs, with
the sounds of foreign voices in her ears,

The clime grew warmer as they advanced, Tt was bieak
spring ip Eng'and; bot when the train stopped one even-
ing at sundown, Fanchetté saw a gorgeous sunset be-
hind woods of a faint, fresh green. There was a grove of
almond trees. ‘There was the steep, blue side of a moun-
tain.

They descended anda entered a carriage drawn by
mules, which climbed up the steep mountain-path.

A bell sounded, é ?

“Listen! it is the call to vespers at St. Annunciatal’
said the courtess.

 

 

Roy Pp

 

(To be continued.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

   

 

 

_ ished every one, and, we acknowledge, pleased us im-

 

 

     

  

     
  

 

New York Wee
= SSE pee.

1870.

New York, May 26,

SS ee ~Ne

WwW

TO NEWS AGENTS.
News Agents, who have never received |
EXTRA SHEETS from us, containing their |
PRINTED CARDS, will please send their
Addresses to this Gffice. Weare now priut-
ing another edition of the Shoo Fly, for all
the News Agents throughout the country;
and we hope to be able to give every Agent
a chance to benefit himself and us at the same
time.

 

 

f D CALAMITY.

THE RICHMO2

  

A storm, sending its omens before, gradually over-
shadowing the face of day, or deepening the darkuess of
night, never brings with.it the alarm or the terror which
comes with a sudden tornado, or a hasty thunder gust.

So itis with death. We,watch a friend fading and
passing away, expecting death so long, that no shudder
chills our veins when it comes. Even after a battle which
we knew must be, we count the dead, and. number the
wounded, but say it was to be, andiés, ‘

It is only wien some great calamity in an instant hurls
the arrows of death to the hearts of robust, cheerful, un-
warned men, that the heart sickens in the contemplation,
and every vein seems to congeal with horror.

The daily and local papers have reached our readers with
a history of the sad event at’ Richmond, ‘on ‘the 27th ult.;
therefore we have nothing to do but to join in the univer-
sal sympathy which is felt all over the land for those be-
reaved by this dreadiul event—to say that we deplore the
carelessness which left a building so insecure, or the par-
simony which prevented its being rebuilt, when its great
age alone would indicate a lack of strength. in, retting
beamis and timbers, '

Life is worth more than money—and it is terrible to see,
as-was seen in this case, fifty or sixty able, active men, 2
great proportion men of note in the world, hurried to
death in a second, as it were, with no time. to breathe a
prayer to heaven, or utter a farewell message to the
loved ones of earth.

Let it come to us as one of His warnings, whose will is
power, whose acts are mysterious, but who “Doeth all
things well,’ though often they come’to us in soul-crash-
ing blows. The stern admonition, ‘be ye also ready’ is
heard, and we bow. in sad silence to His decrees. ;

Again we say, We mourn a loss felt allover the land,
we sympathize with, the bereaved, and we hope that all
persons in charge of pubii¢c buildings will hereafter look
to their safety before masses of people are‘allowed to en-
ter what may become literally a slaughter-pen.

> 8
RESULIS,

 

“Tt 6 :

It is pleasing to publishers, and ‘delightful to authors,
to know that works laid by them: before the public, have
done more than merely please that public—have effected
more than a mere increase of the circulation of their pub-
lications—in brief, to know that real, substantial. good,
has been accomplished. t

The great temperance story, ‘‘Out of the Dark,” has, to
our certain knewledge, brought many converts in various
localities to the orders of Sons of Temperance and
Good Templars—it has induced men and wemen to join,
who before reading it, knew nothing whatever of the
workings of those orders.

In Trenton, a gentleman of great influence, fine social
disposition, a scholar, and at one time as fine an officer as
ever sat in the saddle at the head of a regiment, made the
declaration on joining the division, that. by reading that.
story his mind had been awakened to the peril which so-
cial customs threw in his way, and through it he had de-
termined to join a band whose iraternal sympathies
would ever cheer and sustain him in the hour of tempta-
tion. ee es

To say simply that we are pleased with such results, is
not enough; we ave delighted! To Go good to others is
a duty which brings its own rewatd. Ever striving to
make the NEW YORK WEEKLY worthy of the support of
all good men and women, by its elevated morality, its
purity of sentiment, and its love for humanity at large—
we shall push forward, rejoicing as we triumph. :

————_+-@~+—--——-
IMITATION.

 

The power of imitation seems natural to men and
monkeys. This thought flashed over our mind just now,
as we pondered over sundry facts and sougiit reasons for
them.

To explain. One of our writers, whose speciality is that
he draws his pictures from (je, and not from faney;
whose travel by sea and land, iull of adventure and ro-
mance, enables him te describe only what he has seen,
and to tell of men whom he has met, struck a vein of
popular favorin the story of “Buffalo Bill,” which aston-

mensely—for it increased our circulation with a rapidity
which surprised agents, dealers, and even us, who ex-
pected so much from it.

What was the consequence of this? Why, every lite-
rary aspant for public faver—big and little, old and
young—was induced to stand out in our wake, even if
doomed to founder in the attempt.

These writers were at once employed on Indian and

border stories, no matter whether they could tell an In- |

dian from a Chinaman, or an elk from a dromedary, and
the consequence is—what?

We will not say. The people know best. Weare sat-
isfled with owrsuccess—so well Satisfied, that we go on
throwing novelty after novelty, fresh and sparkling, be-
fore our readers, and achieving, as we candidly believe, a
popularity which time cannot. lessen—a popularity at
once delightful and profitable to us.

Especially in the West our circulation. has been quad-
rupled.

This proves satisfactorily the benefit of having writers
who follow life, and take from stories the great objection
which good people have to them—that they take the young
mind into an ideal rather than a real world.

The trapper, the hunter, the traveler, the mariner, the
soldier, all feel at home as they follow the narration—by
the camp-fire, or on the ocean, they recognize dear old
faces and familiar pictures, and their hearts warm with
pleasant and often with thrilling recollections while they
read. But back to our starting pointfor a moment
again.

Believing that, with at least one miilion of weekly read-
ers, we could do a yast good by advocating a cause near
and dear to all humanity, we opened our columns to
Temperance stories. What is the consequence? Imita-
tion in that also: Well, we are glad of it. Itisa matter
of indifference to us what may be the motives which in-
duce others to follow our example—whether it be inte-
rest or a wish to do good—we are satisfied that good is
being done.

Too long have the literary channels of the day been
turned to mere amusement, rather than benefit; and it
is time that the good they can do shonld be done by an-
thors and by publishers.

We Shall thus continue to set good examples, and
while rapidly moving on to our pre-determined goai—a
weekly circulation of FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND copies—
we shall rejoice to see each of our best points followed
and imitated.

—_—_——_ >-9-<-—_____-—_—-

A large number of stories are now being prepared for
the NEw YORK WEEKLY. Such as “Diamond Collar,”
“Crimson Room,” “Little Buckshot,” “The Man in

Blue,” and ‘£1,500 Reward, Dead or Alive,’? by Prof. W,.
A. Peck.

hair, a sweet little mouth and rosy cheeks.

 

 

 

nn nn pe ae cone

——e

 

 

BY ELLA WHEELER,

 

‘Tis said when we shall go across tile river,

Whose bridge is death, and gain the other side,
There in that land with God, the mighty Giver,
The heart shall evermore be satisfied.

And yet sometimes I cannot help but wonder
How I can live in Heaven without your love,

How live, rejoicing through all time, I ponder,
And not have you even with God above.

We bear such things on earth, for we remember
That iife is but a little while at best.

Its passion, Summer, but precedes December,
And in the grave we say, there will be rest.

But after death, time stretches with no limit. +
Your Jove, no time can ever bring to me.

{s Heaven so bright this shadow eannot dim itt
It seems so long, that strange Eternity.

How could my beart and soul change so completely,
That Zshould never think of this up there.

Butin the angel choruses join sweetly,
Nor ever feel this gnawing grief and care.

How vast God’s love; how vain the skill of mortal
He did not mean that we should understand,
Until our feet had crossed the shining portal,
The things so deep, and fathomless, and grand.

And He has made a Heaven—a place most holy,
For His redeemed to sometime enter in.
And there is room for al! the meek and lowly,
Whose faith through sorrow hath washed out all sin.

And I believe when we shall cross the river,
Whose bridge is death, and reach the other side,

There in that land with God, the mighty Giver,
Our hearts shall evermore be satisfied.

HAL MARTIN'S CHOICE.

BY CONTENT WHIPPLE.

“Let me see, Hal, I believe you are twenty-three to-
day, are you not?”

“Pxactly;” and the young man leaned carelessly back
from the table, and indolently picked his teeth.

They lived ‘alone together, he and tis father. Wis
mother had been dead lor several years, and he was an
only son.

“Tt is‘full time you were married, Hal.
think so??? continued his father.

“Well, yes, I suppose so, though I amin no hurry at
all”?

-‘Well, I say it’s time you were married. You will go
to ruin surely, if you don’t have some woman to look out
for you pretty soon. Isuppese you’ve got your eye on
some pretty girl, havn’t you, eh ?”?

“No. Ican’t say that have. I’ve flirted with a good
many girls in my short day, but have come out heart-
whole and fancy free.’

“Well, you must fix upon somebody atonee. Let us
think over the eligible young ladies of your acquaintance.
Of course she must be rich.”

“And handsome,” put in young Hal.

“OQ yes, handsome, of course. Now, there is Miss Hig-
gins. . She is worth a cool hundred thousand in her own
right.” ;

“And you eall her handsome, do you? with her long
nose, sallow face, and thirty years. Don’t mention her
again,’ and the young man’s face wore a very disgusted
expression.

“Well, there is Miss Weeden. Her father is worth half
a million, and, of course, she’ll receive a handsome mar-
riage portion.”

“Yes, and she wears false teeth, and simpers to the
young men. She won't do at all.”? i

“Well, there is Miss Withers. She is sole heiress to all
her uncie’s property, as Much as two hundred thousand, |
and itisn’tany way Jikely the cld man will live long.
And I’m sure she is avery fine-looking young lady.”

“Pine looking! She weighs two hundred, if she does a
pound. No, sit, you don’t get me tied to her.”

“Now [ must say, you are a liard chap'to suit,” said old
Mr. Martin. “If you expect to get a perfect beauty and an
heiress, too, I’m afraid youll miss your calculation,
Well, what do you say to Edna Green? She’s got a snug
little properiy, or will have one of tiiese days. Isn’t
quite as rich a3 Miss Withers, but as to that will do very
well. Now you can't find a fault with herlooks. She’s
as pretty as anew-blown rose.” '

“She is pretty enough, I'll admit,’ said Hal, “but she
is undeniably flat. I never could endure her insipid
ways. I should hang myself in less than one cue

“Well,” said the old gentleman in despair, ‘I’m dis-
couraged of trying to suit you. Oh, by the way, I have
itnow. There is old Judge Lincoln’s daugnter, little
Emma Lincolp. Ti she doesn’t suit, 1 shall givew
tirely, and leave yon to your own devices.” ¢

“Emma Lincoln, Einma Lincoln,” said the youn
musingiy. ‘Ob, Lremember ber. She spent
son in town, I believe, with the M ‘gs... Her fat
sides at his county-seat the yearr@und, doesn’t he

“Yes, and heis as rich as Croesus, I think. Sne
only daughter—i tell you what, Hal, there’s the
for you. Whatdoyousay? I’m Wellacqaainted w
judge. He’s one of my old friends. I can introdu
there.” ti fitset :

“Pll think of it,?? said Hal, coolly. 2 \

“I'll give you just five minutes to make up your mind,”
said Mr. Martin, taking out his watch.

“How you do hurry a fellow. t's see, Sh2 is pretty, I
believe, quite. I’m not at-all acquainted with her, but I
remember she didn’t put on airs; she conversed very pret-
tily, and danced and played well.” ,

' The young man fell into a 4itof silent. musing.
“Time’s up,” sung out Mr. Martin, with energy..
“Well, father, I guess 1’!1 have her, that is, if i can get
” : ok BY : : ,

 

Don't you

Tr. :

“No trouble about that In the least. I'll make: it. all
straight with the judge, and you may settle matters wiil
tne girl yourself.” :

“1 don’t want to have anything to do withit. It’s bur-
densome. - Jf you can make the proposal yourself, and
the judge and the’ girl are both willing, why then Pm
ready to get married, but I shal! tet 1t all drop right here.”

“You lazy Séamp,?? said Mr. Martin, ‘(I wonder you can
take the trouble to breathe. Well, Pll see what can be
done about it.”

Judge Lincoln was sitting in his luxurious parlor one
evening, when‘a letter was handed him by the servant.
He read it, with a ctirious expression of surprise and sat-
isfactiGn, and, & moment after, sent for his daughter to
come to him.

A pretty litle creature was Emma Lincoln. Graceful
and well formed, with loving brown eyes, and soft brown
She had been
brought up in the country, and thus she could boast of
sound lungs, and of excellent health and spirits, qualities
which are not always possessed by city belies.

“Emma,” said the old judge, as his daughter entered,
“did you ever see young Hal Martin?”?

“I believe I met him once or twice when ! was in town,”
said the girl, growing a Shade rosier. “Why do you ask,

apa???
r Stow did you like him?’ queried her father, without
noticing her question. S ?

“He appeared very gentlemanly; but I did not become
much acquainted with him,’? said Emma, evincing still
more embarrassment.

The truth was, Hal Martin had been Emma’s beau ideal
of manly excellence since she met him in the city, and
though, asslie said, she did not become much acquainted
with him, yet he had a more prominent place in her
mind than she, herself, was aware of. Her mother was
not living, and her father had always been so exclusive
that she had made the acquaintance of but few geutie-
men in her life.

Her season in the city was an era in her uneventful ex-
istence, Something for her to think of; and handsome
Hal Martin was the most prominent feature in her
thoughts. She had’ scarcely heard his name mentioned
since, and it was n0t strange that her heart should beat a
little quicker at her father’s unexpected and abrupt ques-
tioning.

“T have justhad a letter from this young man’s father,”
said the judge, “and he asks your hand for his son in
marriage.” ; ’

‘My hand,’’ gasped Emma, sinking into a seat; ‘‘what
do you mean, papa?”’

“Just what lsay. Young Martin wants to marry you.
Here, read this letter.”

Emma took the letter, and tried to read it, but a blur
came before her eyes, and she could see nothing but the
words: ‘My son—your daughter,” and his name, ‘Au-
brey Martin.”? She handed it back in silence.

“What do you say to it, little girl’? asked her father.

“I don’t know, papa; it is very unexpected.”’

“J should think so—I should think so,’”? sald the judge,
chuckNng and rubbing his hands. ‘Old Martin is worth
no less than a hundred thousand, at the least calculation;
and that son of his is worth another hundred thousand in
his own right, so ve been told. I don’t Know anything
against the young man. He’s probably rather wild, like
other fellows; but a wife will soon cure him of that ten-
dency. Whatdo you say, Emma? Shall I invite the
young scapegrace here on a visit?”

“Just as you please, papa,’ said Emma, her heart beat-
ing wildly.

Accordingly, the judge penned a few lines, to the effect
that he would consider Mr. Martin's proposition, and
meanwhile, he should be happy to see the young man at
his residence. _

“Hang it all!” said Hal; “I don’t want te go down there
a courting. In all probability, I shall get sick of the girl,
if I see her very often.”’

“A pretty idea, that,’ said his father. ‘‘What do you
expect to do when you are married to her?”

“OQ, well, }can do asI please then, and shan’t have to
talk sentimental nonsense all the time; and if I begin to
get ennuied, I can leave, you see. But before a fellow is
married, he has to carry himself pretty straight, or he’ll
get a walking-ticket.”

‘Well, there is no help for it, asI see. You have had
an invitation to go there, and you must accept it, or it
will be all up with you. As for the girl, she is every way
right; and if you don’t have good success, it will be all
your own fault.” $

So the next day saw Hal Martin enroute for Lincoln

 

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

villa.
our hero from his conversation,

He was really a noble-souled young man, but was
almost spoiled by being a great favorite with every body,
and having no one to advise him judiciously. Strange
to say, he had never beeninlove. He liked the society
of the ladies, and sometimes would be partial to one for
a while, and sometimes to another. But all that he n&d
ever had much acquaintance with were so frivolous that
he soon wearied of them. He supposed, of course, that
he must get married, and as his experience had taught
him that anintimate acquaintance with young ladies
caused one to dislike them he thought the better way
would be to marry some one whose appearance pleased
him, without becoming very intimate with her. After
that he supposed he should get along about as other peo-
ple did. Hal's lifeof wealth and luxury had not devel-
oped any very strong traits in his character. He had
never thought very deeply, because he had never been
obliged to, and he was as yet entirely unconscious of his
own powers and capabilities,

He was received by Judge Lincoln very cordiaily, and
by the daughter with a blushing tinidity, which he could
not but admire, and his gentiemanly deportment, and
honest, open manner, won hia the judge’s good will at
once,

The wooing was notaprotracted one. Hal madea
few pretty speeches to Emma, made his proposal to her
father, and Jearned her answer through him; and then
hissing his promised bride good-by, and holding her
hand 1n his for a little minute, he took his departure to
prepare for the coming nuptials.

Emma did not feel quite satisfied. Somehow it did not
seem as she had imagined it would to be engaged. Hal
had not even told her that he loved her; indeed, had
hardly adverted to the engagement, It wasa regular
business affair, and net at ail suited to her mind. Still
there was a strange noveity about it.

Hal had always. been her hero; she almost wor-
shiped him now in. his. new characier, and the
thought of being his wife was bliss incomparable. If she
could have beeu sure that he really loved her, she would
haye been entirely happy. Butadoubtof that found
place in her heart, and site could not feel at ease,

Preparations went on fora grand wedding. Hal made
flying visits to Lincoln Villa once or twice every week;
and though Emma, looked forward to his coming, each
time with wild delight, and wouid always hope for some
token that his love was equal to hers, She always felt a
vague disappointment after he left; for his pleasant,
good-natured indifference never satisfied her.

The important day at length arrived. Hal was in the
best of humor, but mis little bride, with. her wildly beat-
ing heart, felt un inward excitement that he could not
possibly have ne

The ceremo
and the granc
Hal, smiling
chums as an
regarded wi
ladies, who | t
of wiiming H fart
After a wedding trip to the White Mountains, the happy
couple settled down to housekeeping in an elegant man-
sion on Filth avenue. With aspitndid fortune between
them, young, handsome and admired, their society was,
of course, eagerly Sought after by all, and a round ofballs
ahd festivities followed in rapid succession, in which they
must, of course, participate. Emma would have liked far
better Lo stay at home with her husband in quiet, but Hal
evjoyed going, and so she, of course, acquiesced. — ,

On evenings when there was no party to which she was
invited, Hal would go away tomeet with some of his old
associates and leave heralone. Several weeks had passed
away, and as yet sue had not had one whole evening of
her usband's society alone. ~ ;

Hal was not unkind, but he was indifferent. He did not
dream of the treasure of love stored away for him in the
heartof his little wife.. Be judged her feelings by his own,
for she Was an undemonstrative litle body, and was not
given to telling just how she felt. ae,

One evening Hal was preparing to go out, when he’felt
a little soft hand laid on his. Looking up, he encountered
a pair of wistful brown eyes belonging to his wife.

“Are you going out to-night, Hal?” she asked, timidly.
“1 thougnt I should, aj you want me-to go?”

 
  
  
 
 
   
   
  
   

€ congratulations received,

off with the greatest eclat.
was pronounced by his
fellow,” and Emma was
epest envy by. the young
ir fascinations to the task

“Certaly, ifyou can evjoy yourself better than at home.
But, do you kbow, Hal,d don’t hardly feel asif1 was
married, I see so litte of you,’? and a moisture gathered
In the sweet brown eyes. ©

It suddenly oceurred to Hal that perhaps his wife missed
him when he was away se much. He had hardly thought
of it before, and he felt a pris Pane, of self-reproach.

“T declare, I wouldn't 9 this evening,” said he, “if I
hadn’t promised the fellows: I'd be there. Til stay at
home ‘with you some time. You won’t mind it this even-
ing, will you??? 7 Beast

“You mfust 20, iy all ‘means, if you have promised,”
said Emma. “if 1 am somewhat lonesome, I can get
along, t guess.” }

She brougnt him his hat, and brushed. off a little dust
that was on his coat, and as fe started to go, she threw
her little soft armis around his neck, drew bis face down
to hers, and kissed him. It was the first time she had
done-so, and Hal went away with a very warm spot in his
heart for that little wife of his.
Somehow the club-

     
    
   
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
     
 

  

active as usual
that his com-

 

ter dad jibes

 
 

at bY the work-stand, with ber back
ing very busity. She did jet see him tilt he was close be-
side her, and tlien she staited and put her work behind
her.

" «You naughty boy,’ said she, smiling and “pouting,
“not to let me kaow Witéh you camein. Did you forget
something, Hal?’? :

“No; 1 got ured of the club, and thought ’'d come home
ana see you.”?

“Did you?”

The brilliant light that animated her countenance told
im of how much consequence his coming was to her.

“What were you making, Emma?’ he asked. “You
have excited all my cusiosity.”’

She held her werk out to his view.

“They are almost finished now, and I don’t care if you
do see.”

It was a pair of beautiful slippers that she was embroid-
ering.

«These are for you,” she said. “Do you want them?”

‘Do I want them? They are the prettiest things I ever
saw. When did you make them?”

«I have worked on them evenings when you have been
gone,”’ was the answer.

Hal felt another pang of self-repreach. We had left her
alone evening after evening, and she had occupied that
time by working for him. de ‘

Hal had a heart, a very warm one, too, and his pretty
wife was fast finding the waytoit. Such a lovable little
creature as she was. Every minute Hal feit himself more
attracted to her.

They satup that evening until quite a late hour, and
Emma entertained him with her conversation as no wo-
man had ever entertained him before. He was just be-
ginning to get acquainted with her. She had always been
so bashful and timid that hehad not seen the most at-
tractive points in her nature,

The next evening, When Hal returned from business,
his wife met him with her sweetest smiles, and everything
looked so cheery and home-like, that he had but little de-
sire to go out. Whatever intention of the kind he had
cherished was banished wholly when Emma moved her
chair to his side, rested her natid on ‘his knee, and said:

“O, Hal! you can’t think how good it seems to have you
at home [?

For the first time since their marriage, he took her in
his arms and kissed her passionately.

“Hal,” said she, “Pye beem practicing a new song.
Don’t you want to hear it?”

Hal was very fond of music, and she had been learning
it purposely for him. He saw through it at once, and of
cvurse signified his wish to hear it: It was asweet little
song, something abvont domestic life, and applied very
nearhome. She wasa bedatiful singer and player, and
she entertained him some time with her music, Then they
had another social chat, aud before the evening was over,
Hal was passionately in love with his wife, as he had
never dreamed he could be inlove with any woman.
‘There was a fascination about her perfectly irresistable,
and for the first time in her life. Emma listened to words
of love from her husband. :

Day after day passed by, and the charm increased, rath-
er than diminished.

One evening they received an invitation to a grand
party. Emma gave the note to her husband as he came
home at night. He read it, and looking up at her, said:

“J wouldn’t give a pinto go. I would much rather stay
at bome with you.”’

“Would you?” said Emma, delighted.
deal rather stay at home than to go.””

And so they stayed at Tome and enjoyed each other's
society.

They did their courting after they were married.

Years passed away, and Hal Martin had never ceased to
be a lover, and Emma never ceased her efforts to retain
his affection. '

The little ones that were given them served to increase
the union between them, and nothing ever had power to
mar the harmony and confidence between them.

SR
ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL STORY.

  

“J had a great

 

We shall siiortly commence the publication of a delight-
ful. story of the heart, entitled “Trug as Loye Coup
MAKE HER.” The story is quiet in tone, dealing with the
everyday pursuits of the humble, treating of the strug-
gles and sorrows of the working classes, their toils and
troubles, their patience in adversity, their unassuming
nobility when sorely tried. Tue character of the beauti-
ful heroine is finely portrayed. She is good and gentle,
pure and devoted—in fact, “true as love could make her.”
We think that this story will please all our readers; but
with the ladies it cannot but prove an especial favorite,
as it delineates with rare fidelity the purity, lovingness
and devotion of a true woman,

 

 

My readers must not form too poor an opinion of

To Correspondents.

Gossirp WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.-—
Hamlet the Dane.—1st. The application of water to the head will
do the hair noinjury.. You should keep all parts of the head as
clean as you do the face. If more water and less gresse were
used on the head, there would be fewer cases of baldness atan
early age. 2d. Keep the flesh detached from tbe nails by run-
ning the blade of a pen-knife around where the tlesh and nails
connect, and by frequent bathing in warm water. 3d. The
humming sound is caused by the rapid rotation of a wheel
which controls the striking. 4th. An easterly exposure of a
room on the Atlantic coast, isthe worst in ail seasons of the
year. The reason of this ig that east winds are always more
laden with moisture than winds from other quarters............
Crescent City.—1st. Your best course to make the discovery would
be to advertise ina Paris paper. 2d. Chocolate, prepared from
cocoa, the fruit of the theobrama cacao, is a mild nutritive
drink, and is a good article of diet for convalescents. As it was
prepared by the Aztecs the Spanish conquerors found 4 a relish-
able drink—a single cup of it being enough, 1n their estimation,
to sustain a manthronugh the longest day’s march. Butas itis
prepared for use among us and Europeans, it is an article
which had better be left alone, Itis common with us to add to
the chocolate sugar, sago, starch, ete., and the addition of these
articles to the chocolate involves that of coloring matter that
the genuine color may be imitated, and for this purpose reddle
(or rea chalk), venetian red, umber, annatto, and in a few in-
stances the highly poisonous metallic salts, cinnabar and red
lead, are Known to have been employed. Itis not at all won-
derful that this composition does not agree with weak stomachs.
3d. Bookkeeping can be learned without the aid of a teacher.
You can buy works on bookkeeping at any store where educa-
tional works are sold A Constant Reader.—By applying
to the court hefore which you made the declaration you can
get a duplicate of the lost paper.......... Pet.—The lock of hair
which you sent is of a bright auburncolor........ Yonway Castle,
—the castle at Conway, in Wales, was founded by King Edward
I. in 1283. The king was besieved in the castle and nearly
siarved into a surrender in 1290. The walls of the castle are
from 12 to 15 feet thick, and are entirely overgrown with ivy.
ns ota ..-Naturalist,—We know of no such work as you ask for,
butyou can find many interesting details in Sys and Spence’s

 

.

‘Introduction to Entomology.’ ‘ y J.—Write for
particularsto Francis M. Finch, Secretary Board ot Trustees of
Cornell University, Ithaca, Rgcea Caweet bi G. J. Meeks —In the
state of New York adultery of either party is the sole cause oc-
curring afier marriage, for which a divorce from the bonds of
matrimony can be granted. Itis, however, provided thatsen
tence of imprisecnment to State prison for life is civil death, and
the husband or wife of such imprisoned person is at liberty to
marry again without the necessity of any judicial action. Im-
prisonment for aless term than tor life merely suspends civil
rights, but does not destroy them; and the convict, upon expi-
ration of his term, resumes his marital’ rights............ Johnny
Reb.—-|st. The gentieman’s name is Cornell Jewett. We believe
he received the title ot “Colorado” from ‘tbe interest he mani-
fested in pressing the claimsof the Territory of thatname. 2d.
The lady, we understand, is a native of Spain...... B.—No.......
R, A. G.—Read aloud and watch the intonations of your voice.
Where you. find that you make false or disagreeable intona-
tions, repeat the sound until you bave discovered where the
fault lies...... H. F. B.C. I. W.—In the United States, copper
coins are legal tender to the extent of five cents, silver to rhe
extent of five dollars, and gold to any amount...... Schwartz.—
Ist. We cannot vouch for either the skill orm ity of the
person named, as we know nothing about him beyond what
hisown advertisements state. Our advice to you isto seeka
good physician, and tollow bis advice. 2d. We cannot furnish
the New York WEEK Ly for 1861, either bound or unbound......
Washiugton.—It is not usual for ladies and gentiemen on being
introduced to shake hands, but it is not impolite for them to do
so...Maud Carroll.—ls:. We know nothing whatever of the firm.
2d. We think that with practice you will become a writer of
more than ordinary ability...... Inventor.—If there be a machine
for turning the pages of music, we do not know ofit...... Clare
St. Clair.—“The Beautiful Rienzi’ was concluded in No. 3, and
“The Lady of G | Court” in No. H, of the present volume of
the New York WEEKLY...... Leonidas,— Nick Whiffles” was re-
pubhshed in 1867... We cannot furnish the numbers in which it
appeared....).Buy Mare—Chamomile flowers taken in small
amounts aid the digestion, but are injurious when used to any
extent, as uiey thin the blood 2nd* deérahge the stomach......
£, Rk. M. G.—The; best thing et fo mae is to go to an infant

  
 

school. Babics are.not competent to marry...... Loose Creek.—
As we find no place by the name of. Brayle in any of our rail-
road guides, nor in Lippincott’s Gazetteer of the World, we are
unable fo tell you how to reach it...... Ela G. B.—Ist. .We must
decline supplying inquirers with the address of our contribu-
tors. 2d. You can get the. story in book-form by applying to
G. W. Carleton, N. ¥. 3d. The reason why a lamp burns beiter
with than. without a chimney, is that a current of air is made
to pass upward on the exterior of the flame, which supplies
the combustion with the necessary oxygen-to produce a white
light. Previous to the invemion by Argand of the. cireular
wick and chimney for lamps, the smoke and smell arising from
the burning of oilin lamps had long banished them from the
apartments of the weaithy...... Francis Greeley.—ist. Quacks.
2A. The object of. the Place named isto make money for the
proprietors... -2filler.—Ist. The verses are commonplace rhyme.
but there is net a line in the sixty-four which Is poetical in ex-
pression. 2d. English gold com is purer than, ‘American. In
tne United States the gold. coms are one-tenth alloy, while in
England they are but one-twelfth. 3d. A British guinea is
worth $4 8 in gold Bost st You can do nothing at all.
Society has prescribed that the man shall do the wooing, and
that the woman who speaks of a love which she feels before the
man has made a declaration is guilty of mmmedesty. This rute
may be somewhat unjust, but we advise you not to break it.
2d. The lady will do wrong if she marries the aan without first

eeecee n.——!

, 2~DEX5 2 oC) oe
SAO

heart of some more auscopeihle FAIF. ONG oo s.04ss Bentley.—Yes.!....
Weekly Reader.—You should notdesert your mother, no matter
what your wife may say. Your mother being old and unable
to take care of herself, you would be no true son did you desert
her. If your wife insists on leaving you because you will not
permit your mother to starve, the sooner she leaves you the
better it will be for you...... J. W. Z.—Apply to the American
News Co. ....Jack Tar.—Ovcasionally vessels trading between
this port and Asiatic ports nake visits to New Zealand, but we
cannot te!l you where or when you ean find a vessel bound for
New Zealand......Wells.—1st. There is not the least wrong in
marrying a first cousin. Physiologists have proved, beyond
dispute, that the cry got up about idiocy, insanity, malforma-
tion, etc., resulting to the offspring, is without foundation in
fact. 2d. “Beautiful Ate” will be published toward tne close
ot the present volume. 8d. Your penmanship is good, but not
up to the bookkeeper’s standard...... A, #. B— The Flower of
Suda,’? which will soon be commenced, hasnever yet appesred
in any book or paper....... Uperator.—All quacks. ..... ngineer,
—Iir you want to be an engineer you must apprentice yourself
to learn the trade. Apprentices are tuken at ali ages from
twelve to seventeen....obert.—American News Company... .
Jack.—We caunot give the information...... Take the Weelly.—
There isno way that hair canbe removed but by shaving or
scissoring. Any depilatory which would be powerlul enough to
destroy the hair would burn the flesh, and leaye a bad scar....
Johnny Roach.—I\st, Both works are good, ani if you become
thoroughly acquainted with either you will understand the the-
ory of bookkeeping well, 2d. Your writing is not quite up to
the bookkeeper’s standard. 3d. The plainer writing is the hanad-
somer it looks, and the easier itisto read. 4th. We think yon
must be mistaken in your statement that the word “‘indestrnet-
ible” is spelled “indestructable” by the authorities of any col.
lege. There is no authority for any such spelling....... Window
Shades.—Ist. See answer to ‘‘Ixion”’ in No, 26. 2d and 3d, Quacks,
4th. The surest cure for corns is to burn them out with caustic,
and then to wear shoes which do not pinch the fect. 5th. ‘The
penalty for bigamy in the State of New York 1s imprisonment
for a period not longer than five years. 6th. Thesentence “win
dow shades hung and cleaned” 1s perfectly correct. The word
“hung,” in this place, means “suspended.’”...... Jacl Shepherd.
You had aright.to ask for an explanation of the slight put upon
WOO. itis Rena Smith.—We decline forwarding the address of a
notorious quack,...... J. W. Carruthers —You wriie a very good

BOG... sits The following MSS, have been accepted, and
will be published in the New York Werxiy; “A Memorr.” ‘The
Children of the Streets,” “Swinging m the Orchard Trees,”
“Annie Sheldon’s Christmas. Present,” “One Glass More,” “A
Felon’s Story,” “A Wish,’ “Lis Home where tie Heart is,”
‘‘Asleep,’”’ and “Some of Uife’s Mysteries. .... ...:-The roliowing
are respectfully declined: “Lines in Memory ot Miss E. ©,”
“Farewell to the Muse,” “My Childhood,” “Mrs. Livingsion’s
Governess,” “Married at Last,” **A Stray Thought,” “Witte Him
Poverty Was no Crime,” ‘What I Love,” ‘John White, a Lad,”
“A Word for Temperance,” “Farewell Address,” “The Dog’s
Repentance,” “June,” “Without and Within,” “Ont in the
Storm,” “Conteniplating,” ‘tA Maiden’s Dream,” **A Man of the
Period,” “They are Gone,” “My Resoli tion,” *Lines,? “Cease,
Oh, Cease to Tempt,” and ‘Farewell Address.”

> O-<

Jehial Slab's Remarks.

Silent judgment, my friend, is the heaviest judgment you wilh
ever be caUed to bear,

In the distance, many a man looks the harmless kitten, and,
as you approach him, proves the offensive skunk.

Pay your bilis promptly. If you give your grocer long wait
ue muy be very certain he will deal you,shoit weight in re-
urn.

_Mentally, as well as physically, food can be too concentrated.
That bread is always best for health that has bran enough in it
to digest it easily.

It you go off in winter, even to a religious meeting, and leave
your family without bread or wood in the house, they will suf-
fer, no macter how carnest your devotion or strong your faith.
The Lord don’t accommodate such laziness with either ravens
or manna now days.

Young inan, betore you take hold of business, resolve that no
Matter what comes,you will always give conscience fair play. If
you don’t, no matier how firm yourgrasp, something will, soon-
er or later, be pretty sure to hit your fingers such a rap that
you will have to drop, “The Almighty never allows such to stick
long ata time, save in exceptional cases. And such cases are

 

 

generally found to be thus favored only because He is reserving
pen oe use as a sort of. judgment on some of the rest of the
wicked.

- Hereis aman.—You can draw knowledge» from him as you
draw water from _awell. As often as one buckettul comes up
another runs in, .Do you know why? He has only jJearned the
secret of mental well-digging—gone down till he tapped a2 vein
running out into the boundless revelations of Naiure.

But here is another.—Draw from him at all largely, and you
soon exhaust him. He isa cistern—a reservoir merely—brickee
and mortared away from all these veins of Siving water. Every
greatemergency exhausts him, and then there 1s no other way
for it but to shut doy aee Cover, den up iu his library, adjust
_the ne and court another drizzling book-rain to recuperate
imself,

 

a
AN INKLING.

Negotiations are pending with one of the most eminént
of writers, and next week we hope to be able to pusitively
announce the engagement of an American authoress
whose reputation is second to none—whose numerous

 

 

 

 

informing him that her teeth artificial, Itis not probable that
the fact of his lady love having artificial teeth would change
his purpose, but the deception would certainly cause him to
hold ber in less respect. 3d. Your handwriting is poor......Z
A. X,-—Ist. You write a good hand, but it is not quite up.to the
bookkeeper’s standard. 2d. The Corneil University. 3d. The
gentleman shouid be in advance in entering a place of amuse-
ment, so that he may make a passage for his lady, find the seat,
RO 2. os rs Kanter.—Ist. Your handwriting is up to the
bookkeeper’s standard. 2d. The circulation of the New York
Week ty is 300,000. We know nothing concerning the circula-
tion of OSeDOEaEY. papers, but hope they are all doing well..

0. K.—We can give you no information on either point....
J. O. H.—Medicine would be entirely useless to your friend,who
will probably find himself in a lunatic asylum if he does not de-
sist......Hammeraway.—You write a good hand....Sammy Jones.
—ist. Candidates for admission to the Naval Academy must be

a

 

-| able to read and write well, and speil correctiy, and do the

ground rules of arithmetic. The candidate must be between 14
und 18 years of age..... D. D. #.—We have not seen the act to

‘hich yeu refer, consequently cannot answer your are >Hhiy
Stock Raiser.—Any person whois twenty-one years of age and
a citizen of the United States, or whoshall have filed his decla-
ration of intention to become a citizen, is entitled to enter 160
acres or @ less quantity of public landon paying $10 to the reg-
ister of the land office in which such entry is to be made. No
patent for the land will be given until the expiration of five

7

 

years from date of entry. If it be proven that dur-
toy these five years the pre-emptor has abandoned the land
for a greater period than six months at pr, time, the land re-
yerts to the government..... liza Smith.—The best way to get
the situation would be to advertise......C. Manning.—lst. The
city of New York is estimated to have a population of 1,000,000
atpresent. 2d. Youshould ask herin person. / Letters of invi-
tation are only permissible When business, or other circum-
stances render it impossible for the gentleman to give the invi-
tation in person. 3d. If you want to present a signature that
cannot be read, we advise you to follow the epecimen...... Nor-
wals.—A notorious quack concern......: H, J. &.—We cannot in-
form you why itis that stars upon American coins have si
points, while those on the flag have but five. Perhaps some one
of cur readers may beable to give the reason ior wbis diversity.
ees Philip Fishel.—The only way in which you can obtain such
privilege isby personal application to editors. “e doubt, how-
ever, your attaining the wished for position, as all pupers which
indulce in theatrical criticism employ at least one gentieman,
who is persohally responsibie for everything which appears un-
der that heading in the paper....Briest.—Take more exercise...
Miss J. H.—We publish no charades, enigmas, or puzzles. Did
we commence the publication of such matters our columns
would soon be over-run with them......... Velocipedestrian.—Ist.
According to the census of 1860 the church membership of the
Unired States was about 9,000,000, of whom 3,000,000 were Catho-
lics, 200,000 Jews, and the others the different Protestantdenom-
inations. 2d. You write a good hard....... La Mothier.—The gen-
eral news agents do not give credit. The business is conducted
on strietly cash principles........ Press,—\st. Clara. Augusta, you
will notice, continues to furnish an occasional letter from “Aunt
Jerusha,’’ and poems and sketches to our columns. 2d. Your
handwriting would be good did it not have an appearance of
unsteadiuess. 3d. Paralysis has in few cases ever been thorough-
ly cured, and no one but a skilled physician cun undertake to
express an opinion of the probability of a cure, and he only after
a caretul study of the case........ Charles E, Mason.—We have
stated time and again that we did not endorse the character of
those who advertise in our columns, and that where we know
an advertiser to be a rogue we will not publish his advertise-
ment. We knew nothing of the character of the firm to which
you call attention when the advertisement appeared, but have
since become satisfied that the firm isan unworthy one, and its
advertisements shall not again appear in our columms..........
Robert Newton.—Ist. We know too little of the “colony move-
ment” to advise you. 2d. We do not answer questions by mail.
3d. Your handwriting is good. 4th. The summer s on is the
very worst time to think ot getting a situation in New York.....
I. C.—The worst kind of quacks.......: Samuel Sayer.—Neither

specimen of writing is good. Both are tar below the bookkeep-
er’s standard..........2 4 Constant Reader.—ist. You might make

a living, but it would be a poor one, surrounded at all times by
hardships and dangers. 2d. Gamein plenty is to be found in
the vicinity of the headwaters of the Yellowstone. 3d. The dis-
tance by land is about 2,000 miles, and by water over 3,000......
Antoine,—You write a very good hand.... .Indiscretion.—Quacks
DOLL, 5 dna > Awkward,—There are books published on etiquette, or
the forms prescribed by society; but you can get no work that
will teach you to be gracetul.
observation of the manner of those you accountgraceful........

     

L. E. P.—We must decline accepting your offer. sess Lam.—Iist.
See answer to “F. P. J.” 2d. Apply to a doctor for advice......
Clarissa, Parslow.—it will be very difficult tor you to get any in-

jon concerning vour son unless you can discover to what
company i the $list Regiment lhe was attached. If you are ac-
quainted with any of the members of the regiment they might
pe able to inform you in what company he served and the name
of his Captain....... William B.—Your writing is fair........ J. L.
Paterson.—The composition is very good indeed for a youth of
r age. With more experience and a greater power of ex-
ssion, Which education will give you, you may become a
writer of eminence. .Jake-—Not that we are aware of......
De Lilia.—Iist. At present it is utterly impossible for us to add
to our list of contribut 2i..You bid tair to become in time
a popular writer ofsketches. 3d. Your handwriting is good....
Troublesome Inquirer.—ist. Your sister’s claim cannot be set aside.
As your father died intestate, his expressed wishes go for noth-
ing. 2d. Your brother-in-Jaw has no right whatever to take
charge of the property. Your mother should administer upon
it. The lawis, that where a man dies intestate—-that is, with-
out leaving a will- power to administer upon his property must
be granted in the following order: Ist, to his widow; should
there be none, then, 2d, to hissons; should there be none, then,
3d, to his father; 4th, to his brothers; Sth, to his sisters; 6th, to
his grandehildfen; and 7th, toany other of the next of kin. 3d.
The claim made by your sister will hold good after the dower
right of the widow has been satisficd—that is, a one-third inte-
rest in a'l real, snd one-third absolutely of all personal proper-
ty belonging to deceased. The estate must then be divided
equally among the children of deceased. 4th. We should sup-
pose that the paper would reach you before Saturday, as we
mail it on Tuesday morning of each week. if there be a news
agent in your town, you will be sure of getting it regularly
should you order the paperfrom him. 5th. The fact tnat you
are especially pleased with “Faithful Margaret” and “Leighton
Homestead,” shows the necessit¥ of our publishing stories to
suit different tastes. That which meets your hearty approval
may be dullreading to another. ‘'The Locksmith of Lyons” is
read wiih avidity by one, and “Leighton Homestead” by an-
other, One reader revels in scenes of adventure, and another
delights in fireside pictures and domestic delineations. To meet
the approval of these different tastes has been and is our en-
deavor. The number of ous readers proves that we have not
failed. 6th. We have in hand and will shortly publish a beauti-
ful domestic and love story, “True as Love could Muke Her,”
which will, we are positive, entirely suit your taste........ E. i.
A,.—Ilst. We know nothing of the person named, but advise you
to ask any druggist or physician in your town as to the man’s
standing in the profession.:.... Anxious Reader.—A quack........
John Alexander.—ist. We are sincerely sorry that it is not in our
power to give you the information which is of such vital im-
portance. 2d. We know of no proper way in which you can
form acquaintance with a modest woman other than by intro-
duction. 5d. Because they like them..... «-...Disappointed,—

uacks..........4 Manufacturer.—The cost for a copyright is $1.

he office of the clerk of the southern district is in Chambers
street, in the building formerly used asa theater...... Harry E.
S.—Your penmanship isgood...... W. B. 0.—De you try to make
yourself agreeable by lively, pleasant conversation, and by pay-
ng her as much attention as possible? If you have tried these,
and they have failed to make an impression on the lady’s heart,
‘we think you had better turn your attention to besieging the

  
   

   

 

 

 

works, both in book-form and in literary papers, have
proved invariable successes, admired alike by all classes.
The lady to whom we refer has contributed to popular
journals several most attractive serials; and, aware of
their great popularity, we are now endeavoring to secure
ithe exclusive services of this gifted writer for the New
‘YORK WEEKLY. Should our efforts prove successful, the
‘lady’s name will be announced next week.

> oe

Items of Interest.

4~ Some port-wine was recently analysed in Stoning-
ton, Coun., and wastound to contain oxide of lead, sul-
|phaiic acid, and various Coloring und astringent droga.
The whisky which was examined by the same chemist,

 

 

You must acquire that by close:

Was made up of sulphuric acid, lead, iron and iusii oil.
The gin consisted of lead, sulphuric acid, oil of juniper,
oil of turpentine, sugar and other ingredients. Whut a
vile compound! Aud this is what people smack their
lipsover!. a © 9% 4 pes ee

#a- An important improvement in the mannfacture of
horse collars bas just been devised by a Philadelphia me-
Chanic. The collar being stuffed with elastic cork, Is
Hghtin weight, aud adapts itself to the sbape of the ani-
mal ag readily as ifit was moulded, Itis bighly elastic,
does not chafe or gall the neck, and the cork being a non-
conductor, injury trom the leat is prevented.

Ba A train composed of all the locomotives and rail-
way carriages in Europe would reach from St. Petersburg
to Paris, and would contain 400,000 passenger carriages,
and 500,000 luggage vans. The railways of Eurepe are
carried over 62,000 large and small bridges, and go through
34 miles of tunnel. ee

4a At Bradford, Eng., a cat recently gave birth to five
kittens, allof whiciwere united by a sort of band, which
grew, as it were, out of each of their bodies. One of the
kiltens was severed from the rest, and is doing well, as
are all the others of this remarkable concatenation.

sax Leading Chinese firms at Portland, Oregon, have
issued a card to tne effect that they will prosecute all
persons guilty of imposing upon the Chinese, in the mat-
ter of collecting taxes or enforcing illegal demands of
any kind, or in case of any wrong done them.

£a> Slight causes sometimes produce sudden deaths.
A Michigan farmer who insulted a resident of Jackson,
in tat State, one day last month, was struck by him on
the side of the head with the palm of the hand, and fell
dead.

4as> Aman in Texas lately committed suicide by taking
poison. There was nothing very extraordinary in that,
but he left a note requesting that a knife be buried with
him, ‘so that if he came to, he could cut his way out.”

Aa The stocking of a little child who fell ont ofa
second-story window, in Newport, Vi., recently, caught
in the fastening of the blinds and held her until she was
rescued.

4a> A young man in Pennsylvania deliberately cut off
his loot, recently, and when asked why he did it, replied
that we are told if our hand or our foot offend us, we
should cut it off. The mutilation proved fatal.

4a> A Providence letter-writer, disgusted with a post-
age-stamp for which lie fad paid nis last three cents, and
having no gum within his rcach, secured the stamp to the
letter with a pin.

aq A family in Dunkirk, consisting of father, mother,
and seven Children, celebrates the birthday of one of its
members in each mouth from April to December incla-
sive,

£a3> lil-treatment of the mother-in-law by the husband
is one of the grounds upon which a divorce is asked by a
lady in Richmond, Va.

£ay> Alady who was injored by the failing of seats ata
circus in Oregon City, Oregon, has recovered $3,009 dauma-
ges from the company.

£3 A San Franciscan wiio sued the city for $190,000 on
account ofthe death of his daughter, who was ran over
by a fire engine, has recovered $5,000, .

fq Atlast a cable is talked of to join the American
Continent and the Chinese coast, by a straight line across
the Pacific ocean.

So A London firm of photographers have purchased a
small steam yacht, and will sail fer Egypt, to photograph
the principal objects of interest in the land of Pharaohs.

S@- Somebody in Kansas, the other day, ate three
pounds of raisins on a wager. His widow got the money.

sa The galley-slaves in the Papal States are fed ex-
clusively on fish and-corn flour.

4a~ An omnibus, propelled by steam, has been used in
the streets of Edinburgh, with satisfactory results.

4ay- Seventy-seven different kinds of rice are cultivated
in India.

aas> The Siamese twins have not spoken to each other
for a month, owing to a difficulty about receipts.

4g A portrait of Cromwell was lately sold in London
for $5,000.

4a> An Indiana couple aggregate 1,277 pounds weight.

a3 A Cincinnati lady has hair ten feet long.

‘ #@~ Harriet Hosmer is chiseling the Queen of Naples,
> +
ANOTHER

GREAT STORY BY A GREAT AUTHOR.

Our friends will be delighted to learn that we have in
our possession another new story by the author of ‘Peer-
less Cathleen” and “The Lady of Grand Court.’? We
hope to be able to announce the title next week, and defi-
nitely state when its publication will be commenced. It
is fully equal to either of the stories above named, and,
like them, must prove a decided success.

 

 

 

onan iain wan

 

 

 

 

 

 

it ia

 

  

 

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Var,

 

 

 

 

{Yrs

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

me

 

 

 

 

 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a

 

WOGCING KI??¥ CLYDE. ee

 

BY HATTIE.

The moon bung low in eastern sky
When I set forth my fate to try.
“Til go to pretty Kitty Clyde,

And ask if she will be my bride.”

The sweet girl stood beside the door,
Where honeysuckles clambered o’er;
She, in the moonlight, looked so sweet,
T knelt at ence at her dear feet.

“O, Kitty Clyde, sweet Kitty Clyde!
Say, wilt thou be my own dear bride?
Wilt share my lot through all your lite?
Wilt love me, Kitty—be my wife?”

oe

The sweet girl looked more sweetly stil},
The moon was climbing up the hitl;

I knew my suit wotld prosper now,
Por smiles were spreading to her brow.

She spoke! O, voice like summer wind!
It conld not apsiwer me less kind,

Her very accenis I repeat:

“Stand up, dear John, upon your fcet.

”

Yet still I knelt, I would not stand

Until she'd promised me her hand.

Her voice it now my soul enchants:

“Get up—you'N spoil your new white pants.”

Angrily I sprang upon my feet,
And thought to make a quick retreat;
The moon was shining o’er the hill,
And gaily sang the whippowil.
“Parewell! farewell, Kitty !’? I said,
Crushing my hat upon my head; +
Angry as Mars, I turned to go,
When Kitty’s yoice ia liquid flow,
But brought me fo her feef again,
Bound fast in love’s sweet, mystic chain,
“Why do you hasten, John, to go?
I did not to your suit say “Wo.

Joyful, I clasped her willing hand,

- But loosed it quick at her command:
“T did not scorn your suit, you know,
But then, I've got another beay !”
“Pil hate your faithless sex-through time,
TPiiseorn you all in prose and rhyme !”
“Tush, hush, dear John, you needn't go,
TElisack the other chap, you know.”
O, Kitty Clyde! sweet Kilty Clyde!
She jaid*her cheek my own beside,
I kissed her lips—she kissed again ;
Love swept our full hearts o’er like rain.
I asked her then to name the day,
She gently pushed me quite away.
“T think, dear John,” she quaintly said,
“That [ shall live and die a m aid.”
She could not anger me egain,
Her pretty ruse was all too plain;
And last night, when the world was still,
snd summer moon hung over the hill,
We stood before the pastor gray,
And Kitty gave her name away.
She’s mine to-night, my loving wife
Sweet Kitty Clyde is mifie for life!

—>-O—~<

WHO DID |
LADY VIOLET
MARRY?

OR, THE

Mystery of the Black Diamond.

By HELEN CORWIN FISHER,
AUTHOR OF “THE UNLOVED WIFE,” THE CURSE OF KY-
ERLEIGH,” “WOLF OF VIGNOBLE,” ETC.

- —_—_—_—_-— ; -
(“Lady Violet? was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers
ean be obtained from any News Agent in the United States}.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BLACK DIAMOND.

At last, Eleanor saw the strangely pallid face of the
young creature whose deceit she had compassed so ¢nn-
ningly. it was deathly pale and still, and a certain wild-
ness of expression made the great black eyes seem big-

ger and blacker taan ever. AAD
Unsmilingly Lady Violet held up her little white hand

\ from which, at Hleanor’s suggestion, she had removed,

before her departure for London, the diamonds that
usually glittered there. They had been strangely suc-
ceeded. f

Upon the marriage finger was a single, curious\y
wrought jet circlet, set with that rare stone—a black
diamond. Tt was that which the duped bridegroom had
placed there when he repeated after the priest, **Witn this
ring 1 do thee wed.” Oniinous seal of that solegin com-
pact about whicen the clouds of mystery were already
thickening to blackness. ‘

Eleanor Lyle barely repressed a shudder, as she said:

“It was a mistake, of course; and a very silly one.”’

“It seems to. me like an omen,” said Lagy Violet, in an
awed voice; ‘it reminds me of those lines we were trans-
lating out of the Monk’s Book. Don’t you remember bow
we laughed at them, Eleanor? They began, ‘Whose face
her bridegroom hath not seen, and we thought such a
strange tiling could never be, but ir 7s now.”

“What nonsense,’ exclaimed Miss Lyle; “if you mean
yourself, Conway has seen your face.”

But a strange thrill crossed her, as she remembered that
the man Lady Vivlet had really married had Indeed never
looked upon her face.

“Not as ny bridegroom,’ responded my lady; “it fills
the prophesy. ‘Whose face her bridegroom hath not
seen,’ it says, and the rest is worse. Do you remem-
ber it???

Miss Lyle shrugged her shoulders.

“] dian’t know you were superstitious, Violet.
remember the lines.
ties, though.??

“So I thought at the time; but listen,” and Lady Violet
repeated: ‘* ‘Whose face her bridegroom hati not seen.
Who hath not golden wedding ring.’ She held up her
finger with its black circlet.

“°Pwixt wifehood and her bridal day
Death lurketn all the treach’rous way.”

Eleanor shivered in spite of herself, while Lady Violet
Slowly remvved. the ominous ring from her finger, and
hung it upon that slender gold chain sne Wore at her
threat, the same which hud held ker sister’s miniature.

“[ wonder if Daisy’s picture went to make room for
this??? she said.

Hieanor Lyie rose and kissed her, hurriedly.

“Don’t be fanciful, my dear,’’ sue said; “lie down and
resi, try to sleep a little, your nerves are jaded, and so
are mine,’ and she quitted the room.

Eaglescliffe haa once been a monastery, and its first
lord had been brother of tue monk who was abbet.

When the beantiful abbey, with its rich lands, was taken
from the Church and given to the one brother, the other
refused to quif its walls with bis cosupanions, and it was

that the first brother connived at his remaining.
The Monk’s Book had been handed down from this abbot.
aud was said to chronicle withia its pages the future of
that family to whom the monastery had passed forever.
Some remarkably tulfiiled prophesies, it was said, haa
emanated from its sacred leaves, and tne book itself, writ-
ten On vellum, Cased in the richest velvet, and clasped
with gold, was one of tne most treasured of the Eagles-
cliifte nereditaments.

its oracular utterances were in Latin, for the most
part, and the fact that, one day laughingly testing its Sy-
pilline leaves, Lady Violet, with no knowledge of the
language in which it was written, should have selected
this particular passage to be translated for her, and that
it should now bear this superstitious seeming of applying
to her, waS enough to give two girls, with their nerves
already overtaxed, queer sensations.

They had come home in the gray of the morning, and
Eleanor Lyle having bidden Lady Violet take some rest,
sought her OWN apartments for fhe same purpose, but
slumber was far frem her eyelids.

Sne had succeeded. Alone and unaided, her single
wits had battled, cheated, outwitted the three of them;
but, in the hour of her assured triamph, she did not feel
triumphant.
seemed to haunt her still, her foreboding voice to ring
in her ears,

“Conway shall tell me who his masked companion was,
the first time we meet,’ she thought,

And then she smiled a little scornfally to herself, to
think how cleverly the trickster had let himself be
tricked.

“He will guess nothing,” she mused, “till he sees Grace
Elroy or Violet. ‘The first he’ll be likely to avoid as long
as he can conveniently. The second I will try my clever-
hess to keep him from meeting.’

The Earl of Eagtescliffe returned home the third day of
his absence, at evening. Eleanor and Lady Violet were
at dinner, and the earl, instead of joining them, sent a
servant to say that he would await them in the library as
800N as dinner was over.

Sudden terror almost deprived Lady Violet of her
senses.

“Can he have discovered all?” she thought, with a
half shudder,

Eleanor also showed aslight discomposure and agita-
tion, but neither spoke, the servants being in the room.

As they entered the library, each repressed an excla-
Mation atthe change those few days had made in Lord
Kaglescliffe. His hair and flowing beard had turned
white, and the gray pallor of his face, the broken expres-
sion of his countenance, was indescribable.

He gravely gave them both seats.

“I received the morning { went to London,” he said, “a
letter from my eldest daughter, (thus he called her,

I don't
They were a tungie of impossibili-

Lady Violet's great, somber, awed eyes.

pe—<
coe

>

 

 

 

44 etre

 

 

 

though sue was only his step-daughter, Lady Vioiet’s half-

sister,) Marguerite Dupont.’ {

He paused. j

Lady Violet, forgetting everything but that beloved sis- |
ter—Daisy she had always called her—rose from her |
chair, and approached him with outstretched hands, The;
earl glauced at her, straightening himself a little.

“Marguerite Dupont is dead,’ he said, with a ghastly
convulsion of his anguished face. '

“Dead ?? cried Lady Violet, in an utterly stricken voice, |
her hands falling heavily to her side. ‘And you never}
told me? You never let me see her once more? I who
loved her so? Oh! I loved her better than anybody |
did.*?

The earl drew her into his arms and bent his head.

Late that evening, Lady Violet came suddenly into}
EBleanor’s room, the horror which had come into ber eyes
af the announcement of her sister’s death, still darkening |
in them. ;

“The Monk's Prophecy has begun to fulfil itself,’ she}
said, in ah hysterical whisper, ‘‘whose death ao you}
think wiil ¢ x{—yours or mine, or Conuways—or :
papa’s? Whio knows ??

Belore Eleanor co
ment, she t
to follow her
“Pm nots
riper, ms

ewhi

    

    
 

speak, in the shock of the
itted the room. Eleaner started
e back With a pale
s,?? she Said’ to herse
Poow.9?

 

 
 
 
  

     

      
    
    
    
   
       
     
 
  
    
 
  
  
 
       
  

and ca
til

 

“but to

 

    

     
 

i tear.

se, Lord Eaglescliffe ask-

time a pre —namely,

attempt, or permit any al-
rview or comiutiuication

 

 

   

way.
prise, Lady Violet at once gave
3rvt she within herself, that noth-
ing could be mor e for her plans that this agree-
ment. ib wonid:s > per nO liftie, anxiety concernipg
these two meeting, and discovering how they had been
tricked.

Lady Violet detected her surprise.
Imarked, with singular gravity:

To Miss f

the premise.

 

 

 

But she merely re-

“T have kept my promise to Vane. Now,I mean to do
what Ican to earn papa’s forgiveness, which Iam not
sure I shail ever deserve, do as I may.”
_ Afterward, she asked Eleanor if sie woulda not write
and tell Mr. Conway lew matters stood, her promise.and
her resolve to keep that promise. Shé was sure he would
see that her first duty was to her father still.

*He would soon show you, how littiehe regarded any
duty but that dae himself, if you’ were Yeally his wife,”
thought Eleanor.

“Very well, I will write as you desire,” she said, to
Lady Violet, and stooping suddenly, kissed her.

Lady Violet drew back angrily: ‘I wish yen wouldn’t,
Eleanor, it looks as if you pitied me; and I don’t want to
be pitied.’

Miss Lyle wrote sometbing to Mr. Conway, but it did
not have the proposed effect of Keeping him away from
the Cliffe, but the contrary. He came down at once, to
see for himself about his standing witn the heiress and
prospective countess. He had indeed stayed away longer
now by some weeks than he had intended, and Eleanor
was beginning to wonder, ;

Naturally, he did not presume to present himself at Ea-
glescliffe openly, but he hung about the grounds, watch-
ing for Lady Violet or Eleanor, but not daring to accost
either when prying eyes were about. ;

Eleanor knew he was near. Several times she might
have gone to him when he showed himself to her ata
distance in the shrubberies, bubthongh herheart thrilled,
she affected obliviousness, and would not be lured to an
interview.

She was argus-eyed,'meanwhile, lest he should succeed
in communicating with Lady Violet, and intercepted sey-
eral notes, of which she said nothing to any one.

 

CHAPTER V.
THE GIPSY FIDDLER,

One fair morning in the late autumn, my lady came
statelily down the grand staircase, the snowy folds of her
dress brushing the statues as she passed, and the painted
light from the long range of stained windows falling
about her.

As she stood a moment on the terrace, her father joined
her. There was anew deference in the bearing of his
lordship toward his queenly little daughter—a change in
the gay, imperious girl.

“Had the sweet vivacity of youth forever departed ?”
the earl wondered. “Is it her sister’s death that has
changed her so, or had she already learned to love that
Villain so mach??? And he mused as he watched the pale,
statuesque face. “Any way, she isa brave, good girl to
promise me to see him no more without my consent.”

Little be knew what he was talking about.

“My dear,’? he said, anxiously, “Captain Evelyn is
coming to call upon us this morning, Shali you mind?’

“T shall be very happy to see him, papa, Iam sure,”
the young voice said, quite firmly, and with an attempt
at cheerfulness,

Tue earl looked relieved.

“ft don’t think he will tire you much; and he is the son
ofsuch an old friend. At present the heir of the nearest
estate to ours, too, you know,” he added, with slight
wistfuiness,

“Lady Violet lifted her clear, straight-forward eyes.

“I dare say I shall like him very well, papa. I hope
you won’t expect anything more.”

Lord Eaglescliffe averted his eyes. He understood her.

Lord Edward Evelyn was the possessor of the nearest
estate adjoining the Cliffe. Lord Evelyn of the Nest, he
was called, and this was his favorite seat, though not so
large as another in Devonshire. He had.recently married
a young wife, which assured somewhat Captain Eve-
lyn’s prospect of becoming lord of the Nest.

Fatner and daughter were lingering still on the terrace
when the expected visitor came sauntering slowly up the
avenue, a-foot, instead of on horseback.

He was tall, dark-bearded, tawny-complexioned, with
bright, restless, brown eyes, :

My lady watched him idly as he mounted the steps, and
properly bent her stately head when ke was duly pre-
sented by the eager earl. But at the first sound of his
voice her wondering eyes flashed like two suns upon his
face. She looked away again instantly. There was noth-
ing familiar in that face, singularly handsome as it was.

A curious smile just crossed tne bearded lips of the
young soldier as his bright eyes fell upon Lady Violet;
and the earl, observant of botn countenances, looked his
surprise. ;

“{ think I have seem Lady Violet before,’ explained
Captain Eveiyn.

Both the earl and his daughter looked up questioningly.

“IT was in the woods when my lady chastised the gipsy
fiddier; and Lshould have asked to shake hands with
ler on it, on the spot, if you had not rode away so
fast. Will you shake hands with me now, Lady Violet;
and accept my thanks and congratulations?”

Lord Haglesciiffe flushed uneasily, and looked disap-
proving. My lady bit her scarlet lip at the brusqueness
of her new acquaintance, but she laid a littie jeweled
hand in the brown soldierly palm frankly enough.

The episode of the gipsy was one of those outbreaks of
my lady’s wayward temper, which it was not pleasant to
her father to recall.

Riding together the morning before, father and daugh-
ter had come upon a gipsy fiddler, drilling his dancing
dogs, and one little grimy, half-starved boy, who was
turning somersaults and executing various wonderful
flings upon the turf. The fellow was partly drunk, and
belabouring dogs and boy anon, in a style that made
every pulse of Lady Violet’s impetuous heart bound.

Without waiting for her father, who had stopped to ex-

 

 

amine something on the road, the excited girl drew rein,

mo-;

SHE LIFTED HER JEWELED

a

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

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and ordered the gipsy to leave off beating his troop. The
fellow only laughed in her face; and the boy, a yellow-
haired little lad, with big blue, hungry-looking eyes, stared
at her in solemu allright, stopping the performance mid-
way for that purpose, and getting a rousing kick from his
master in consequence.

That was too much for impulsive my lady. She lifted
het jeweled riding-whip, and struck the man one stinging
blow across the face. He turned, with the ery of an infu-
riated beast, and sprang at her bridle, his eyes glaring, his
lips afoam. ;

Lady Violet did not lose her se!f-possession for a mo-
ment. Neither did she strike the man again. But wheel-
ing her herse dexterously, she brought the boy on the

' other side, and stooped -from the saudle one little gaunt-

letted hand. The boy caught ab it, touched my lady’s
dainty uncevered boot with hisbare feet, and climbed
lithely up to a seat behind her. dirt, rags, and all, where
he perched, grinning at his infuriated master in the ela-
tich of bis novel po nm.

That wa
lescliffe
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oy i a dive from his perch.

“Tt want the boy to wait on me,” said
fally, and pulling off a ring fue

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p did not glance at him a second time, as

out he did not offer to tou

| we swent a with a word totitle lad, who ran a liftle

Vv after her,stopped end lodked back, run on i

j stepped a second tinie, and then with both diz a

} his eyes, tore back to ‘his. gipsy \yrant and his brothers,
the dogs,

That wos the end of it. Nether coaxing nor hiring
could temptthe little blackampor to leave his master,
greatly to his young champion’s disgust, and secretly to
the earl’s immense relief.

“Diamond rings are not just the sort of largess to fling

 

 

  

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yy a . “that I should have
give sson if Lady Violet bad not.”

He net add that the scenp nad haunted him—that
the thought of my lady’s superb young face, transfiguréd
with generous rage, had scatcel¥ been out of his dreams
or his waking theughts ever since,

For obvions reasons, Lerd Eaglescliffe chose that the si-
lence which had so'long shrouded the fate of Marguerite
ron eg should continue impenetrable, now that she was

ead.

All went on outwardly, therefore, as though nothing
had happened.

At an early day, after the arrival of Lord Evelyn and
his bride at The Nest, father and daughter went in an
open barouche to call upon them.

Lady Violet was locking more like herself than she haa
for weeks. A faint coler tinged her delicate cheeks, and
she had taken exceeding care with her toilet. Her elas-
tic temperament had begun already to rally from the de-
pression of the past few weeks,-and something like the
old brilliancy shone in her vivid face and luminous eyes.

Captain. Evelyn escorted them back to the Cliffe on
horseback, and on the way, who should they encounter
but Vane Conway, who burst uponthem suddenly from
a clump of trees by the wayside.

The effect of this apparition upon all three was start-
ling in the last degree.

The dark, fascinating face, with ifs shining black beard,
was strange to none ofthem. Lady Violet grew whiteas
death; Captain Evelyn’s cheek flushed and his eye flashed;
the stern old earl looked straight before him with glitter-
ing eyes and leonine head erect.

Conway, himself most self-possessed of apy one, bent
to his saddle-bow, as the carriuge with its mounted es-
cort swept by.

Only Lady Violet faintly inclined her head to him, and
Captain Evelyn, catching the brief salutation, hastened
to say, with the slightest possible inflection of sarcasm:

“I beg your ladyship’s pardon, and yours, my lord. I
was not aware that Mr. Conway was honored with your
acquaintance.’?

“He is not,” responded the earl, with extreme hau-
teur.

“T presume you know he isa relative, and has the next
chance after myself of becoming Lord of tlie Nest,’ re-
marked the captain, carelessly.

“I was aware of it,” responded Lord Eaglescliffe, in a
manner that did not invite continnance of the theme.

Meanwhile, Lady Violet managed covertiy to remove
one of her delicate gloves, pass i, unobserved through an
aperture ina blind, and waving it slightiy, dropped it
upon the road. Vane Conway, watching the receding equi-
page with eyes of glittering wickedness, saw and gal-
loped presently to the spot.

He laughed gayly as he pressed “the Jittle perfumed
gauntlet to his lips, and then hid it carefully in his bo-
som.

“I’m ahead of you still, Captain Roy,” he muttered; “it
shall go hard, but that I stay so.”

As he mounted his horse and galloped away, he said to
himself, complacently: ;

“T have only to manage to see Lady Violet once, and
my business is done. it’s the only salvation tora fellow
whose exchequer has run so confoundediy low as mine,
and a royal salvation too. I don’t suppuse there’s an-
other such heiress in the three Kingdoms,”

“She has given no heed to my letter; he mused, “but
her agitation just now, and the’ little glove prove that I
am still monarch of that precious heart. 1 will write ner
once more, an appeal that would move a stone woman;
and I know she is not that.’

Eleanor Lyle was alone in he*own apartment when
Lear burst in upon her with this very redoubtable
epistle.

Miss Lyle guessed what had happened, and rose with a
pale face.

“I didn’t promise not to read his letters; Lonly promised
not to write to him,’’ Lady Violet said.

“He is very genérous; he claims nothing. He does not
even mention that which giveshim the right to claim
everything from me. He only entreats to see me once
more in language that it’ breaks my heart to read.”

Eleanor pressed her hand to hey heart to still its throb-
bing. Lady Violet was so young, so fair, it was only natu-
ral that he shonld love her.

“Well,’’ she said in a faint voice, and without looking
up, ‘‘you will of course immediately obtain your father’s
consent to see him???

“T shalldo nothing of the sort,” said Lady Violet, quick-
ly; ‘“‘you Know well enough, Eleanor, that I should not
dare ask such a thing.”

“You will then go without his consent?"

Lady Violet drew her slight form hanghtily erect. “You
only say that to vex me,’ she answered, passionately;
“you know that I would not break my word, if my heart
broke in keeping it.” Was Lady Violet's training an-
swerable for this sensitive regard for the truth which
contrasted so painfaliy with that act of wilifal disobedi-
ence a few weeks before? Y

Eleanor Lyle’s gray eyes glowed with secret relief at
Lady Violet’s decision.

‘Shall [see Mr. Conway for you, 7, ?? she asked,

    

in a voice of suppressed eagerness.
‘If you only would, Eleanor; and

 

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yet to the trick she had played bim, or he would have

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spoke so just now; you are too good tome. Everybody is
too good tome. 1 think Vm the worst girl that ever
lived; yes I do,” and the bright, dark eyes filled with pas-
sionate tears, us

“Heaven may look tenderly on the rest of us then,”
murmured Eleanor with averted face. ‘*What shall I say
to him for you?’? .

“IT have no heart to senc him any message, but of my
love; and he could not well doubt that now. You know
all that I would say if I could—l think you know better
than I do.??

CHAPTER VI.
GRACE ELROY.

Vane Conway was waiting at the lower end ofthe park,
where We saw him first. He knew that Lavy Violet had
received his letter: he fels as sure of her coming to meet
him as he did of being at the appointed spot himseif.
And now, here was Eleanor Lyvie instead.

Ss Lyle’s face was pale before. But an angry crim-
son rose in elther cheek, as Conway came scowlingly for-
ward, and said:

*Ti’s you, is it?

“You expected Lady Violet ???

‘**} did,” was the irritated response. ‘“‘What then ??

‘Nothing, only you cannot see her—nvow or at any time,

 

 

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; While her father and | are able to guard her from you,”

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ieanor answered, quietly.
She judged from his manner that he had got no clue

taxed her with it, the first thing.
“Sothat is how the land lies,’ he said, harshly. -‘I
ugnt you understood, my girl, that that line was

iyed out between you and mea good while ago. What
have you been telling Lord Eaglescliffe ?’*
“Lord Eaglescliife needed no telling from me. He un-

He appealed to me to
assist him in separating you and his daughter. I prom-
ised to do allin my power, and I shall keep my word,”
she answered, firmly.

“IT could swear you would—for your own sake, more

  

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ACROSS THE PACK,

than tis or hers, thouga. confound it!?? be erowled;

| “nothing ever does go right with me, and the worse it

goes, the better you are suited. There’s a woman’s love

for you)?

poe gray eyes flashed fn the gloom, but she said
nothing. — : ‘
“There was that marrying scrape now—and if ever
nything Was well contrived, that was.”

“Yes, it was well contrived,” she said, watching him
with somber glance. ‘What has gone wrong ?”

Conway passed a slender hand twice over his pale face,
before lie answered.

But deeply as the shadow of the trees and coming night
felt about him, she saw how white his cheek grew.

“Grace Elroy is dead!”

If he had struck her, Eleanor Lyle could not have
shown more consternation. She stood staring at him
blankly, as though she had seen a ghost.

“How was it?” she asked, at last, a strange fright and
anxiety in ber tone.

“There was a fire,’? he answered, moistening his dry
lips. “She might have been saved, but she was obstinate,
One of the firemen dragged her to a window, where there
was a ladder, she resisting him all thetime. She tore
away from him, at the last moment, and threw herself
into the thickest of the flames. Snecame of a heaa-
strong set,” he added, as if he found consolation in the
assertion.

Eleanor’s eyes dilated with horror. ‘

“Conway,” she asked, with a sudden, half-fierce ener-
gy, “when was this? Six weeks ago? No wonder you
did not show your face here sooner. Six weeks ago, Lord
Haglescliffe was summoned to London bya leiter from
his step daughter—Marguerite Dupont. He came back,
and seid Marguerite Dupont was dead: 9nd that three
days’ absence had aged him more than any ten years in
all his life before. No wonder--no wonder—no wonder,”
she wailed. ;

Conway recoiled involuntarily before the wild accusa-
tion of ber tone.

“What do you mean?”’ he faltered.
rite Dupont to me?”?

Eleanor crossed her hands upon her panting chest as if
to Keep down the tumult within her.

“Marguerite Dupont was your victim,”’ shesaid, ‘Oh!
Vane, Vane, I understand at last, poor Daisy Dupont and
Grace Elroy were one. It was you who beguiled that
wretched girl and broke her mother’s heart."

He hung his head. The frightful fate of his victim was
yet fresh enough in his mind to affect him so much.

“Does Lord Eagiescliffe—does Lady Violet know?” he
asked, in a low voice.

“I presume the earl knows. His daughter sfiazi know,
if you make it necessary for me to tell her.”

“Who was the man that poor girl married that night?”
Fleanor asked, after some moments silence. Sne haa
reason enough to want an answer to the question.

“T shan’t tell you,”? was the sullen answer.

“Why not?”

“Lady Violet got my letter; I saw it go into her own
hands. Why didn’t she come?” he burst forth savagely.

*“Pecause, if you must know, she has promised her
father to see you no more without his consent. You
know, perhaps, whether she is likely to have that, and
whether she is a girl of her word.”

Conway muttered an oath, as he came out of the shadow
in wliich he had been stanq@ing.

“See here, Nelly,”? he sald, something like tenderness
in his tone, “I’ve treated you badly, but you know as well
asI do that, if we had. money enough betwveeu us to put
the thing through, Ud marry you to-morrow.”

“T doubt it,’? she answered, scornfully. “If I were
queen of England and there was any chance for a bigger
inatch, you would strike for it.”

ieee know we can’t marry on nothing,” he said,
sulkily.

“{ know that you lied to me the other night; that you
did not mean to keep faith with me then; I Know that
you do mean to marry Lady Violet, if you can outwit me.
Try it and see if you can.”

He saw the importance of conciliating her, and madea
desperate effort.

“Nelly,’? oh! so fondly, and bending the eloquent light
of his dangerous eyes upon her, ‘‘won’t you kiss me and
make up? You have known I was a bad fellow all along,
but I’ve always loved you.”

Eleanor caught her breath, and clasped hier hands con-
vulsively. In ner heart she believed that in spite of all—
and bad as he might be—that he did love her. Ifshe was
patient, might not all come right yet?

She let him kiss her, and watched him go, afterward,
with eyes in which gloom contended with passionate
tenderness. Then she went slowly away to the house,
thinking enviously:

‘Tf I had Lady Violet’s money, be would marry me to-
morrow. And 1 knvw we should be happy.”

As Conway left her, he was muttering:

“It is only one more to be outwitted, and Conway’s not
at the endof his rope yet. Confound it all, if 1 only had
those papers Lord Eaglescliffe holds over my head! It’s
dused hard to have to work with one’s hands tied.”?

‘“However.”? he added, after a pause, “if Nelly don’t
spliton me, I think [can manage yet. Death! how tnat
woman loves me! You’re a confounded fool for it, too,
my lass. Poor Nell!’

Miss Lyle stood a moment on the terrace, watching
with wrapt interest the tableau in the luxurious dress-
ing-room. It was not yet dark'out of doors, but the ser-
vant was just setting aglow the chandelier, and the win-
dows were still unshaded by their siiken draperies,

Lady Violet was at the piano, dressed as usual in white,
with a bunch of forget-me-nots in her long black curis.
Eleanor could not see her face, but her sweet young voice

‘What is Margue-

 

 

rang out on the night’s stillness, carolling “‘Auld Robin
Gray,’? while her lather upon one side and Gilderoy Eve-
lyn upon the other liscened and watched her like people
entranced. Just as the servant dropped the curtain be-
tween her and the trio, Eleanor saw Lord Eaglescliffe lift
a slow, thoughtful glance to Roy Evelyn’s handsome, ab-
sorbed face.

She turned about, and stood in thought a moment be-
fore she entered.

“Poor old man!? she murmured, ‘He would like those
two to marry, and he is building hopes upon the pros-
pect. It’s a weary world!” she sighed, as she envered
the house, and hurried away to her own apartments,

Lady Violet joined her late in the evening.

“Did you see him?’ she questioned, anxiously.

“Why didn’t you wait till to-morrow morning to ask
me??? responded Eleanor, tartly.

Lady Violet glanced at her tiny jeweled watch.

‘“f had no idea if was so late,” she said; “don’t be
cross, Eleanor. Captain Evelyn was here; and you know
T could not leave the drawing-room while he was there.’’

“Yes, I heard you singing away as though you had
never seen Conway. You might have made an excuse.
Youll have Captain Evelyn making love to you next.”?

Lady Violet’s dark eyes filled with hauteur, as she an-
swered, angrily:

, ok did not come here to be Tectured,
1im ??

“f saw Mr. Conway—yes, if that is what you mean,”

Lady Violet stocd turning the sparkling stones on her
white fingers, her large eyes downcast.

“What did he say ?? she asked, ina low voice, ‘“Didhe
mind my not coming—much?”

“Enough. He isn’t a stone.’?

“) was afraid of it, and Lady Violet lifted her dark,
wistful glance to the other’s face.

She was in reality so young, and she looked it at this
moment as she did noi in her haughty moeus.

' Eleanor’s ill humor dissolved as she met those great,
melancholy eyes, and remembered upon what unknown
séus this poor little tempestuous giri’s bark was already
launched.

».*He could not blame you. He did not. It was best that
you did not go. There is a lifetime yet to see him in,’
rstie said, soothingly.

CHAPTER VII.

Kt:

hi LADY VIOLET’S ROMANCE.
« Vane Conway still lingered in the vicinity of Eagtes-
clitfe, sill kept his quarters at the hotel in the town, @
ew mileszuway. Believing that the young heiress loved

im, he was firmly resolved not to depart without seeing
her.

Between her father, whom he felt he had good reason
to fear, and Miss LyJe, whom he imagmed he had hot
the least cause to dread, he found this no easy matter.

Lady Vivlet never rove out alone—not even alone wi
her groom. Miss Lyie, Lord Eaglescliffe, or Captain Eve-
lyn always accompznied her.

Hiding in the snadow of the trees, sometimes, as she
passed with Roy Evelyn, Conway fingered his pistols
nervously, and wished he dared send a ball through the
head of the handsome young guardsman, but he Sad
sense enough to know that it would be a very foolish ana
dangerous performance, much as he envied him nis op-
portunities at her side, his welcome in the half-royal
mansion from whose portals he was barred, by his own
folly, too. If hehad been more cautious, Lord Hagiesciiffe
would never have suspected what he was about, and tue
beautiful, high-born, inevitably-wealthy child might huve
been safely snared in his toils by this time.

As he thought of it, and the duns and creditors, from
whom, indeed, he was partly in hiding, down here, and
who were liable to pounce on him atany moment, he act-
ually meditated making a rush for it, and snatching the
small beauty from ber norse as she rode, and waiting ber
away to secure hiding, aud marrying her. It would be
easy enough raising money on his wife’s fortune to live
in luxury till her majority, and comme, into legal pos-
session thereof.

Ifhe had so much as suspected what sort of a trick
Eleanor Lyle had played tim, he would have been very
apt, in those days, to have put the knowledge to some
use, and with his talents at executing villainous projects,
might have made a bad matter much worse.

Lady Violet had never been quite like herself sirce the
utterance of those solemn worus in the dim old Lendon
church, which had made her, in her childishness and fol-
ly, both a wife and a victim.

It was as though the performance of the marriage cer-
emony had dispelled, magically, the illusion which had
vailed her eyes from the perception of right and wrong.
Marriage does destroy illusions, we all know.

But her dream was to havea yet ruder waking. The
romance which enveloped her lover as wth a halo, fei
off him all in a moment, as it were.

She chanced, one day, to overhear a conversation be-
tween Lord Evelyn and the Earl of. Eagiescliffe. Their
talk was of Conway, and atrthe first word the givl’s proud
lips turned white, and she sat still till she had heard
enough to make her young heart grow sick at itseW.

She had wondered some, with slight contempt of the
feeling, too, that her lover displayed such excessive cau-
tion in regard to Lord Eaglescliffe discovering the rela-
tion that existed between them. She Jearned from this
conversation the secret of that caution, and the imme-
diate occasion of his dismissal from the Cliffe.

Lord Evelyn hearing by chance, while absent’on his
brida) journey, an intimation that Conway—who, though
a distant relative he knew to be a& villain—~had designs
on tre future countess, had dispatched, by a trusty hand,
certain papers, and a confidenual communication to Lerd
Eaglesciiife. ‘lhe papers contained abselute preofs of a
capital crime of which Conway had been guilty.

Seeking his daughter at once on this receipt, the start-
led earl found her slowly pacing the conservatory on the
arm of the very Man he came to warn her against. There
was somehow a significance in the bearing of the two,
that thrilled him with vague consternation. Betterif he
had spoken plainly to her then, but he shrank so from
wounding her.

“Spe is still a child, andit is not necessary to frighten
her,” he thought. “I will dispose ef in at once and tor
ail.??

Conway accordingly, within the hour, received his sen-
tence of banishment, coupled with the intimation that
any attempt to prosecute the acquaintance clandestinely,
would be followed by his immediate arrest, and prosecu-
tion for the crime of forgery.

This conversation between the two earls, the hapless
girl forced herself to sit still and listen to.

A feverish longing filled her to know all then, and she
rewd in the stern look and tone of Lord Evelyn, that he
had come to make other, perhaps darker revelations con-
cerning bis disreputable relative, who, he informed Lord
Eaglescliffe, was still lurking in the vicinity, and was
vesperate, bad, and reckless enough, to resort to any ex-
pedient that would not peril his own safety, for the se-
curipg his ends.

Her haughty eyes only darkened with anger, when she
heard the man of whom her girlish fancy had made an
ideal hero, accused of seeking her from purely mereena-
ry motives. Her white lips only curled in angry contempt
and incredulity, when she heard him stigmatized asa
scoundrel, a base and black-hearted villain, who woulda
not scruple at taking life even, if it would shorten his
road to success.

But when Lord Evelyn, in @ low and subdued tone, pro-
ceeded to that black revelation for which all that had gone
before was but the preparation, Lady Violet from the
deep window seat in which she basked, listened witk
bated breath, and never Knew whien listening stopped.
She had fainted away behind the ‘thick silken curtains,
and nobody was the wiser, till she herself told it.

Eleanor Lyle was reading a letter. Her handsome face
was flushed with emotion, her eyes filled with tears; her
lips trembled with loving words as she read. At the ap-
proach of Lady Violet, she thrust the letter guiltily in her
bosom and turned to greet her. She rose toher feet with
@ startled exclamation at the sight of that white face and
those gleaming eyes.

**Her father has told her all, at last,?? she murmured.

The young girl came forward, @ more than usual ab-
ruptnessin her movements, and her voice had a slight
huskiness, a8 she spoke,

“Do you know where Mr. Conway is, Eleanor?” she
asked.

“He has gone,’ said Miss Lyle, desperately; ‘the has
gone upon the continent, for a two years’ absence.”

“Have you seen him again? How do you know?”

“He wrote me to that effect.”

“I can see the letter, I suppose?”

“No,?? r

Tne half-stern, half-stricken gaze of Lady Violet dwelt
upon Eleanor’s defiant face a moment steadily. Vague
doubts and suspicions, which had assailed her before, in
regard to Mleanor, returned now in a new form.

“T don’t know whether you are my enemyor my
friend,” she said, gloomily.

Miss Lyle’s gray eyes emitted a strange gleam.

“Perhaps you will know, some day.”

“Perpaps { shall,’ the other said, watching her still.

“Did you know that”’—she caught her breath a little,
between the words—‘‘Mr. Conway’s mother was an Eve-
lyn—that from boyhood, till ten years ago, he lived at
the Nest, equally beloved and cherished by its lord with
his heir???

“T knew it.’?

“Pid you know that he was driven from the Nest, ten
years ago—he was only twenty then-—for twice attempt-
ing the life of the boy, seven years younger than himself,
who stood between him and the heirship?”?

Miss Lyle’s face was white already. It turned ghastly
now.

“It is not true,’”’ she gasped,

“Thad it from Lord Evelyn’s own lips,’ Lady Violet
answered, bitterly. ‘He was putting papa on his guard
about me. I heard Conway’s name, and lL listened. Yes,
Miss Lyle, my father’s daughter delfberately sat and lis-
tened to conversation not intended for her ears, 1t’s no
degradation, under the circumstances,’? she added,
scornfully. ‘‘Husband and wife are one flesh, you know.”?

Eleanor sat like one stupefied, regarding the excited
girl with dazed eyes,

“Am I not an honored wife ?”? she resumed, a mocking
glitter in her proudeyes. ‘Shall I not give to Nagles-
cliffe such a lord as never yet trod its stately halls. Heis
wise to go,’? she resumed, after a chill silence of some
moments; ‘“‘my Black Prince did well to flee the reckon-
ing with me—to say nothing of that which Lord Hagles-
cliffe holds over his head.”’

“Lord Eaglesclitfe?’’ gasped Eleanor, scarce Knowing
what she said.

“The officers have been in waiting for him any timefor
the last month,” said Lady Violet, with an involuntary
shiver. ‘If he had succeeded in holding an interview
with me, he would have been arrested on the instant for
forgery. Papa holds the proofs. Pleasapt that would
have been for all of us, would it not???

 

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Miss Lyle made )
stunned by what she had heard—too bewildered with
fright at thought of the danger Conway had so barely es-
caped. Yes, she thought of nis danger first. She put be-
fore even the horror of his deeds, which filled her soul,
his personal danger. f

One generous inpulse did flash across her—the impulse
to confess all to this wronged and outraged young crea-
tare, and trust to her generosity for forgiveness for her-
self and forbearance toward Conway. But she checked
the impulse. Such a course was [oo iavolved in danger
to her idol—the bad, black-souled man, wiose deluding
and mischievous letter this moment reposed upon her
breast. Nothing then would stand between him aud the
vengeance of Lord Eaglescliffe. Now, if at any time,
worse Come Lo worse, the supposition that he was Lady
Violev’s husband could be turned to his protecnioa. She
did pot kuow that the earl bad made a solemn promise
to Marguerite Dupont not to harm tim unless it should
be necessary to su separate him from Lady Violet.

My lady sat silent a long time-—an interval that seemed
interminable to Hleanor—an utter weariness and dejec-
tion creeping over her perfect face.

At last she spoke: :

“Never mention his name to me again,” she said, a
singular steruness iu her young veice, ‘Lam mot sorry
for myself; | deserve anything; but, papa .; Mhe
knew wWhata disgraced creature Is the daughter he trea-
sures so, his proud, high head would go so low in the dust
that it would never be lifted again 1”

(To be Continued.)
———___—_- > @~4

HE GHOST

 

RING.

 

BY LU BILLINGS SPALDING.

 

He said our dream was over,
And he took his riug away,
But he cou d not rid my finger,
Of the impress where tt lay.

For circling still my finger,
Like a little band of snow,
A ghost ring clung about it,
With a white and pleading glow.

I said the dream is over,
For I bad to set him free;

For bis heart warmed for another,
And he didn’t care for ine.

I knew the ties were severed,
Aud [ tried hard to forget,

But the wan thing on my finger
Kept pleading “O, not yet.”

And the tears would struggle upward,
For the little penciled band

Clung with a faithful fondness
To my peor forgotten hand.

And my heart, too, bore the impress
Of the love it used to hold,

Though | knew him all unworthy,
And [ strove so to seem cold.

And TI hope he may be happy—
They say his bride is fair,

That her eyes are blue and winning,
With long and golden hair.

I never prayed for beauty
Til! Lfound he thought me. dim;

But I did not think he'd scorn me,
When I was so true to him.

But his heart cried out for beauty,
And so I set him free;
And I pray God to forgive him
The great wrong done to me.
And in that purer region
Where we take a spirit mould.
He may sce, with eyes unclouded,
That there’s beauty of the soul.

Ae: gS —4 anne yee

SQUIRREL CAP;

OR, THE

Ranger of Raccoon Ridge.
By Burke Brentford.

“Squirrel Cat wes commenced in No. 22, Back numbers can
be obtained from any News Agent throughout the United

States. re
CHAPTER XVIII.

 

THE ATTACK ON RACCOON LODGE.—PUSS TO THE RESCUE. |

Allie nad passed another day aloue, and was sitting, as
we SuW her on the aiternoon belore, coatentedly sewing
before the fire, humming tier little tune—probably the
only one sho Kvew, poor child!—when she was this time
much more scrlously alarmed by the parrot, who, alert
on her ovk-out, suddenly set up a great Clatter, squallicg
at the top ef her voice:

“Robbers on the road! robbers on the road! One, two,
three, four, five, six, seven robbers on the road!”

The panther was ready with her prolonged howl.

Allie sprang to the little casement, and saw that the
faithful parrot had spoken the trutu. Seven horsemen
were coming up the mountain, scarcely a mile away.

She had tue intuitive bravery born of her savage edu-
Catlun, and something told her that these nen were ap-
proaching ner foste: father's cabin for no good.

She instantly clu -4 the door, and tarew the heavy bars
across. She then closed the casement, which could be
just as securely barred, and, scraping the embers of the
fire togetner, threw over them a heavy wet Cloth, which
had the effect of quencuing them, wiih the emission of
very little smoke,

if asked afterward, what induced her to take these
precautions, she would probably have been unable to
give any reason. It was an inspiration, She had an in-
distinct idea that she myst defend herself and her loster-
father’s property, and he had instructed ner in the use of
his spare weapons svflicieully to enable her, with her
present advantage, to do it pretty effec‘ually.

Sufticient ght was sifted through the log-cracks of the
cabin toenable her to see what she was about, while, at
the same time, she would be hardly visible to any one
peeplig through the chinks from tie outside. Over the
direplace nung three pistols—one a revolver—which it was
Squirrel Cap’s custom always to Keep loaded, and a
hatchet; and these litthe Allie quieily took down and
placed in one corner of the room. Thea, entorcing si-
leuce Upon the panther, she quietly resumed her seat,
and awaited resulls with the stolcism of her savage tul-
tion.

Presently she heard them on the stony trail outside, and
there came several hard Knocks o@the door. Spe made
no answer, aad Kept Puss quiet oy the look of her eye.

The kpecks Were repeuted ugain avd again, but she
kept perfectiy quiet, till the bird began to squall:

“No one at howe, Jellers, 80 One at hume! ‘Hey diddle
didde, the ¢cat’s in Une fidale, the cow jumped over the
moon!’ No one at home, feliers!” ;

“That's bis darned parrot!’ exclaimed the voice of
Ringtail Gautfer. “By the great Jew’s-harp, perbaps the
old cGuon Was made tracks, and taken the gal with himl’?

*Look tnreugh tue chinks,’? cried the voice of Jim
Moody, ‘aud see what you can.’?

“Jpand lookin’, an’ can’t see aay more than a bat.
all pitch dark,” said another voice.
thal moves.”

“Perhaps it’s that infernal painter,’’ growled Gaffer's
voice agala.

“Well, 1’s easy enough to see if the crib is Jeserted,”’
cried another. *Briug up that ax, and we'll Simash the
deer,

As soon as the first blow was struck, Allie spoke:

4 “Squirrel Gap 1s not in here; £ snvot you, if you break
oor!*

A chorus of laughs and jeers greeted this response.

“You're jist the one we UO want, clicky,’ cried one,
“Come, we want to talk to you.”

“] won’t talk to bad man; you no go y, I shoot!”
was tle spirited reply; and grasping the two single-bar-
reled pistuis, ebe in each band, she upproached the door,
through tie central Cuink Of which she could see them
quite qistiney. :

Anvotner rear of laughter, and another blow of the ax.

Allie fired teroagia tue coink,.

A howi ol agony followed, and the axman limped away
With a broken Knee.

“By Davy Crockett, the cat has teeth? cried Gaffer,
the only one remaining on horseback, “But i suppose
that shot was all she baa.”

At tis instant anuotner shot was fired, and the speak-
er’s horse stuinbled to the ground, shot through the lead
from ear to ear,

“Set the cabin afire! Shoot her through the chinks !”
roared the iafuriated desperado, struggling to drag bis
leg from vader the fJailen animal; while his comrades
could not forvear laughing, on account of the saddenness
With Which bis coujecture Was Cut short.

The robbers paused, uncerfaln what course fo pursue.

They had decided objectious to approach the door with
the aX, aud dreaded the vengeance of their leaver il
they should tari toe lawuate,
_ Allie employed this interval of inaction upon their part
in reloading the pistols she had discharged, aud bringing
up Loe revolver she had beld in reserve. They were now
grouped 'ogether among thelr horses, some little distance
from tue galnu. There were a vuimber of chipks, througn
which she could see them, She tad plenty ef ammuni-
tion, aud thinking if she made a show of it they might go
away, she touk steavy aim, and fired again, striking an-
other horse in the side and bringing him_cown.,

This victiin fell upon the man with the broken knee,
rolling completely over him, aud causing him to how!
Most dismally,

Tne robbers now began to look at things in a very seri-
ous lignt, though they made the mistake of supposing
fat tne fact of her striking horses instead of men Was
ewing to her bad snooting. One of them cried out;

“ifold on, little gal! we ain’t agoin to hurt you vor your
purty house putiier.”?

Que of them drew a number of strings of bright glass
beaug froin his pocket. 1t seems that their wise delibera-

It’s
“There is something

 

no attempt at reply. She was too

 

 

 

tions had resulted
with that which had mostly been found efficacious with
Indian women. :

The man who carried the beads selected the widest
chink he could find, and poked them through, and a part
of his hand with them, ;

‘Here, pretty one,”? said he, in a coaxing, wheedling
voice, as of one talking to a baby, “if youll come out
and talk to us, you shall have as many more of these pur-
ty things as yer can carry in your apron.”’ :

“Pat them in a litde further, man,’ said Allie, holding
back Pugs, the panther, by the ears.

He stuck his hand through to the wrist, and she let the
panther fly. :

There instantly foliowed such a snarling and tearing
within, and such a yelling, howling, and cursing without,
that even the robbers did not know what to make of it,
till the hero of the beacs rushed toward them, raving,
and gnashing his teeth like a bedlamite, and waving on
hign the fragment of a hand,

‘Allie immediately followed up her advantage by sheot-
ing another horse, the passing ball grazing Ringtail Gaf-
fer’s foreliead so nearly as to’ draw blood.

fife plunged and raved a good deal, but now they pru-
dently reured behind the angie of a rock near whica they
were standing, while tue yells of the men with the broken
knee and lacerated hand were so Continuous, that their
comrades rouguly commanded them to cease. They re-
plied by curses, and for some time the recriminations ran
higu, till suddenly they ceased altogether. ’

Ailie was surprised at this, but mot so deceived as to
open the door.

She was soon apprised that the robbers had by no
means given op their scheine, by a sudden attempt being
made on the wall directly back of her little bed-room,;
while a simultaneous movement in front teld ner that the
house was going to be utracked OR two sides at once.

Cheer up, Allie, don't be afeared '? cried the parrot,
encolirugingly.

Allie instantly tore down the blanket screening the en-
trance between the two rooms, so that she could see on
either side, and lad ber pistols ready.

In the rear, a number of the raffians had inserted be-
tween a large crevice, & long, stout pole, with which they
were prying open a large aperture, She saw a man’s
body against the crevice, and, springing forward, fired into
it.

 

The villain, which ever onc of them it was, uttered a
wild shriek, and piunged forward.

She fired another shot, and there was another cry, but
the men at the lever kept prying up steadily.

Heavy blows at thedvor now distracted her attention
from tne rear of the house, and she turned to see 1t come
In with acrasp.

But the entrance was no sooner open, than Puss, the
pautner, flew upon the axman who filled if, felling him as
though, he had veen stricken by lightning.

Auother ruffian leaned over the panther, with his knife
upraised, but Allie seot him through the head, and tne
panther retained her grip. ‘

The men at work at the rearof the house now give it
up, and came runing reund.

The sudden crack ol a rifle was heard, and one of them
fell dead.

“Cheer up, jeetle gal! The ole man’s coming !”’ shout-
ed a well-known voice; and the neXt instant, with a 1u-
tual battle cry, Squirrel Cap and Ringtail Gaffer, (tne only
oue of the rubvers lot disabled), were locked together 1u
deadly strife.

‘The strength of the gigantic Texan was enormous, but
brawuiler, mure flexible were those traimed arms that
wound arouad him. He strove to use his Knife, but in
vain. le made one tremendeus effort, but failed, and
the nexc instant the bowle-kuife of tue Lrapper Wes buried
in bis heart.

Tue man with a broken knee took aim atthe trapper
anu fired, but only knocked his bat of, and the next in-
stant ne himself feil a corpse. In his rage, Squirrel Cap
clubbed his rifle, and bralned the man with the lacerated
hand, though 1t was not till after he had done so, that he
saw the fellow’s former hurt,

Puss, the panther, was just releasing her hoid upon the
throat of her now lifeless victim, and came meekly up
to her master. Polly fluttered through the dvor, and
alighted on his head.

Ouly Allie stoou pale and speechless before him, with
one of the pistols still grasped in ner tiny hand,

The reaction had come, und leit her perfectly helpless
and weuk,.

They stood jooking at each other for some moments,
the slender girl und the Wild old man, when suddenly the
latter sprung forward aud chisped her to bis heart.

“On! Alle, Allie, ny own leeie gull’ was all he could
say, and the big tears rolled like marbles down his rug-
‘ged cheeks, :

He had traveled and toiled all the way from Davis’
Ranche to suve er, apd he had her stills Yes, yes, as he
‘had so often suid himself, ve nad found her away down
in the deep snow, and it was ‘“finders-Keepers "OW as
tnen. Ms ia oe

Vid Nineveh came sedately up the mountain: trai to be
Witt tue rest of the family in the hour of it. Sdlvacion.

Ale was led into tne cavin by Squirrel Cap, and, after
a little while, managed todet hing Know what had Bap- |
pened before he came.

1 shall not attempt to depies Squirrel Cap’s efforts to
eXpress his aduuration of Allie’s bravery, but it was ex-.
pressed after his fasion.

He then went out to review the field, All of the rob-
bers, Seven in pumwber, und three horses, were slain. —

When the reader will refieeh. upon the tremendous ad-
vautauges in the girl's Javer (thuse | have described), to-
gether with the fact that ihe attacking party dared not
tire at yer, this will not seem uear so incredible us it
does Upon Lhe DYst thought, ;

Over two hours of sunlight yet remained, and the trap-
per took active advantage of them to possess himself of
the three captured horses, sed te dispose of te bodies of
tne slain.
aut Danvers, Who rode up in ume to learn the purticulars
of the fight.: eet. ; i i

The boces were stripped of their arms and everything
valuable, und then pitched inte a aeep gully about an
eighth of « mile distant (0 fo) Je, sag Xs

It was not, however, until after these offices were per-
formed, and when they were gathered together round the
cabin fire, that Danvers learned the details of the dread-
lui story in full, and when he guzZed upon the slender,
girlish figure of Avlie, stili pale and laiut from what she
had undergone, he could scurcely realize tuat the whole
Was other than a fable.

We must now inform the reader that both Squirrel Cap
and Lieutenant Danvers bad quitted Davis’ Rancile on
the moruing after the nigat we Jeit them there, at the
conclusion of ihe sixteentn chapter. ’

The latter bad only quitted his sick friend on the
strength of assurances [iat the robbers would hever dare
attack the great rendezvous of fearless hunters, in whose.
keeping he was left, and also upou the grounds that,
while he could -be of no possible use In remaining, le
might be of great service vl the mail-road. Aud now,
when the old trapper Said that he supposed the Captain
would at once cule, wiih his whole gang, to effect the
‘apture of Allie, the lieutenant reassured him in tas
wise, which will also afford the reader au account of his
doings atter quitting Davis? Ranche,

“You need not have a particle of apprehension, my dear
friends,’ said he, “that apy.other attueck will be mace
upon Raccoon Lodge, at least fer daysto come. You will
remeniber that 1] quilted Dayis’ about an hour alier you
did. lt seems that some of the eld hunters there had go:
Wind that you were fearful of your lodge belug attacked
—don’t jrown, old fellow; not one of theo creamed el
the cause—sv they got up a party of bine—»ll yeur par-
ticular Iriends and admirers—sta: ted a couple of hours
alter yourself, and will—barring an earthquake—be en-
camped, fur yeur special protection, at the toot of thi>
mountuia in jess thun an hour, They appreciate yeu too
much to intrude vpon your privacy inthe slightest de-
gree; and you will just nave the satisfaction of Knowing
that they are ready for a fight im your beluif atanuy mo-
ment of the day or night.

“Se much for that part. Now for mine. On my way:
to Fort Laramie, | resolved to make an effort to see Luke,
the statiou-Keeper, at Blue Station, ouce more, and ity
and get some more information to take to Major War-
field. I got very near the station without meeunga soul,
aud secreted myself in the ferest for some time, xs I feit
preity Sure that there were several horses in the stable,
whic was pretty conclusive. evidence that there was
more than One person in the house. Aftera bit, Mike,
the Mormon, Came ridivg Olrectly past the place where |
lay concealed. Inever had such an itchiug to puta
bullet in a scoundrel'’s head in the whole course of my
life; but | wasn’t certain how many more the report oi
the pistol might bring out of the den upon my head, so |
restrained tue amiability ef my. feelings. for the time
being. Anotiier followed bim shortiy afterward, aud
then Luke himself came outin frontof the cabin. 1
managed to signal him, and he beckoned me to come up.
laid soat once. Pvor fellow, he was heartily glad to
see ine, and preved, by the information he gave me, that
he had all along been faithful. From him, | learned tue
joyous Intelligence that, at this hour, a squadron of sixty
cavairy are on the north bank of Laranie river, aud that
the entire robber-baud are watching tem from the
mountains—atrail to attack before the arrival of their
Indian alles. The Captuin is with thém, and wonld
not dure to deplete his Jorce by singe dnan, tO attack
you, or for any other purpose. There, old fellow; i shall
resume my route to Laramie at daybreak.” :

“And l‘1bget supper, fatner,’? said pale little Allie, ris-
ing, aud kissing uu,

 

CHAPTER XIX.
DANVERS AND MISS LARRIMER.

These days and nighisof Uarry D-nvers’ mountain
mission, 1f arduous and perilons ones fer him, were sad
abd trying eneugn for Helen Larruner.

Major Wartleld cousidered it only just that she shonid
pot spticipate too much, and therefore drew, not un-
kindly, but in their true, stern colors, the details of the
dubgers Which Lientenant Danvers wonld have to en-
counter, Ue told her thatonthe chances of even he
(Danvers) escaping with his Jife, the odds were vastly
agaist him. ile did everything in his power to prepare
her for the worst, for the major—kuowing something of
the Savage cruelty of the mall-ropbers, ana toelr ludian
allies—Was privately of the opinion that Morton was
most likely nO longer in tue Japd of the living.

But Helen would hope on, altiiough the suspense was
wasting ber away by inches. ter nights were restless,
and at all hours of the day sne Was seeking jor news from
any hunter coming in from the West,

Some aays, When the weather would permit, she would
take long rides, and look westward from the eminences
around the tort, in the vague nopeof catching a glippse
of two horsemen—one of whom she was so sure of re-

in their determining to tempt her forth Upon these excursions, she was frequently accompanied

|

in the latter office he was assisted by Lieuten- |

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

py St. George de Courcy, tie English friend and relative
of Lieutenant Danvers, whose company she preferred,
principally, on account of his serving to amuse her a little
by his ridiculous notions of American society; while his
good-hearted sympathy with her grievous suspense, was
also at times amusing (thongh sometimes eae as
well) {rom the fact that he was unaer the impressiom nat
Danvers was the lucky individual whose absence she
mourned, instead of Morten,

“Poor Danvers,” he sajd, upon ene occasion, when
they were riding over the jlills together, “his love for his
friend Morton, 1s weally touching. Quite a Damon and
Pythias harrangement; har you not not of that hopinion,
Miss Larrimer?”? We

“Quite of that opinion, Mr. De Courcy.”

“But eell come back, ‘ave no fear’ee'll come to lis
hown ’eart’s ome, l’ave no doubt, Hand that queer ge-
nius Squirrel Cap! Lucky dog, Danvers, to’ave such a
‘ole ’earted frient! as thal Squirrel Cap, with his hinter-
esting famuy, consisting vf a mule, a panther, a parrot,
anu that beautiful attie—— By Jove! I nearly let the
cat hout of the bag! Excuse me for the use of that ex-
pletive, Miss Larrimer. {really couldn’t ‘eip it,”?

“Why, what are you talking about, Mr. De Courcy?
‘Beautiful little’ what were you about to say?”

“The mistake, wy dear lady, was hin my hobserving
hapything habout hit whathever.”

“Oh 1”)

“But, by the way, Miss Larrimer, what would vow think
of astrange young lady—a strange young lady that n
one Knew hanytuing habout, who ’ad a keepsake eyith
the initials hupon pit lof A. KE, W. ?" see

“lam sure 1 would not know what to think abontit,
sir,” replied the lady, “Yet stay,” she added, eagerly,
“what initials did you say?

“AL OW.” ’

“{ would think a great deal about it, sir. I beseech
you to tell me, Mr. De Courcy, do you know of any such
young lady?" :

“I didn’t say I did, miss! I happeal to you that I said
nothing of the kind.” :

“Yes, but what made you mention those particular
initials 7”

“f cannot tell you, miss. 1!’ad nothought that my re-
mark would move you so much,”

“But, sir, your remark chanced to bea most important
one. t know of a very good and worthy gentleman—a
gentleman as dear to me as ly Own father would be,
were he alive—who would give his fortune—everything,
to find a strange young lady with a keepsake bearing
those initials’?

“Miss Lurrimer, you surprise me!” said the English-
man, uneasily, und hardly Knowing how to get outof the
scrape. “But were is a hinsurmountable hobstacie to
my hobserving hanytnipe further hon this hinteresting
Subject.”? 7

“What obstacle, Mr. De Yourcy ?” asked the lady, whose
curiosity had been painfully aroused,

“My sacred word of Lonor, miss.”

“Oh, then we will drop biesubject, of course, sir. What
sweet little flowers those are, lu ve growing af this time
of the year,’ Sue said, polling down to some gray lichen
on a rock,

“Tney are, hindeed! And hah! ‘ee loved them so,
miss ! ‘ee !oved them too |"?

“Who did??

“Poor Danvers, Miss.”?

*indeed 17? .

“Yes, miss; and do you hobserve the peculiar bright-
ness of that sanset, miss?’

“Yes; itis very beautiful, sir.”

“Just such a one as ’ee loved to gaze on, miss.”

“Why, who do you mean, Mr. De Courcy ?”

“Danvers, Miss Larrimer.’”’

“Indeed! Well, 1 cannot but admire his taste.”

“So, now that weve harrived Kat the sammit of the
‘ills that hoverlvok the plutus beneath, hand still no sign
-—no sign !’’

“No; it is as it has been every day. We might as well
return, sir.’’

Had they waited ten minutes longer, they might have
seen the dust springing from the houf-beats of tne black
mare, with Lieutenant Dutivers in the saddle,

Helen had just changed her dress, and descended into
her guardian’s parlor, when De Courcy burst ia, with his
face beaming with pleasurable excitement.

«+ 'Ee’s coming, -pe’s coming !? he exclaimed, in
ecstasy. ‘We can see “iim from the houter ground, honly
amile haway.” sat

“Who is ir, Mr. De Courcy 2?” asked the lady, trembling,
and turning very pale. 4 ae

“Danvers, Miss Larrimer.’? sis . ;

“she alone?” >; hie fe SI
“Yes, miss, hall alone !? ex ed Mr. St. George De
ce would convey ex-

 

 

Courcy, thinking that the in)
cruciating delight. be c
Bat at this moment, Dapyers himself came dashi:

 

 

of gold and silver. TAYLOR &

“My dear Miss Larrimer,” said Danvers, rising with a
very troubled air, “1 must leave you for a short time. ]
require considcrable reflection—perhaps—but i can pro-
mise nothing. 1 willsee you again iu the course of a
few hours.’?

Slie suw that he was greatly distressed, and made no
effort to detain him.

When Danveis was alone in his own room, he engaged
his mind in the most difficult reasoning as to the cvurse
he had better pursue. He had not the slightest douvt
that Allie was the lost daughter for wnom Major Warfield
mourned with patient apguisn. As for tue Captain, and
his efforts to secure the same child, he had his own
thoughts upon that subject. Was it not his Christian
duty to apprise the major of the whereabouts of his long-
lost darling. Then came in his sacred promise to Squir-
rel Cap, and the idvlization in which the latter held the
little waif of the wilderness. Could his duty to Major
Warfield, the father—could any duty case him to break
that honest, loyal heart?

For a long time he could come to no determination, but
paced the floor of his narrow quarters, wrestling with
his indecision. Let it be remembered that his own feel-
ings entered most powerfully into this mental conflict.
His loye for the girl, his hope, one day, to call her his
own, pleaded strongly on the major's side, yet still no
temptation could bring him to betray his promise so sol-
emnly given to Squirrel Cap,

At last a bright idea presented itself.

_ “I know what | shall do—and it is the only recourse,”
he exclaimed. ‘The reinforcements start to-morrow.
will ask the major to grant me an escort of ten men, to start
at the same time, for the purpose of conveying Morton
from Davis’ Ranche to Laramie. On my way, | will stop
at Raccoon Lodge; will tell Squirrel Cap; I will throw
myself upon his generosity. 1 will plead the cause of the
long-bereaved father with all the eloquence in my power,
and see if he will not do justice, at the expense of his
own feelings. If he will not—well, dash it! Then that’s
the end of itt’* : ;

He sought Miss Larrimer, and acquainted her with his
resolve to return for Morton on the following day, if the
major would grant him the necessary escort.

“While 1 am gone, Miss Larrimer,”’ said he, ‘I will see
what lean do inrelation to the subject of which we
were speaking. Do not give the major any further or
more definite hope of recovering his lost child, but pray
for the best and be prepared for the worst. I have hit
upon a plan which I mean to carry out, and, upon
my return, you will know the result. It will be entire
success of absolute failure.’

“I suppose I can do nothing else than submit,” replied
the lady, with much disappointment in hertone. “But
= appear to deal greatly in unnecessary mysteries of

ate.”

“rT promise you that, when you know ali, you will
not blame mea jot for my present course, Helen Larri-
mer,

The major had not the least objection to granting the
escort, and Danvers prepared to set out for Davis’
Ranche on the following morning.

(To be Continued.)

 

 

 

 
      
    

 
    
    

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The heutenant was trayel-stained, careworn, fa-
tigued; but a single glance at his bright, buoyant coun
tenance tuld Miss Larrimer that he was the bearer of no
distressing news. 3

“speak, Uarry 2 ; CS Gh ee SEE
“Morton 1s saved, Miss Larrimer.””

“But ne is not wiih you.” ; ae a ee
“No. Have patience for a moment, and you shall hear
all.?? 5 : ;

 

He related as briefly.ag pe could the details of bis ad-
venture, so far as related To ine Jescue Of Morton, anu €X~
‘plained why it was absofftely necessary thut he should
remain where he was ubtil recovered.

_*1 shall go to him at ence!’ exclaimed Helen. ;

“That is utterly impossibie, my dear Miss Larrimer.
Charley could scarcely be in better hands than where fie
is, He has no dangerous compluint—merely rest. is. re-
quired to recuperate lis prosfrated energies.”

“Bat is thére no dabgeiof his being recap. ured 2”

“Not the slightest. Daws’ Ranche, where Morton now
is, has always twenty or thirty lunters, more or. less, |"
Wituin Its stockade, and all the robbers in the land would
not dare an .assuuit. Charlie is perfectly safe, and you
rater him here at the fori in three or four days at the

urthest.

Helen turned into the window to hide her emotion. She
had hoped for more, but was deeply thankful for the
nieasure of joy that had been accorded her, and now be-
gan to think of the generous, self-sacrificing devotion ol
the man beside her. tS ‘

She turned to him with a.sudden, impetuous impulse:

“Oh, Harry,’ she cried, with tears in her eyes, “how
you must have suffered, as wellas Charlie! How can I
repay you ? : yn. Saeed 4

“By simply granting me your friendship, Helen,’ said
the young Officer, holding out his hand, which sue clasp-
‘ed most wuraly, reek a ae

Perhaps she thought, at the time, that he had succeed-
ed in conquering his Jove for her most bravely; bubif she
had known of the existence of the little heroine of Rac-
coon Lodge, she would have had no further occasion of
surprise, cr a

But now the major came in. He looked mtich more
careworn than whee Danvers had separated frem him,
vut welcomed the young officer with as inuch feeling and
fervor as if ue had been lis own Son.

A number of other offi¢ers Came in to congratulate the
advepturer.upon Dis safe return; and to all he gav? a
snuecinct account cf his adventures from the hour he had
qiutied the tront, leaving oat nothing, Save where Allie
was Concerned, and expatiating to the fullest extent upon
che obligations be was ubder to the Ranger of Raccoon
idge. He did not furgetto speak strongly of tue services
ve had received from Luke, tue stution-keeper, and told
Major Wartield that 1 reintorcements were promptly sent
io the Cavalry force already operating on Luramie river,
pe had no doubt that the iwail-robpers and the Indian
allies would be exterminated.

Major Wartield. declared that a treep of forty horse
should be sent on the jollowing day.

Every one listened with astonishment at the narration
of Danvers’ adventures, Which appeared to be almost in-
credible; and congratolated him anew at its conclusion,
when he was glad eaougil to escape, and seek the rest anu
change of garments, of which ne steed in such great aeed,
- Oa the following morning, when Danvers, refreshed
and reclotned, feit like a uifferent person, be sought an
interview with Miss Larrimer, to relate to her still more
fully the particiiars of her lover’s rescue from captivity,
and paint yet more cueerluly his present hopeful condi-
tion,

A single night of quiet thankfulness had done more for
the handsome girl tian weeks of recuperation would have
performed under ordinary circumstances, Her step was
lighter, there was a bloom upon her cueek, and notiung
sat nor uncertain in heY simile,

During tueir conversation, te young officer mentioned
the growing melancholy he had perceived in his superior
oflicer, and asked her, very sympathizingly, if she Knew
‘he cause. 5

“Yes, Harry, I do Knesv,’ she said; “and since you
chance.to recall to mind some singular words whien your
relative, Mr, DeCourey, let fall yesterday, 1 am going to
usk my guardian if 1 cali acquaint you with the secret of
hus grief.” i

Spe excused berself, and left him for a considerable
space of time. When sfe returned, she looked somewhat
excited, and said:

“tam alraid I pave acted imprudently, Harry, but, at
the time, Lthougnt it Was for the best. It wus only by
hinting to my guardian that there was a slight hope—
Heaven forgive ine, if there should proye noue!—of the
mitigation of his grief, that | succeeded in obtaining his
consent fo relate the history of his. misery to you,”

Then, prefacing her story, by recounting the strange
words of the Englisiimian om the preceding day, Helen
Larrimer repeated to ber auditor, as nearly as she could
recoliect, the story of ter guardian’s grief as he had re-
lated it to her, When she Stoed before the picture of the
depraved woinan whom he had once loved, 2

Daring this recital, a hundred exciling reflections arose
in the heutenant’s mind, in which, perhaps, the robber
Captain was more intimately than agreeably a prominent
fizure. For some moments, be Knew not what to say,
At length he asked—and his companion was nota little
surprised at lis altered tone? —

“What name aid Major Warfield’s child bear, Ifelen?’’

“Alice Eieanor Warfield.”

He guve a sort of groan.

Tl asked your friend, Harry, to give me some satisfac-
tion on this point, and he declined, saying that his word
or nouer prevented lim from complying witu my request.
I now put the same question to yeu. you know of
a ee having a keepsake, bearing the initials
wk. Fe ie

“I cannot tell you.”

“For the same reason assigned by your relative?”

“Precisely, Miss

“Then, instead of alleviating, T have only augmented

 

 

 

 

 

 

coguizing, by his carriage in the saddle.

Scr GEM PROT at ITI MED NASBA a REE

ae distress of my poor guardian!” exclaimed Helen, bit- |’
erly.

 

OA EA REN BRE NEE OTR Tne OU CT eet eae

| anda superb engraving “Byangeline,” 1 1-2x2 feet, gratis. 30,000

i-ffects in curing the “ills that flesh is heir to,” are acknowledged
Rad anertelatep. ani aSa PAIN KILLER its fame is limited to no
country, sect, nor race

cacy of any medicine, and that the PAIN KILLER is deserving ot

OrGANs of six first class makers, AT EXTREMELY LOW PRICES,

rrimer.”’ '

paper, Ledger size, illustrated. Devoted-to Sketches, Poetry,
Wit, Humor, genuine fun, Nonsense (of a sensible kind), and to
the exposure of Swindling, Humbugs, &c. Only 75 cts. a year,

oney refuniel to ali who ask it. It 1s wide-awake,

circulation.
75 crs. A YEAR. &pecimens

fearless, truthful. Try it Now.
FREE, Address . i =
w26-4 “BANNER,” Hinsdale, N. H.

840. aaa ene

‘Vegetable “Pain Killer,” _
The Great Family Medicine of the Ags.

 

 

THIRTY YEARS z j
Have elapsed since the introduction of the Pain ‘Killer to the
ublie, and y«t at the present time itis more popular and com-
lands a Jarger sale than ever before. Its popularity is not con-
fined to this coun ry alone; all over the world its beneficial

 

 

‘HIRTY YEARS iS certainly along enough time to prove the effi-

Ul its proprietors claim for it, is amply proved by the unparal-
leled popularity it has auained. It is & SURE and EFFECTIVE

emedy, » Sold by all Druggists. wW26-2t-eow
poe tree Yer ge Or ae

BpRLO va T eRe a month with Stencil Dies. Samples
} ‘

 

 

 

 

free. 8S. M. SPENCER & CO., Brattleboro, Vt. wi3- 3t.
A GREAT, ©. F Fe Bets

Horace Waters, 481 Broadway,
will dispose of ONE HUNDRED PIANOS, MELODEONS, anda

FOR CASH, DURING THIS MONTH, or Will take trom 35 to $20
monthly until paid; the same to let, and rent money applied i
purchased. wT-l

t
7
ibsvX A DAY!—40 newarucies for Agents. Samples sent Pree.
eD Ze H. B, SHAW, Alfred, Me.
w22-13t

NEV

" Popular Music at Popular Prices.
Brainard’s Musical Albums.

Each number contains from eighteen to twenty-
four pieces of choice new music.

No. 1 Gontains 18 Vocal and Instrumental Pieces.

No 2 Contains 20 Choice New Songs and Quarteites.

No. 3 Contains 24 Popular New Comic Songs.

No. 4 Contains 23 Beautital Songs and Quartettes.

No. 5 Contains 18 Instrumestal Peces tor Piano.

No. 6-Centains 20 Beantifal Sacred Quartettes.

No. 7 Contains 19 Popular Songs ana Piano Picces.

No. 8 Vontains 19 Comic and Sentimental Songs.

Each number contains 48 pages, sheet-mausic size, nestly
bound. Price only 50 cents. Copies mailed to any address on
receipt of price. Catalogue of contents sent free. Other num-
bers will rapidly follow. Address all orders to

8. BRAINARD & SO*5,

BUOK.—Agents sell 100 per week. Price $5. Ad-
dress Ls STEBBINS, Hartford, Conn. w28-4t

 

 

Qne Million Acres
Cheice Lowa Lands
FOR SALE,

At $3 per acre and upward, for cash, or on credit, by the TOWA
RAILROAD LAND GO. Railroads alreaiy built through the
Lunds, and on all sides of them. Great inducements to settlers.
send tor our free Pamphiet. It gives prices, terms, location;
tells who shonld come West, wont they should bring, what it
will cost; gives. plans and elevations of 18 lifferent styles or
ready-made houses, which the Company furnish at from $250
to $4,000, ready toset up. Maps sentii desired. Address

W. W. WALKER, Vice-President,

Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

 

. t Samivite of Perfume Caskets. Address G. HENRY
FREE

& CO., 52 John street, New York. Ww 23-2t

 

Two Thousand Sets of

-Bradley’s Patent Croquet

TO BE

— GIVEN AWAY!

Before June Ist. Address, with three cent stamp enclosed,
w28-1t MILTON BRADLEY & O0O., Springfield, Mass.

Aart oD. MONEY
a ey eee
John &*\Q~2 ¢ =e
Ce NO

\o\2 ,
MADE
With our Stencil and Key Check Outfit. Circulars Free. STAF
Mee ee ee CO., 66 Fulton street, New York.
w28-13t F

 

T YMAN’S FLORAL GUIDE FOR 1870.—10) pages, 70 besuti-
4 tui Engravings, 1 Ootored Plate, and description of 1,890
varieties of Sceds, Bulbs and Plants, sent to any address on re-

  
   

 

 

 

ceipt of 6 cents, to psy return postage.
: W. H. LYMAN, Seedman, Box 3,960 Amherst, Mass.

’

ee! SE Sa

Maintains its pre-eminence on the Ladies’ Toilet Tables, over
all other c!eanseérs, for REMOVING DIRT AND GREASE from
G'oves, Silks, Satins, Velvets, ete. In bottles, at 18 and 25 cents,
by all Druggists. w25-4t

 

TY TOOLS IN ONE.—POCKET RULE, RULER, SQUARE,
& Bevel, Screw-Driver, Chisel, Compasses, Scissors, Button-
7 eis hole Cutter mest Knite, Eraser
and Pencil Sharpener. | Agents
wanted, male and female. Sam-
ple (Polished Steel) by mail, with
terms to agents, 50 cents; Silver-plated, $1, Gold do., $2. Ad-
dress Coates TOOL CO., 95 Mercer street, New York.
w24-2teow

SYCHOMANOCY, FASCINATION, OR SOUL-
Charming. 400 pages; cloth. This wonderful book has
full instructions to enable the reader to fascinate either sex, or
any animal, at will, Mesmerisin, Spiritualism, and hundreds
of other curious experiments. 10 cents.
It can be oblaine _ sending address, with postage, to T. W.
EVANS & CO.. 41 8. Eighth St.. Philadelphia. w46-Lleow.

NSWERS TO MANY INQUIRERS.—DR. E._ B. POOTE,
Author of “MEDICAL COMMON SENSE, PLAIN HOME
TALK,” etc., formerly ot 1130 Broadway, is permanently located
at 120 Lexington Avenue, N. Y., where he may be consulted in
person or by mail, 1n all difficult cases of chronic diseases. Con-
ultation free. wis-4t eow
VQ yy ‘ ;\ 1
PIMPLES ON THE FACE.
Comedones, Black-Heads, Flesh Worms or Grubs, Pimply
Eruptions and Blotched disfigurations cn the Face. originate
trom a Suppressed Secretion, and are positively cured by
PERRY'S COMEDONE AND PIMPLE REMEDY.
Tt tones the Skin, opens the po exudes morbid Secretions
and contains no Lead poison. Prepared only

ay
DR. B. C. PERRY 49 Bond street, New York.
Sold by all Druggists. Send for circular, w15-13t

Z

      
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

& TO $20.—IMITATION GOLD WATCHES.—JOIIN FOGGAN,
o Importer, 79 Nassau street, N. Y. Send tur eircular.
w24-13t

ENOCH MORGAN'S SONS’
SA POLIO "Hotes ner i s:
SAPOLIO—"eeesntain: Shenae it:

’ or ” oe as
SAPOLIO—"HEae te 8h ae
SAPOLIO—"saauies dt nsee
SA POLIO—“heriioue cicaning and general uses

is indispensable, ‘Iry it and yowll
like if.

Depot, 211 Washington St., New York.
Everybody uses it. Sold Everywhere.
w22-eow-tf

WAIVORCES LEGALLY OBTAINED FROM THE
Courts of different States. No pubiicity. Advice free.
wi0-13t FRED’K I. KING, *ounsclor-at-Law, 363 Broadway

 

 
  

 

rie IS MONEY.”—Watches superseded—The Dollar Time,
Keeper—A PxsFect Gem.—Elegantly case a in Oroide of
Gold, Superior Compass Attachment, Enameled Dial, Sitver and
Brass Works, Glass Crystal, size of ladies’ watch, Will 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 peat
case, mailed free. Send tor circulars. Address the sole manu-

 

facturers, MAGNETIC WATCH CO,
w25-13t Hipsdaie, N, H.
WM. KNABE & COG.’S
(BALTIMORE)
WORLD-RENOWNED

Grand, Square, and Upright

PLANOS

Used at the Academies of Music of New York and Brooklyn b
the Italian era, Richiags’ Opera, Ole Bull's Concerts, and all
the leading Entertamments in the United States.

These Pianos are before the Public 36 years, and upon THEIR
EXCELLENCE ALONE have attained an UNPURCHASED pre-emimmence
that. pronounces them unYivaled. Every Piavo is tully war-
ranied for Five Years. ° E wes ,

ALSO, NEW PIANOS RENTED AND SOLD ON INSTALL

MENTS:
J. BAUER & CO., oer eral Agents, :
oa & 69 Astrinlion ats Chicago, Ii.

650 Broadway, New York. Ww 25-20

$20 A DAY toMALE & FEMALE

Agents to introduce the BUCKEYE $20 SHUTTLE SEWING
MACHINES. Stitch alike on both sides, and is the only LI-
CENSED SHU!TLE MACHINE sold inthe United States tor less
than $40. All others are infringements, and the sciler and the
user are liable to prosecation and imprisonment. OvtTFit FREE.
ws-lyr Adiress W. A. HENDERSON & CO., Cleveland, 0.

HINKGLEY KNILiTING MACHINE,
The wonder of the Age—with single, eye pointed Needle. Sim-
ple, Cie p, Reliable—fer Family Use. Agents wanted every-

 

 

where 01 treduce them. Address
i HINKLEY KNITTING MACTIINE CO, Bath, Me., |
wi2-13t Or 176 Broadway, New York.

 

THE NEW ARTICLE OF FOOD.

For twenty-five cents you
can buy of your Druggist oF
Grocer a package of Sea Mioss
Farine, manufactured from
pure Irish Yioss or Carrageen,
which will make 16 quarts of
Blane Mange, and alike quan-
tity of Puddings, Custards,
Creams, Charlotte Russe, &c.
&e, lt is by far the cheapest,
healthiest and most delicious
food in the world.

Rand Sea Moss Farine Co.,
, 53 Park Place, N.Y

‘PLANTATION BITTERS.
Ss. T.—1860.—X.

This wonderful vegetablo restorative
is the sheet-anchor of the feeble and de-
bilitated. Asa tonic and cordial for the
aged and languid it has no equal among

 

 

stemachics. Asa remedy for the nervous |

weakness to which women are especially
subject, it is superseding every other
stimulant. In all climates, tropical, tem-
perate or frigid, it acts as a specific in
every species of disorder which under-
znines the bodily strength and breaks

down the animal spirits. Sold by all
Druggists.
w28-7t

 

DL V1 yy at % Cee on

_ FREE! FREE! FRE!
No charge will he made if DR. TOBIAS’ CELEBRATED VE-
NE?IAN LEINIMENT does not cure Chronic Racuin ssw, Sore
Throats, Mumps, and pains in the chest, liurbs or back, when
apphed externally, and Croup, Diarrhea, Dysentere, Cotie, Sea-
sickness, &c., internallv. Warranted to be pertectly safe to
sive or apply tothe youngest child. It has been 23 years be-
fore the public, and has never tailed. Sold by all the Drugvis's

at 50 cents and one collar. W 22-25-2831

 

 

 

MyuUE COLLINS WATCH FAC-

tory. The celebrated UMI-
TATION GOLD HUNTING
WATCHES, “Collins Metal?
(improved Oroide). These justly
celebrated Watches have been
so therengehly tested during the
last four’years. and their repu-
tation tor time and as imitations
o! Gold Watches is so well es-
tanlished as vo require no ree-
am, OMINENA AT IONS, They retain
4 Weheir color, and exch one is
|  cully guarantced by special cer-
tficare. j

 
  
  
  
 

 

Patent Levers, $15.
ones costing $150. Those of exira fine finish, $20. Equaling a
$200 gold wateh. Also, an extra heavy, superb y finisbed and
g@mcid watch at $25. This equals in apearance » $250 gold
* Allour watches are in bunting’ exses, gents’ and Indies?
izes, Chams $2 to $8. Also, Jewelry of evcry kind, equal to
wold, at one-tenth the price

“The Collins’ metal is the best imitation of gold we have
seen.’—N, ¥. Tribune.

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

TO CLUBS,—W here Six Watches are ordered at one time, we
send a Seventh Watch tree. Goods sent by express to all parts
of the United States, to be paid -tor on delivery. C. E. COLLINS
& CQ., No. 335 Broadway, New York. wif-th.

AGENTS, READ THIS!

We will pay agents a salary of $30 per week and expenses, or
allow a large commission, to sell our new wonderiul inventions.

Address M. WAGNER & CO,

wl2-18t Marshall, Michigan,

For Moth Patches, Freckles & Tan.
SE “PERRY’S MOTIT AND’ FRECKLE LOTION.” The
only Rehable and Harmless Remedy known to Serence tor
removing brown discelorations from the Face. Prepared only
by Dr. B. GC. PERRY, 49 Bond 8t., N. Y¥. Sold by Druexisi
everywhere. - w22-13t

 

 

.

¥

mG AP BIE WEIS HD HO PON WE EIN ENT ERE SAINI ORTON AAR EE: HSE AN SRNR I RE NS HE BS

— Prices: Full jeweled
Equal in appearanee and for ime to gold?

    

 

 

 

 

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PRE

 

ctapnpmnernsilcaiiesctatliilti aa,

steerer tienes tales natin

 

 

 

a

renee ee nen ne

ictal ieneeeanearteetaaisinatiliainae

 

~ made her my bi

Dr. Pianche has
wltaletta, I acce

ee recor encanto

 

 

i i

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

0

te ea aarti plastered teh

 

 

RAE ——

ee ——

 

 

Do not aggravate dyspepsia with me ticines that rack and
weaken ‘he body ; nor render constipation chrovic with rasping
purgatives that leave the bowels puralyzed. Gently and with-
out pain, TARRANTS EFFERVESCENT SELTZER APERIENT carries
off the accretions in tie alimentary canal, at tbe same time
toning the stomach, nmproving the appetite, promoting heattby:

yerspiration, aud refreshing the whole system. IJtis a luxe
rion draught, in) which a hundred: healthful elements are

blended. SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. w28-It

~ Beautiful: Woman.

All women know that it is beauty rather
than genius which a!l generations of men
have worshiped in the sex. Ladies desiring
beauty, a soft, smooth, and beautiful com-
plexion andskin, should us2 Geo. W. Laird’s
“BLOOMOF YOUTH.” This delightful toil-
et preparation has recently been chemically
analyzed by Prof. C. F, Chandler, the chem-
ist to the Met: opolitan Board of Health. The
“Bloom of Youth’ is pronounced harmless,
aud free from any ingredient injurious to
health.

Sold at all Druggists’ and Fancy Goods
Stores.

Depot 74 Fulton street, N. Y.

 

 

w28-4t

\ S —That spicy. book ‘‘Timr,” free. with List of
B. ¥.O. Warches, $8 to 80. Agents wanted. Boston
Warce SALE, 12 School street, Boston, Mass. w28-lt

 

BLG PROFITS to Agents on a new Illustrated Book. Send
; circulars. 3 ‘
west Re J. B: BURR & CO., Hartford, Conn.

TROUBLE.

  

 

 

 

BY SYLVIE A. SPERRY.

 

They say this is a happy world,

With more of pleasure than of sorrow;
That ha'f the trouble we ali see

Ts what we daily, hourly “borrow.”

» They tell us ‘tis a wicked way :
To cail this life a life of trouble;
Because for every clouded day
- The number of the fair is double.

We all have seen a tiny ¢'oud
. Ifide from one spot the sun's bright rays
While ali around its splendor showed,

By contrast, with an added grace.

And so I stand; on every side
Are the contented, rich and loved;
To me alone is light denied,
The sunshine from my path removed

Tf only, like a cloud, ’twould pass,
Or have for me a “silver lining!”

In past and present are, alas,
Compared to hopes of future, shining!

Zs life so swect, so fair to any ?
Or, have we all a share of sorrow?

Am I but one of all the many :
Whose trouble comes before they “borrow 2"

——_ > 0~«
THE

Locksmith of Lyons.

By DOWARD W. MACY,
AUTHOR OF “THE BANKER OF CHICAGO,"

CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT MAMMA GRIMO SAID.

Mamma Grimo was filled with rage on discovering that
already so much was being proved of the origin of
Blanche. Mamma Grimo was there, in truth, for no ether
purpose than to reveal all she knew, and to prove ail she
could; but it enraged her to find Waal Der nepret tai been
SO Inorougiiiy audermined by chaucé and the suspicions”
of the dector. ;

While Mamma Grimo muttered her useless and incohe-
rent curses, the general eXumiued tle shoe given to hun
by the artisan,

“Undoubtedly this is the other shoe worn by my child
when she was abducted by Barbe Rousseau!” exclaimed
La Motiier. ;

“What if it is? what if it is?’ cackled Mamma Grimo.
“Jt proves nothing, doesit? Come, why waste time? Let
us take it fer grapted thatthe shoe is the mate of the
other—tnat they were both on the feet of Leoletia La Mo-,
thier when sle was thrown into the Seine; that the body
of the child was for a time in my hands—eh? What can
you oes Can any one but Lisette Malus—me—prove
that Blanche is Leoletta? You may put this and that to-
gether, and imagine which, and what, and t’other—but
after al——”

“Silence!’? cried the doctor.
spoiled, you fool.’’

*“Ob—perhaps!"?

*“T am but explaining to the general why I was led to
believe Blanche to be his lost child.”

““i¢ seems to me,”’ Said the artisan, with Mashing eyes,
“that this old wretch is very insolent for an outlaw and a
oriminal.”’ é ‘

“Good!” screamed Mamma Grimo, venomously, beat-
ing the table with her bony fists and the carpet with her
heels, in a paroxysm of rageand malice. “1 am an out-
law and a crimiual, my fine fellow; bat, ha! ha! was I
ever branded? Hoo! Blanche, your gay lover there is a
galerien ! Don’t think, if you may be the daughter of
Uenri La Mothier, tiat your proud father will let you have

 

“Your bargain is not

4 branded jail-vird for a husband. Oh, l am not afraid to
talk aS I please here. The doctor has pledged his word
that I shall be as free to go as I was to come.”

“Peace,” said the general, with great haughtiness, ‘or
{ may be satisfied to receive the young lidy as my daugh-
ter without hearing you. Go on, doctor.”

The latter resumed:

“Monsieur George Herbert, in whom I feel a deep inte-
rest, showed me tue little shoe Blancue gave him, and 1
at ence Suspected that it was the mate of tuat which I had
seen on the body of the child in the Morgue at Paris, Atf-
ter that Isaw Blanche herself, without her knowledge.
Her extraordinary resemblance to Leola de Vale con-

 
 
  

vinced tie thatshe was Leoletta, especially as Blanche
also greatly reset You, General La Mothier. After
that, | saw this old woman, who calls herself Mamma

Grime. 1 at once recoguized her as Lisette Malus, the
sister of Bas vusscuu. YOu now perceive, general,
why Lsuspected Blanche to be your child,”

“Now, woman,” said the general, sternly, “I am ready

to hear your statement.”
“Out Aud What if I have none to make?"
“Phen you ‘ Th, 7? >

Stars of light? cried Mamma Grimo, amazed at the
scornful sterniiess of the noble. ‘Don’t you tuink that
what I may beable to prove is worth something?”

“You tily say or Say, a8 you please,’’ replied the
general, rising/‘and advancing toward Blanche. “In the
iace aud formof this young lady see repeated exactly
the form and face of my dear wile, asshe was when I
my heart Sprang to embrace her as
uMoimy eyes fell upou her; after what
ated I have no doubt, Blanche, my
acknowledge, | embrace you as my

  
     
  
 

muy child the itm

dear ciild.’? "

Blanche threw herself into the armsof the general,
and wept upon his bosom, while he pressed his lips to her
cheek and brow, Whispering:

“Dear chiid | dear ouel what happiness is in store for
your mother |—tnat fondand long-bereaved mother you

   
 

have Bever seen !*?
Dr. Planche took snuff rapidly to hide his emotions,
aud st at Mamima Grimo,

Mamaia Grimo worked her jaws and snapped her eyes.

, is did Bot Seem to her that muck chance was left for her

t& make a grand bargain.
Was to be us nothing.
_ Antoine stoad aloof, grave and silent, as was his habit.
‘The artisan gazed upon the genera! and Blanche wit
eyes fall of noble expression.
“Hoot 1? snapped Mainima Grimo, catching the beam-
lngeyes of the artisan. ‘‘Youshould be green and yel-
low with chagrin She is lostto you. I have great joy
iN that }ittle fact. ” :
. the general heard and understoodher. With a firm,
fvamk yoice, he said,as he led Blauche to the artisan:
in acknowledging Blanche as my child, [do not rob
you, noble young man, of your right to love her, to be
loved by her, nor of your hepe to make her your wife.”
_ “Oh, general!’ cried the artisun, as Blanche glided to
iis Open arms.
‘Tiad not I seen and heard that which proved your
votless houor, and nobility of character,’’ continued La
othier, “it is not provable that I should have so readily
cepfed you as a fayoredsiitor for the hand of my

It appeared that her evidence

    
  
 

ai hter. No narrative, ne matter how urged, nor by
whom, could have placed béfore me your true Cliaracter
ind Worth, as has been done by what las passed in this

room.

Oh “thought the ola doctor, “it was well that I
piinpedshings as t did, La Mothier is as proud as Liuci-
fer, but Meas the heart aad Warm impulses ol a good
aad sensiMe mau. Ha! ManmmaGrimo,’’? lie added aloud,
*“xOuU See, You have not even the contemptbie satistac-
tion ef deprying two young and devoted hearts of the
pleasure of Deing united forever.”

“Stili,’’ snatled the old weman, “Tthink that which I
am able to say may be wérth something, At least, [ shall
not say it, unless 1 be well rewarded,”

Be Merciful to Yourself

aie

“Woman,” said the general, “years ago your band of
thieves, ‘The Snake-Charmers,’ robved me of. ceitain
documents, papers, deeds and titles of real estate, the
loss of which, has been for years, a source of great vexXa-
tion to me. A few weeks ago, when | first came to Lyons,
I saw you aud recognized you in the street. You did not
see me.?!

“No; I wish L had,” muttered Mamma Grimo.

“Believing that you might have those papers in your
possession, or that among your eifects some trace of
them might be found, lemployed an agert to secretly
examine your trunks, or in whatever you might keep
your vaiuables. This agent told me that you had a chest
which you especially valued, and that it would be iinpos-
sible hoxamide that chest without first obtaining a key
to the lock of your bed-room dvor—that the keyof the
lock, which was of strange construction, was carried by
ayoung girl whom you claimed as your niece. Idid not
believe that you had any niece, though that was possible.
Thad never seen the girl you said was your niece, nor
cared to see her, for, as L have said, Lhad no suspicion
that my child was alive. l ordered my agent, Coulot
Andre, to obtain on impression of the key carried by the
girl, and he contrived to ao so. With that impress |
visited the shop of this young man—who is now aware of
my only purpose in desiring a key like that which was
carried by his betrothed. As regards anything you may
bave to say for or against the belief I have that Blanche
De Mounlaine is my daughter, I care nothing. I accept
as a fact, the belief she is Leoletta La Mothier. You and
| may bargain for the stolen title-deeds.” :

“Ho! you are not so easy as you would make out, Henri
La Mothier,’’ snapped the old woman, insolently.

“Do not be insolent tome. Itistrue that Dr. Planche
has promised you shall be as free to leave his house as
you were to come in, and I shall not attempt to step be-
tween you and his word,” said La Mothier, firmly. ‘But
I shall accompany you to the street, and there I shall ar-
rest you.” ‘

There was so much fire in the eyes of the general that
the old woman at once subdued her tone of manner.

‘“‘Why do you intend to arrest me?” she asked.

“First, that you maybe punished for your crimes.
Second, that you may be deprived of all power to cum-
mit more crimes. Third, thatin open court it shall be
proved that Blanche is my daughter.’’

“And thisis allthe reward that Iam to-receive for
coming here of my own free will! Oh 1”

“You have confessed nothing. You have admitted
nothing. You have denied everything.”

“Then I am fo be arrested ?”

‘You are to be arrested and punished, vile old woman.
You have been prompted to come here by some powerful
motive of which we know nothing. You probably saw
thenet of circumstantial proof closing around you, and
you hastened to make a virtue of necessity. If you have
anything to say, it will be best for you to Say it, and trust
to my clemency.”

“What a foel I was to give up my knife!’ thought Mam-
ma Grimo. ‘Atleast, I could have given this proud La
Mothier a seratch! Oh, I was a foot!’ ‘

“Come,’? said Dr, Planche, “it is time you were gone.
Open the door, Antoine, and let her go.”

“Stop; I want my property first.”

“Your property ?”?

“Certainly. My knife."

“Your knife, being poisoned, isan illegal weapon. i
shall present it to the superintendent of tiie police.”

“Ir I state, under oath, before a magistrate, all 1 know
about the girl,’ whined the now _ terrified old woman,
‘will you promise me not to have me arrested? IfIdo
alll canto prove that Blanche is your child, will you
promise not to arrest me, and never to molest me for
anything that I have done?”

“| will promise that, Lisette Malus,’* replied the gene-

 

ral.

“And all that are hete promise the same?" demanded
the old woman, with a glance around.

Receiving a satisfactory reply, she continucd:

“T came here hoping to be able to win a large reward.
I was a fool to trust myseif out of La Croix Rousse, but
then La Croix Rousse was no safe place forme. 1 have
escaped from there. Ihave nothing to gain now. My
game is all Spoiled. Come, let a magistrate be sent for,
that all Lhave tosay may be written down and sworn
to.’ ; :

“There isno necessity to send for a magistrate,” said
Dr. Planche. ‘I ama magistrate of Lyons, recently ap-
pointed by the government.”’ ;

“Good. lam glad of that,’’ remarked Mamma Grimo.
“Are youready toset down what 1 wish to swear to?”
“Yes, lam ready; say on.”

“The girl Blanche isa child of Henri La Mothier, and
his wife Leola de Vale. She is the infant Leoletta La Mo-
thier which Barbe Rousseau stole from the house of Hen-
ri La Mothier on the night of the 14th Dec., 1818, in Paris,
and which was hurled by Barbe Rousseau into the Seine
from Pont Neuf, LIrescued her tospite Barbe Rousseau;
and that at some future time I might gain a gteat reward
froin Henri La Mothier, I precured the body of a female
infant of her age, and placed upon that body one of Leo-
letta’s shoes. ‘Then I concealed the body in water until
its features had become so decayed and swollen as to be
unrecognizable, ThenI secretly cast the body into the
Seine, where I knew it would be found by the river-po-
lice. All resulted as I expected and desired. La Mothier,
deceived hy thie shoe,
i that ofthis child. The child has never

 

 

belie iv to be!
E oes oriny sight @ week at atime since b rescued her.

I gave her the name of Blanche de Mounlaine, and sne
has never been known by any other. When I fed from
France | went with herto Naples. We lived there many
years. I had some money and mide more, so that we lived
respectably. I was carefal to rear Bianche piously and.
Viriuously. I don’t say that } was ever pious or virtuous,

or ever wanted to be. I swear, however, that no mother

could have been more careful of the morals and habits of
her child than I was of those of Blanche. I don't say L
was so for any other reason than this—I Knew La Mo-
thier would pay @ great reward ailthe more willing to re-
gain his child as pure and spotiess as she was when he
lost her. I don’t say I deserve any credit for that, either.
Perhaps I might sayso if I wasn't known so well, At
least, there she is, as pare and spotless as any girl in Eu-

rope. Idon’t regretit, either. As far as I was ever able

to be attached to anything f was fond ef her. I am sorry

Lever beat her. Lay all that to my, bad temper. When

we left Naples we came to Lyons. We have been in Lyons

several years, living very quietly. & taught Blanche how

to weave, and made her work at the loom. I was ali the
time trying to hear something of La Mothier, but he was
beyond my search. Besides, I was afraid to make much
stir, fearing reeognition. I believed al! of ‘The Snake-
charmers’ were dead, and until the day I lost Blanche I
had no suspicion that my brother, Barbe Rousseau, was

alive. <A short time before, Le Scorpion tried some trick

onme. I think he was after a chance to rob my chest.

That was the first of my Knowledge that he was still

alive. Now I will tell you of the robbery of my cnest.”?

Mamma Grimo then related that which is known to the
reader, but said nothing of the terrible trick she had
played upon Papa Canton. She said, simply:

“IT managed to escape—it dves not matter how, and I
came straight here. The clothes and things the child had
on when { dragged her from tne Seine, and the papers,
parchments, &c., l took from Henri La Mothier’s house
are no longer in my possession. Ican’t say they ever
will be again.”’

“Tt would give me great pleasure to recover the cloth-
ing,’? remarked the general, when Mamma Grimo had
concluded; “thougn I do tiot desire that as a corrobora-
tion of the story you haye told. But, if possible, the pa-
pers must be recovered, orthe lawsuits in which Lam
involved with certa'n claimants for a part of my estates
will continue for years, ascurce of vexation and ex-
pense. My child being restored to me, pure and spotless,
Lisette Malus, I forgive you freely for all the past. Re-
cover those papers and I will fill your pockets with goid,
and aid you to leave Frarce, sothat you may liveia
ease, and, perchauce, repent and reform.”

Mamma Grimo refiected for a time and then said:

“It isa pargain, TknowIshall risk my life; butI
must have something to defend myself with. I have two
malicious fiends to deceive. I must have my knife. . It
is the only weapon they feur.’!

“You shall have your knife,” said the doctor. “I will
give it to you in the street.”

“You dare not trust me with it, my brave doctor?”
sneered the old woman, rising, and drawing her shawl
about her. ;

“No,” replied the doctor, promptly. ‘You are a spite-
ful and venomous old witch, Having this dreadful wea-
pon in your hand you might be tempted to try to use it
on some of us, and then some of us woukd be forced to
put a ball through your head.’

Here the doctur took a pistol from a drawer, cocked
it, and gave it to Antoine. He then armed’ himself-in
like manner, aud said: ‘

“There is a volcano of bafiled avarice and hate raging
in your heart, Lisette Malus. You are desperate enough
to turow away your own vile and forfeited life, in an
aftempt to take one of ours. That revengeful desire
glares in your eyes.”

Such desire did, indeed, sparkle from every feature of
the old woman. With that envenomed Knife in her hand,
within that room, she felt assured that she could stab,
or slash, or, at least, scratch more than oue ere she could
be shot down.

The prudence of the docter bafiled her. . She had come
to shear, and was going away shorn, as yet undecided
whether to again make common cause with Barbe Rous-
seau and Le Scorpion, or to make an attempt to win the
reward promised by Le Mothier for the recovery of the
lost parchments,

 

CHAPTER XXII.
LE SCORPION PERFORMS A SURGICAL OPERATION.

“Open the door, Antoine, and let her pass out,” said
the doctor. ‘When’ you are in the street, Lisette Malus,
I will toss you your vile weapon.”

Followed by Antoine and the doctor, Mamma Grimo
passed froin the office after a scowl and grimace at all
Within it, and was soon standing upon the pavement be-
fore the house, looking up atthe dcoctor, as he paused
on the steps.

“There, take your accursed knife!’ he said, as he tossed
it toward her.

It was in its sheath, and the quick clutch of the old
woman caucht it, as it ew through the air. She hid it
under her shawl, and hurried away.

“[ donot know that we have done well in permitting
ner to egég pe so easily,’ thought the doctor, as he gazed
after her’ ‘She is a venomous old wretch, and may give

‘us trouble liereafter.”
He~ ried to tus friendsin the office; and we will

followy Mamma, Grimo.

Sse hurried toward La Croix Rousse with the same
laste and directness that had marked her steps when
leaving that quarter.

s  ] must risk 14, she thought, as she hurried on, from

 

SS = ,

|

buried and mourned over the body |)

; said. they were to be gone all day.

   

 

 

 

 

pees

street to street. “I donot think Canton lied, when he
Perhaps i had best
inake the most of bad luck, and try to get those papers.
} don’t want to lose my chest, ether—all my clothes and
things. ‘There’s more to be made ont of La Mothier than
out of an alliance with Barbe Rousseau and Le Scorpion.
It’s hard to be thwarted so badly, after all ‘my plannings
and waitings of fifteen years, but there is no he!p for it
now. The girl is lost to me, and all chance of ever mak-
ing a grand fortune out of her. 1 think I had better try
to recover the papers. To’ even’ attempt that, I must
feign to be friends with those two villains. Tney’ve got
all my money, too—all my dear savings—on! nearly a
hundred thonsand frances!’ Le

This refiection nearly drove Mamma Grimo wild.

“T have a great mind tole in wait for them in that
room, and make an end of them as they come in. But
then Le Scorpion is fearfully quick with his Knife, and it
isjust as dangerous as mine. Then there are two of
them.”

Perplexed and undeeided still, the old woman at length
arrived at the door of the roomin which she had left Papa
Canton. ee

She peeped in, —
by his dead hands

>

        
  
  

a Canton was there yet, Swinging
e rope ladder,
“Good!? mutter mma Grimo,
one has been in s eft.’ :

Again she went out. While out, she purchased a stout
cord, with whieh she returned. She climbed up the rope-
ladder to the room above, made fast one end of the cord
to her chest, dr to the edge of the trap-’
door, and, after

“It is plain that no

   
       

  
  
 
  

: g thecord around one end of th
bed-post, low the chest to the floor below. This be-
ing done, she descended, untied ‘the cord, ana draggel

the chest out into the hall: Leaving tne chest there, she
again went into the street, procured the services of a por-
ter, and had her chest carried away. :

It was after dark when Rousseau and Le Scor-
pion returned to the room.’ They entered together, rude-
ly, aS was their custom.

“Heh! cried Barbe Rousseau, halting after a single
step into the room, and unable, in the total darkness, to
see anything. “Nolight! Ho, Papa Canton! Why have
you no light? Come, strikea light—quickly—for we have
a basket of the best red wine for you.”

There was no reply. Adead stiliness followed the
words of Barbe Rousseau,

“A light, old fool—old sot!? screeched Le Scorpion, im-
patiently, “Do you hear? A ligutl?

There was no reply, and Barbe Rousseau called out:

“Come, have you stolen out? Are you dead drunk,
Papa Canton ?*

“No doubt he is dead drunk, or has got tired of waiting
for us, and stolen cut forasly drink. Here, I have abex
of matches in my pocket—I will myself strike a light,”

The matches of 1834 were not like the matches of 1870.
They were slow and very uncertain burners, and before
Le Scorpion had succeeded in igniting a match sufficient-
ly well to permit him tostep out in search of the lamp
always standing on the table, Barbe’ Rousseau, who was
groping about, stambled over something, and fell head-
long. a } i

Iie was too active to have been tripped had he not been
eucumbered with a basket, filled with bottles of wine, and
provisions, and unexpectedly encountered tue body of
Papa Canton, for it was that over which he had stumbled.

“Ah!” cried Le Scorpion, letting fall his match; ‘you
startled me. Ho! that was a bad fall—especially ior the
bottles. Wait—I will light another match.”

“Peste |? roared Barbe Rousseau, in a rage, and by the.
touch recognizing the presence of Papa Canton. “It is
true. Here he lies—dead drank! Rascal! A pummeling
in the ribs will do you no narm.””

_ Whereupon, believing that the prostrate old sot was
simply drunk, and wishing to arouse him roughly, Barbe
tousseau began to thump and beat that whica he could
not see, laying out with feartal violence, and exclaiming:

“Wake up, wake up, old soaker and sloth that you are!
ee you fall asleep ig our absence? © 1’ll break your
ribs |

“Curse these matches ! cried Le Scorpion. “They are
wet; they will not burn long enough to catch the
splinter.”

“Hol? roared Barbe Rousseau, who had made a dis-
covery While hammering at the dead man,

Something in his tone warned Le Scorpion, who was
still making ineffectual attempts to ignite his wet match-
es, that something had gone wrong. Ile paused, and
yelled out, impatiently:

“Well. what is the matter?’

“This man is dead !?

“Bah

“True! Isay Papa Canton is dead.”

“Oh, a fit, perhaps |” Fi

“No; cold and stiff; and his arms are raised up. They
are—oh, torture! A trick—a trap! Great fleuven! A
light—quick ! A trick of Lisette! Fury! I am. fast by
both hands {"? Ht

True! Barbe Rousseau, in groping about with his an-
gry hands, had grasped with one the scarf, and instinct-
ively clutched the scarf with the other to free that which
“— secured by the keen, parbed hooks, :

qf that

“Quick ! the saber therein the corner!" cried Barbe
Rousseau, whose features, alWays hideous, were now
positively infernal in their expression of horror, terror,
and rage. ’

“Hfo ! the trick of the scarf an@ fish-hooks !" exclaimed
Le Scorpion. ‘Soe played that on the police detective in

Paris, years ago. Ha! so she has escaped 1°

“The saber—the saber |? roared Barbe Rousseau.
is in the corner there. Quick! No doubt the hooks are
poisoned! Quick !—smite off my hands at the wrists-!—
there is no other way to save my life |”

“Oh, the hooks are poisoned—no doubt of that, said
Le Scorpion, as be glanced at the face and hands of dead
Papa Canton. “You bid me smite off your hands?”

He had drawn the keen and glittering saber from its
sheath, and was standing near the entrapped wretch.

“There is no antidote, is there?’ groaned Barbe Rous-
seau.

“1 do not know what venom Lisette has used,” replied
Le Scorpion. “Ifthat of the coral-snake of the Brazils,
there is no antidote—especially as you: must have a dozen
hooks in your hands.”

“A dozen! a theusand at leas!’ cried Barbe Rousseau.
“My hands are pierced everywhere! Smite! off with
them! better be handless than lifeless! Quick—or the
carsed venom will get into my blood! Smite!

The one eye of Le Scorpion giared with a kind of de-
light, mmgled with terror. He had ever held this man
in awe and a species of respect. He had ever hated, too,
while he feared him. He raised the saber and was about
to strike, when Barbe Rousseau cried out:

“Halt! first tie a cord tight around each arm—above the
elbow—or f may bleed to death before f can find a sur-
geon. Haste—there is stout twine on the flour at your
feet, use it; rip up my sleeves, so that you may biad the
flesh, and veins, and arteriesiirmly.”’

in a few minutes Le Scorpion had obeyed, and then
Barbe Rousseau called out:

“Strikel??

Le Scorpion struck twice. At each blow he smote offa
hand—a hand of Barbe Rouss¢au—a hand that had com-
mitted a thousand crimes, a thousand infamous deeds—
two crime-stained hands, ever eagerly grasping to do
evil, to plunder, to destroy, to.rob, to murder.

Two strong, skillful biows, and above the bloated, dead
hands of Papa Cantou hung tWo huge, mis-shapen, pieed-
ing, dying hands, held to the fatal scarf by the enven-
omed fish hooks of cunning, deadly Mamma Grimo.

At the first blow Barbe Rousseau made no sound.

‘Tt

At

the second he howled a curse, fearful, intense, like the}

howl of a beast shot down suddenly, and sprang to his
feet, holding his bleeding stumgips before him..

He darted toward the door, suoutings

“A surgeon! a surgeon! in the name of life!
Come—aid mel’?

He was out of the room in a second, and rushing down
the great stairway—alone; for Le Scorpicnu did not go
with him, nor leave the rooni.

On the contrary, Le Scorpion tossed the saber aside,

& surgeon.

| laughing horribly, #8 if he had performed a very pleasing

teat, and saying, with aleer from his single eye at the
two dissevered hands that dripped great g~ou's of blued
apon the ugly, stiffened handsof Papa Canton:

“To think that, after all, | shou'd have lived to eut off
those hands! Hol he snecredat my one eye this morning
—this very day! Tow queerfand nowte has no hands.
Dd rather lose an eye than two'hands—hol as for that,
Ud rather lose two eyes than both hands. Perhaps the
loss of his hands may save his life—onty a pethaps, for
that poison is deadly quick. Yet there is a little or no
fies on those bouy : agds—all bone, sinew and cord, and
hard skin—bah! there wag no heed to cut his hands off;
for there was scarcely flesh enough ou then: to absorb
the poison rapidly. Very different from your fat hands,
old Papa Canton. So Lisette tas escaped. She has man-
aged it very well. How did she get that rope? Befooled
oid Canton in some way, no doubt. Et was wellfor her
that she did. Papa Canron intended te kill her. I was
in hopes he would, But for Barbe Rousseau | would have
killed the old woman myself. Queer! Lf he had not ta-
sisted on sparing her life he would now have his hanes.
It is always folly to be merciful. £ wonder whereshe is?
On, there seems to be a note on the tavle—so there is—
and from Lisette too:

“Tam out, bag and baggage,’ with a vengeance too,”
added Le Scorpion, as hs read a scrawk Mamnia Grimo
had left when she departed. ;

“Jf you want to see me inquire for me at the Golden
Loom. If you don’t come to fair terns with me, end give
me back that of which you Nave robbed me, £ will report
all I know to General Henvi La Mounier.’ ?!

“Tio I) thought Le Scorpion, when he diad read so far,
“So she lias net made haste to make a bargain for hersell
with La Mothier! What a simpleton! Now, hid I been
in her place, [should have lost no time in making terms
with La Mothier. Whaita silly old weuian—if we don't
give her back what we lave stolen, she will go to General
La Mothier !’ Why, the old fool is far from being sharp—
but as we grow old we lose cur slirewdhess--and Lisette
has been growing old several years. Come, that fisi-
hook trick Shows she has not lust all her wits. But per-
haps we wronged her. Perhaps she did not intend to
play for herself alone. Bilt what more does she say

There was very. little more left ti the scrawl, left by

 

Mamma Grimo, oaly this:

ee aware

“If you think Iam not in earnest, kiss Papa Canton’s

hands for me, I will wait only a few hours.
Yours,” LISETTE.”?

“No doubt you are in carnest,’? muttered Le Scorpion,
With a grimace, and a shudder, “Whatif I,and not
Barbe Rousseau, had stumbled over the dead sot, | should
hever have had the nerve to say—tllere, smite ol! my
hands.’ What would life be to me without my hands.
Come, 1 will go see Lisette—at ‘The Golden Loom? But
first, le>} me remove all proofs'of how the death of Papa
Canton came about.”

With this purpose he turned his attention to the re-
moval of the rope-ladder.

(To be continued.)
—_—-+-0<_-___

Tye AweRicaN NeEWspaPer Directory, published by G. P.
Rowell & Co., Advertising Agents, No. 49 Park Row, New York,
contains a full and complete statement of all facts about news-
papers which an advertiser desires to know. The subscription
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THs

i % : 5 ‘
FALSE HEIR
iP e
CHAPTER LILL.—(Continvep.);

“Then you are safe, Loraine,” exclaimed Walter; “you and
Raymond are sate. We will not prosecute you, knowme that
you have been punished already by the stings of remorse. We
make but one conditionto your pardyn, and that is that you
reform,” . eee

“I will! I willl” sobbed Loraine, in a wild burst of joy at this
unexpected kindness. ‘I spall haye no memory to drown now
in drink. I will reform!” ‘

“And you, Raymond,” said Walter, in. generous pity, “you
shall have a sufficient sum of money {o start you in some pro-
fession. I Advise you to go to the cdlonies——”

“Keep your advice and your money {” retorted Raymond. “I
will have all, or I will have nothing.” 4

The attorney approached Walter, begging him not to pardon
either father or son, and urging that it would make a. beautiful
case for prosecution—so strange and unparalleled, ete.

Walter paid no attention to the professional zeal of the at-
torney, but kindly repeated his offers to Raymond.

“You needn t attempt to patronize me,’ eried the son of Lor-
aine. “I would have killed you if ITcould, and you know it. I
don't want any of your hypocritical pity now. You're Lord
Rosenbary, and 1 hope yow ll make the mest-of it.”

“There is but one thing more to be done,” said Liedy Rosen-
bury, “and that is to make Walter’s position known to my
househeld. Most of my servants lave been in the family since
his birth. ‘They are ail extremely attached to me, and must
snare in myjov.”

She rang the bell, ordering that all the domestics should be

 

gathered in the great hall that ran the length of the mansion; |

an‘ then, taking the arm of Walter, and followed by the at
torney,she went out to speak to them.

Loraime, witha joyfal countenanee—joyfal notwithstanding
the dawntallof his son—follgwed, and behind him came the ab-
ket and miserahfe Raymond,

.¥he latter scageely knew where to go, or what to do, and stili
lingered to torté&re himself with the sight of Walter’s happiness.

‘the faithful yetainers of the houshold were all gathered in the
hail. Among them was seen the proud face ot Parkin.

7 org Was an expectant look on every face in the assemblage,
Walte? s vals} baying given them aclue to what was about to
transpire. Tooks stéod a little apart, and when the lady of the
mansion entered the hall, he bestowed but one single glance
upon his fallen master. , : 2

sady Rosenbury related the story of WafléeS being changed
for the son of his nurse, and theniatroduced him ord Rosen-
bury, and their future master. 5

He was greeted with Joud cheers, his resemblance to the iate
Lord Rosenbury instantly ereating.a place for him in the heatts
of i family retainers—a place tne false heir had never
occupied.

Lady Kosenbury then gave orders for a festival in the’ ser-
vants’ hall, and the domesties gave three more loudscheers for
their new lord.

Ere the joyful sound had died on the air, Raymond had rushed
from the mansion, with a bitter, despairing cry upon his lips.

Water invited Loraine to renrain, but his invitation was de-
clined, Loraine preterring to return to his sloop, and he svon
acparted.

The attorney then took bis departure, and Lady Rosenbury
and her son returned to the boudoir. hi

They were not permitted long to be alone, a servant entering
with a card, saying; i

“There’s a genUeman wishes to see hislordship; he asked for
Mr. Walter Loraine.”

Walter took the card, and glanced at the inscription:

“Your late mysterious guest.”?

On the opposite side of the card wasan apology for the intru-
sion, and a statement that he had found upon the door of Wal-
fete chambers a card with the words, *‘Adjourned to Rosenbury

ouse.

Lady Rosenbury and Walter were still smiling au this ingeni-
ous device of Parkin, when the fugitive Was ushered into tneir
presence.

At the sight of h'm her ladyship started, ulfered a ery of won-
dering recognition, and then sprang forward to greet him.

CHAPTEs LIV.
it was the morning of the day appointed for the countess‘s

alt,

The earl and countess had gone out inthe family carriage,
intenton a few last preparations for the ball, the countess de-
siring to give some few final directions ia person.

The Lady Geraldine was alone ia the morning-room. She
stood by one of the long French windows openiog mito the little
garden, Where the gardener and_ his assistants were at work,
carefully culling faded leaves and blossoms. She was apparent-
ly watcbing their busy movemenis, but her thoughts were evi-
aently far away, tor at times she sighed heavily; and a look of
pain resied upoa her Jovely tuee. eis

She was quite pale, not with pallor of bodily illness, but a
wahtof color cousequent upon mental suffermy, coupled with a
inek of physical exerc’se.

Tuis paleness had produced upon her relatives the impression

the | they soussidaously prepared for her was pro-
dueing its legitimate effect, and they were leud in their lamen-
tations over her supposed decline.

‘their mode of giving the deadly drug had varied somewhat,
but was generally administered in truit or wine, the Italian
s-arcely daring to repeat her experiment with the bouquet, lest
its deudly odor should arouse the suspicions of the maiden. |

It is needless to say that the Lady Geraldine never ounce took
the deatn-dealing potions prepared for her, but it often taxed
ner ingenuiiy to the utmost toevade them, the countess some-
times msis:ing, with pretended playfulness, upon seeing her eat
them, “as she knew they would do her good.”

On going out that morning, the Italian had teld her that she
would bring her some delicious fruits on her return, and the
maiden knew that another trial was before hero trial that
might prove severer than the ethers, the countess laving made
some remark, in a disappointed tone, avout her movements be-
traying more strensth than she supposed her to possess.

“Oh, that it were evening!” sighed the maiden. “i'his burden
is too heavy to carry Jonger—this terrible burden of the knowl-
ede of my uncle’s guilty intentions! I shall go away with Lady
R ssenbury to might, and tell her the whole truth. She will pro-
tect me!’

She thought of her lover, wishing that she might place her-
self under his protect.on. ané while still thinking tenderly of
him, the door opened, and a servant announced:

“Lord Rosenbury 1”

“Tam not at home to Lerd Rosenbury!’? commanded the
Ledy Geraidine.

“Not at home to me?”
ment

“To you? oh yes!” answered the maiden, radiant with sur-
prise and pleasure, extending her hand.

The servant, Who Knew Ravmond, and imagined that there
must be some mistake about Walter's title, looked satisfied and
withdrew, and the Lady Geraldine said:

“ilow good of you to brave my uncle and come to me, Walter.
I bave Pee tosayto you. Did you meet Lord Rosenbury
in the ha Z

“My darting,” replied Walter, with a smile, as he took her in
his arms, pressing her to his heart, ‘you who so nobly ioved me
and accepted me, promising to be my wife, when you ceemed
me to be the lowly-Vorn Waiter Loraine, rejoice with me in my
newly-found happiness! My name is not Loraine. Tam the
ouly son of Lord aud Lady Resenbury, and Raymond was but
usurper.”

Tne maiden looked at her lover with apprehension that his
senses Were Walilering.

His mo calm gaze reassured her, however, and she mur-
murvd:

“You are Lord Rosenbury! You are the son of dear Lady
Rosenbury ! I cannot understand it, Walter. Who then is-Ray-
mond? How came you to be cailed Loraine?”

In reply, Walter celated the discovery of the confession im Mrs
Loraine’s Bible, of the after coufession of Loraine, &c., and
Geraidine rejoiced in-bis bappiness and that of Lady Rosenbury,.

“ut you are looking quite pale, my own darling,” said Wal-
ter, atlength. “Are you quite well?’

“Not quite wellin mind, perbaps,” responded the maiden, sad-
ly. “Ob. Walter, [have been so shocked, so horritied! My
uncle and aunt are trying to poison me oe

“Po poison you?" cried Waiter, horrified and astonished.

“Yes, Walter, I heard them plotting to Kill me tbat they might
inherit my fortune. They put the peisen in fruits or wine, and
ence ino a bouquet——-””

“But, ny love, you have not taken this stuff !? interrapted
Walter, in wild alarm. “I know the earl to be capable of any-
thing; but surely you have not taken the poisons?”

“T didu’t Know it at first. Walrer. The countess caine to my
rooin one day with a dish of truiis, ina very friendiy ‘manner,
rane me to eat sone of them. LIcid so, and relt faint and lan-
gu
‘ “Oh, Heaven!” groaned the loyer, holding her closer te his
sreast.

“fhen in the evening I complained of feeling ill,-and the
countess gathered a bouguet tor me, but the troment I inuaied
its odor [felt taint, and all my nerves were unstruug——’’

“You must have a physician immediately,’ interposed Walter,
in a tone of the wildest apprehension.

“No, dear Walter,” sa‘d Geraldine, gently restraining him as
he was about toarise. ““Theeffects of the drugs passed away
luring ihe next Gay, and I have been careful ty iake none since.
{ went up stairs: but, fecting restless, reterned to the liprary. I
‘elt faint, aud lay down mi the room off the library, and while
there Loverheard the carl and countess talking about ine. They
said they feared they had given me too much petson, and must
be more careful in future. They stated their biect to be the
acqilisition of my tortune.”’

“Demons!” breathed Walter.

“TL escaped te my roona unseen, resolved to foil their seliemes.
So, although they have offered me the poisons since, £ bave
evaded taking them, throwing away the wine and fruit.”

“My brave dariiog! Butwhy did you not leave the house, and
fiy tomy mother? Why did you not write to met?

“T Lave nui been allowed to go out alone since, my uncle fear
ing, L think, that I might elope to Scotiand with yeu, and thus
defeat lis pi tis. On, le may have otler reasons! EF did not
write to you, nor make an attempt atescape. infenuing to appeal
this evening to Lady Rosenbury’s protection, anu retdrm home
with her.”*

; A ee or smile lighted up Waiter’s countenance, as
1le@ &SKked:

“to-night, my own darling, shall bring you deliverance from
ali your trials. You must appear at the bal), and keep up your
tithe of the Belle ot tue Season.”

“L wilt,” answered the maiden, with a smile. “Iam go happy
at the discovery of your birth and position. You will come to
the ball, dear Walter, and surprise the exrl and eountess, will
you not? [shall be pleased fo witness their astonisninent at
iioding who you are. We wiil keep the secret until you are
aunounced {”

“Yos, my darling.’

“And shall L go liome with you and dear Lady Rosenbury 2?”
asked Geraldine, with a blush of embarrassment.

“Wherever you are, you will ve safe trom the machinations
of your relatives,” was Walter's reply. ‘‘But vou do not yet
Know all your causes tor liappiness, my own Geraldine.”

“What else have [ to rejoice at”

Walter hesitated, and then, with infinite tenderness in his
miner, said:

“My love, tellme something about your father.’

“Why, Walter, do you not know that he died ahroad years
ago’ Odi, if he had only lived ulinow! Peor papat Lt always
grievek me to think that he died in a foreign land, and [ was not
with Bim.”

Waker stroked the hair of his betrothed, and remarked:

“T have sevn my miystemous guest again, darting. He came to

sosenbury House last night, and he is now ouy honored guest.”

“Tove you found out who he is, Waker?’

“Yes, my Jove,” replied Lord Rosenbury. ‘THe told as his his-
tory last night.< It is singular, and [ will'tell] it you. Weisano
bieuan, and had Lut ane broiber. to whem, he was tenderly ais

exclaimed Walter, entering the apart-

 

  
 

    

taghed. This brother possessed a wild, roving disposition, and
went away, being absent many years. Atlength he wrote hom»,
begging the clder brother to meet him at a city designated o1
the Continent, and tde novleman, Jullof joy at his brother's re-
turn, hastened to Vienna. ‘The brothers met. They spent a day
together, and then the nobleman, loving and unsuspecting, was

orugged by his relative, and when he fully recovered his con-
| sciousness, and the power to move about, he found himself the
Inmate of a Madhouse .”

“How terrible!” murmured the maiden, as his lordship
paused,

; “Yes, my (arline. He soon discovered that he had been
transported to England, while under the influence of continued
lrugging, and also learned that bis brother had given out that
he had died on the Continent, and they hed not met at Vienna.
Afterward he fearned trom his keeyers that the wer!d thought
him dead, that his brother bad sueeeeded to his rank and
wealth, and_ he was buried alive. Atter years of anguish, he
escaped, and I met him at Rock Land. Then he was retaken,
and again escaped. Itound him on the sea-shore, and brought
him home with me. He was very iil. I told you of all I knew
about him, and, as a Mr. Bowen, you innocently sent to nurse
him his jailer and persecutor, Dr. Mure.”

any uncle recommended Mr. Bowen, Walter,” said Geral-
ine. ‘

“I have known that fact since last evening, my darling—or
inferred it. But you do not lok so conscious as I expected.
Does not your heart tell you who this fugitives ?”

The maiden became deathly pale under the suggestion given
by these words, aud exclaimed:

“Oh, Walter, can you mean .

“TI mean, dear Geraidiue, that he is your father—y our own father
—come home to love you and bless our union.”

Geraldine couid scarcely comprehend at first the joyful intel-
ligence. She had been so Jong accustomed to reeard her father
as sleeping in a foreign grave, that it seemed diflicult to realize
that he lived —lived to bless her with his Tove.

But as the full realization at length burst upon her mind, she
gave way to joyful tears.

“Oh, take me to hiw, Walter!" she exclaimed.
him immediately.”

“Put on your bonnet, then, andcome withme. Our carriage
is in watting ”

The maiden hastened,to her rooms, soon refurning in her
street attire, and Walter escorted her to his waiiing carriage.

Ina few moments they were at Rosenbury House.

Geraldine trembled with excit, ment as the carriage stopped,
}and Walter supported her into the mansion to the bouuoir,
} where Lady Rosenbury alone awaited them.

“Are you sure that yon are prepared to see your father, my
dear? asked her ladyship, embracing her, aud removing her
bomnet.

“Oh, yes, dear Lady Rosenbury. And I want to tell you that
Tam so giad about Walter——” '

“Walter sMall tell me all you have said,” said Lady Resenbub
ry, asthe maiden paused. ;

Kissing Geraldine tondty, her ladyship gave her hand to her
soa, and they left the apartment.

They had scarcely d parted, when the door opened, and the
fugitive entered the room.

He paused near the spot, contemplating the lovely maiden
with the prefoundest emotion.
| Hehad changed greatly, since his first introduction to the
| reader, his manner having become selfretiant and resviute, bis
} oeariog stately, nis countenance hope‘uland joyous — He had
lost his suspicious and apprehensive look, ani appeared to have
a will capable of conquering all evils in his path.

Geraldine regarded hima single moment in wondering re-
cognition, aud then with agiad cry sprang iuto his cutstretched
arms.

For several minutes neiiher speke, but the heart of each of-
fered a voiceless prayer of thanksgiving. a‘

“Oh, papa, papal’? sobbed Geratdme, at length breaking the
silence. “Ihave thought you dead ali these years. Ihave
mourned for you go.” : 2

“{ know you have, my daughter,” said her father, hoiding
her from him, that he might look upon. her face. “My hte
girl! has blossomed into a woman since 1 saw her. You have
frown véry Hike your angel mother, my child.” .

ile foided hex again to his breast with mingled love and pride,
and then, leadins her to a seat, told her how he tad seenther at
the opera, and found it difficult to reiraia trem revealing him-
selfto her on that occasion. ;

“Walter has told me your story, deaY papa; but why do you

2)

 

”

 

“T must see

 

 

not @wne to-day and meet iny umiicle face tu fuce ?

‘Tan ¢Oning this evening, my child. IT went to my lawyer
last week, but he atviséd me to keep silent till the mgptof the
hall, and then govas a guest. My brother oxttmot deny my iden-
tity to all my friends and _acauaintances, who have but to look
at me to recognize me.. I wished to avoid bringing notoriety
on the family name, but I deem it best toJolew my lawyer's
advice, and appear at the ball.”

Geraldine approved this idea, and the earl said:

“Has your uucle been kind to you, my child, since my disap-
pearance? Icun forgive him much if he has treated you with
fatherly care and tenderness.” ‘

Geraldine responded by narrating the attempt that was being
made upon her life by her uncle and his wife, and explaining
how she had frustrated their designs:

“Can this be possible?” ejaculated the earl. “Ebert is in-
deed a monster of wickedness! Justice shall come upou him at
one feil sweep to-night.”

Subduing his excitement, the earl caressed his daughter, in-
quiring who was the swortbdy lady he had seen in her company
at the opera; why the earl had married her; and if Mrs. Tom-
lins still retaimed her positien in the tamniy,

To all tuese and many more questions Geraktine replied.

“You love Lord Rosenbury, do younot, my dear?’ he asked,
caressing her still more ‘enderly.

The answer was almost inaudible.

“ft dom’t see how you could help loving him if yor wished;
my dear,” said the ea 1. “LT love hintas though he were my own
son. J owe him my life and safety, and in return ror all his
goodness to me shall bestow upon him my mest precious trea-
sure, my daughter, Were he simply Waker Loraine, the paint-
er, I should cousider him no inehgiwle mateh for my darling,
for his heart and soul outweigh a hundred empry titles. And
yet [am not sorry that he is a Rosenbury. ‘Tne Rosenberys
were always a nueble race, and Ishall be proud of an alliance
with them!” ;

Geraldine expressed her delight at this testimonial to her lover
and his inciher, and told her father what a true friend Lady
Rosenbury had been to ber.

She was still dilating upon this subject, which was inexhausti-
ble, wnen her ladyshiv ani Walter returned, and the earl ex-
pressed to them his gratitude.

“Walter-has just been telling me of the awful danger Geral-
dine has jus: escaped,” said her ladyship, auxiously. “she had
better not retura home unui we go.” :

The maiden tookea inquiringjy at her father, who replied:

“Tf she has no tears for herseif, I thipk she bad better return,
I do no: care to prepare Egbert fur my coming, as he might
take steps to abduet me again |”?

“TF have no tears about going,” said Geraldine. “I know from
what I overheard that they Wishiue to appear to-night at the
bal. I don't like to leave you, bat 1 think it we wish to keep
our secret intact that 1 ought to return immediately !”

lt was a trial to part so soon from her father aut lover, buf,
hoping tor.a joyous meeting in the evening, the maiden at
fengih bade them adieu, and returned home.

Ouenter:ng Montford Hou-e she was met by her re'atives,
who gece auexious and displeased and the countess ex-+
chumed:

“An! I see by the carriage that you have been to Lady Rosen-
bury’s! You should not be so imprudent, my dear Geraldine,
Your healta is su-very delicate that I dislike your going out.
Who did vou meet at Rusenbury’s House!” .

“Lady Reserbury, Lerd Rosenbury, and their guest—an elder-
ly gentleman.”

“Phe Rosenbury’s will be here this evening ?”?

Geraldiue replied in the offirmative.

“Then, my dear, you Must rest weil before evening. Your
face is flushed, and you seem quite feverisn! Iso tear that your
strength will be overtaxed by the gayeties of the ball! You are
quite sure, my dear niece, that you are able to appear and as-
sist IN enterinining our guests 2?

“Quite sure!” respoudced the maiden, with an involuntary
smile.

“fben go and lie down, dear. You will find a couple of large
peaches in your Sevres dish that your unwe brought you. They
WHl reiresh you alter your drive.”

Geraldine bowed, and departed to her own apartmen’s.

The earl then addressed Mrs. Tomlins, with « sigh, saying:

“I think my poor niece is in a decline. She seems to grow
weaker every day. Have you not noticed 1?”

“T have noticed, my lord, that she seems to be troubled,” an-
swered Mrs. fomlins, honestly. ‘‘But Ithink she looked unusu-
ally welt and happy when she came in just now.”

Tne earl’s brow darkened, and he exchanged glances with his
wife, Who drew him aside, whispering:

“She will eat the fruic, Egbert. Resi assured that she will be
duli and spiritiess enough this evening. Her spirits and color
were simply a momentary reaction, and she will fail quickly

alter it has passed !””
{To be Continued.}
a it

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New Publications.

 

 

The Petersons, of Philadelphia, have issued the “Hans Breit-
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Tux Losr DauGutTeR, AND OTHER Strortes OF THR HeEARrt,” is
the tile of the elevenili volume of the very handsome edition of
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By
This

Tae BanisHeD SON: AND OTHER Storrs 6F THE FEARS
Caroline Lee Hentz. Publishers: T. B. Peterson & Bros.
volume is the Jastof the complete edition ef the works ef Mrs,
Hentz, which the Petersons have been isauin
The edition, which consists of twelve handsomely printed asd

ut $1,7)

¢ semi-monthly,

 

 

  
 

bound volumes, sells for $20, and the single volumes sell

ach.
Pet
We publish more serials by different contributors thar
any other puper published in tha United States.

 

 

 

 

i ihedhiniah niet rma SM RONNIE

OR RRR Re 5 Tempe!

 

 

eae agent

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

er Cz

 

 

 

BY MRS, SOPHIA .P. SNOW.

 

I have two homes, two precious homes,
Both dearly prized by me,

The one, my eyes do now behold,
Ttie other, hope to see.

The one, I bought with glittering gold,
My earthly home to be;

The other one was bought with blood,
And freely given to me.

The one, in which I dwell, has friends
That every grief will share;

The other one, to which I go,
My dearest friend is there.

The one, I view with mortal eyes,
Has beauties rare to show;

The other one, I see by faith,
Yet I its glories kuow.

The one’s encircled by a wall
Of granite, proud to see;

The other hath its walls four-square,
Which solid jasper be!

The one has massive iron gates,
Whose sable arms unfurl,

To let the weary traveler in;
The other, gates of pearl.

The one has walks with pebbles laid,
Most beauteous to behold;

The other’s are more glorious still,
All paved with shining gold.

The one has flowers of varied hue,
In summer charms arrayed;

The other's live throughout the year,
They bloom, but never fade.

The one, the sun illumes by day,
The moon and Stara by night;

The other hath no need of suns,
For God, himself, is light.

The one lies in a fairy vale,
No name to it is given;

The other lies beyond the slars,

,And angels celi it Heaven!
Ap

THE STEP-MOTHER.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

 

 

 

 

The clear, vivid sunshine of a September day was shin-
ing, like sheaves of jeweled arrows, into Cecile Moutpen-
siet’s spacicus drawing-room.

It was a handsome apartment, furnished in lilac and
gold. Lilac isa ‘trying’ color to most faces, however
fair and youthful, but Cecile Montpensier Knew that she
could safely surround herself with its soft, illusive glow.

For Cecile’s complexion, fair and delicate as a pink ja-
pouica, was perfection in its waxen bloom, and her hair,
a Geep brownish gold, waved into natural curls and rip-
pies upon her transparent temples. Her eyes were the
deep, limpid violet, that almost verges on black, almond
Shaped, and with long tiick lashes, and her mouth, red
and melting, like dewy coral, had but one fault—it was
almost too full, and scarlet.

Richmond Cheswick gazed down at the languid beauty
with alook of enthusiastic admiration, which it was 1m-
possibie to misconsthue. How lovely she was, as she sat
g¢nere, With his wotherless little one in her arms, shower-
ing kisses on Willie’s golden hair, and lisping pretty ca-
an gy sentences of ‘“baby-talk’”? to the four-year-old
child.

“J do think he is the most beautiful creature I ever saw
in ty life!’ she exclaimed, looking up into Mr. Ches-
wick’s face, with the deep eyes all soit and sparkling,
and the coral lips apart, just disclosing a row of tiny
pearls within. ‘I love him so dearly !”

Ordinarily Richmond Cheswick was a cool, composed
sort of personage, as little inclined as any man to act
suddenly, and without deliberation—but we are all infa-
tuated, at one period or another of our lives, and Cecile
Montpensier’s rare beauty would have maddened almost
auy one.

“Cecile !' he exclaimed, suddenly, “do you love him
well enough to be his mother? Do you love me well
enough to share life’s lot with me? For I feel that you

‘have taken my heart captive, and I never can be happy

with any one else! Cecile, speak to me—do not keep me

in suspense |!”

The roses crept..over Cecile’s satin cheek in soft pink

‘billows of bloom, as she bent her head in charming con-

fusion; it would have taken a wiser man than Richmond
Cheswick, to know that this was the very consummution
she had expected, and been maneuvering for, during the
last six mouths. |

She had triumphed at last—and when he went away,
leading unconscious little Willie, Who thought ‘papa
stayed a long time,’? Miss Montpensier was Richmond
Cheswick’s promised wife.

“There, nurse, take the little fellow up-stairs for his
sieep,’’ he said, as he sat Gown in the big easy cnair op-
posite the glowing fire of anthracite Coal, in his hand-
somely appointed library, and began to contemplate the
new and dazzling future opening to his mind’s eye.

What a regal Mrs. ‘Cheswick’? Cecile would make.
His first wile, Willie’s mother, true and loving as wile
could be, but utterly ignorant of all those polished graces
and acquired amenities that made Cecile so attractive.
And when she lay upon her death-bed, she had suid to
him:

‘Dear Richmond, if ever you should marry again——"”’

fie had interrupted her with words of passionate pro-
test—siie held up her slender finger with a plaintive,
moonlight sort of smile,

‘Hear me out, my husband. If ever you should marry
again—and you areso young that I think itmore than
likely you will—l have only one favor to beg of you. Dv
rot give Willie into a stepmother’s care. Seud vim to
sy home in the fresh, pure country; my sister wiil gladly
assume all the charge of him, and [ shall rest more quiet-
ly in my grave, Wul you promise me this?”

Blinded with tears, Richmond Cheswick had promised,
and so Janet had died, calmly, with her little sleeping
boy clasped closely to her breast.

But now he was going deliberately to break this solemn
compact with the dead.

“i cannot spare the merry, loving little fellow,’? he
thought, ‘He is too close to my heart. If Willie were
gone, half the sunshine would perish out of my daily
iife, and Cecile is so devotedly attached to him, also. If
Janet could have known Cecile, she would never have
wanted to send the boy away.”’

And then, he thought, with a thrill, very nearly ap-
proaching to disgust, how plain and homespun Heity
Bryaw was—tue Hetty the old people had wanted him to
marry, When poor Janet died. What a contrast she was
to royal Cecile Montpensier.

Meanwhile, old Jadge Montpensier rubbed his wrinkled
white hands, and chuckled gleefully.

“]t's a good thing you've caught the rich widower at
fast, Cecilie,’ hesaid,in his fat, husky whisper. “We
couldn't have stood it much longer—the funds were giv-
ing away dusedly fast. You have rather a genius tor
spending money, young lady; it’s well you're likely tu
dave plenty of it for the future.”

So there was a grand wedding in fashionable society,
with show of satin and glimmer of pearls and orange
vlossoms, and an interminable train of bridesmaids, and
Richmond Cheswick married Cecile Montpensier in a
great Kaleidescopic church, and took her to the home
where blue-eyed Janet, for eighteen short montis, had
fancied herself in an earthly paradise! And all that
autumn, Mrs. Richmond Cheswick moved, a ‘bright par-
ticular star’ through the charmed circles of the great
metropolis, fondled Willie, with sweet, artificial smiles,
and persuaded her admiring husband that she was the
very model of a devoted wife!

Down at the old country home, the news came like a
thunderbolt.

“Richmond has married again,’ said old Mr. Bryan,
with a sigh, as he closed the letter announcing to him the
important fact, ‘a Miss Montpensier of New York.”

His daughter Hetty looked up from her sewing with a
start

“Married again! And Willie?
for Willie at once !””

“No, child, no,” said the old man. “Richmond wants
t keep him; he says that even Janet would have been
Sedation with his new wife’s fondness ior the little fel-
low |”

“Yes, buf father,’ pleaded Hetty, ‘Janet herself said
we were to have him, in case of. om

“7 know, Hetty; but after all, the father has the first
right, and maybe he Knows best whatis well for the cnild.
We'll wait, patiently—perhaps the fine hew step-mother
will get tired of her little toy, after awhile !”’

Hetty bit her lip, but there was no alternative save sub-
Mission and patience. j

“J have bad news for you, Cecile,’ said Mr. Cheswick,
entering his wife’s drawing-room, one rainy evening im
mid-January, Where, in the most graceful of attitudes,
she was reclining on a sofa, languidly turning over the
leaves of a fashionable novel; ‘I stiall be obliged to leave
town, to-morrow, for an absence of two months, in the
West."”

“Richmond! surely I may accompany you?!

The grieved quiver of the ripe mouth was admirably
simulated—the transparent eyelids drooped. What an
actress Cecile Cheswick would have made!’

“Nay, dearest, don’t fret,’”? soothed her husband, ten-
derly, ‘the time will pass away, almost ere we are aware
of it, and my way lies among rude, untrodden wilder-
nesses, where my tropic flower could never endure the
nardstiips that cannot be avoided. Meanwhile, be as
happy and light-hearted as you can. I shall leave an un-
limited credit at the bankers, and IJ want you to enjoy
yourself,’

Cecile’s eyes sparkled under the drooping lids; after all,
it would be rather a relief to be rid, for a while, of the
prosy, middle-aged husband,

But, for all that, she cried, very naturally, the next day,
when Richmond Cheswick took his departure—and then
went, yawning, back to the drawing-room, and rang for
iced champagne, and a chicken’s wing, for lunch.

Presently the door opened, and a golden-haired little
fellow came running impetuously ian.

Oh, father, I must go

 

Typ eG

ee ; >=
IN Ne

“Mamma, Willie so lonely—can Willie stay here with
mamma?”

Unconsciously the little one hit bis arm against the
slender-stemmed glass of beaded champagne, on the ta-
ble—it tipped over, spilling the contents on Mrs, Ches-
wick’s morning robe of cherry-coiored silk. She bit her
scarlet lip, and gave Willie’s ear a sharp, sudden box.

‘No! Go back to your nurse, this instant, you bad,
troublesome little imp !” )

For now, during his father’s long-continued absence,
Mrs. Cheswick considered it time and trouble thrown
away, to court and caress the child whom she secretly
hated.

The boy stood a moment with quivering chin, and blue
eyes slowly brimming with tears—too proud to burst out
crying, yet hurt and wounded in his little spirit beyond
all description.

Mrs. Cheswick rang the bell sharply, for her nurse—a
French woman, who had been her own maid, before her
marriage.

“Lisette, take this child away.”

In vain Willie struggled. Lisette caught him up in her
arms, and carried him off to the nursery, volubly scolding
all the way, in broken English, for she, like most eye-ser-
ving domestics had caught her cue from the very tones of
her mistress’ petulant voice.

“You bad, naughty boy; me shut you in one dark closet
where de big Bogie will get you, if you nostop cry this

‘| minute.”

And Willie checked himself, in the midst of a prolonged
wail. Lisette’s threats and ghost stories had already
wrought their work of mischief, in his tender mind.

From that day Mrs. Cheswick avoided her little step-
son, as much as possible; if he came into her presence
she ordered him banished at once—she checked his child-
ish advances with frowns and bitter words.

«He is such a little nuisauce,”’ she said irritably.

While Willie mourned and fretted in vain over this
new and unpleasant state of things.

“Mamma does not love Willie any more as she used to
do,” ne sobbed, hiding bis face in the Frenchwoman’s
ruffied apron. “Oh, Lisette, I wish papa would come
home, to love Wiille.”’

‘‘Hush—sh—sh !'’ sibillated Lisette, sharply.
sleep, or de big bear
mountaios.”?

*‘Hlopkins,’? said Mrs. Cheswick to the housekeeper, one
day, ‘1 waht you to get Willie’s room ready for papa and
tThanima; they are coming to stay with me, during Mr.
Cheswick’s absence.”?

“Yes, madam,’ said Mrs, Hopkins, formally—the new
mistiess was no favorite with her; ‘shall 1 put Master
Willie in the blue room ?”

“No; Lhave mvited the Misses Grier to visit me next
week, and they must have the blue room.”?

“The little oak bedroom, then, ma’am ?"?

“Ot course not,’”? answered Mrs. Cheswick shortly; “my
brother will occapy that.’

Mrs. Hopkins opened lier eyes.

‘But where wili Master Willie sleep ??*

“Oh, anywhere. Put himin that corner back room, in
the third story.’’ :

“But, ma'am, that chimney smokes, and there’s no)
carpet On the floor. Hugh, the groom used to sleep
there p

“Nonsense—there’s no necessity for a carpet, and what
does a cnild, like that, need of a fire ?” cs
“Indeed, ma’am,”’ said Hopkins anxiously; “I couldn't
reconcile it to my duty to master—”? a
Mrs. Cheswick’s eyes sparkled balefully. :
“You are discharged,’ she said, drawing out her purse.
“J tolerate no servants in this house, who presume to op-
pose my will.”

And so poor Willie lost his one faithful friend.

The evening of Mrs, Cheswick’s first ball proved a bril-
liant success. The elegant rooms were thronged-—music,
flowers, and refreshmeuts were alike superb. The house
was crowded with gay guests, and Cecile, in her heavy
white silk, point lace, and diamonds, looked fair as a Cir-
cassian queen.

But almost before the first arrival was announced, Wil-
lie was seized upon by Lisette.

“Come, leetie boy,’”? she said, ‘it is de hour dat you
should go to ze bed.”

“Oat Willie stay up? coaxed the child. ‘Papa al-
ways let Wlille Stuy and see the peopie, and lear the mu-
sic ! Please, Lisette, please !”

But Lisette was merciless, and the sobbing child was
speedily tacked up in bed, in the dismal “‘coruer back
room’! with the yawning black chasm of a chimney, and
the bleak, uncurtained windows.

“Oh, Lisette,’’ wailed the child, “it is so cold, and Wil-
lie’s throat does acne so,”?

“You are one bad boy,’ said the Frenchwoman, threat-
eningly; “you are always of complain.”

“Don’t go aud leave Willie all alone, Lisette,” pleaded
the little fellow, through his tears. ‘Willie so ‘Iraid of
the dark and the cold!’

But Mauemoiselle Lisette was pining for the more ap-
propriate sphere of the lighted dressing-rooms and per-
fumed stalr-cases, aud sue was in a hurry to adjust her
rivbons and join the other attendan's; so, extinguishins
the gas, she artfully disappeared under cover ol the thick
darkuess.

“Lisette!” called Willie, in a voice choked by terror,
“Lisette !'? :

But there was no answer, oniy the whistie of the wind’
down the chimney. The child covered his head with the
bedclothes, while the cold drops oozed out on his. baby
brow. To bim every corner of the room Was iustinet with
hobvgoblin life and ghostly shadows, and his little heart
seemed to Stand Still Within hts breast.

Suddenly a barst of gay music from the sonorous wind
instruments below sounded like a reassuring poean. Willie
crept out of bed, scudding down the Stairs in his little
white night-rove like a hare.

“Mamma! Mamuina !?

For it was Mrs. Cueswick whom he encountered, com-
ing upto her reca fora jeweled cassolette she had for-
gotten.

“Willie,?? she said, frowning, “go back this instant!’
“Willie’s fear of the goblins Was even greater than his
dread of his stepmotier; he clung convulsively to the
folds of her gusteniog robes.

“Me so *fruid, mamma, me so ’fraid!”’

With an angry “Pshaw!?) Mrs. Cheswick seized the
child’s arm, and hurried bim up stairs once more.
“There,’’ sue uttered, sternly, “go ta your bed and stay
there. Dll teach you to make such a scene as this
again.” , ,
Sne pushed him roughly into the room, and closing the
door, locked It, and dropped the key into her pocket.
“He will be safe now, the little plague!’ she mutteréd.
“Lizette is too useful 1a the dressing-rooms to be spared,
and there is no otner way of silencing his noise.”

Willie, too much terrified even to sob, crept shivering
in between the chilled sheets of his bed, and presently
wept himseif noiselessly into a fevered sort of slumber.
When he awoke agai, two or three hours later, it was
to the presence of grim Death.

How little they recked, tuose gay dancers underneath,
that up inthe solitude and silence of the starless winter
night, a little, lonely creature was struggling in the mor-
lal agonies of the destroyer, Croup!

At about one o’cluck, a slight bustle at the door an-
nounced a hew and unexpected arrival. Cecile glided
gracefuliy forward, tuen stopped short, ia surprise.
“Riclimond!”? she cried, as hereyes fell on her hus-
band’s face.
“Myself, darling.
surprise.”

He greeted her with a tender caress, then smilingly
turned to receive the welcomes of the guests, who crowd-
ed around him.

“And nowI must run up stairs and see the boy an in-
stant.”?

Cecile turned scarlet, and then pale.

“J—I will send for him to be brought to you, Rich-
mond.’?

“No; there is no use in disturbing him.
in his sleep.’?

He was turning away, when. Cecile laid her trembling
hand on his arm, to cheek him.

“He isnot in his usual reom, Richmond,” she faltered.

“No? Whereis he, then? and why have you changed
his sleeping apartment ?”

“He is in the back room of the third story.”

“The back room of the third story!’

Mr. Cheswick’s brow involuntarily contracted with a
sternness which Cecile had never before seen there—she
trembled yet more.

“Itis only a temporary arrangement, Richmond, while
the house was fullof company. Stay—IJ have the key in
my pocket.”

Mr. Cheswick snatched the key from her hand, and
sprang up the stairs, two steps at a time.

To his surprise and horror, the room was dark and fire-
less. Where were the servants? where was tne clild’s
nurse? Herung the bell impetuously; it was answered
by a stout, good-humored Irish girl, who had many @
time stolen in, at night, roused by Willie’s stifled sob-
bings, to soothe him to sleep.

“Lights here, quick!’ ejaculated her master.
does this mean?
hole ???

Bridget sought in her apron pocket for matches.

“Sure, sir, 1t’s goin’ on two weeks now—the madam’'s
father aad mother pave his room-—and a burnin” shame
itis, bless his dear little heart! He’s been treated worse
nor a dog, sir, since’you’ve been gone—it’s been a cross
word here and a hard push there, from the madam, ana
Lisette is no better. Here's a match, sir—sure it’s meself
is glad you’ve got back to take his part!”’

With hands that trembled, nervously, he scarce Knew
why, Mr. Cheswick lighted the gas-jet, and turned to the
chill, lonely bedside.

‘sWillie! my little Willie!’

Bat Bridget’s shriek rent the silence, like the cleaving
of a Knife, as she bent over the couch.

“He’s dead! he’s dead! the pretty boy! The saints in
glory have-mercy on our souls! he’s dead!’’

“Hush, woman!” shouted the father, frantically, as he
bent itis head close to the pillow. ‘Willie! my boy! my
son!’

But no voice of earthly sound should ever reach those
dulled ears again. The blue eyes were half open, with a
glassy glare—the golden curls were all tangled—even the
tears were frozen, like diamonds, on the waxen-white
cheek, while the little hands, clasped tightly together,
told of the mortal struggle by which life had departed
from the tiny frame. The casket was there; but the jewel
was sparkling otherwhere, Little Willie had gone home!

Silently, and with compressed lips, Richmond Ches-
wick took the child into his arms; silently he descended
the stairs, and, walking into the midst of the affrighted
guests, held the tiny corpse to Cecile.

“Woman, behold your work!’ he gasped, in accents
strangely deep and stern. ‘Murderess! look upon your
victim! Aye—look well, for you will never behold either
him or me again.”

“Go to
wil come and carry you off to de

 

I thought I would give you a little

I can kiss him

“What
How long has my boy slept in this

 

 

 

 

With a cry that rose up to the illumined ceilings, Cecile
Cheswick fell fainting on the floor.
Ricliimond kept his word; he never looked on the fair,
deceitful face of his wife again.
Supported by a barely sufficient allowance, Mrs. Ches-
wick haunts the fashionable watering-places, a mere
wreck of her former self, while her husband lives a soli-
tary life and broods upon the past. While Willie, per-
haps the happiest of them all, sleeps under a quiet slope
in the perfumed shadows of Greenwood, beneath a mar-
ble shaft on which are cut the simple words:
WILLIE.
AGED FouR YEARS AND SIX MONTHS.

“7 shall goto him; but he shall not return to me.”
——P-@ <4

 

 

BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

 

Sing gayly, sing gayly,
Thou innocent bird,
Where the rose on her grave
By the south wind is stir'd
Into beautiful measures,
That chime with thy tune,
Flowing under the sun,
Or the soft, pensive moon.

Yes, gayly; yes, gayly;

No sorrew should moan;
Let a gladness be breathed

In each beautiful tone—
“Truest anstver to songs

That her soul sings on high,
Mid the réses of life

In its home of the sky.

SELF-SACRIFICE.

BY HERO STRONG.

When I first saw her, she was a pale-faced, rather plain
ooking woman of rising forty. Her hair was threaded
With silver, and there were wrinkles on her brow, but her
smile was thesweetest I bave ever seen. It transfigured
her countenance, and made me think of the angéls of
which in my imaginative childhood, I had indulged such
glorious conceptions.

She was the Good Samaritan of Ridgely. Wherever
were found poverty and want she was there, but she paid
no visits among the rich, and received no aristocratic
guests at her house, /

And her residence was by far the finestin all the town
—an imposing old stone mansion, set far back from the
highway 1n a wilderness of century old trees, and bearing
on its somber front the seal of wealth and respectability.
Any one, from. a cursory glance at Dacres Hall, would
decide, without hesitation, that the Dacres family had a
Pedigree,

1 was an invalid, boarding for the summer in Ridgely,
and I had nothing to do but indulge in fanciesand specu-.
lations, Mrs. Halliday was my hostess—a kind, motherly |
womak, who was famousfor her waffles and gingerbread,

 

 

aroung, Bei

“Miss Dacres had intéFested ‘me for a long time—even
mere than most old maids interest me, and I confess to
always feeling a curiosijy in regard to allof that class.
Most of them have histories wertii hearing if we can only
get et them. ; mary
One sunny afternoon when Mrs. Halliday brought her
knitting to my reo, fora nalf hour's visit, [ said to her:
“Please 1ell Me abBut Miss Dacres.”’

 

‘| ing relative, younger brother, fled in disguise, after hav-

‘}aid in securing the safety of the

‘of Broadtiend, Blackwell
and who knew all about ever or tis nt, for partic
ybody for miles and miles | taving Te

 

 

does not return my passion I shall die. I swear to take
my own life, if he does not loveme. Oh, Aunt Bella! I
shali go mad if I do not hear from his own lipsthe words
I would give my hopes of Heaven to listen to.’
“Isabel put her out of the room, and locked the door,
She wanted time to think. It was no light thing for her
to give up the sweet hopes of ten long years—ten years
in which her every thought and desire had turned to him
—but she remembered ner promise to her dying brother,
and she was ready to lay her bleeding heart beneath the
feet of duty. She wrote Archelaus a few lines—saying
simply that in view of the change which had come over
them both she judged it best that they should go separate
ways.
“He, of course, was chagrined, but asense of relief
mingled with his pique, and he accepted his freedom.
That very night made him the betrothed lover of Eftie
Dacres, and four weeks later he became her husband.
Were they happy? Dil Isabel’s sacrifice avail ? No. The
bride was wretchedly suspicious, and tormented herself
With jealousy until her husband grew to hate the very
sight of her beautiful, reproachful face, and to dread the
tones of her voice, which he never heard save in fretful
complaint,
“Six months after their marriage, Archelaus Grey died
from the effects of poison administered by his wife while
in afit of jealous rage, and when they found his dead body
they found Effie,a gibbering maniac, dancing madly
around it, j
The form of a trial was gone through with, but no one
was disposed to dispute the plea of Mrs. Dacre’s counsel
—that she was insane—and Effie was discharged.
‘Her guardianship fell upon Isabel; and she, generous
and forgiving, refused to send the poor girl to an asylum,
but took her home to Dacres Hall, where she has dwelt
ever since. She is inno wise improved, at times she is
extcemely violent, but Miss Dacres has no fear of her,
and takes sole charge of her when these fits of frenzy are
on her. She never trusts her to the servants—she never
leaves home because of Effie, and thus in constant self-
sacrifice her life wears away.
“There, dear, you have heard the story—and now I
must go and see after the supper. You will have enough
to think aboutin reviewing Miss Dacres’ sad romance.’
I thought of it a great deal—indeed 1 have thought so
mucl of it that I have written itdown, and ask the rea-
der to join with me in expressing the hope that some-
where in the great Hereafter Miss Dacres muy find re-
compense,
>

THE HIDDEN COFFERS;

OR,
THE LAST OF THE MONTROSEANS.

BY JANE GRAY SEAVER,

 

 

 

It was on the night of January twenty-first, 1793, when
the Reign of Terror was still at its hignt in France—the
streets of Paris were nearly deserted, but were damp with
the stains of human gore—that Henri Montrosean,together
with his young and veautiful wife, and only othersurviv-

ing converted their immense wealth into gold,-and se-
cretly transferred it to the care of Captain Harrington, of
the Sea Gull, at Havre. , oe
By making their way through the poorest portion of
the city, they succeeded in gaining the suburbs, where, at
exorbitant rates, they readily procured transport to
Havre, where they joined Captain Harrington on board
the Sea Gull, bound for Liverpool.
In crossing the Channel, a severe squall caine up, and,
before the passengers were aware of danger, they were
informed that the vessel’s hold rey contained a foot
of water. The male passengers. oR a willing hand to
ship, several of whom
were washed overboard. Among the latter were the two
Montroseans. '
After several hours of severe labor, the vessel was pro-
nounced out of danger, it having been lightened by the
casting over of considerable freigit, and tlrey proceeded
without further interruption. But when the young wife
landed on English shores, she had then to learn that not
only had she been bereft of husband and brother, but also
of the iron-bound coffers, which contained the weaith of
the Montroseans, i
Captain Harrington was accompanied by his wife and
infant daughter.. The former had been thrown into a
delirious fever from the fright consequent upon the
events of the fearful night.
After the captain had informed Madame Montrosean
that the coffers had by mistake been cast overboard dur-
ing the gale, he very magnanimously made up a smail
purse from among the passergers, with which she pro-
ceeded to London, where, for five long and wretched

a

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. i=

       

 

 

The doctors looked significantly at each other, and
whispered that they, had antici al ‘
bar penne dent —° pier

rs. Harrington stated, in the presence of h hysi-
cians, Madame Montrosean and her attorney, Tk rh
saw her husband, Captain Harrington, of the Sea Gull,
push overboard Henri Montrosean and brother during that
fearful night in roan the English Chamel, which had
so terrified her that she had never reeovered from its
effects; and that after he had purchased the manor, sh
had seen him visit the alcove in which the cotfers an
ye were hidden.

e, poor creature, had scarcely concluded her evi-
dehce, when a deathly hue spread ee the already pallid
face, she threw up her arms and shrieked:

a is coming! my husband !”

er arms dropped, her eyes partially closed, and
Jay still and motionless, Death had atlast eome to .
big = aes Pep Len step sae through the
, and Captain Harrington stood u the thres-
hold of the death chamber, 4 oy '

“Great Heaven |’? he exclaimed; ‘Madame Montrosean
what oul fiend sent you here to reproach me with
your piercing eyes, which have burned into my very soul
Yes roar i 5

adame Montrosean grasped his a: and
the bedside, rr" ; ae =”

“See! see! villain,” she cried, “see your mark; and
may that dead white face haunt you to the day of your
death!’ she fairly shrieked in his ear.

“Good Heaven! sheis dead !? he cried, and the strong
man fell upon bis knees, buried his face in the covers of
the bed and sobbed aloud. :

When he became more calm, he was informed of all
that had happened. He then contessed bis guilt, and be-
fore any one present was aware of his intention, drew a
pistol, and placing it over the region of the heart, fired
ana fell dead upon the floor. oa

Madame Montrosean remained to bury the dead; then
= gi the captain’s little daughter and returned to Lon-
don, ;

The coffers contained much less than their original
amount, but still enough remained to make her one of
the wealthiest ladies in Londen, She subsequently mar-
ried her attorney, and lived many yeurs to enjoy her re-
trieved fortunes.

>-O~4 — - ‘
Pleasant Paragraphs.

 

 

REFLECSHUNS ON THE QUESTION OV THE DAY.
: It haz allus bin my hope and expectashun that my “sands ov
life” would run out ere the time siiould com when the fematt
would kiaim the rite ov sharm in Ghose pursuits whieh hev bin
adjudged by a wise and kind Providence az only fitted for the
mail sex exklusively. But, alas! a few pebbles stil remain in
wy elass, and I behold the scarlet pettykote gracefully swayin
in the breeze; I hear the squeak ov fteminosity mivglin with
the horser notes ov men 1n the halls of kommerce: I see ber
siandin on the rostrum in all the dazzlin array ov silks, salins,
and white stockins, drawin strength tu her cause by tren
force ov her buty. Men stop tu lap the sweetness ov hersmiles,
as a thirsty dorg Japs the koolin waters in dorg days. She genty
ties them tu her apron with soft fingers and sotter wu oe
drives them where she will. Amung sum nashuns she, how-
ever, still remains kontented in her natural spbere, tendin tu
her domestick affairs with an eye of vigilance, seckin only the
distinctshun ov a fust-klass housekeeper. How hepps n
Iniun be whose wife cheersuily hoes hiz corn, bilds hiz
the mornin, cooks hiz fodder, and receives biz lickins az a
ful wife should, satisfied to leave publick affairs in the ov
her husband! Whatiz tu bekum oy our futur generashuns, or
where they are tu cum from, iz more than Plum can safely
menshun. It iz utterly impossible for us men tu be both parents
at the same'time in our present state, and I’ll be if Vu
sign enny pettishun tu Nature tu make enny changes in her
warks. I hev jived tu long az a maii kritter tu becum in my old
age a promoter and nurser ov intants, These wimmen hev got
more rites now than we hev. Dou't they hev full swing ov
their tungs, without enny fears ey lawysuus orthrashins? And -
ain't they got_the exklusive rite oy keepin a man fiutterin
around ’em, like a moth aroued a tatlow dip, just az loug az
she choose—torturi him by degrees, redusin hiz strengtb, both
ov mind and body, till he appears almost like a lunatick, causin
him tu exklaim, after the novelty and the honeyed part ov hiz
married lite haz passed: ; ‘
“What aderned fo lI wnz. Oh, Susan, if I only could rekall~
the sies I hev uttered; the muney I bev spent op yur deerself,
the hare I hev lost since we embraced matrimuney, ar hed a
sure holt onter that irou chest ev yur venerable parm, [ think
1 could with eKkanimity see yu torn from my buzzum never tu
cum back agin.” But they aint satisfied with the power the
hev already,and now want tu enter the policetkical field,
armed and equipped with that grate wepon oy offence aud de-
tence “the ballot-box.””  — ;
Just take a bird’seie view oy the scenes that will take place
if they sucered in ther opject. Here are tew ladies, Miss Prim
and Miss Stiff—both ov ucertaim age, and ov course butiful.
Polictkialy spekein, they entertain different idees ov the same
subject. They meet at the polls—Suff is sarkastick, Prim in|
reply iz gramatickie but bitter; wurds flow thick and fast—
blows folow—they seraich—they pound—they bite, tu the grate
wdmirashan ov the crowd who bet freely. The result iz easy tu
konjecture. The sparklin eie iz kiosed—the thin lips, around

 
  
  

 

years, she Managed to earn, by teaching her own lan-
guage, 2 meager support, when one day her eye fell upon
an advertisement for a French goveiness, to take the en-
tire charge of the education of a little girl at Woodbine
Manor, Which was situated a few miies from London. |
Madame Montrosean

no time in calling at the office
Co., according to the adver-

My. Harmon, the father-of the
child, was traveling abroad, ana? the mother dead, she
accepted the situation, and, on the following morning, she
was set down at the entrance of Woodbine Manor.

It was a lonely dnd neglected place, that elegant man-
sion. Long grass waved high above the garden walks,
the rose-thiekets had grown into jungles, and the first
tinges of decay were beginning to show themselves in the

 

 

 

 

 

*‘About Miss Dacres? How do you know that there is
anytuing to tell ?*

“Because women with faces like hers always have his-
tories. Dear Mrs. Hatliday, lam sure you know ali about
it, sovon’t disappoint me.” . ee
She stopped to count all the stitches on her needle be-
fore she spoke, Then her voice had in it an undercurrent
of sadness. :

“Yes, I will tell you, butit isnot a happy romance by
any means. Only the stery of alifein which there has
been much suffering and no compensation. Lt mighe be
lengthened out infinitely, but 1 can stop only till itis time
to get the biscuit in the oven for tea—so I must tell it
briefly. To 9egin at the beginning. Colonel Dacres, Miss
Isabel Dacres’ father, was of an old family, and at the
time of his death was the wealthiest man in our commu-
nity. His wife had preceded him to tlle grave several
years before, and there were two chiidren left to inherit
the property—Isabel ana Alfred. Isabel was two years
the senior of her brother—a gentle, womauly girl, who
had in Some sort supplied the place of a mother. to the
reckless Alfred. He wasa sourceot great trouble to her,
and at the early age of eighteen he committed the absur-
dity of marrying a beautiful, unprincipled French actress,
who ran away from hima year or two afterward, and left
him with one child—an infant daughter.

“Soon after the death of his wile, which occurred not

 

tuin mist of green moss which had crept stealthily over
the broad marble steps. : ;
“It looks entirely deserted,” she murmured, hesitating,
with one foot upon the loweststep. — ,
But gathering up her failing conrage, she raised the
heavy brass knocker, which fell with an eciro through the
long corridors, sending a s'
frame, which she had
after. '
Some minutes elapsed, then a drawing of rusty bolts and
a grating of unused aS greeted her eur unpleasantly.
The heavy mahogany door swung back, aud an uncouth-
looking woman presented herselt. ‘
“Oh, iv’s the new governess,” she said, as Madame
Montrosean made known her business.
“Where is my charge?’ asked the madame, after hav-
ing laid aside her wrappings. Bake
“Here I am!” cried a sweet, juveniie voice; and a fairy-
like little creature dastied into the room aud nestled her
Jitfle juny head confidingly in her governess’ lap. “I
shall love you very much, I think, if you will only love
me,’ she said, raising her large, blue eyes pleadingly to
the face of Madame Montrosean.
‘Poor little thing; how could one help loving you?”
murmured the latter, raising herin her arms, and im-
printing a loving kiss upon the cherry red lips, whilst a
tear from her own eye buried itself among the golden,
clustering curls,

 

 

mm to remember long years

  

 

 

more than six months after her desertion of him, Alfred
Dacres was thrown from his horse and injured so tiat he
died that night. Always, and in every respect, supremely
selfish, he was selilsh to the last, and while Isabel sup-
ported his dying head on her bosom, he exacted trom her
a promise that she would be a mother to his little Efe,
and thatif ever the child’s happiness required it, she
would sacrifice all her own hopes and inciinations to se-
cure peace for Effie.

“Tt was strange that he should make this request, but
Isabel promised everything—and he died as selfishly as
he had lived. Effie wasa beautiful child, and as she grew
in years she developed wonderful brilllancy of intellect,
but her temper was fearful. At times, when crossed in
her desires, She was more like an insane person than an
augry child.

“I ought to tell you that, at twenty-six, Miss Dacres was
one of the handsomest women } have ever seen. Nobile
in bearing, graceful and accomplisked—the charm of her
nianner was equalled only by the perfectness of her face.
There is little left of her young beauty except her simile,
and that, you know, is marvelous. Of course Miss Dacres
had many lovers, but she passed them ali by for Archelaus
Gray. Mr. Gray Was a handsome, fascinating young man,
little- mere than a year older than Isabel. His was not
the true, loyal nature, calculated to make sucha woman
as Miss Dacres huppy, but if she ever felt a lack when in
his society, she was eager to ascribe it to herself, and ever
sought to make herse/{ believe that hers was the fault.
Grey loved herin his selfish, shallow fashion, and his
pride was gratified by the consciousness that he had won
the fairest and wealthiest woman in the vicinity. He was
not rich himself, but he aspired to be, and when an op-
portunity offered for him te go out to Yokahamer, in
partnership with his uncie ina business which promised
vast returns, he embraced it eagerly. To do him justice,
he had fully expected to be able to persuade Isabel to ac-
company him us his wife, but though she was sadly dis-
tressed at thought of the separation, she would not ac-
cede to his desires.

“She had promised her brother to care for and educate
Effie, and in that half-civilized land, whither her lover
was going, the child could, enjoy no advantages, and on
this account she must not think of accompanying Mr.
Giey. In vain he begged, and entreated, and at last got
angry—she remained firm. She had promised the dead,
and she held all promises sacred.

“So Grey went without her. He was to be gone four
years, but business being driving the time was doubied,
and eight years had passed since he left New York when
once more lie setlootin his native country.

“During this time he and Isabel had corresponded regu-
larly, and both had remained faithfu!. On ms arrival, he
went at once to Dacres house. Isabel had not expected
him so soon, and she was away for a week’s visit.. Effie
received himin her stexd,

“Effie was grown now to a tall girl of fifteen, and so
beautiful that Grey was infatuated. She had such an in-
finite variety of fascinating words—she knew so well just
how best to please and interest him, and she spoke in
such glowing terms of ‘Dear Aunt Beila’—that before
he realized his danger, Archelaus Grey was blindly, mad-
ly in love,

“Then Isabel came home. She waschanged, of course;
she had grown old and taded, though was lovely still.
But Grey nad been feasting his eyes on the fresin young
beauty of Effie, and the contrast was too marked for him
to go back to his allegiance. He could not help being
cold to Isabel, though he tried hard to meet her as a lover
should. Sne felt the change sensibly, butit was some
time before she knew the right cause.

“Archelaus, as if tosave himself from being dishonor-
able, urged on their marriege, but Isabel Dacres was too
proud to marry aman who was bound to her by honor
and not by love. She put him offcoldly; and just after he
left her Effie came to her room, and with the wild, pas-
sionate impulsiveness which had characterized her from
a child, she told her aunt of her love for Grey.

 

Madame Montrosean loved the child from the first,
which was fully reciprocated by the little one; her salary
was liberal, and the best apartment in the manor had
been appropriated to her; it had been the master’s room—
so. said the housekeeper. .In short, she had everything
her own way, but still she felt a vague uneasiness in this
princely manor, and but for the love and. pity she bore
tne ionely child, would gladly have returned to her
laborious life in London. And, as time sped on, she feit
sure that those old walls hela some fearful secret. The
servants spoke in whispers, and went about with scared
faces; her niguts became disturbed, and, at times, she
fancied sue heard stealthy steps upon the soft, Turkish
carpet of her apartment; and at other times she had
been awakened by fearful shrieks, which would be fol-
lowed by a quick, light step in the corridor, and a glim-
mer of light would be visible for an instant, then all
would become dark and silent again. Three months
passed in this way, and Madame Montrosean had deter-
mined to leave the manor, when, one night, she was
awakened by a hand being laid heavily upon her shoul-
der, and a voice hissed in her ear, ‘‘Madame Montrosean,
arise and secure your iron-bound coffers. I will reveal
them to you. Only leave me the jewels and take the
gold.” Madame Montrosean sprang to her feet.

The heavy astral lamp which hung suspended from
thé ceiling had been relighted, as had also the mantel, or
side lamps, which, together with the crimson hangings,
filled the room with a gorgeous ‘brilliancy, giving it al-
most an unearthly appearance, reminding one forcibly
of “Hades.”

As Madame Montrosean sprang from her bed, the
figure of a woman, who had _ partially concealed herself
behind the hangings of the bed, darted like a tigress to
her side, grasped her arm fiercely, and cried:

“Come, I will siow them to you,” pointing to the far-
ther end of the long room. : :

This singular individual was dressed in a faded pink
brocade silk; her long, black hair hung in wavy tresses
over her bare shoulders; her eyes, black, large, and pierc-
ing, while her face was marble white. Upon her alabas-
ter neck sparkled a diamond necklace of great brilliancy;
and upon ler bare arms were clasped diamond bracelets.

Madame Montrosean being paralyzed partly by fear,
and partly by admiration of her strange visitant, whom
she believed a maniac, and had recognized as the wile of
Captain Harrington, of the Sea Gull, allowed herself to
be drawn on by the maniac, who still pointed to a hand-
somely frescoed panel in the wall. She had recognized
more even, the very jewels with which the maniac had
bedecked herself she had believed buried inthesea. The
maniac touched a secret spring in the delicately frescoed
panel, when it flew back, revealing the iron-bound coffers
of the Montroseans. She had now somewhat recovered
from her fright, and, grasping ‘the arm of the maniac,
shriekea for help: but before the servants reached the
room, she had iorn the jewels from the poor creature, and
thrust them back into the secret alcove, and, touching
the spring, had replaced the panel. The servants bore
away their poor mistress, for such they admitted her to
be, and She became dangerously ill. They also admitted
that she haa been a maniac since crossing the English
Channel in a fearful gale some years before, and that
her husband desired it to be understood that she was
dead. She had this night escaped from her room through
the carelessness of her attendant, as she had done several
times before, and wandered about the house.

Madame Montrosean said nothing of her discovery to
the servants, but went immediately to London, and se-
cured the services of a well-known attorney. Mrs, Har-
rington, or Harmon, as the servants called her, was fast
sinking; the best medical aid was called from London,
but gave no hope of recovery. Madame Montrosean
watched over the unfortunate creature day and night,
doing all in her power to alleviate her sufferings. One
day, when they had watched hourly for her death, sud-
denly she became perfecily sane, and calling Madame

 

“Oh, I love him! I love him! she cried—‘‘and if he

Montrosean to her side, saying that she wished to make

thirds 0

rstitious thrill through her |.

)pony.” ‘ J. A.W

which, like the “last roze ov summer.” sum ov the sweetness
ov yuth tries tu still linger, are puffea out and blackened,
while the “klaret’’ flows cupiusly from the flattened nostrils.
On, angelick beins, desist frum yur kruel purposes! Koutinae
tu be our affectshunate muthers. dauters, sweetharts, and doo-
uiful wives. k us in our infanecies; stuff us w cookies
and punkin 10tr skool-boy dais; brake our harts in that
softand tender pericd kalled yuthhood; but don’t, oh, dou’t,

seek tu deprive us ov the exkiusive rite tu ware pantaloons.

Ir wimmin don’t want tu dress up or down tu Mere than tew
Wwerherr length, jet them, du so. T hevints a ra ti say
agin it. But when they cum tu kuauin their Kali er brre +
ches, and then ins st on warein ‘em, | want tu leve; Iwanttu
go tu sum spot where witmin iz unknown. In Konclusion, Jet
Ine say, ThatI heyn’t rote this out ov enny matice tu free and
luvly femails, but tu show the entire inadapteaness ov a femail

tu bekum a maul, anc vise versa. I hope that in Heyen, all
inequalities will be removed, and we shall bekum whatever we
desire, and are i ’

it az Jong az we dweil in this
that Nachure will allow her
& E.per Pivm.

. i / oe fOr.» *
warld my desire and prayer iz,
wurks ture: ih “in stiee qd.”

i
. NO SCHOLAR.

Acertain man inthe flown of Mayiicld, named Martin F—,
was the owner of a watch, which he carried in such a way as
tobeseen by everybouy; and, although he could not tell one

igure.from another, hie pulled it out quite often, apparently to
note the time. one occusion he was at town meeting, when
some one seeing his watch asked him the time. He pulied out
his time-piece, aud turning the face side tothe stranger, ex-

claimed: “Look fer yourselt, ’m no scholar.’ Aunty DeLuvian

_ . PREFERRED A_ PONY.

» Charlie, a seven-year-old, whose mother was likely to sodn
present him with a new brother or sister, overheard bis uncle
conversing about the litte strarger. Toe uncle, observing him
listening attentively, said. “Charlie, your mamma wall soon
have a nice present ior you. What would you like best—a little
brether or sister?” Charlie answered attersome consiteration:
“Well, if it makes’ no difference to ma, ’drather have a little

: /HEELER.
TIT FOR TAT. eh,

, Agentleman was ridimg on a rai!reud car, when he was asked
by the conductor of the tram toshow his ticket. “My face is

my ticket,” be answered. ‘Very well,” replied the cunductor.

“Tam authorised by the company to puch all tickets. But who
are you any way?” he addev. “Iam a director of this Road,

sir, returned the gentleman, “and am also authorized by the

company to keep aliconductors from /nocking down. Harp Ccat,
CHILDREN’S INNOCENCE. {aE
A boy and a girl, the sum of whose ayes did not exceed twelve
years, were asked by their mother what they bad seen in the
menagerie, in which they had especialiy observed the mu
when her son replied, in an innocent mauner: ‘Oh, ma,
seen a jackass, so big—as big as uncie!” To which the girl re-
yhed, in a still more innocent tone: “Ah, now. ma, isn’t Char-
lie telling stories? For there couidn’t be such a big jackass.”
A GIRL’S REMARK. i
A man and wife were talking in German, on the death of an
American friend. In the course of his remarks, the tather ob-
served that perhaps he (the deceased) was hearing everything
that they were saying. Little Milhe, about five years of i
who was sitting ina corner, after meditating upyn what her
father had said, suddenly exclaimed: “I thought he didn’t uu-—
derstand any German.” L. H. Rouiman. ©

A NEW COMMANDMENT. => j
Sometime ago the darkeysof P.exskill gave a ball, to ccle-,
brate the fifteenth amendment. The next morning, as Eliza, -
a well-known individual, of ebony hue, was passing the store”
of Mr. A., who lives under the hall w the ball was held,’
the storekeeper ran out and said to her: “See here, Lizer, you’
colored folks kept me and my wife awake a‘l last night with
your noisy jumping and dancing. What were you doing?”
“Doin’? "Why, celebratin’ the fineenth commandment!” Mr.
A. replied: “Why, there ain’t but ten commandments.” “You
git out! Youm’s a ignorumpt. white feller! The last time Com
gress met they made fifteen com nents; and the last one
is for the benefit of black folks!’ : Wa. TRAYELER,

ONLY THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

After referring to the warmth of the present spring days, Mr.
Purdy inquired of his neigobor, Mr. Hopper, if he had_ noticed
the mercury, (referring to the thermometer) on the previous ete
ning: “Oh, no,’ responded Mr. Hopper; “we take only the New
York WEEKLY.” Rover.

FALLING WATER.
A painter named Beck, who had a: to paint the hull

  

of the steamer Alice Dean, did nut paint it close enough to the
water-line by about eight inches. » mistake was pointed out
to the water, hut toe

to him. and he said: “I painted it cars Ded r
d revent the wate ay
PHIL,

tide went out last night, and I could
falling.”
A GRATE BUSINESS. /

Some enterprising Western speculators have entered ppena
new business. They buy lots in cemeteries near large cities, in
the hope that excessive ‘mortality dar the coming spormer
will make the demand for them exceedin ly profitable. W.X. W.

DRESSING AND SHAVING. a ;
Two sailors went into a cheap restaurant and called for din-
ner. The landlady set before them a piece of builed pork, which
had. not been properly singed, many long hairs img to it.
“Jack,” said he to his. companion, “i cannot siomach this
ork; why, the hairs are half as thick and long aie 7
“You may eat away, gentlemen,” said the landlady; “L can
assure you it is good meat, for I dressed it myself.”
“Dia you so, mistress ?”’ said the other sailor; “Z wish you had
shaved it yourself.” => WVicror, |
To P. P. Contrisutors.—T7..M..and A. W.—Thamks for your
information, We acknowledge the “‘corn.”.....-/ M, F.—Publish=
ed before. ...... Launsman.—Your “=keleton Story” is state....
The following manuscripts‘are accepted: “Fisby Doxology;’
“Charge of the Dress Brigade,” “Wanted,” by Dick D.;, “Red:
Hot Retort;” “Need not Come;’’ “Smart Man;” ‘‘The Frog’
Exclamation;” ‘‘Faks and Fancis;)”.“Fooling a Schoolteach
er;? “Magnum Bonum;” “Caught Afloat;” “Setter thas
Your’n;” “Hard on the tor; “Sunday-School Blunder;
“A Railroad Effigy;” “Saw the Point.”....- The following arg
respectfully declined: “Chips of Wit;” “Selling Cabbage ;?
“Anecdote,” by N. M.; “The nee ways s y. aaron
Anderson; “Dog's Lament;” “Query. y M.P.C.3. “Awtul
Hot;” “Mawatha?! “Eating all the’ Sop: “High Derrick;
“Got a Bite;’? “Cutie Response:” “Dough Bait; “Old Jokes;
by Mirry; “Three Frenchmen;”’ “Hasn’t Come Out Yet,’ E Dea-
con and’ the Wasp;” “A Poor Horse;” ‘Foreed;” “Couua-
drums,” by L., “Sboo Fly Revised;” “How to Board and
Lodge:” “Stolen Pig; “Good Shot;” “On the Fly,” *Want a
Bite; “Ela and Fred,” “Hydrophobia;” “Darkey’s Ride;”’.
“Epistle on Loafers:” “A Sister of Oarroty Heads” “Freaks of
Folly;? “Connubial:’ “Query,” “Changing His Line?’ art
Before the Horse;” “New Readivg;” “Like a Morning Star;
“Answer to Literary Question;” ‘Giving Away is N ey
“Couldn't See the Fun; “Got a New Preacher;” ‘Literary
Question Corrected,” “Two Lazy Men;” * me a and ster
in; “False Heir;” “Irish Boy and Turtle;” “A teh p3?
“Dividing an Oyster; “Wid a Lanthern;” “Irish Handle,”
“Hog Drunk; “Double Loss;” ‘Heavenly Union,” “Sam H.'s
Wife;” “Cookies and Checkers; ‘‘Politician’s Motto; “Dry-
ness: “Haven't Lost Myself; “Served Hin Right, ‘Pretty
Hard Case; “Tom Murray and the Cat;” “Carrying a Joke
Too Far;” “Sorry He isa Fool.” i

All of our best contributors are entering into engage
ments with us to write for the New YORK WSSKLY ‘ol :

 

some disclosures to her before her death.

years to come.

 

 

|

cence a

ar ttigtiat

Sitaram in

noi pneih aan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

is peal

pene