~~ ENTERED ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS IN THE YEAR 1871, BY STREET & SMITH, IN THE OFFICE OF THE LIBRARIAN OF CONGRESS, WASHINGTON, D. C. Seman Vou. XXVL FRANCIS 8S. STREET, FRANCIS 8S, SMITH, cusoRatin ee ease \ Proprietors, ocean NEW YORK, OCTOBER 26, 1871. TERMS { Three Dollars Per Wear. Two Copies Five Dollzaxws. Sybil’s Inheritance; A WOMAN’S VOW. By Nellie Longstreet, Author of ‘MARKHAWM’S SECRET.” CHAPTER I. Sybil, Baroness de Vere in her own right, the fair de- scendant of along line of noble ancestors, knelt at the altar of the church, where many a bold knight and lovely dame of her ancient racelay at rest, and where their youthful heiress was now speaking her vows as a bride. The rays of the brilliant noonday sun peured through the richly-stained windows, and cast an angelic radiance over the white-robed form and round the graceful head and its wealth of golden hair. The group assembled inthe chancel exchanged invol- untary looks of admiration as they gazed on the beautiful vision, which seemed too bright, too spivitwelle for this lower world. Yet, when Sybil rose Countess of Delviile, and gave a shy look of proud and happy love at her hand- Some bridegroom, there was no mistaking that the woman élement in her reigned supreme, and that she was in real truth, a denizen of earth. There were two among the admiring crowd whose eyes flashed with a light that was scarcely oftenderness as they were bent on the newly-wedded countess and her lord, and over whose hearts amomentary gust of passion swept like a scorching simoon, and then left nothing but a fierce and burning thirst for revenge, and for punishment of an unconscious and involuntary crime. Isabel Beauchamp, the cousin and the principal bride- maid of Sybil de Vere, and their mutual though distant re- lative, Bernard Lestrange, were suffering tortures at that moment, which required a Spartan endurance or the stronger stimulus of a proud, worldly spirit to conceal under the conventional gaiety of the hour. But Percy, Karl of Delville, and his lovely bride guessed nothing of the slumbering fires in the breasts of their respective at- tendants in that brilliant train, and the former gave a proud and happy smile to his “bestman’’ as he passed him on his way to the carriage. “My heart’s darling!—my bright fairy!—my beautiful ahgel!’? murmured the enraptured bridegroom. as they drove back to the ancestral mansion of the De Veres. “How can I ever repay the rich gift you have just bestow- ed On me in this little hand?’ “Ah, Percy, the hand were of little value without the heart,” she replied, playfully. ‘If you love me always, I ask nothing more of happinegs.”’ A momentary shadow, thin and impalpable ag a sum- mer mist, passed over the rapturous sunshine of Lord Delville’s features. “T would indeed reck little of the empty right to call you mine, my Sybil,’’ he replied, “if,I did not believe that your whole heart was in my keeping, fair and unsullied a8 this white robe; and you have ever told me that no other image but mine had ever been reflected in its pure depths.’ “Can you doubtit? Can you imagine aught else? re- plied the girl, with a slight accent of pain. “No, no, darling; but you must ever be worshiped, so followed by a host of admirers, that you must pardon the Jealousy of intense love.” The girl gave a light, glad laugh. ‘In truth, Percy, you are creating a very misty host, for, as you surely forget, Ihave seen but very few, and never been presented at court. I am but a very novice, and have scarcely any one todome such fabulous homage, Ni Hh Ki MANNY) inh AH i —onnd in ( in \ | ni | SZ TARAS ie: ze LTE, AIS ny N \ \ \ \ NS fee a w YF TI TATIGAETOT NN ANTES oft? \Y jl AN ! SET SYBIL LURED TO THE SECRET MEETING, unless, indeed, you multiply Bernard Lestrange into 4 host—a la Don Quixote!”’ “Then he was a worshiper at your shrine,’ said the earl, with ill-affected playfulness. “I might have been certain of it.” “Pércy,’? exclaimed the girl, a bright blush, which might easily be read by unjaundiced eyes as one of maid- en pride or as consciousness by those less trusting in its truth. ‘I do not like such jests, dear husband,’ and the word came so bashfully sweet in its whisper that the pass- ing shadow vanished from the young earl’s mind, and he clasped his bride to his heart and murmured anew his vows to make her slightest wish his law, and surround her existence with a halo of love and guardian care. It was some three hours after the wedding had been solemnized, and the bridal pair had driven off amidst the roar of cheers and bells and amateur salutes of musketry from the county volunteers, while the guests scattered themselves among the spacious grounds and saloons till the hour for dressing for the evening ball should arrive. “So, my fair Isabel, where have you been hiding your- self?’ said Bernard, suddenly appearing at the entrance of a secluded summer-house in the grounds surrounding Ravarth Castle. ‘There was achorus of lamentations at the disappearance of the fair queen of the féfe. the eclipse of its bright luminary.’ ‘You choose your similes ill, Bernard,’ said Isabel, haghtily drawing up her queenly throat. ‘They are but mockeries on such an occasion.’ “Well as to that,’ he resumed, in the same half-mock- ing tone, ‘there are more senses than one in which you may be called, at any rate, the vice-queen, the presump- tive heiress of this vast domain, as you must ever be the absolute sovereign of my heart, fair coz.’ She turned impatiently away. “Bernard, I will not endure insult, certainly not from you, whom I can read so well—know so thoroughly,’ re- sponded the girl, with a fierce gleam in her dark eyes. ‘‘Do you suppose I have not watched your secret plottings, your desperate hopes, your bitter rage and mortification at their failure? and you dare to pretend love to me—me, Sybil de Vere’s cousin! As well attempt to persuade me that I am the baroness of this domain as sovereign of your base heart.”’ ‘Well, my belle, who can tell but that both of these re- markable contingencies might come to pass ?” replied the young man, perfectly unmoved by the outburst. ‘‘My fair Isabel, be advised. You may forfeit much by quarrel- ing with me, and if you are wise, there is yet a chance of retrieving our shattered fortunes. Union is strength, you know, in more senses than one.’ “TI searcely recognize its possibilityin our case,’’ said Isabel, with a faint, lingering attempt to preserve her proud indifference of manner. ‘‘Youeither were or pre- tended to be in love with Sybil, while I——” “Hated her,’ interrupted Bernard, coolly. ‘‘I quite agree with you there. It was transparently clear to my mind. For instance, when you returned the bouquet that was entrusted to your keeping, I was perfectly aware that you would have presented it with even more unction had it been in the tender care of some of Catherine de Medicis’ skillful myrmidons. Pity that so much useful knowledge should be lost to the world, eh, Isabel?” Bernard’s quick eye had detected the bright gleam which flashed from the girl’s eye ashe spoke, and, though her next words were bitter and measured, he heeded them not, save by a cold, scornful smile. “A strong will generally finds instruments, and it brooks not sarcasm orcontrol. If I have a dislike to the beautiful Countess of Delville, it matters little to her, orto those who have cast their whole lives on win- ning her or her fortune. Of course, it isa great want of taste or of hypocrisy on my part not to join in the chorus of acclamation.”’ “Say, rather, a great proof of self-control that Bernard, you played your part well,’ replied Bernard, calmly. ‘‘It was a great trial for the next heiress of Ravarth, the incipient Baroness de Vere, to see'the bridal of its present possess- or, to listen to the words which gave a death-knell to her hopes, and join in the prayer which entreats the blessing of divers olive branches for the family tree. You bore it like a martyr, Isabel.’’ “And you like a jiend/” replied the girl, angrily. ‘‘It must have been galland wormwood fora disappointed lover to see the look of tenderness Sybil gave to her bride- groom, and the caress he imprinted on her white brow. No wonder you vent the bitterness of your mood on me, Bernard.” “Recrimination is equally unsafe impolitic between us, my brilliant cousin,’ replied Bernard, with most provok- ing coolness. ‘‘If I were in love with the bride, or her domains, you were as deeply mortified at the bar which her unlucky existence placed between you and the proud possessions of your ancestors. It was a great blow when she happened to live after the death of so many, and more especially asshe is some years younger than yourself. I quite sympathise with you, Isabel; and—if—you are will- ing—JZ will do move. I will——”’ He whispered a word or two in her ear that brought a bright flush to her cheek, and made her recoil as if a bat- tery had. thrilled through her. “Tt is impossible; you are but trifling with me,”’ said. ‘‘I cannot trust you, Bernard Lestrange.” “You can, you can,’’ he said, in. softer tones, drawing the tall, slight- figure with gentle violence toward the sheltered seat from which it had risen. ‘It is our mutual interest, our mutual rete that unites us—that is our bond of union, Isabel.” “Hate!’’ she repeated, suspiciously, a dark frown con- tracting her brow. ‘‘That is strange, when you loved her so passionately, Bernard. I have watched your eyes when they were bent upon her. I have listened to your tones as you addressed her. I have caught the smothered imprecation when she involuntarily shrank from vou, and I read in all a truth that your very oath would not dis- prove to my mind.”’ ‘Suppose I have beenas observant, my fair Isabel. Suppose I also read the secrets of your heart with the same accuracy. I know you hate Sybil with all the jeal- ous envy of a woman’s nature. I also know that you love—shall I speak the name ?—with all the intense pas- sion ofa southern temperament. rather than the calm, conventional affection of a well-trained English woman.”’ “Tnsolent, false coward that you are, to brand a high- born maiden’s name with your slander!’’ burst out the girl, her breath coming short and vehemently through the broken words. ‘‘Bernard—I hate—I detest—I ce- spise you!. Leave me—or—you shall be exposed as you deserve!’’ “To whom, pretty, passionate, beautiful Norma?’’ he asked, with a cynical smile. ‘‘To the Countess of Delville or her husband, or to—Darcy Clifford? I fear it would be equally unavailing in any case, especially the latter.” A low ery of agony burst from the livid lips of the girl, so wild and yet so suppressed that even Bernard gazed at her with some astonishment if not sympathy. “Leave me—leave me!’’ she gasped, waving one hand, while the other concealed her features. ‘You are my evil genius. Bernard, leave me!’’ His eyes scanned her bowed figure with a strange, sharp, eager glance that seemed to take in every gesture, every attitude, every slight indication of the passion with- in, and a triumphant smile crossed his finely-curved lips as he concluded his examination. But it had given place to a softened gentleness ere he again ventured to draw her hand in his, and he bent his head toward her anxious ear as if to insure her attention to his low words. “T cannot—I will not leave you thus, Isabel. Forgive me if I have tried you too severely, but you galled me by your suspicions and your bitterness. You asked me what she I meant by ‘hate.’ You must be strangely different to what I believed if you cannot comprehend that to a na- ture like mine—like yours—the tenderest love will turn to unrelenting hate. Listen, Isabel, and I will confess frank- ly to you all that you may have guessed, and far more than your utmost penetration could imagine. You say I loved Sybil. Zdid—who could help it—thrown as I was with her in her simple, lovely childhood? But had she not been the heiress of the De Veres, Ishould have merely looked on her as a lovely plaything—a passing toy of my man’s heart, and forgotten her amid those better fitted to understand my deep, fierce passions and ambitious pride. As it was, she seemed like a being from another sphere, surrounded by all the charm and the prestige of her an- cestry—her fortune, and her rank. Her indifference piqued, her repugnance fired me, and a love begun in half-caprice and deepened by ambition was intensified by pride and resentment at such slights from an inexperi- enced novice. Then Delville appeared. You know the rest—save this: that I have sworn fo redress the disap- pointment I have suffered, and to punish its authors. Now, do you understand me, and will you aid me, Isabel Beauchamp ?” “You defied—you insulted me,’’ she replied, still avert- ing her head. ‘‘How can you expect me to confide in you—to trust your assertions ?’’ ‘“‘As to that, I perhaps need still less any confirmation of my suspicions than you did of your cruel observations,”’ he resumed, relapsing into his ustial sarcastic tone, ‘TI am perfectly satisfied that you love—or did love—Darcy Clifford, and equally so that Sybil’s marriage is an insu- perable objection in his eyes. Besides, you are not a child now, you will remember, Isabel. Two or three years more will tell on you, at your present age. Better snatch the fruit ere it falls from the tree—worthless!”’ “TJ do not understand you,’’ she said, haughtily. “If you mean me to assist youin carrying out your plans, Bernard, you must explain yourself fully, and that quick- ly, for I must goin to dress in a few minutes. My ab- sence will be remarked if I am late.”’ “Oh, they will only fall into raptures at the extreme sensibility of the cousin-sister of the bride,’’ he answered, mockingly. ‘‘However, I will not keep you in torture. I am so beautifully sympathizing, you see, in your disap- pointed ambition and hopeless love. The scheme will need maturing and developing, but its ends can be briefly described. Isabel, Sybil has injured us both. We must both be avenged! Had she listened to me, I would have guarded her as the fairest flower of her own splendid do- mains; as it is, no human power can save her from my untiring hate. You, Isabel, may yet be the heiress of the De Veres, and I——”’ ‘What?’ she asked, witha sharp, keen glance. ‘Tt matters not at present. I shall have revenge; the rest can be arranged afterward. Now, listen to the crude outlines of the scheme I have devised. I do not fear you; you would sell your very soul for ambition and Darcy Olifford’s love. There is some sympathy in our natures, Isabel.’’ He placed himself yet closer to the corner into which she had shrunk, and bent his lips down to her ear. She scarcely breathed during the rapid enunciation, every syllable of which was pregnant with such weighty conse- quences to herself and others. Her eyes were steadily fixed on the wide prospect before her; only the quivering of her lips, and their slight relaxation into a bitter smile, gave an idea of the intense interest which those brief sen- tences possessed for her. There was one instant of womanly feeling, one inyolun- tary recoil from a. deliberate and most fexdish plot against an innocent girl of her own blood, near to her in girlish friendship and constant companionship, and then Isabel’s resolve was taken, the irrevocable gulf passed. Her evil angel had triumphed. “Bernard, you need not fear. My will is as iron as your own,’’ she said, proudly. ‘I know no weak fear or re- morse when my word is given. I will not fail you.” “It is well,” he said, coolly. ‘‘So far we understand each other. Astothe precise working of our plans, it must be governed by circumstances of which we can only judge as they goon. Now I had betterleave you. There must be no suspicions of collusion between us.”’ He kissed his hand to her as he spoke, and, turning on his heel, walked rapidly from the spot. The girl, or rather woman—for, as Bernard had said, Isabel Beauchamp was past her first youth—remained mo- tionless and rigid fora few moments, and then a spasm, such as might have been produced by strychnine, con- vulsed her frame. “Darcy, Darcy, it is for you that I bring this guilt upon my soul!’? she murmured, almost imaudibly. ‘‘Heaven help me! Sybilis wronged already by the bondage in which your every word and look holds my very heart. Bernard is right. Only such natures as can hate can love with the overpowering intensity of my affection for you. Affection! Itis worship, idolatry; and yet—and yetI think that he would give up all—all for me, as, Heaven knows, I would yield up my very soul forhim. But the Baroness de Vere can wellcommand the grateful hom- age of him whom Isabel Beauchamp so madly and yet despairingly loves. Oh, what bliss I hoid im my very grasp!’’ She rose suddenly with a spasmodic pressure of the small hands that pressed into the flesh the sharp setting of aring she always wore. Some tiny drops of blood flowed over the palm on to her snowy bridemaid’s robe. “Sybil’s gift!’ she muttered. ‘Is it an omen for good or for evil? Darcy, Darcy, your ring has stained her bri- dal present. Does it mean that her life shall be marred and crushed for your sake? If so I accept it with pride and joy. Some one has said, ‘One love is worth a thou- sand friendships;’ and I—I say that ‘Fifty years of love is worth a cycle of dull life!’ Darcy—my beloved, what rap- ture to bestow on you rank, and fortune, and prestige; to feel you are all to me, your queenly Isabel, as you call me! Ah, Iam no queen, but a very slave to you, my heart’s idol!”’ She walked hastily into the house and sought her room, where her maid was awaiting her. ‘‘Mademoiselle Isabel, you are late,” said her maid, a dark-featured woman, almost Moorishin her jet black hair and eyes, and sallow skin. ‘‘I shall be hurried, and I cannot do justice to your beauty, or my own powers. One day I hope to dress you asa bride, mademoiselle. You would look more regal than madame la baronne did this morning.”’ “But what would that avail ifI had nothing to queen it over, Therese ?’’ asked Isabel, placing herself in her ac- customed chair. ‘‘I told you that Lady de Vere had a no- ble heritage, and Iamere pittance. It would give you little scope to your tastes were I to stand in her place this morning.’ “1 wish mademoiselle did. I would give—ay, all that I have, even to my ‘yard-long’ hair, to see you what you were intended for, Mademoiselle Isabel.’’ “Am I to believe you, Therese ?”’ asked the girl, sudden: ly turning round and facing her attendant. “Why not, mademoiselle? You took me, believed me, trusted me when I was in trouble. I was then cast off, deserted by all—every one. I have nothing to lose. What better could I do than devote myself to you and your for- tunes ?’? “Tf I needed any service at your hands—any risk—any danger, could I rely on you ?”’ asked the lady, sharply. “Mademoiselle, [am of a nation that asks only to be told the service required of them, where onee their troth and their gratitude is given. The Moorish blood in my veins is true—that is, so long as itis treated with trust and truth.” ‘Tt is well, Therese; I may perhaps test your words. a eR perc EE A ee ee ees ned —— a 1 ——— anne stese-ememtiggeeras meen ne 'the ambassador's dispatches. it was only her maid—a Beauchamp, — -- Phe choice “properly, without the approval of the young countess, but Hep a « Icannot. Itisimpossible, Bernard. EHyven you can- me to run sucha risk!’ she cried, piteously. very precaution shall be taken. ous women, to be alarmed at shadows, and in your 3there is little tofear. Leave Allin my liands. You ve the best possible guarantee for my interest in your _, 1 short, itmust be, Isabel, and the sooner the You are no, foolish, baa to ri — “But I must be detected, whatever the other results might be,’’ she answered. ‘‘Bernard, it is a wild scheme.’ on ‘It isa deep and a wise one. Be conteniyamd submit. It is your only course and you are too , sk compulsion,’’ he said calmly, : A Sef fin , nider tone. “Tfit must be,’’ she said, “if you are certain; pie “You willsubmit. ‘There is a rational woman, terrupted. So far, well; and now for the time of the jour- ney. I think delays are dangerous, especially in your case. We will fix mext Thursday for the start... I shall provide proper attendance for you, and you will do welk to leave every one who has the slightest knowledge of the truth behind, Whatever happens, it is safer not to trust our secret totoo many. You understand. You have cer- tainly been caught once, Isabel; but with my help you may break through the net and shut the mouths of all who saw you bite the hook. If you need funds, I can supply them. The heiress of De Vere will very easily repay all obligations... Now. will bid. you good-by....On Thursday, at ten, I will be here. I shall superintend your journey, though it will be safest not to accompany you. Fare- well.”’ He left the room without another word, and then as he closed. the door behind him,. Isabel flung herself back. on her pillow and wrung her hands in impotent rage and rief. . “Oh! merey, mercy!’ she cried. ‘My punishment has overtaken me almost before my sins. Darcy, Darcy! can it be? Are you indeed so barbarous, so base, so false? And yet—and yet to what avail wereit otherwise? That cold, iron hand will grasp mine and drag me away from your arms were they to clasp me close—close to your heart. And I—I have no choice, no alternative. But I will not suffer alone. The fire that consumes me shall be fed by other victims ere it dries up my lifesprings. Sybil, Ican endure much, ifI knew your ruin andmisery. To witness your ruin and disgrace I could smile at the very stake itself. Yes, I will go, and { will conquer the pangs of death to bring about yours.’ ‘A letter, my lady. I was desired to-place it im your own hands; and I would not deliver it while my lord was here, though there was ‘Immediate’ on it, and I promised to lose no time,” said Antoinette, with the half-yailed familiarity she had displayed to the countess ever since the episode of Sybil’s ill-omened epistle. “Who gave it you? Some charitable petition; I sup- pose,’’ Observed Sybil, with affected carelessness, though her heart beat violently as the long-expected and dreaded missive was placed in her hands. Antoinette only replied by a significant smile, and with- drew to a little distance while the young countess read the few lines it contained. . “Antoinette,” cried the young lady, hurriedly, ‘‘I must go this very night to the wood copse, and—alone,? “So I expected,’’ was the calm reply. “But it isnot what would be wrong,’’ stammered the poor girl, inagony. ‘‘It isto a cousin—a dear consip— whoisill. She wasbrought up with me like a sister; she was my bridemaid. I must go—she has a sacred claim on me.’ : ship should acknowledge it,” said the Frenchwoman, de- murely, ‘Perhaps he will accompany you. my lady.” ‘Vo, no,” replied poor Sybil, flaming like a Tose. . “‘It is impossible! The letter says there are reasons for secrecy, and that I must go alone—at least, to-night, Antoinette, How can it be managed ?”’ vaue dem ‘Does your lordship desire my assistance *” sert me! Lamso frightened, and I feel thatitis wrong; but still, what can Ido? Iwill persuade her to let me explain ail to my lord afterward.” “But your ladyship will not be able to co it, 1 am afraid, without tellinghim. He would, of course, miss your lady- ship from the abbey,’’ answered the maid, demurely. “Oh, Antoinette, do not say so! IfI can but just man- age it this once—if I can but see my poor cousin, I can tell the earl; but now I dare not. YetI should be wretched torefuse. Try and think of some plan; youare so clever, Antoinette.”’ The woman mused for a few minutes. “Your ladyship is aware that I shallrun great risk ifl were discovered. I feel sure you would see that i havea great claim for compensation,” i “Yes, yes; you shall have all you want—that is, if you can manage it all for me,” said the young countess, eagerly. ‘‘Yes—here is a ten-poumd-note, Will that do? If anything happens to you, I pro ou full compensa- tion for any loss; but be quiek, ald Contrive some plan.” “Well, then, my lady, you see theye is nothing very wonderful in any fancies your ladysRip might take in your present state of health. £ would suggest that your ladyship should go to your room early, and express a wish toremain quite undisturbed, as youate not very well, My lord would naturally comply, and order his room to be made ready for him; so that you would be secure from intrusion for the night. When he is safe in his otyn apart- ments, my lady, you could go oub with my attendance, and we should soon be at the copse, and return before any one could missus. There isamoon, andft should not be in the least frightened, andI know the way quite well.”’ Some hours later the young wife wife was sitting in her dressing-room, with cheeks flushed by excitement and suspense, awaiting the signal for her dangerous expedi- tion. Her eyes were fixed on the paper she had received: “Sybil, come this night to the copse. Your cousin is ill and unhappy. Your aid alone can avail to averta great sorrow and calamity.’ ‘“Isabel—poor Isabel! Oh! if you did but know, Iam sure you would not risk it, But, then, it is so natural she shouid turn to mein trowble—she has no one else, poor girl;and perhaps it is something she cannot tell Percy, and does not wish him/tocome fo her with me or know that’she ismear. It must be something, te/ble, for her to be so near.and yet not to be with us;as I wished. Yes; for the sake Of old memories Iunust go. Our parents were sister and brother;.shail their children fail each other in the time of need? No; Percy will only love me better for being true, and daring all forthe sake of my duty to my own nearest kin.”? The young wife drew from her bosom a locket with her husband's portrait and hair, and gazed fondly on it. “Ah! Perey, when our child is born you will love me better than ever. Perhaps lam not so good as I ought to bey, and it vexes him that I cannot be merry and cheerful as.I used to be. Yes, it will all be happy and bright when that iS oyer,*’ ‘Please, my lady, it is time. The house is quite still, and we had better lose no time: Let me put on your ladyship’s carriage-cloak and hat.” The woman wrapped the trembling Sybil'’s form in the large mantle, adjusted herhat over her shining braids, and then. led her, half-clinging to her support, down the back staircase and through thé servants’ hal. Then she took a.key from her pocket, opened a side door that led to the gardens especially appropriated to the use of the lady of. the mansion; and Sybil found herself, for almost the first time in her life, alone with the maid in the de- serted, still expanse of the park. Momentous events, entailing disgrace and ruin to the unsuspecting countess, were to resuit from the secret meeting to which she was being lured by the deception of a heartless enemy. (To be continued.) The Flower of Suda. A Tale of the Cretan Revolution. {The Flower of Suda,’ was commenced in No. 42. Back Num- bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XVI. FRIENDLY VISITANTS. That face was all brightness and beauty, and fall of strange eagerness. The magnificent eyes were bewilder- ing in their royal splendor. The scarlet in the exquisite lips and dusky cheeks was more vivid than the hue of the pomegranite blossom. Despite her instinétive disappointment at not beholding Captain Rolas, as shehad expected, Zulime could not look coldly on that glowing face. “J.T thought to meet ‘another,™ she faltered in her sweet, low voice, with blushes flowing in and out of her cheeks like a red tide upon a snow-white shore. The Nubian looked disappointed. “What other’? he asked,in the full, rich, flute-like tones that had so stirred Zulime’s heart the day before. The tide of. blushes flowed higherin Zulime’s cheeks, and the Nubian youth was answered. His splendid eyes gloomed over with @ light so somber that the maiden was startled. “It was a friend whom I have known since childhood,” ae the maiden, simply; ‘and I dare not name him aere.?? “T thought you expected mei’! declared the Nubian, “When we met yestermorn but to patt, I am sure I looked & promise to rescue you from the hands of your enemy. aM ay not. read the look aright? Had youno faith i ts “Tread it, and I trusted you, Sir Hafed,’’ said the Greek maiden, wondering at her own temerity is thns boldly ad- dressing the dusky stranger. ‘‘I Saw you an houror more since as you passed with a Turkish officer, and I'dared to fancy. that you saw. me looking throngh the lattice.” The Nublan’s face beamed with a rare, sweet smile, that was in itseif a beam of richest sunshine. ‘“T saw you, fair lady,’? he said, “and marked the slen- der tress that few, ont of your prison like a golden signal. I came.into the coffee-house which LI frequent, and sought the garden. 1 knew of this Métle opening in the wall... It was made by 2 Greek youth who held converse through it with the lady ofjnis love, who was a captive to the Turk. He rescued her one dark night, as P'shali rescue you.”* _ It trembied upon Zulime’s tongue te ask the Nubian if he had seen an old Turkish peddler at the coffee-hause that mernicg, but her prudence restrained her. “Of course my lord would be anxious that your lady-- “Yes, yes—of course do! Oh, Antoinette, do not de-| Before she could reply to Hafed, Maddalena broke into the conversation. “You have a serpent’s tongue, Sir Nubian,’ she said, i ¥.o"You have bewitched Zulime here with your beses and strange ways, and I know not but that onl abandon all her old friends in her sudden infat- cruelty. Zuliy Hanghter.of a patrig He, wito Was Carmi Helleneyandythe woman Sranguish. ‘Think you, Sk Nubian,” she added, recov- ng herself, ‘that the daughter-of that unhappy couple, oar cmp at the hands of the Turks, willever wed a ‘urk ??? The Nubian turned his head. from the aperture, but Zu- lime felt that heswas deeply moved. \ Ge “Hush, Maddalena!” she said, gently. ‘The Nubian is my friend!’ ) r ( “As the. Turk is afriend to the Greek!¥=was| the wo- man's bitter response. The Nubian looked around, his face pale, his eyes full of dense gloom. “Trust me!’ he said, witha winning smile. ‘Lam the maiden’s friend, aS she says. 1 am no Turk, my good woman, and Tlove the fair Zulime as my life! “I willsave her from her enemy, and set her free! If she loves Hafed and will cling to him, he will be the happiest of mankind! If she chooses to return to the old Greek priest, she shall go! We Nubians love at sight, and our love is the love of a thousand lifetimes condensed in one!” Maddalena was still unsatisfied, but the eyes that had so bewitched her young charge were not without their spell on her, “JT like not this sudden love, so like the flame of fire!” she muttered. ‘‘Giveme the love that grows with years, that is based on a knowledge of the disposition, the heart, and the mind! Give me the love that grows from sympa- thetic tastes and kindred hopes——”’ “] fear we may be interrupted,” interposed the Nubian. “T am completely hidden on this side by a dense thicket, but your duenna may come upon you suddenly, and our plans would all be frustrated. My good Maddalena, will you step to the mouth of the arbor and Keep guard?’’ “Who said my name was Maddalena?” asked the wo- man, With sudden suspicion. The Nubian looked startled at the inquiry, and then paused to reflect. “Was it not Zulime?” hesaid. ‘Did she not name you so? or was it Colonel Kelegi, when we met on the moun- tain side? Ifancied that your name, however I heard it. Was I mistaken ?’’ Maddalena replied inthe negative, and smore gently, for she was already ashamed of her gruffness toythis po- lished and refined young stranger, whose dusky hue but hightened his bizarre beauty. Muttering her apologies, she stepped outside the arbor, placing herself in a position where, herself concealed, she could watch the garden-door of the dwelling, “J do not wish to talk to you of love, Zulime,” said the youth, leaning easily and gracefully against the aperture, and taking one of the maiden’s white hands into his dusky ones. ‘Indeed, this isno*time for loye-making. I am aware that Colonel Kelegi has gone away. He owes this sudden departure to my influence withthe general. We must improye his absence by effecting your escape.”” “But how ?’ inquired the maiden. “Within the dwell- ing isan old Abyssinian woman on guard. She keeps the keys of our rooms and @stapeis impossible.” : “‘*Tmpossible’ is av T have banished from my vo- cabulary,” said the Nubian youth. ‘dknow of this wo- man. She was-once empioyed in this coffee-house, and I oftensaw her. Sheds very fond of drink. Ifyou were to give her drugged wineshe would sleep'so have brought some for the purpose.”’ He held out a little flask filled with a rare, golden wine, which glimmered through the shadows like molten metal. ‘RHyery drop of that is precious,’’ he said, holding it to the light. ‘The Adyssinian woman will think it nectar.” j “It is not poisoned?’ whispered the Greek maiden, fear- ually. $ me *Polsoned! Hafed would nof poison a dog! - It is drug- Tr asleeping potion. Do you shrink from giving = “No, no,’ answered Zulime, putting out her land for it. “I trust you, Hafed. Iwill giveit her.” The. flask was relinquished into her keeping, and the Nubian’s m ti¢ eyes thanked her for her courage. N erture,’? said Hafed. ‘It is square, and mit your attendant to pass through beh Bea ore make.allp charge you "he G ; n 100K p He ri ie % Will guard your li e arbor first, you shing this spring—so.’” He taught her the mechanism of the secret door, which was readily learned. “Strange that Inever saw you before,’’ said the youth, after a thoughtful pause, during which he had feasted his eyes on the sparkling loveliness of the Greek maiden, and had marked the pure pale gold of her hair, the radiance of her full dark eyes, and the proud beauty of every noble yet delicate feature. ‘I have traveled over Crete and Greece and Turkey, and have explored all the Ionian Isles, yet I never beheld a face like yours. These Cretan women haye usually black hair and eyes, but your hair is like the pale sunlight, and your eyes are dark gray, like growing twilight shadows. Yet you have always lived on the Gulf of Suda?’ ” “Not always. Twas born at the capital. Candia was also my parents’ native place. Lwasso young when I left it that of course I remember nothing of it.” “If I had but known of youbefore!’’? sighed the youth, ‘My-life is one of mystery and danger, Zulime...One of thése days—soon,;let us hope—I will unvail my past to you, and seek repose in your love. Am I mistaken in hoping to gain your love, Ztlime? Your blushes, your confusion haye made me hope?’ Zulime struggled with adesire to tell himof her be- trothment to Captain Rolas, but she couldénotunvait~ her heart tothisdusky stranger, who had grown so gloomy at the very thought of a. rival, at the commencement of their interview. Her embarrassment and redonvied blushes brought a bright glow to the Nubian's face. Lifting her white hand to his lips, he kissed it as reve- rentially as if it had been the hand of a princess. “Do not be disappointed, Zulime,*’ he said, after a brief silence, ‘if I send anotherin my stead to-night, I may be detained at the general's, in which case old Krissi, the coffee housekeeper, who is my faithfal friend and ally, will come in my stead, You can rely upon him as upon me.” Remembering that Ketina had expressed a suspicion that there existed some relationship between old Krissi and the generai’s young favorite—though one was Turk and the other Nublan=Zulime readily promised to rely upon Hafed’s messenger, should he be obliged to send one in his stead. At this juncture Maddalena called from her conceal- ment: ; “Are you not almost throngh? I see Ketina peeping from an upper window, as if wondering*’where we had flown!” “Show yourself among the bushes, as if picking flow- ers,’’ said the Nubian, The woman crept from her hiding-place and began to gather flowers mostindustriously, and soon had the sat- isfaction of seeing the Abyssinian retire from the window in seeming contentment. Maddalena then flung away her blossoms and returned to her concealment and duties of sentinel. “I must. leave you now,” said the dusky youth, reluc- tantly. ‘A party of friends await me within, Be here to-night. Have no fearsin regard to using che flask.” The maiden. promised to be worthy of his trust. “Zulime, looked up!" ; a There was a depth of passion in those rich, sweet tones that thrilled the maiden’s soul. She looked up hastily, to meet a glance'she could not understand nor analyze, but which stirred her heart strangely. The next moment, before she comprehended the youth's intention, a kiss fluttered down upon her white, upturned brow, and another was set upon her full red lips, Then_the stone swung in its place, and the Nubian fit- ted away throigh the bushes. lime gioad @ moment startled, almost overwhelmed by the audacity of the young stranger. Maddalena, who had seen the parting, was full of indig- nant reproaches. “ie must have been frightened by an approach,” thought the maiden. ‘‘Who should be near except Con- rad ¥” ‘She touched the spring, and pushed thestone slightly ajar. , The regular, glicking sound of a crutch or staff on the walk came faintly to her ears. She pushed the hidden door ope to its fullestiextent, and put her head through the aperture. The Nubian was nowhere to be seen. The garden walks were not visible through ‘the dense foliage of the thicket. The sound came nearer. The proprietor of the crutch had reached the bottom of the garden, and had paused in contempiation of some object, or to indulge in musing. Was he Captain Rolas? or was he some old Turk exer- cising after &@ Meal at the coffee-louse? Zulime was almost wild with excitement. and anxicty. Overcome by her hopes and fears, she flung prudence to the winds, and called, softly: “Conrad! Conrad! Come to me!” The clicking sound approached the thicket slowly, as If the intruder were keeping a vigilant eye upon the dwell- ing, and moving with great carelessness of purpose, As the sound came nearer, the odor of tobacco was borne to the maiden’s nostrils. She had never known her jover to use tobacco. Faint and strengthiless, she could not close the secret door, but leaned, pailid and gasping, against the wall, Ner white hand cintching the vines, and an awful dread’ gathering at her heart. > with my own. ‘Should ¢an open the door in the CHAPTER XVIi. THE LOVERS. Aa she stood leaning there against the walt, breathiess with ap prehension, Zulime heard the steps continue to advance, heard bthe F..Jpee. I fh .must come out before the hour ajypointed for your meeting with the cautious parting of bushes, heard asound as of a pipe being dashed to the ground, and then hurried breathing and an excla- mation of wondering surprise. That exclamation filled her veins with new life. / thi erture, looking through it, still pale, fess, and excitement. 6 said, in a tremulous whisper. yas gone. 4 Ounded but for a mo \ Se FS 3 @ener, and Zulime’s teartieapedtpto meet the g rk and loving eyes. “Conrad! Conftad!” she murmured, in an ecstasy of delight. The peddler sprang“to’the* door, caught her hands, and show- ered kisses on her joyful face. “My»darling!” he said, and his tones proclaimed him indeed Captain Rolas, “Idid not dream of meeting you here. My poor little gixk! what have'you not suffered since my,last visit to you! Your home destroyed—your family-wanderers—yourself a captive to the Tabk !2 ‘ He pill red her head om his bosom, and kissed away her glad ears, “Oh, Conrad!” she whispered. “I knew you would come to me—but the danger!” “The danger is nothing,’ was the light response. ‘We incur more peril every night that the Ion sails, Kelegi has gone to Canea, I hear, and will notreturn till morning. I have no fear of being recognized. The eyes of hate are not so sharp as those of love !..I saw you at your upper window, Zulime, How could you recognize me in this disguise? TI thought it perfect.’ - “It is perfect, and I cannot explain how I knew you,” answered the Greek maiden, blushing. ‘It must haye been something in your voice or your manner!” “T will be on my guard against such sharp eyes,” said Captain Rolas. ‘Has .Kelegi persecuted you much, Zulime?” “No, Conrad. He brought us here last night, and I saw nothing more of him till this morning, when he came to announce his de- parture forCanea. I think he fears me while he loves me; and he may well fear,” added the maiden, with proud resolution. “The pistol you gaye me, dear Conrad, shall end his life or mine before he shall ever make me his wife!’ The gallant young Greek regarded his betrothed in admiring silence. The proud poise of her classic head, the haughty flashing ot her dark eyes, the resolute expressien of her lips, told him plainer than words could have done of thé braye spirit within that young frame which would prefer death to dishonor. “My noble Zulime!’’ breathed the young lover, his soul beaming through his eyes. “You shall not be driven to such desperate measures. I am eome to rescue you!” “But how?” “T shall’keep quiet during the remainder of the day. I shall stay, here at this coffee-house, and spend much time in the garden, The proprietor is ill in bed, I hear, and no one will trouble him- self towateh my movements, unless,” he added, ‘that young dandy secretary of the general should suspect my disguise. I have seen the Nubian before, and he eyed me when we metin the coffee-house this morning, as if he suspected a Greek in this Turk- ish disguise.” “The Nubian?” faltered Zulime, with sudden agitation. “Yes. Haye youever seen him, Zulime? Heis but a youth, but he has wondrous beauty, and eyes like stars. But for his calor he would be a young Apollo,” Zuline hesitated. Strange doubts and fears assailed her, but she said; bravely: “Conrad, we met this Nubian on our way to Suda yesterday morning. He looked at me pityingly, and I believe he hasa entle, noble soul. Isaw him pass the house this morning, and 1e but quitted my presence when you came.”’ She detailed the incidents almeady known to the reader, and Captain Rolas listened, his graye, dark eyes growing stern in their expression as she poncees os “You are not to blame, Zulime,” he said, when she had con- cluded. ‘You are ignorant of the world, and a pitying smile re- yeals to you a pitying heart. The Nubian may indeed be all you lance of those say, but I trust him not. He isaTurk by education and senti- | me and if he saves you from Kelegi, he willsaye you for him- self!’ ‘ “Just what I said!” exclaimed Maddalena, emerging from her concealment, and approaching our young hero with both hands oe “IT can’t stay there and listen to your voice, Cap- tain Rol Jvithout speaking to you. How did you find that we . rere here? “Mikel told me of your abduction from the temple grotto. The Jad followed in your steps until assured that you were being ht to Suda, and then struck out for the nearest coast. When led at the usual place last night, he was on the shore await- ‘oor lad! e was almost wild with grief and fear. I myself and entered Suda this morning as a Turkish ng me, nised peddier!”’ The and §) to thi She" lightl door “7 ung captain shook hands heartily with the housekeeper 8 selves. ad scarcely departed when Captain Rolas parted the yines , and leaped through into the arbor, drawing the seeret ‘arly shut after him. don’t like a stone wall between you and me, Zulime,” he said, seating himself on the cane-work diyan, and drawing the maiden to his breast. ‘You are safe now, my beloved. So you trus' this young Nubian, and would haye escaped with him to-night. My poor, trusting littledoye! You would have fallen, indeed, into the hands of the fowler!” ee “J cannot think the Nubian bad or treacherous, Conrad,” said the maiden, falteringly. ‘‘His eyes were full of truth and good- ness’? “Did he speak of love to you, Zulime?” asked the Greek. Zulime’s silence answered for her. “T see. He did. maiden that you are!’ declared Rolas, whose trust in his young betrothed was entire and absolute. ‘‘And when, after that, he alfectedepenitence, and still offered to save you, you believed and trusted him! You need think of him no more, my darling. Your rightful protector will save you!” : ae “Have you tone lt of a plan ?? whispered Zalime, ‘Stiswain to think efeseape through Kelegi’s house. He fas servants in his part of the dwelling who would intercept you. This secret door in the wall is the/only avenue open to us. You the Nubian, and I vill be here in Waiting. while Hafed waits for your appearance!” — The Greek maiden was not yet convinced of the intended treachery of the Nubian, butshe had no arguments to urge in favor of her belief in him, and so maintained silence. The keen common-sense of her loyer could not be evmbated by a feeling she could neither understand nor analyze. , 7 With a stifled sigh, she relinquished her will for that of her lover's. We will be far away “I will be here before the honr appointed for my meeting with — Hafed,” she said. ‘And now tell me of yourself, dear Conrad. I saw the Dead Cruiser last night, and knew you had landed. Did you bring much help to Crete ?” “Thirty-two men, and a thousand ritles,”.was the reply, “be- sides food and clothing for the women, children, and old men in the mountains. © We landed everything in saiety, and there were men enough waiting to carry the things off as fast as deposited on the shore. Crete is better off to-day for our last night’s work.” “Did you go to our old home, Conrad ?”” “No, but Twas told by one of our spies that itis in ruins, and that every tree has been leveled tm the groves, and the yineyard is laid waste.” 1 a “Mikel’s mother. was safe ?” “She had not been. molested. That woman does good service for Crete, while the Turks believe her am unthinking nt, fumbly Submissive to their rule. It seemsthat Kelegi and his men failed to recognize Mikel as a member of your party, and to- day he is at home apparently as simple as ¢ver. “Wou didnot ¥ee Rika, the prophetess ?” he added. Dae “She was absent, as on the occasion of your visit to the grotto,” replied the maiden, ‘“‘but. we saw her tamiliar attendant—the black dwarf whom you alsosaw. He-entertained us Kindly, and promised we Should see the prophetéss on the morrow—that is, yesterday. I hope she was able te comfert my poor uncle for my loss.” he young pair continued to talk of the people and scenes nearest their hearts, and came at last to the sweetest of all sub- jects—love! *" We need not dwell upon what they said, The communion of two pure, loving hearts, under circumstances like those, is too sacred fer description. . i In the midst of the utteraneé of’ holy ‘and ‘loving vows, they were startled to a vivid sense of their wh¢reabouts and perilous surroundings by Maddalena, who sprang up and approached them in great agitation and excitement, ; i “The Abyssinian woman Is coming in search of us!’ “we are lost. I, did not sce her leave the house, mus! The words were scarcely uttered when the quick tramp of steps nearat hand warned them of Ketina’s proximity, There was not time for Captain Rolasito retire through the door in the wall. ¢ , As quick as a flash, he dropped behind amass of yines that de- pended from the wall, and stood there as motionless as a statue. He was but imperfectly screened at the ‘best, but he trusted to the. deep. shadows of the place and the unobtrusive color of his rments. Pao instant later, Ketina stood at the entrance of the arbor. There was nothing suspicious in the scene that met her gaze, Zulime was half-reclining upon the divan, lazily fanning her- self, her eyes hali-shut, her face looking uncomfortably flushed. Maddalena sat on the mossy turf, her face bent over a lap full Pawo eines that hung against the wail trembled. slichtly, but.a soft breeze had found its way into that nest of delicious, fragrant shadows. . Laat, ; % “So, you. are in here? said the negress, regarding the Greek maiden with keen glances. “'I haye sought the whole garden for ou. thought I hearg voices just now——” , Wyen, what ff you did 7” demanded the maiden, opening her eyes in haughty surprise. ‘‘Your master left mo injunctions azainst ny conyersing with my attendant, did he ?” “Of course not, lady, but he bade me keep a clost watch upon you, and that I mean to do. Tam your sole guardian m his ab- senee, and responsible for your safe keeping”? A “Tt is ah probable that Ishall come toe harm im here,” said Zulinie, quietly. ‘ ‘ “] do pot vk yott will, lady. This is the safest Breathe whole garden. My master comes here often for seeret 9! Be tions with his superior officers. I haye often thought of the hatm it would do if there were only a crack in the wall, and a Greek on the other, side to listen. The Cretans would be kept informed then of all the Turkish plans. The officer who lived here before kept this summer-house for Ins_ private retreat also. If it were nok thiat sickly old Krissi is a Turk and a loyal one, too, and his offeehouse frequented only by Turkish officials, I might ink ’ The old woman chetked abruptly her_unwonted garrulousness, and sat down on the diyan at Zulime’s feet. 3 i “So this isa gentleman's retreat,” said the maiden, idly. “I had fancied it a lady’s bower.” “Perhaps it has been,” replied the negress, grofily. “i can tell you nothing about that. You bad better come in, lady.” “¥ery well,” said the captive, languidly arising. ‘‘Lead on and Vl follow.” Ketina arose as abruptly as she had seated herself, and led the way from the arbor. Maddalena followed: Zulime lingered be- hind Jong enough to flash a Toving glanes teward the tremulous vines, and ‘to listen toalast Injunction from her loyer, and to whisper: ipere the escape from the house to me, Conrad. TI can man- age #, and shall certainly be bere at the hour appointed. “Then. she flew away out of the arbor, and along the path, dancing -to the side of the Abyssinian, who was on the point of urning back for her. ’ ‘At the same moment Captain Rolas disa red through the seeret door in the wall, gaining the thicket o the adjoining gar- den. The nexress, all unconscious of the little drama that had been enacted ender her very eyes, regarded her captive in a perfect be- witderment, uO: ‘She an unwilling (bride! she muttered. “Tis not so. She but pretended so, to enhance her vaine with the master, or else the sight ot so many tuxuries has changed her. I shall tell the aster when he comes, myaline's mood sobered aa she retorned fo the house, and she wis quiet almost to sadness when she and Maddaleua were once more focked within ‘theu little saiteof rooms In the maidst of her joy the remembrance of Hafed had brought sadness. CUAPTER XVIII. THROUGH DIFFICULTIEG, fhe day passed and the evening came. The lights and sounds of the street were shut out, and 4 lamp was burning. brightly in the little saloon where Zulime and Maddalena awaited impatient- ly the hour for action. YPhe woman halt-reclined upon acoudch. The girt walked the carpeted ftoor, her hands clagped, and an anxious look on her re, pate face. s “Bow ‘aid I to give the negress the liquor ?” asked Zulime, in a she cried. She is close whisper, drawing the pretty golden-hued flask from her pockct “T fear she will suspect me of trying and holding it to the light. If this fails, Maddalena, we must resort to force.” to drug her. “To torce?’ “Yes; you and Tare overpower and bind “The woman is stron dalena. “I would ass than force with y he Nubian pp be strong. We must Bwedo for liberty 7” e. Stratagem is better aan 13 as fond of drink as sthat wine and put herself : yarving, as she heard the is, of the divan and closed her pacing, atthe same byssinian entered, bear- r, Her shining black inarily, and hersmall g00d for the experiment, ped from attempting it. Aulime. She knew noth- fays dealt in the ways of did not come easily to in practice her intend- r ing of the arts of decept truthfulness and stra her frank and candid § ed ruse. a, “Won’t you stay and eat with tS?” slefasked, endeavoring to conceal her disgust of Ketima. ‘‘You hayoyeum food enough for three. . a The negress looked at the maiden suspiciously and ungraciously. e I don’t care if I do,’’ she responded, seating herself abruptly. I don’t suppose your. fair skin makes you any better than me, even if you are my.mistress. Jam the descendant of a king, while you are Only a Cretan!” ‘ The Greek maiden flushed at this insolence, but she dared not betray her rising indignation. “What has gone wrong with you, Ketina?” she asked quietly. “Everything!” was the gruff response. ‘I am tired of this slave’s sort of life. Iam tired of waiting on other people. Ihave received but now a billet that my master will be home before morning. He met the general to whom he bore dispatches, and nothing of course delays his immediate return.” Zulime comprehended at once the cause of Ketina’s discontent. The hastened return of Kelegi interfered in someway with her private plans or schemes of enjoyment, The realization of the peril to herself and to her lover, compre- hended in Kelegi’s speedy return, came to Zulime’s soul, thrill- ing it with sudden terror. “There remain to us some hours for action,” she thought. must be far away before daybreak.” Her yoice was steady and her face calm as she remarked: “Well, Ketina, do not trouble yourself about,thoughts of slavery, while you haye enough of personal freedom to go and come when you like, It is I who am the slave.” e helped herself toacup of steaming, fragrant coffee, and Maddalena and Ketina followed her example. “The coffee is excellent,” said Zulime, sipping it nervously. “Tt is well enough for those who like weak stuff,” responded the n discontentedly. “I am usec to fine liquors and rare wines, and this stuff palls on my taste. I used to live at the ceffee- house next door, old Krissi reserved for his most favored custom- ers the wine of a glorious vintage. It was like liquid sunlight, and its taste was nectar, I found my way to the wine-cellar more than once, and I used to drain the bottles Red gieses of that wine, oh!” ene stopped, and glared at Zulime like a tigress who smells gitiorwardne onl, therefore “We The maiden, in her nervousness, had half-brought from its con- cealment the litcle flask with its sunny-hued contents, and was trifling with it without aim or thought. The small, keen eyes of Ketina had caught sight of the flask peedily returned to her hiding-place, leaving the loyers’ and its contents. “What is that?” she demanded, eagerly. “Only a flask of wine,” replied Zulime,” half-frightened at the old woman’s yehemence, anu dropping the flask in her pocket. “Tt is the very wine I described!” cried Ketina, looking greed- ily, almost wolfish at the Greek maiden. “Give it tome. Give it to me, I say.” t Her thirst for the liquor made her forgetful of the consequences should her action be reported to her employer, who had forbid- den her to use wine, knowing well her weakness. Zulime shrank from her tremblingly. She felt the inclination to refuse Ketina’s demand, although so much depended upon its gratification. The Abyssinian repeated it, more greedily and wolfishly than before. It became apparent that the love of liquor was with her a@ mania, and she would stop at nothing to gratify it. Fearing that the flask would be torn from her by main force, Zulime relinquished it at once. E The woman seized it with a snarling cry, meant to express rap- am oa held it to her lips, draining the flask, before pausing to take 4 When she had sucked the last drop that drained from it, she flung the flask upon the floor, and staggered to the divan, upon which she fell, muttering in broken ejaculations her delight and gratitude, ; : Maddalena approached her young mistress, and, with clasped hands, the two awaited the result of Ketina’s draught. Fears of_its mey assailed the captives, as they beheld the n roll her eyes about like two balls of snow through a mass of ink, and betray a restlessness greater than usual. They scarcely dared to breathe, much less dared to speak aloud, but watched and waited with faces which would have betrayed all their hopes and fears, had Ketina chanced to look upon them. Fortunately, she did not. She tossed about, still muttering in- coherently, but gradually her movements had in them less force, and finally her eyelids drooped, and she lay motionless and silent upon her pillows. . : “How still she is!” said Zulime, breaking the strange and in- tolerable silence. “Do you suppose she is dead, Maddalena ? Ss afed made this draught stronger than he thought! She approached the divan cautiously on tiptoe, fearing to arouse the sh r. She leaned over the unconscious negress, bend- ing her ear to her heart. ; rind of zegnla sations, and the sight of the negress’s east a ‘ose and tell, restoredthe maiden’s courage And you repulsed him, like the brave Cretan’ id, as she aCe back, “She will tie then awaken. ow is the night, Mad- housekeeper stepped to the window, and taised a’corner of The the curtain. : oe , The night was one of those when light ani iaLesses stragafe for supremacy. The moon was sailing in the heavens, but squad- rons of cloudg blockaded her pathway, and now and then charged her, completely hiding her trom view and Wrapping the ow. “It will be good night for our purpose,” said Zalime, when Mad- dalena had thus reported to ny “The Abyssinian is disposed of, and our way must beclear. ¥.etus eat and drink, Maddalena, for we have a long march before us. Then we will go down to the arbor and wait for Conrad. I shall feel safer re than here, where Kelegi may come in upon us at any m Maddalena assented, and the captives sat do They started at evey sound that came from cied once or twice that they heard some ments below. At such times they shrank c! to their meal. the ‘street, and fan- on in Kelegi’s apart- gether, and look+ ed quietly at the unconscious duenna, ; «It's of no use. Iam too nervous toeat!” den, at ast, § 1er long dalena, pring nd throwing around h dark cloak. “Put el of foe oi and let us go tot aor. 1 ; The housekeeper obeyed, and $ herself for the journey. Some food, and a few article of clothmg taken from the wardrobe, were packed into a small parcel, and Maddalena announced herself ready for departure. “The keys!” exclaimed Zulime. ‘Sup after all, they are not on herperson. She may have hidden them. It would be ter- rible to be frustrated now at the last moment,”’ She searched the pockct of the negress. The keys were not there! ; - Maddalena’ plunged her hand into Ketina’s bosom, and with- drew it with the keys. ‘ “She unlocked the door, andthe two went into the corridor. slime locked the door after them to retard Kelegi's discovery of their escape, and the captives then descended the creaking stairs as softly as possible. ‘At its foot they stopped, catching hold of each other in sudden € ularm. ‘ They had heard from-one of the rooms appropriated to Kelegi’s use the sound of footsteps and voices. Zulime drew-her- attendant after her into a litile nook 1 the stairs, which she had noticed inthe morning, and the crouched in the darkness. And not too soon. A door opened, and a Turkish soldier, lan- tern in hand, looked into the little hall, flashing his light onthe stairs. “J thought I heard steps on the stairs, comrade,” he said, toa companion, just visible behind him. “The colonel told us to wateh lest that old megress should make off, to the coffee-house after liquor, and-I fancied she was about to try at? ? “How would she get. out unless she’‘came through this room?” demanded the other soldier, Jaughing, “She can’t climb the den picks, and we shall. see her if she attempts to go out by the front door. Don’t be foolish, lad.” : The captives trembled in their concealment as the soldier flash ed his lantern for the last time; but he did not detect them, and retired with bis’ Comraée, closing the door behind him. The two women arose and crept'to the door, trembling more than ever with apprehension. Zulime slipped the key into the lock. It grated slightly, and she almost fainted with fright. Nery. ing herself, she turned the bolt, and opened the door. iy 2 Moment they werein the garden, under the shade of an oleander tree. 5 aie i “The moon will be under the shadows again in a minute, Mad dalena,”’ the maiden whispered, looking at the mottled sky. “We must take advantage of the temporary darkness to gain the re- cesses of the garden.’’ ; i They waited anxiously. “At the earliest. possible moment, screened by the darkness, they few along the paths, not pausing intheir flight until, they had placed a sufficient number of trees and shrubbery between them arid the dwelling to hide them from possible gazers. EvenXthen, not daring to’come to astop, they hastened at a rapid walk tothe arbor, upon whose cahe seats they sank breathless. i ( , “So far we are safe, Maddalena,” whispered the Greek, maiden. “}Jow dark it is here! I wish Conrad were here,” The arbor was indeed dark. Fulltof soft shadows by day, it was at night a perfect Erebus. The darkness was absolutely impene- trable, but the fugitives could ree the occasional gleams of moon- light ‘without, on the beds of flowers and amid the tangles of shrubbery. t ‘ 3 : It was hot a place for conversation, and the women sank into si- lence as profonrna as the darkness, ‘ ; “J ought to have locked the hall-door,” whispered Zulime, after a half-hour’s abstraction. “Suppose those soldiers should look into the hall again, and tty the door! They would instantly sus- pect something to be wrong. They might search the garden.” 9 — inn yously. ¢ PWatitiy. te ‘S$ aia L. The sound reminded me that Ishould have secured the hall-door key. .1f the soldiers find us here, we are lost.” She atose and looked from the entrance of the arbor. The sounds of confusion they had mentioned were plainly distinguish - able. She crept to theend of the main walk and lookea up at the dwelling. figs { The hail-door was open, and the two,soldiers, each armed with a lantern, appeared to be making an investigation of the little ak ; . hey suspect something wrong, Maddalena‘” whispered the maiden, as her attendant gained her side. ‘‘One of the soldiers is about to mount the stairs to see if/aH is right above. There! she added, ‘& minute “ag “he om returned. He found the ve locked, They,are consulting.” , doerpey wink,” said Maddalena, “that Ketina has locked us up, and come out into the garden in quest of drink, They must fan- cy that she. expects some one to lower a bottle to her trom the Jjoining garden.” an aiPhe soldiers are golng to investigate for themselves!" cried Zit- \ they search every clump of bush- lime. ‘See! they are coming}; esl. We are lost, indeed, Maddalenat” She sewed her foster-mother’s hand, and drew her again to the oe ai imminence of their peril, and the impossibility of un- aided escape, gave to both the desperate feeling of being brought Owe were ao near béing saved!?? said, Zulime, ber eyes shining through the gloom witha light bern or despair, “I will not be ‘taken easily! I will die here! I Will not be taken back into cap- tivity more hateful than ceath! enemies. a e sound of their stepsand thelr voices came nearer. a a the moment when all seemed lost—when hope bad forsaken the captives-the secret doorin the wall, ef which neither had thought in the sudden tumult of their despair, svang open, and a voice cried: “Quick—this way?" ime sprang to ee es nt rawn through intot icket in safety. b id. f The neat instant Maddalena was beside her, too stone - swung shut, and the ingitives, panting and gasping, roalized shat they had escaped their enemies, a - ‘Qonrad, is t you?” questioned the Greek maiden, grasping th of her preserver. , , ay eda of moontight at thatmement reveale( to her ve face and form of her preserver.. He was an old ntar bent ane decrepit, and sbe shrank from him, startled aud “Poar not?’ said the stranger, ina Kindly voice the coffeehouse keeper. TI wassent hither t meet the Nubian.” The vines were parted She was ut (Tobe continved) ‘Pthought [heard a slamming of doors,” said Maddalena, ner- ~—<—oO 2 She clutched her little pistol, and waited for the coming of her © enypecgmmamcrae * eee set po Beebe fa” CF] POEMS | BY Francis S. Smith. In press and wili seon be published by THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, A VOLUME OF POEMS BY FRANCIS S. SMITH. The book in question isa mo. volume of between three and four hundred pages. “It is made up of poems from the pen of Mr Smith, which have been published from time to tume in the col- umus of the NEW YORK WEEKLY. It.is handsomely gotten up, and contains a life-like portrait of the author on steel. Price $1.50. The trade supplied at 4 liberal discount $12 to $24 A DAY. Agents wanted in every County in the United States to sell a new- ty patented article of great utility and absolutely needed in every bousehold.. For further particulars, address, ; w49-260 THE CHAMPION ME’G CO., CLEVELAND, OHIO. GLYCERINE CAKE. RAWOELE’S TOILET GLYCERINE CAKE is unequalled, for Wash- ing, Shaving, Shampaoing, Tooth Soap and Baby; Wash; produces a clear, soft, whiteskin, prevents pimples and ¢happing. War- ranted over one-half pure Glycerine. For sale by druggists. Marx & RAWOLLE, Manufacturers of Glycerine, 179 William street, New York. w44-26t. $10 A WAY, with Stencil Tools. Samples free. Address A. E GRAIAM, Springtield, Vt. w47-4t TRY SAMPLES of our great 8-page 1.00 ILLUSTRATED weekly—3O yrs. established. Fime’steel engravings free to sub’s. Agt’s make a y. Send for The Saturday Gazette, Hallowell, Me. w46-10t y 7 ANTED—AGENT'TS ($20 per day) TO SELL THE Celebrated “Home Shugfle Sewing Machine.” Has the under-feed, makes the “lock-Stiteh” (alike on both sides), and jis fully li- eensed. The best and cheapest Family Sewing Machine in the market. Address Jonsson, CLARK Co., Beston, Mass., Pitts- burgh, Pa., Chicako, IN, or St. Louis, Mo. w65l-2t. 100oGREAT SUCCESS! THE IMPROVED EMPIRE SEWING MACHINES. Speedy. noiseless,'and duravie:, Sold on accommodating terms. Liberal discounts ‘to Agents.)) Apply «for, Samples and. Condt- ditions to Empire'S: M. Co:, 294) Bowery, N ¥. w7-ly. MEDIK ONES: XERO08 DEBI-AEY and other disorders eured without taking Medicine. (Book FREE.) Drs. WELLS & STELL, w23-26t. 10% West 42d Street, N. ¥. City. A250 Ss R25 A. MONTH easily made with Stencil and 7 Key-Check Dies. Secure Circular and Samples, free. S. M. SPENCER, Brattleboro, Vt. Ww32-26t ' fy TO @t A YEAR TO AGENTS OF EITHER $1000 $3000 Sex. For particulars, address t J. N. RICHARDSON & Co., w5l-52t. Boston, Mass. $150 AMONTH! EMPLOYMENT! EXTRA INDUCEMENTS! A premiam HORSE‘and WAGON for Agents, We desire to employ agents for aterm ofscven years, tosell the Buckeye $20 Shuttle Sewing Machines: It makesa stiteh alike on both — and is the best low priced, licensed machine inthe world. : eee tree & CO., Cleveland, Ohio,or St. Louis, Mo. 4-52t. IFLES, SHOT-GUNS, REVOLVERS. GUN \. MATERDAL. Write for Price List, to GREAT WES- TERN GUN WORKS, Pittsburgh, Pa. Army Guns, : Revolvers, &c., bought or traded for. Agents wanted, w42-26t. Read’s Lamp Shade. 10 cents everywhere. AGENTS WANTED. Box’ 3427, Boston. , w483t F'icures will not lie? How Large Fortunes are made! ke FACTS FOR THE PEOPLE. -@i Bas SEE the prices at which four ofthe lead- ing Sewing Machines are sold in the UNITED STATES, and ENGLAND. oe A NE aR supper. I came here, as fast as ‘my feet-would carry me. Spiderby, don’t you know they plot your ruin?’ “Who plots my ruin ?” It was too dark for her to remark the sudden blanching of his features, but his yoice was high and hollow. “Allofthem. Every one otf them. As soon as. Peter has fin- ished his meal he will go to meet the others. They will get the officers and come after you. I listened, andIgotthe whole story. You have still almost an hour the start of them. There is a train leaves for the West in half an hour. You must reach it, You must not stop for anything: Fly! fly!” A groan burst from Spiderby’s breast. 5 el her!” he 1nurmured, loud enough for the gir! by his side to hear. . “Yes; leave your Alice,” she» answered,»with « hard voice. “Leave me, too. Iam the only. friend yon will haye on earth by to-morrow night. But you don’t think of me.” “You are a good girl, Effie. Inever thought your Joye, would do me such a service. Oh, I can’t go! yet I must!” ‘ “You must. Fly this moment. I tell you there is no;time;to waste in deliberation. Go out this moment. Iwill lock the bank and keep the key. While they are searching for that, believing you to be‘inside, you will have opportunity to escape. Itis quite dark, thank Heaven! Go quietly to the station, take a westward bound train—they will naturally expect you to go toward New York, and will look there first—get off at the first possible point Where you can doso with prudence, and change your'route. You willhave time te plan after you are on the cars,”’ “T wilhdo as you say. Effie, I thank you.” “That is enough. And—and—Mr. Spiderby, should you find obi desolate and unhappy—forsaken by all the world—no onger too prosperous to mate witha poor sewing girl—should you need and wish for me, in-any sickness or trouble, contrive to send me a message, aud I will not fail to answer it—as your wife, you understand. Guilty ‘as you are, you are the same to me. ow, go. “T must go over to the hotel first. My meney and bonds are in my room there. 1 ean’t leave empty-handed.” “Oh, donot venture! Youwill ie all by the delay!” She wrung her hands, urging him to wait for nothing. His manner was vyacillating and distracted, After ‘all his long sus- pense, the blow had fallen suddenly at last. He felt as little pre- pared as if he had never expected it. He walked about the room, repeating: “T must igo tothe hotel. I mustgetsome money.’ “G0, them, as quickly and as quietly aspossible.. They will come here first. Iwill lock the doer the moment you leaye.. No one else has a key». Before they can effect ' an entrance you will be Speeding along the railroad.” She fairly pushed and led him through to the front door. Here she bade him wait until she had reconhoitered. No one was in sight on that side thestreet. “Walk as if you werein no great haste. Leok as unconcerned as if nothing fad happened. ~Good-by!” . 4 She kissed his hand, retreated into the bank and locked the oor. At the sound of the bolt behind him the man felt as if the earth no longer held a shelter for him. Yet he must try to. find one, “Alice! Alice!” he moaned ; then he braced himself to the effort, went quickly across the street, assuming a careless air as he came within light of the hotel jomaps. § He meta friend ortwoon the portico, to whom he nodded as -he passed in. There was no one in the hall. Speedily he reached his room; nervously he fumbled, for his, keys, went down on his knees before thé trunk containing his t¥easure, opened it, filled his wallet and his pockets with gold, crammed more of it, into a small satchel which he saw at,hand, secured his package of U, S. ‘bonds, rose wp; looked about the room with a bewildered air, and started for the door. f ‘ As he jaid his hand:on the knob it,was turned from the outside, ye and four men stepped quickly, inside, shutting it behind them. Spiderby stood at bay. ).. He glared at them, panting for breath. His enemies—all four of them. | Peter, Treddle, John Glaston, Doctor Bazzard.: He noted that there was no officer among them. Heknew that none of these had a legal.night. to bar his way. The courage of despair caused a momentary display of bravery. “Dan’t stop mie, gentlemen!” he cried, hoary attempting to pass them, satchel in hand. ‘There is no officer here!” ‘ Aron Glaston, laidja grasp of steel upon his. arm, laughing ightly: “the three athers stood before the door, The wretched man shrunk away from,that touch and look quite into the middle of the room. Pome then; what do you want? What are you upto?’ he asked. “We want you tocome with us to Mrs, Glaston’s house, and there, in her presence, confess your crimes,” said, Doctor Baz- zara. ‘Crimes! Upon my word, your assumptions are intolerable,” answered the banker, striving to brave it out. ‘We give you your choice,” continued the doctor, “between making this confession to her, with such_ restitution as we shall demand, with the privilege thereafter of slinking off to some un- known region where we shall never hear from you again, or of being delivered over within fifteen minutes to the officers of | jus- tiee. In fifteen minutes I can make my affidavit and get out the watrant, while these others keep guard here.” “Do you promise to let me off, if I confess ?” “Ne do,” answered all—“‘not,” continued the doctor, who had been selected as mouth-piece—“‘not because we need your con- fession. We know all the facts, every one. But it isthe punish- ment which we have decided on as fittest tothe oecasion, that you shall confess to the womar you have so damnably» wronged. Tm no advocate of the death-penalty, I believe there are pun- ishments more severe than hanging.” f y “Hanging, death-penalty !”? stammered their prisoner. «Don’t atfect innocence,” sneered John Glaston. “Treddle, have you turned against me ?”. piteously. ‘4 desire to see justice done, sir. I have hesitated too long.” “Peter are you my enemy ?’? **You bet.” “This is outrageous. Make your charges! make your charges)! Idefy you!” : Otid J 5 “all right,?) responded the doctor, opening the door. saa _— — = = Mr- Price in England. ‘Inthe U. 8. Wheeler & Wilson $45.00 $85.00 New Singer = = 32.50 65.00 Elias Howe -. + | 35.00 65.00 Wilson Shuttie’ - 40.00 45.00 The above Prices are for exactly the same classes of machines as sold in both Countries: There isseareely any difference in the cost of material and laborin any of the above named machines, tg AFFIDAVIT.—W. G. Wilson, President of the ~ Wilson Sewing Machine Co., personally appeared before me. and made outhfthat the above prices are correct. nnd taken by himfrom Circulars published in the United States and England uader the corporate names of the Companies mant- facturing said machines. FRED. SMITH, Clerk of the Court of Common Pleas of CuyahogaCo., 0. The Wrson Stwine MacuINEs are for Sale - in most every County in the United States, and _ _No. 707 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.. ENT GOOBNOW & CO., Boston, Mass., Publish ‘THE PATENT STAR,” sell Patents, and give profitable agen- cies to canvassers. w4412t. ~ “DOMESTIC” The whole world challenged «to produce a Fami- y Sewing Ma- chine that will sew as light and as heavy; light running and eas- ily operated. The best machine for use, the easiest to sell, the most durable-will last a life-time. Lock stitch, noiseless, attachments un- g equaled. | Agents wanted in unoc- cupied territory. Ase Address “Bomestic” Sewing Machine Co., w30-13te. 0 W 96 Chambers St., New York, or Toledo, O. _ The Wife’s Foe. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. CHAPTER XXVI. “TWO DAYS MORE.” “Only two days more to the third of April.” Spiderby repeated this, standing, at twilight, at‘the back win- dow of his private office, looking out upon the river. It was quite dark everywhere else; but the water and the west- ern sky still retained a deep reflection of sunset. As the river went rippling by in a broad, placid flood, a person of sanguine fancy might have imagined it a river of blood,—as on that even- ing of the last autumn when its crimson hue affected the banker so unpleasantly. What thoughts must have filled hismind as he stood there look- ing upon theriver! Living on the anticipation of the future as he was, he could not entirely shake off the past. Nor was his courage sufficient to drive away the hovering phantoms of guilt and fear which mocked and mewed at him from the airy sha- dows ot the twilight. He tried to scorn himself for the strange oppression of fear Which was settling down upon him. In all his horizon there was but a single cloud, and that no bigger than a man’s hand. Treddle, though reticent, and evidently indisposed to have far- ther dealings with him, was friendly enough in his bearing: and when he spoke at all, he spoke of the anticipated voyage as a matter of course. Peter’s manner had not altered,—it was not sullen and it was not deceitfully pleasant. He appeared the personification of a jolly,contented porter, with nothing heavier on his mind than the “calculating”? what he would have for supper. The gloomy, menacing looks which he had so often worn during the winter were vanished. As he stuod there he turned and regarded his desk with a fixed gaze; he could not see it without recalling the fact that Treddle had taken from that desk a scrap of paper which contained of it- self evidence enough to hanghim. It is true that he had met” him in the darkness, knocked him down and robbed him of the wallet containing this important bit of testimony; it is true that he might swear that the cashier himself had forged it,—but the question once raised, he knew not from what unexpected sources light might be thrown upon the matter. _Again he turned and his troubled glance fell upon the blood-red river. “Only two days, and then I will be out of this cursed scrape!” ne muttered—“forever! forever! I will never’ come back to Indeed, it was arranged that the travelers, including Katrine, were to leave on the following afternoon, the ladies to remain with Mr, Glaston’s sister over night, so as to be sure that Alice’s luggage was on the ship betimes on the morning of the third. So that by this hour of another day Spiderby expected to have left the town forever. Still, absolute safety would only come with the departure of the steamer. If these men whosuspected him did not speak before that, it was not likely they intended ever to breathe those suspi- cions aloud. All his arrangements svere completed. In his trunks was a large quantity of gold and bonds—nearly a, bundred thousand dollars—mostly in bonds which he intended to deposit in Ger- many, nnder suchaname and in such a manner that he could always draw upon them, even should official notice of his crime be sent to foreign countries. During this last day he had gone carefully over his desks and the tarniture of his offiee, that no unfortunate witness, like that which he had once reseued from Treddle, might be left behind. With nothing farther to keep him busy he was condemned to the punishment of idleness, When the clerks left the bank ie had told Peter that he had a few letters to write and papers to look over, and would stay. So the porter had locked hira and his pass-key in and gone away. AS he stoed there, absorbed in harrowing memories, suddenly and silently a cold hand was laid upon his own. He started violentiy, with a smothered cry. For one second he had thourht it the lyznd of a spirit. He jad heard me one come in,—indeed, how ecuid any one enter through alovcked door “Why Go you linger here?” sala ¢ veice by his. side, low, but agitated. ; “Effic, is this youn 7’ “Wait amoment. What is it you want me to confess ?” “The murder of Henry Glaston and the alteration of the books of the Coneéern to suit your purposes.” “Never! Never!” : ‘ a j “You prefer to have a jury decide upon yourcdse 2” Do what, you please with me, gentlemen. This isa foul con- ‘| spiraey. I will denounce it as such, and proyeit, too,’ “Naty proof,” whispered Peter Cooper inhis ear, “‘Lowas down cellar, hid béhind @ barrel, when you did the deed. Iwason the wateh4vhéen you took. him ‘out the man-hole to the river. Come, youve played your game o’ checkers and lost it. Better foller good advice.” E : Spiderby looked in turn into each of those grave, stern faces, Hunted, cowered, ruined. Not a hope remained. His ghastly features worked; he put the satchel back in the trunk, turned'to them, and motioned that hexwas. ready to go with them. : ie Treddie and John Glaston walked ‘close/byhisiside.!, Doctor Bazzard walked before him, Peter followed in the rear. As they went down, out upon the pavement, their prisoner cast wild glances in every direction, causing John Glaston to take his arm. Then he realized that there was not the least use in trying to es- cape these avengers. ‘ he remainder of the way he walked quietly enough; but when they came to the house, halting betore the door while Treddle went up the steps to ring the bell, he suddenly cried out: “Oh, Heaven! I can’t doit!” ; The next moment he was pressed forward without any yolition of his own through the hall into that gay room which on a former occasion he had found such a bower of Paradise only to wreath it with cypress. . Katrine was sitting there resting after aday of fatigue. The place was dismantled of most of its pictures and ornaments. She appeared. startled enough at this array of men. However, as Treddle was among them, nothing could be very wrong, He asked her if Mrs. Glaston could be seen, saying that Spiderby had a communication of importance to make,, She saw that there was something singular in the aspect of the party, and went in considerable trepidation for her sister. When Mrs. Glaston eniered the room Doctor Bazzard led her gently to an arm-chair and seated her. ‘ “T beg of you, howeyer distressed and astonished you may be, dear lady, not to allow yourself to feelit to your injury. Be calm; and when’ Mr. Spiderby has unmasked himself, I promise ou that a great trouble willfall from yourmind. Will you prom- ise to be calm 7” ie “You alarm me beforehand,” she responded, beginning to trem- ble: Qh, T hope I have no more trouble to bear,” “Only to rid you of this man’s attentions forevermore.” ee is that all?’ she asked, with a sigh of relief, while a blush stiffused her cheeks at the bare hint thatany man had dared to pay unwelcome attentions to her, John Glaston had placed himself in the shadow of the hall door. She was not even conscious that such a person stood there, but he was studying her with blazing eyes. i Spiderby had sunk upon a chair, where he remained, drooped and motionless. Doctor Bazzard spoke to him three or four times before he seemed to hear him. 1t seemed as if his senses were deserting him. , Again the doctor spoke sharply to him. ; Then he roused himself, turning his eyes, as if by a great effort, to the face of the woman he had soinjured. How lovely she was! How strange that she should be wearing that black dress. It was his work that her face was so white and her dress so black. Yet, great Heaven! how he had loved her! Alice! Aiice! ~ “We want you to tell Mrs. Glaston all about her husband’s death.” ““Alice,”” he murmured, so faintly that she unconsciously leaned forward to listen, “I have told you_how Harry eut me out in your regards—how I wanted you before I knew that you preferred him. I never told you how my jealousy made me hate him. You never guessed it, did you? The bad feeling worked in me, until last summer I began to plan his ruin. I conceived the idea of dis- gracing him. I drew large sums from the bank in his name, forg- ing his receipt and signature. I kept it up a good while. I got so that I could imitate his writing to perfection. It was I who dis- guised myself as Doctor Bazzard and took out the twenty thous- and dollars in his name, afterward accusing Harry to you. . When Iwas ready I beganto find fault with him and to hint that he was defrauding the firm. He was angry and surprised; he did not know how to takeme. One day of last October I got him yery much excited. I said some papers were missing. We went down to the vault to look for them. Harry stooped down to look inside the safe. There was a bar of iron, used for fastening the cellar, staircase door, standing near. [happened to notice it. As true as there is a Heaven I never intended it before—it. was not pre- meditated, I saw the bar—Harry was stooping with his back to me. I theught if you were a widow. )? He paused. Mrs. Glaston, throwing up her arms, had screamed and fallen, It was John Glaston who caught her as she fell, al- though furthest frem her. ’ “T told you the shock would kill her,” he said, slowly. She started as he spoke, looking wildly about her. Then she struggled back to her chair. “No, no—it won't hurt me!’’ she cried. the truth,” “Go on,’ said Doctor Bazzard tothe ghastly self-accuser. “Well, I struck: him twice. I killed him. Iswear it was not premeditated. While they were searching the river for him, he was lying in the big safe or closet in the cellar. I dared not go near the place. Before I left'the bank, the evening I killed him, I wrote that note which was given you, in his handwriting, saying that he was disgraced and could not live. My hand trembled so I had to copy it@ great many times. At last Iremembered that the trembling would be set down to his agitation, so I ventured to leave the last to be discovered. In my haste and confusion, one of the copies of that note got mixed with other papers, and remained in my desk. Treddle suspected me, overhauled my desk, and found it. Isaw that some one had been in my room, and I knocked him down on the street, apparently by chance, robbed him of his wallet, and recovered the copy; but I never felt safe after that. Iwas always uneasy. That was the secret of my sending Treddle off. I hoped to keep him out of the way. T neyer dreamed that Peter was in the cellar and witnessed the whole occurrence, Is there anything more? Where was I?’ he asked, listlessly. “You did not say what you did with the body,” “Oh! On the third night I waited until midnight. Then I dragged it to the man-hole, pushed it through, carried it to the river, with weights attached, and threw it in.” Mrs, Glaston sat like one frozen, . She did not even moan as the terrible facts were presented to her mind. ‘Is there anything elset”’ again asked Spiderby, “About Mr, Glaston’s money.” “Certainly, certainly, He never lost any inspeculation. I drew it out in his name, and used it for my own purposes, I meant to return it to Mrs, Glaston whentheright time came. But I re- fiected that by keeping her poor and dependant on meI could best best influence her. 1 might win her gratitude if not her loye.”’ “Love!” eried Alice, spriaging to her feet, her slender, figure seeming to expand, her eyes glowing. ‘‘He never came near me that my flesh did not creep in unexplainable horror and aversion, Tfhe had been a seraph from the courts of Heaven, I never should have consented to the union he,was so cruel as to propose... No, no, Harry! Iam _ your wife now, and shall beforever. Death is no barrier to a love like ours,”’ She looked more like a spirit than a woman as she raised her face, which had been like snow in its frozen horror, but over which now streamed sucha light and glory.of. infinite iove as mile it hke the face of some pictured saint, surrounded by a halo, twice beautiful in its frame of glittering hair. “Look at her, by Joveljook at her. Ain’t yon ashamed of yourself, my buy, for the bad thiags you hayesaid of her?” whis- “T would rather know out THE NEW YORK. WEEKLY. ¥ “T feel as if my heart were bursting,” answered the young an ‘Pwont burst—seldom do,” obseryed the practical physician. “We'll have this all ever in afew. minutes more, Hold on to it till then.” (Te be Continued.) Luke Peel’s Legacy. CHAPTER XXV. THE DEATHBED CONFESSION. “Now remember, Mr. Peel, these two patients are not to be any expense to you. No, youmeed not object, and say you’ are com- fortable enough to afford it; so am I, and what’s more, I mean to have my own way in this affair. Iam about to.driye into town, and bring out Mrs. Hopkins, for whichever way John Moseley’s case turns out, I see you willhave the other on your hands for some time to come.”’ me “lam only too glad to be able to requite some of his kindness to me when I first came here a poor, ignorant weaver.” “You have done it, and are doing it every time your genial face enters his room. But there, I’ll just run up now, and see how he looks before I start.” F So saying, Raphael went lightly and os gers? up stairs to find the poor gardener stretched out on his»bed, with every vestige of eolor fled from his face. His gray hair had been closely ent, and his head, which was beginning to swell frightfully, had been laid on 4 pillow of ice. Phe bullet\had entered his right cheek, and was lodged behind the left eye; but his head being so inflamed and swollen, Dr. Smith had deferred extracting the bullet, till the fever had abated some of its violence. Truth to tell, he had pro- bed and probed, but could find no bullet; and would haye almost decided that it wa8. not there, had he not been afraid that his quite disciple down stairs might make a different discovery, so he deter- mined to try again in afew days. As Raphael again returned to the kitchen; he found Leona there, with white apron and tucked-up sleeves, making herself farmore useful to Mary Jane than the strong-boned help did. Ned, almost at the same time, entered by another door, witha dreary hope- lesshess in his face most pitiable te behold. “Why, Ned,” cried Raphael, “you areas pale as death, the matter now ?” “Matter ?, Simply this.’’—He did not glance at Leona ashe spoke, for he was not yet able to bear the cold scorn of another man’s love. ‘“Iamnot Mr. Peel’s nephew. .I am the illegitimate son of John Moseley and Susan Grimes: That’s what the anibition of the poor ¢ripple has amounted to. Oh! better, sir!” he cried turn- ing to Luke. ‘Better a thousand times had you told us from the first that we were outcasts and. beggars.” “Pye always loved you as a son, Ned,’’ was the broken reply. “Better than a son, sir; better indeed. But you are about the only one in the world noble enough to do so.” Mary Jane came forward at this with tears streaming down‘her Le laying the young man’s head tenderly on her bosom; she said: “Tallus knew it, Ned, yet thee littlé dreams how 1 love thee. Thee little knows what thou hast been to my lonely heart, rasped out of all womanly kindness twenty-two years ago by a falco. hearted lover. Theelittle knows how thy gentle manners made me ashamed of my harsh ways, and turned me to bea different woman. Is such as that nothing tolive tor? No matter whose son thou art, I love thee, and always, will loye thee.”? “It never. must make any difference in our friendship,’ spoke Raphael. ‘*For remember, if he isyour father, he was my sister’s husband.’ All but the gracious Leona had eome forward with their word of sympathy forhim; ‘but through ali this conversation she had never once turned her head, but stood quietly. stirring some pre- paration over the fire, and Ned rose to leaye the room with a bitter feelingat his heart. What was all the world to him? What were all their sympathies if she withheld hers? If he had only glanced at her in passing out, he would have seen that quiet tears were falling on the white apron, and that trembling hands stirred the preparation over the fire. Luke followed Raphael out to the door, where his light gig stood ready waiting for him, and as the young man was seated he gave him his hand, saying: “You'll not. forget, Mr. Blanchard, that you area gentleman What is and Alice—Alice is Ned’s sister.’ Raphael, pale and preoecupied, merely bowed and drove away. When Luke startled the dying ears of John Moseley and his children by the announcement of their relationship, he suddenly left the room, unable to look upon the scared face of Alice, who seemed suddenly bereft of reason. A murderer for her father! Oh, surely her wicked suspicions were turned back upon herself with tenfold force! John Moseley turned his eyes from one to another of his chil- dren—defiant one instant, wild and sorrowful the next—and at length turning to Ned, he cried, impatiently: “Dm dying! Have you nothing to say to me?” ‘“WhateanIsay? If you are my father, which I strongly doubt, you bring me nothing but di and a tainted name.” ‘You needn’t doubt that I’m your father, for your mother was sister to Luke Peel’s sweetheart, and I suppose that.is why he brought youup. Iwas your mother’s ruin, and the cause of her death, they tell me—so, curse me, if you w ”» “No, Pll not curse you; your present punishment is, sufficient. Yet you cannot expect any affection under the \cireumstances—it were mean in me to show it. 1 forgive you—I’ye done all in my power to alleviate your sufferings, s0.good-by. Do not ask to see me again, for I will not see you.” eS y t He gently grasped the shaking hand, and trembling with re- strained emotion, passed from the room and left.Alice alone with the dying. ‘ ; “So meet and vart a father and son. Bah! for your filial affec- tion. Thad little affection for my poor old parents, though, when I beggared them with my extravagance, and then let them die in the Manchester workhouse. Have you anything to say, miss, be- fore you leave me to fight it out alone with death?” “Til not leave you,” she replied, teen : “And yet you know more of my life he—thatson of mine— ” “I am a woman, and ean bear suffering more patiently than a man.” “A woman! Yes,” he sneered: “we are always being dinged about ‘patient woman.’ All I ever got from them was pride and arrogance. You think me a devil no doubt, yet Imight have been saved once. I know I had been wild and dissipated before I met Agnes Blanchard—I know I had dese: your mother in her bit- terest trial, and was a gambler and a drunkard, leaving England with many a father’s curse; yet I loved Agnes Blanchard, and turned away from my old. lite the first time I sawher...I meant to retrieve the past, and in Heaven’s Name begin, with her help, a new life. But how was I encouraged? _ Luke Peel told her your mother’s story, and she turned like a biting icicle toward me. She married Mié sooner than become the. subject of gossip among her triends, and broke her marriage vow by, flinging my heart trom her in her eursed pride. From the heut‘that, we were married she left my side, and we fever again met in private as man and wife, though we kept up t+ delusion before society, and I believe were considered models of fold politeness to each other. Yet as soon as we were alone, the] mask was th’ " mom, and we seldom spoke.?? Ut a } ; “And her death,” falteredi Alice—“how did she die?” “She died by my hand—the only woman I ever loved.” Alice shranie bark in hagder, and the handgshat had been bath- ing his brow fell to her sidp, : Re : “Dow t you spurn me, too!” he é¢ried, “‘ormy punishment will be more than I can bear!* i PROS Alice, with fll-eoncealed repugnance, resumed her occupation, and he his narrative, ‘ : “J did not intend to kill her—Ionly took out the’ revolver. to frighten Her into keeping a secret she had discovered. Would you like to know what the secret was?” “T can guess it—the murder in yonder wood.” “Hal hal? he laughed, wildly. “I’ve baffied all your sharp de- tectives for nearly six years. Luke Peei may cut. down the blot on his landscape now, for the nurderer’s found and got his death- blow!” 5 “Why did you murder her? Oh! most wretched father, why did you murder that poor girl?” | ; ‘Another instance of your insulting arrogance,” he replied. “She was a house-maid at Blanchard House, when my wite—in name—and I returned from Florence. Being quite pretty, and lady-like beyond her station, I took a fancy to her; but, to make a long story short, she repelled me in the mostjmsolent manner, and defied me to my face, so that I swore to bereyenged. But next morning she had. left Blanchard House, and was gone, no one knew whither. Not, to be baffled, however, I set aspy to work—paid him well, and, at the end ot a few months, he re- turned to me with the news that he had found her. But I had somehow lost zest in the pursuit then, and, if he had come to me when I was sober, I might never have left the room; but, asit was, I had been up gambling all the previous night, and was try- ing to stifie aracking headache with brandy when the spy came in. I wasin the worst of tempers, having lost a large sum of my wife’s the night before, and_so, with a deyil’s malice, I started off on foot and alone, to wreak my vengeance on a defenseless wo- man. The devil seemed to favor me, for, just as I neared the house, I saw herstart toward the woods with a tin pail in her hand. I followed her noiselessly, creeping along by green bushes and trees, till I saw her enter the cover of the trees, when I pounceéd upon her,and held her so that she could not scream. She struggled bravely, and defied me with bitter words even then, calling me a coward, and saying that death would be far prefer- able to her than the slightest touch of my foul hand. Had she but spoken mildly, and not taunted me, she might yet be alive; but, maddened asI was with drink, her unwise denunciations drove me to desperation, and, before I knew what I was doing; I had drawn out asmall dagger that I always carried, and struck her with it several times. She was lithe and young, and, over- coming her momentary faintness, she wrested my dagger away, and struck me deeply with it. I remember little after that, but a dull sense of a mad death struggle, and then all was oblivion.” The wretched murderer paused, nearly fainting with the exer- tion he had made. : ‘ “Say ho more—oh, say no more,”’ begged Alice, seeing his great suffering, and, in her compassionate heart, quelling the longing she felt to know all the sad story. “J will, I will! he’ panted, ‘I’ve not much more time—it will all soon be over.”’ He rested a few moments before he resumed: “When I awoke _ to consciousness, I was lying beside the dead body of Margaret Mackay (that was her name—the other she only took to baffle me), and never for one hour has that frightful scene left my mind. The pale moonlight fell, as it flickered through the trees, on, her white, upturned face, and revealed the blood on her breast andarms, Her hands were clasped as though in sudden prayer, and there rested , withal such a look of surpassing peace on her countenance, that I thought I should go mad with torture of the mind. What woald I not have given to recall her to life? What would: I not have given to be once again a free schoolboy, with the world before me, and no blasting record to. cut me off from the rest of mankind?” 2 “But Raphael Blanchard’s diamond pin—how came that for a time to lay in the brook?” “Aht yes—I forgot that. I took it from his dressing-table in a sudden freak, a few days before. I did not know I lost it that fa- tal day, till,as I was returning home, I saw it shining in the moonlight on the path before me. I did intend to reyenge my- self on Raphael, had I lived, but it is as well I am spared another crime,’ “Gn! father, are yon not sorry for such a frightful life? Can not you ease my mind by telling me you are repentant?” “Repentant!” he almost shrieked, in a hollow voice, growing weaker each moment, ‘It’s too late—it would be only a mockery now.”’ “Never too late, oh, unfortunate, father, if it come from the heart—neyver too late in the merciful eyes of Him who pardoned the dying thief on the,cross.”” The sufferer lay pantiug and gasping, unable to answer her for atime. At length he said: “You must promise néver to reveal my dying confession to any one but Luke Peel.” “One other, Raphael Blanchard,” she replied, firmly. “Do you imagine he’ll marry you new ?” A touch of the old A pope peeped out as he put the question, but as he was immediately seized with a spasm, she was obliged to call for help, and could not return the proud answer on her lips. He lay in mortal agony for nearly an hour, then fel! into a kind of stupor that lasted half the night. Suddenly as they were watch- ing by him, he started up with clenched hands and wildly dis- tended, shrieking out: ‘Oh, Heaven, have mercy on me!” then fell back dead, CHAPTER XXVI. A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS. When the quiet funeral was over, and the sad circumstances of the case hushed up as well as money and influence can hush up such things—when Luke was back in his fields plowing for next year—and Raphael riding out everv day to spend a couple of hours with the gardener, who still tay in a critical condition— Alice sat down to write a long farewell letter. She had been out in the flelds with him that morning, and had told him all that her father had confessed to her, also her wish to free Raphael Blanchard. “That is right,” was his reply; ‘tell him the truth about it, and bind him. never to see you again,” see “and please Heaven, there shall not stand a tree in that fatal clump by Christmas day, and we’ll make a jolly Christmas log out of the largest there.” Altice was in no mood to care whether the hearth was piled with blazing logs or drifting snow at Christmas time; or whether Christmas day ever dawned again for her; but recognized with a new throb of affection, his littie effort to cheer her. This good and true fellower of Christ who bad done se much for them—who *“Yos, I get possession of (he key when Peter was eating his J pered the old doctor, nudging John Glaston, iad denied himself in so much to educate and keep them in the ——— —— tinest.apparel—who was yet..waiting for the salevof his crop to buy the long-promised “‘sui®6f black.” Alice burst out crying when she thought of it all, and raising his horny hands, covered them with kisses, saying, amid her tears: “Oh, best and truest of friends, how can I ever be sufficiently grateful to you. How could my mother impose us upon you ?” “Your mother did no such thing, my child; it was Alice, the dear girl that Lloved, and your aunt, who haying nothing else when she died, left me you two children for a Legacy.” “A sad Legacy, uncle.” “No, my dear, the sweetest and best of Legacies, one that filled my otherwise lonely house with youthtul mirth, and brightened my heart and hearthstone with beleved faces. Oh, no, not a sad Legacy, but the sweetest and best, for it prepent me what a gold- en one never could—a heart contented and full of love. Now go, my child, and write your letter to Raphael Blanchard, then that ordeal will be past.” An ordeal indeed she found it, thislast resigning of all she held most dear, but after detailing in full her father’s death-bed scene, she wrote: “And now, dear Baphael, comes the hardest part of my task— my farewell words. After the direful disclosures that I now write for your eye alone, it would be’ impossible for us ever to marry. Think of your proud name:being hela up as a by-word, and possi- bly your ehildren taunted with a stain of blood on the family name. Oh, far better now the sharp pang of separation’ than a lifetime of dull regret. Iam sorry for you, for I know you love me, and will suffer much. Imagination portrays your grief from my own—already I seein store for you, the long monotonous days, the feverish nights, and worst of all the bitter morn- ing awakenings from the, land, of, dreams—the sense of something lost, that the mind first. brightens into. “Already have I felt the sting, and in my sufferings prayed that it might be averted from you. Raphael, we must never meet again—neyer, my darling lover, till death sets free our prisoned souls, in that country where all are free‘and equal. Try, for the sake of what has been—for the sake of the great. Hereafter—to pursue the path of charity and well-doing. I, will perform my part if God spares me, and then, after all is over here, comes our great reward. I think you will never marry, but should you ever meet some fair lady, whose company will make your life more full, take her, in Heaven’s name, and ‘may He bless you beth: Do not try to see me, dear Raphael; or change my purpose, for, being convinced that this is my duty, I will adhere to. it. through all entreaty,, Good-by, my darling—forgive my wicked sus- picions, and pray for me sometimes. Your friend, a S . ‘ALICE. She had barely finished the letter when Raphael ;droye up, to the door, and she heard his low-toned inquiry for the, gardener,, and his. beloved footsteps ascending to the sick room; trifles that brought back their happy days together, when suspicion and trouble had found other victims to prey upon. ‘She went out .to the kitehen and asked Mary Jane to hand him the letter when he came down stairs; then, thinking she heard him coming, ran back again to avoid a migetine. Listening, she heard him drive away after awhile, with a dull apathy that had in it. neither grief nor despair, but held her chained down as it were, thinking oyer the events of the last few days. She was aroused by Leona com- ing into the room, taking her gently im her arms, and saying: “My dear Alice, don’t look up, for I want to tell yousomething; I’m going to be your sister some day. Now,please don’t start and look at me with such dreadful eyes, for I know all about it. Do you think it makes any difference to me who his father was, so long as ke bears an upright name?” : “But,” faltered Alice, then sto a8 short, thinking, ‘after all, it will only make more trouble if I tell her that heis also the son of amurderer. So let it pass, that they at least may be happy.” “Are you not pleased, dear, at the prospect of having me for'a sister?’ “} should be more than pleased, Leona, if he had an unblem- ished name to offer you. As it is, I amafraid you have not suffi- ciently considered the subject, and: may yet regret your choice.” “Never,” was the answer, with a clear ring in the voice, and a happy light breaking, over the face, so sweet and soft in its peach bloom complexion, “never, my poor, sad sister. DPve over all this ground two hours ago, and succeeded in convincing Dr: Ned that his arguments were all sophistry, soyou need not try to conyert me to your belief. Only think the, poor-fellow has, been jealous of Mr. Blanchard, and nearly tormented himself into a fever; then, when, he perceived that gentleman’s attentions directed elsewhere, he found a new cause of self-torture by imag- ining I was quite indifferent to the shock he had received in being proyed the son of theiman who died here last week. (Now do say that you're glad, like a good girl.” “T amglad, Leona, that Ned has got.such a dear, lovely girl for a wife, and I know you will both be happy.” Did Alice have a vague hope im her heart that Raphael would send her a few farewell words in answer to her letter? ‘She must have had, or why did she so often glance in the direction of the dusty road next day, and the dayjafter; and the week after, that again; then again, dnd again; till the golden October died amid its own glories, and November. was lengthening out its balmy days for a clear, beautiful Thanksgiving. If looking down, and tar beyond that dusty road, she had seen the figures journeymg toward her from over a broad ocean, her dull eyes would have grown brighter. If listening, she had heard the footfalls nearing a happy home, her own lagging steps would have grown. elastic again, and beat time to the music of ahappy heart. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE COMING OF HIS GREAT REWARD. Raphael Blanchard, impatient.to possess himself of the con- tents of Alice’s letter, had checked his,horse into a quiet walk as soon as they were out of sight of the house, and opened the dainty epistle. He read it through, without apparent emotion, refolded it and put it im his pocket, saying as he do.so: “The foolish girl, but I suppose she’s right.” He wondered vaguely, why the letter affected him so little, also why he neyer inquired for her when at the farmhouse. “T believe I’m ill,” he cried, as a thrill of pain shot through his back. “The housekeeper was right when she said I looked too sick to drive out.” Getting worse each moment, it was with difficulty he kept his seat in the gig and. arrived.at home, Before the next day’s sun had risen he was stricken down with typhoid fever, and for three weeks lay in a semi-conscious state before he became convalescent. Almost his last orders to the housekeeper had been to keep his ilfMess from being known, and now his first inquiries were, who had been to see him? “No one: but the doctor and myself haye seen you, sir.” Raphael looked sorely disappointed. “Perhaps you forget, sir, that you ordered me to keep your ill- ness a secret.” “Pid I? Ihave not the slightest recollection of it, and could not have known what I was goin. cE no one eall?”” “yés sir, Mr. Ned Peel, but I told hir you were out of town.” ‘How long have I lain here, Mrs, Gaylor?? “Three weeks yesterday, sir,” “Three weeks! is it possible? Well, you must try and make me well. as soon as you can, for I have much to do. You must prepare yourself for a change in the esfablishment also for the best silk dress Ican find at Christmas’time. What color: shall it be, Mrs. Gaylor?”? and the invalid faintly smiled. “Black, it it’s all the same to you, sir, for I think it the most be- coming color for an elderly woman. I suppose the change you hint at is a young mistress?” “Yes,” he answered, and again faintly smiled. John Hopkins, with the greatest care, and no excitement, would believed. The bullet had been extracted, but,atter that the poor old man got a Telapse whieh resulted im brain feyer, He was bet- ter now, decidedly better, and a longing took possession of him to see his long lost son. “Tt’s nae use, Jo-hn,” the old woman would reply to him, “‘it wad only excite ye an’ be. yer death.” “[d rin the risk, auld wifey, for the sake 0’, seeing the lad Ro- bert once. How auld is he noo?” “He’ll be thirty-one next Christmas if he’s alive.” It was the day before Thanksgiving, clear, cold and beautiful, and great preparations were being made for the keeping of that festival at the “Desert.” Luke had brought home in triumph the day before, the long coveted suit of black, and was to wear it on that auspicious occasion of the Thanksgiying dinner. Leona and Ahce under Mary. Jane’s direction, were deep in the mysteries of a real old fashioned English plum pudding, which Mary Jane.de- clared “ought to be eaten at Christmas, an’ none of your new tangled times.” . Luke sat in the kitchen, looking on at the preparations, the only shadow in his fine face coming, when he glanced unéasily at the’ drooping form of Alice, who quietly performed her task, without taking any interest in it. Up-stairs the old Scotchwoman sat at her knitting beside her invalid husband—a general murmer of pre- paration pervading the house, while sundry savory smells as- cended even to the sick room, and caused the gardener to sniff the gir in an expectant manner. : “Pim e’en thinking,” he remarked, “that it’s maist time for me to ha’ a little refre-eshiment,?? “Would ye like some gruel?” “Gruel be whipped. I want some o’ what they’re cooking down stairs? dye think I’m gaing to be fed on slops'a’ me lite?” So intent were they all in their various’ occupations, that they did not hear the sound of wheels, stopping ‘at the front gate, nor the trip of feet coming round by the path to,the kitchen door— heard nothing, till.a shadow darkened the doorway, and looking up they beheld Raphael Blanchard, pale, and thin, standing there. He entered at once, exposing to view three others behind him—a strong, fine-looking young man,with the air of a sailor, and on his arm a beautiful girl. The last person, alady, shrank back timidly.; What. was. there abont- her willowy figure, her soft light hair, that made Luke tremble, and the great drops of perspi- ration start out on his brow? What was there about her whole being, that madé him pass the first group with distended eyes and outstretched arms? Doubt, belief and mystification, passed suc- cessively over his’ face, and the spectators stood watching him, fearful that he had gone mad, ‘It’s Alice Grimes,’ cried Mary Jane. But Luke already had her in his arms, conyinced beyond all possible doubt that the woman he loved, was notnumbered among the dead, but lay sobbing on his breast. “Oh, my dear lass,” he cried, going back to the broad Lanca- shire dialect abandoned so long ago, ‘‘oh, my dear lags) that I mourned solong, How could’st thee deeviveme, and write that thou wert dying? But Ive kept thy trust through all these soli- tary years, an’ been kind to the twins. There they stand, let them speak for themselves.” : “The twins! Idying!? she repeated vaguely, sinking into'the seat that-he tenderly placed tor her. “I don’t understand thee Luke; one of the twins Ties, buried in France-—there, stands the other,” and she pointed to the beautiful girl by the sailor’s side, Luke was bewildered, and eyery one gazed at the speaker as though she had bewitched them, Luke waved his hand. : “Sit down all of you,” he said, ‘you .are all tired, so well-have the explanation by and by.” ‘ They had not noticed in the confusion that Ned had come in from the barn, and Mrs. Hopkins from upstairs in quest of the Seotchman’s refreshments. Something in the young sailor’s appearance seemed to draw her attention, for she began to sidle along by the ‘wall, with her hand shading her eyes‘ trying to catch a glimpse of his face. He happened to turn about suddenly, and confront her, when she gave afrightened, shriek of ‘tRo-bert! Ro-bert!” and fell for- ward fainting at his feet. | . “Oh good triends, ye killed her,” cried the poor fellow, the tears falling over his trembling hands. But joy seldom kills and just as she wasreviving, they heard the voice of the impatient gardener, shrilly crying out: | d sii ‘Are ye nae coming yet, wi’ the bit refreshment?” Unwarned by his preyious.experience, and before they could stop him, the sailor sprang up the stairs calling out as he went: “Pll bring it to your father.” : Luke quickly followed the rash fellow, expecting to find the gardener delirious again, but was agreeably surprised to see him very quiet with Robert’s hand in hisown, |. “Dm aye feeling better the day,” he said in answer to Luke’s anxious looks. “An’ I’m thinking Dll be well eoo to sit up to- morrow, an? tak a wee bit.o’ your Thanksgiving dinner.” — Alice Grimes, seeing the little company were very impatient for her explanation, in spite of their efforts to conceal it, said to Luke that she had better tell the simple story she had to tell at once, and so began by telling, that she had been obliged to leave Mrs. Aspell on account of her fast-increasing insanity, about fif- teen months after Luke went to America. Her own health, too, began to fail, and she began to Sa of ever being able to accomplish the task imposed upon herself. | In her dilemma she heard that John Moseley was in France, and by the greatest economy managed to pay her passage, there, taking the twins with her, in the hope that she should be able to induce their father to help in their puppert In finding him, she found that he was married toa beautiful lady, so forbore to bring trouble between them by telling the wretched story. She obtained a little sewing in a small village called Roselle, and through the kindness of the village cure, a recommendation to the rich houses in the neighborhood, for unlike most factory girls, she was a good and quick needlewoman. _ So under the name of Madame Frouchette she passed many quiet years there, bringing up the children as well, and better than her poor means would allow—John for a surgeon, Mary, with the intention of taking the vail. John, am- bitious arid noble-hearted John, had fallen a victim to the profes- sion he Joved, while Mary, instead of taking a nun’s vail, had taken a bride’s, and was now the happy wife of Robert Hopkins— a first mate on one of the finest vessels that crossed the Atlantic —with the hope of soon becoming its captain, “And who are we at all?” cried Ned. “I think < cam tell,” replied Luke, with his forefinger to the “Come with me, both of you.” center of his forehead. i ‘ He rose and led the way to the parlor, with Ne and Alice foi- lowing him, _ Raphael had stopped Alice in going out, to whisper; 22ers live. | So the doctor said, and so Ned said, and together they were’ — aa “Remember, whatever falls out, there shall be no separation for us. Luke unlocked the old secretary standing in a recess in the par- lor, and after fumbling among Many papers, produced two old, and Soe the letters, which he" handed to ‘Ned: and Atice, and then left them alone to read. CHAPTER XXVIH. THE GENERAL’ CLEARING UP. The letters were \eounterparts of eachother, and written in a cramped hand, began as follows: “My DEAR. CHILD: Imust begin, by. begging your forgiveness for the great fraud I have practiced on youand Luke Peel. The only excuse I haye to make is, that I wished to spare my ebildren the bitter pangs of poverty by imposing” them on’ a’ good and in- dustrious man. You are not Susan Grimes’ children; you are the poor, but honest offspring of Ned eae, and his wife—the dying mother who now writes these words, to be read by you so many years in the future. Your father was burnt inthe Moseley mine a few days before Ali¢e was bern, and although I intend to pass you off for twins, Ned isin reality twenty months older than Alice. J ealled the girl Alice, after gentle Alice Grimes, who stood by me through all my ‘trials, and whom I drove away by my pre- tended insanity. I kad been really insane, bat when the plan of imposing you on Luke Peel entered my mind, I.ywas in possession of all my faculties. By promising my meagre furniture, and few old rags of wearing apparel to my cousin, Ihave bound her over to keep you after I’m dead, till Luke comes for you, and-to de- ceive him into the belief, that Alice Grimes in dying left you to his eare. How Leame to think of the plam:at) all, was by over- hearing. Luke Peel promise Atice Grimes to. take. the children in ease of her death, and be a fathertothem. Ibeg of you and him to forgive me, as you hope tobe forgiven, and Ltrust you will love, and show him all the gratitude you can, to make amends for your mother’s duplicity, if he keeps you, as I. trust he will. Good-by, my children, and think sometimes with pity of your r dying mother: SARAH ASPELL.” “Thank Heaven; Pye a name; if itisa peer one,” cried Ned, throwing his letter down first, then quickly picking it up again, and with a few strides reaching the kitchen, where in an excited yoice, he read it to the little group assembled there. Then when he had done, going over to Luke who seemed to take it all very coolly, said: “Sir, I cannot find words-to express my_deep gratitude to you. What would we have been without you? But if a lifetime—” Here he broke down, and-could Say no more Luke was equal- ly affected, and to hide hisemotion proposed that they should all adjourn to the parlor. “Zounds!? eried he; with a great roar of Jaughter: ‘Do you think Luke Peel hasn’t a parlor to ask.a friend into, after being nineteen years in America?” * * * * * * * * * Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and brilliant beyond descrip- tion. There was an odor of ripe fruit and grain in the air, and scarce a breathrot wind stirred the crispJeaves lying. in tumbled heaps in the garden at the “Desert.” “A few birds, lured by the mild ‘weather, flew about, and confident of the kind hand that had so often seattered them a breakfast, flitted, twittering, on the sunny threshold. Luke, and Robert Hopkins had been to Boston the evening be- fore, and the chief cause of the journey now lay neatly folded in Luke’s pocket-book. : . “Now, not.a word, lad!’ cautioned .Luke, as they were return- ing home, ‘As they surprised us, we'll surprise them.” taphael, too pale and weak toy bear much fatigue, had been obliged to Jay down on the sofa, and as the darkness. came on, found to his infinite content that he-and Alice were alone. The gentle Marie was up stairs, talking to her husband’s parents, and with her exquisite beauty and innocent heart, winning them over to her more in oné hour than another would have done in’ years. Ned and Leona, where: were they? Why, out in.the frosty, spark- ling air, with glowing ¢heeks and buoyant hopes. Alice Grimes, sweet_and obliging as ever, with a touch of her givlish” grace lin- ering about her yet—Alice, thirty-seven, with a happy. light in pe eyes, wasin the kitchen talking to Mary Jane. Notthe harsh, independent Mary Jane of yore, but the energetic, tender-heart- ed Mary Jane, who welcomed this sister to her brother’s heart and home with genial and loving words. What Raphael, Blanchard and Alice Aspell found to say to each other through the long evening may be surmised, but it cannot be known; for’ they sat im the dark, and \spoke very low.) But when Luke returned home that night, he found hisown Aliceand Raphael waiting up for him. , “Not in bed yet, Mr. Raphael,” he cried. “I can’t allow this after your long sickness.” Raphael requested to’see him alone for a few minutes, “Not a bit of it, my boy. You can come to me to-morrow after- noon. I must beselfish for once, and look out for my own hap- piness. I’ve waited for it years enough, Heaven knows.” The mysterious whisperings among the women were explained next day, a little before the late dinner; when Luke entered. the large parlor, now.filled.with neighbors Irom miles around—enter- ed with Alice Grimes on his arm, dressed asa bride. A quiettooking gentleman: rose, and, performed the marriage ceremony before the astonished spectators could gasp out their surprise. When it was over, Luke went round,the room, himself, shaking hands with every one, and wishing them ‘all joy. When he came to Raphael he whispered: : “T can guess what you wanted last night; and my answer is, as soon.as you both like.” | > ‘Now, friends,” he said, turning to the:!company, “let us all give a-hearty cheer. Now then: Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah} And the stentorian en if made themselves heard abeve the chorus that heartily joined with himj till; with Jaughing at. his boisterous happiness, the tearsran down their cheeks. Five quiet years have passed away, and Blanchard House isnow surrounded on all sides by busy dwellings. The waving trees, planted at the instigation of the proud heart now at rest, shimmer and glance im, the sun, completely shutting in the stately man- a so that you might almost pass it and never know it to be there: : Raphael and Alice went to Europe on their wedding tour, and only returned a year agoto their pleasant home, bringing with bo another little Raphael, to make the housering with childish mirth. Luke Peel—genial, happy Luke—has now a little couple of his eps who are the daily delight and torment, of gray-haired Mary ane. Ned Aspell and his wife, Leona, are living in ‘ Philadelphia; and Ned,,as a physician, is beginnimg-to be known and loved, and has a fast increasing practice. Thus the waters of their tgoubles are broken up, and they dwell in the peace that reigns over our happy land, : . THE: END. OUR KNOWLEDGE Box, A Few Paragraphs Worth Remembering. QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.— Charley.—Cantharides will cure RINGWORMS, but it should be used with great care, as it is very severe. Consult an experienced druggist before using it. The following recipe is recommended: Take of subacetate of copper (in very fine powder) half a drachm; prepared calomel, one drachm; fresh spermaceti ointment, one ounse. Mix well together. Rub over the parts affected eyery night and morning. This ointment js also very efficacious in cases of foul and Janguid ulcers........ Cor S. Pondent.—To TAKE Our WritTING.—Dip a hair pencil alternately in solution of cyan- ide of potassium and oxalic acid...... Slim Jim Jones.—1 See pre- ceding answer. 2. Yes........4 Ad. Walshman,—We cannot oblige you........The Arch-Plotter.—Try hartshorn........ Clara J. K.— Cut a lemon in two and rub over the face several times a day.... George Burns.—\. See preceding answer. 2. To make INDELIBLE INK take of iodide of potassium, one ounce} jodine, six drachms; water, fourounces. Dissolve. Make a solution of two ounces of ferrocyanide of potassium in water. ‘Add the iodine solution to the second. A blue precipitate will fall, which, after filtering, may be dissolved in water, forming a blue ink. This blue added to common ink, renders it indelible. 3. Oastor oil and bay rum, 4, Norecipe. 5. It is fair, but can be greatly improved..)....... Krowledge Seeker.—We gave you all the information we pos- se$sed on the subject. We are sorry we cannot further aid you.. .., Clarence Antonio —See No, 42 to pickle cucumbers. ... Lizzie,— 1. MusHRooM CATSuP.—Clean the mushrooms by wiping them and cutting off the ends of the stems. Put them in’ a deep pan and sprinkle salt over each Jayer.. Let them remain for two days; then put them in a sieve and strain off the juice. “Pour it into your preserving kettle; add twelve cloves, twelve allspice, tivo or three pieces of mace, and half of a small nutmeg, grated. Let it boil for fifteen minutes; remove it from the fire, and let it stand for two or three days. Strain and bottle for use. 2., We shave no recipe for preserving mushrooms........ Komikul K.—No......... Anzious.—1. Try bay rum. 2, Fresh lemon juice is' not iajurious to the skin......... Walter B. W. and Ben Butler,—h. Glycerine is excellent for chapped hands and lips. 2. OFFENSIVE BREATH. — From six to ten drops of the concentrated solution of chloride of soda in a wine-glasstul of pure spring water, taken immediately after the ablutions of the morning are completed, will sweeten the breath, by disinfecting the stomach, whieh, far from being in- jured, will be benefited by the medicine.’ If necessary this may be repeated in the middle of tle day. .In some! cases the odor from carious teeth is combined with that of the stomach.. If the mouth is well rinsed with a teaspoonful of the solution of the chlo- ride in a tumbler of water, the bad odor of the teeth will be re- moved... .... Washington Potts.—See “Knowledge Box... ... Her- ry Thomas,—HAtR ©” RESTORATIVE.—A first-rate hair restorative, and one that has been known to restore gray hair to its original color is made by taking one part of bay rum, three parts. of olive oil, and one part of brandy, by measure. , The, articles.must be of the very best quality, and must be well shaken before applied. The change in the color of the hair is very gradual—a month or six weeks may elapse ere a decided change will be perceptible. Ap- ply the restorative every morning, and brush the-hair well,...... Shakespeare.—See No. 4)........0. Information.—Take a littke sul- phurin a glass of milk before breakfast every day. Continue it tor a week or two, and bathe your face in spirits of wine......... Leona.—Apply lunar caustic....2....... “Quidnunc,” and San Domingo.—Axrsenic will remove it, but it isa dangerous thing to use. A pair of tweezers will aid you, Take out each hair sepa- rately. For further particulars see No. P. G.—Chew & jitle charcoal occasionally........ Delia Blossom.—1\. Bathe your face in spirits of wine, and take sulphur occasionally before break- fast. 2. Held the books or papers you read as faroff from the eyes as possible, but not.so far as to strain them. 3. Mingle in good, intellectual society. 4. Very good, but alittle too large for alady unless youmean to De as kc. oe wal Mike Glynn.— ‘A little lemon juice is good....S. #.—BAyY Rum is the spirit ob- tained by distilling rum with the leaves of Myrcia acis. The pro- cess-of manufacture we are not familiar with. .Bay-rum is chiefiy used as a refreshing perfume in case of neryous headache, faint- ness, and other nervous disorders. It is also used on the hair.... Mephistopheles.—1. No injury will result trom bathing your face in warm water in summer. 2. Use spirits of wine instead of lemon juice... .. Hurdy Gurdy.—See C rrespondence column..... A Young Miss,—Flaxseed tea will keep, your hair in curl. To im- prove the complexion see No. 36...... Clarinet and Anxiouz Iit- quirer,—Blister the flesh, which will cause new skin to grow...... Sally Smith.—Try oil of cloyes.,....... John Hatifax.—See No. 39 for Colored Fires... 8. “Les Miserables”—Put a little borax in your hair: oil. .:.00. ale Durg.—There are respecte- ble physicians in this,city who treat very ably all such cases...... Lebanon.—\l. We know nothing,of the virtues of the article named by you. 2, You will find the following recipe very good; Oil of sweet almonds, one ounce; fiuid potash, one drachm. Shake well together, and then add rose water, one ounce; pure water, six ounces. Mix. Rub the pimples or blotches for some minutes with arough towel, and then dab them with the lotion. 3. They are notithe same.,.... P. P, P.—All harmless........ A. 0. R.—See No. 7 aera 4 Five Years’ Reader.—1. Benzine. 2. Bathe your face in BIATTUs OF WIRE. Ces sss Squedunk.—A good remedy for ordinary PIMPLES on the faceis a teaspoonful of flour of sulphur taken in a wineglass{ul of milk before breaktast, and’ continued for a few mornings. ....4.4.. Buffalo Joe.—Sweet oil and bay rum........... Paulo Alfouro,—Soap and water. Afterward rub dry with a piece of buckskin,.... ..., Young Painter,—1|, ‘‘Painter’s Manual.” 2. American News Co,, in this city. 3. Fair.......... Phenix Hall.— Castor oil and spirits of ammonia...... Tammany Ring.—l. Prac- tice daily. 2. It is caused sometimes by extreme debility, and again by excessive nervousness, Avoid everything very stimulat- ing especially alcoholic drinks If it-continues, consult a physician. 4 4. G. ¥. Dugf.—Tobacco is very injurious to the nerves......... L. B. P.—1. Mingle in society as much as possible. 2. Dip afeather in the white of anegg and apply it to the eye occasionally. 3. Thirty-six, not fifty-six, is the number in which you will find re- cipes for improving the complexion...... Shake-Spier.—Try cor- rosive sublimate, one ounce; muriate of ammonia, two ounces; water, one pint. Drawaline witha brush dipped in thin. solu- tion around the shelf to be protected, and the ants will not cross i T. B. M. Montreal.—_See No. 27...... Conrad Rolas.—Shaye frequently... 2. H.—Take the advice of a good doctor...... Omega.—Sprias.e some black pepper on a piece of cotton and in- sert it in the ear...... Peter Cooper.—-We_do not give recipes for anything that, will intoxicate...... Seven Years’ Reader.—l, A thimbleful of powdered refined borax in a teacupful of bay rum, a little diluted with water. 2. You will find castor oil and spirits of ammonia very good for the hair, A twg-ounce phial of castor oil and two tablespoontuls of ammonia,.x,..S. 0.—Bathe your face in spirits of wine..... E. F. B,—Cut @#resh lemon in two and rub over the face and hands several times during the day, espe- cially just before retiring, Then let it dry.on the face. Continue it for three or four days...... Imogene,—A correspondent recom- mends the following recipe for removing SUNBURN and FRECKLES: ~ co Soak horseradish root in water and bathe the face with it, TIE Tees an ce sy NEW YORK, OCTOBER 26, 1871. The Terms to Subscribers: One Year—Single Copy........2........65 Three Dollars. ~ s Two Coplesoiisi ili lis! Five pe a “ Four Copies (2 50 each)......... Ten As * <6 Eight Oppies.'2. 2.0 Rotate). at Twenty ‘ Those sending $20 for a Club of Eight, all sent at one time, will be entitled to a Copy FREE. Getters-up of Clubs can afterward add single copies at $2 50 each. ALL LETTERS SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO STREET & SMITH, Proprietors, 55 Fulton St., N. Y., (Post-Office Box No. 4896.) The New YoRK WEEKLY is Printed at PRESTON’s Great Press Room, 27 Rose Street, New York City. Our New | Volume. In three weeks the first number of Volume XXVII. will be before the public. It is our intention, in the new vol- ume, to effecta marked improvement in every depart- ment, and, to insure this result, we are pleased to an- nounce that, while new names have been added to our staff, every writer who contributed to our columns during the. past year has been retained. All, without exception, have deemed it judicious to remain with the NEw YorRK WEEKLY, rather than seek new fields for their produc- tions. As above intimated, we have effected engagements with many celebrated authors who have not yet written for the NEw YORK WEEKLY. These additions to our al- ready numerous staff of exclusive contributors entail an immense expense; but we make the outlay cheerfully, aware from past experience that the public are certain to appreciate our efforts to please them, and will assuredly patronize the paper which presents the best and the greatest variety of stories In increased circulation we anticipate our reward, and therefore double our attrac- tions with the sanguine hope of adding another hundred thousand to our unrivaled circulation, which at present is over 300,000! Among the new names added to our staff of exclusive contributors, we refer with pride to that of MAY AGNES FLEMING, Author of “MAGDALEN’S VOW,” “THE HEIRESS OF GLEN GOWER,” “WHO WINS?” “LADY EVELYN,” “ES- TELLE’S HUSBAND,” etc. This popular writer will make her debut to the readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY in the coming volume. For years she has been esteemed as one of the most sparkling and original novelists, each successive story seeming to develope a more brilliant and fertile imagination. May AGNES FLEMING becomes a contributor to the NEw YORK WEEKLY with her fame established, and the more willing- ly, because through our columns she will be enabled to address a much larger number of readers than she could secure through any other paperin the United States. A definite announcement of her first story for the NEw YORK WEEKLY will soon appear, To further demonstrate our intention to make Volume XXVIL., in regard to variety and attractiveness, far supe- rior to its predecessors, we inform our friends that we have also engaged : MRS, SCHUYLER MESEROLE, JOSEPH BARBER, MRS. M. A. GERRY, JUDSON S. GARDNER, REV. EDWARD BEECHER, JAMES L. BOWEN, MRS. M. A. AVERY, DUKE CUYLER. JUAN LEWIS, ESTHER SERLE KENNETH, ANNIE LISLE, JOSEPH E. BADGER, MRS. VAN PEARSE, G. PICKENS ALCOTT, U. S. A., AMANDA M. DOUGLAS. Goldsmith Maid Again. It is our wish to deal fairly by all. In our recent article on the performance of Goldsmith Maid we stated that the track at Milwaukee had been measured and found to be sixty-nine feet over a mile. Since that article was writ- ten a number of measurements have been made, all, we believe, differing as to the exact length of the track, but the folowing, from the Brooklyn Hagle, we think should set the matier at rest: “The New York sporting men having dispatched Mr. Charles H. Haswell, a well-known Civil engineer, to meas- ure the Milwaukee track, he finds it fourteen feet over a mile. This would seem to settle the fact that Goldsmith Maid, having trotted the distance in 2:17, has made the best time officially on record. A deal of incredulity and scofimg indulged about this feat would now appear to be gratuitous and false. There can be no doubt that Gold- smith Maid is entitled to the record; no more doubt than that it ig also arecord officially without parallel in turf annals. Nor is it in order to imsist that the mare per- formed the feat over again to entitle her to the honor of the achievement.”? We endorse the above heartily, but we cannot help add- ing that in oar opinion Goldsmith Maid’s time should have been put on record as 2:16 3-4 instead of 2:17—the time between the highest and the lowest mar ked should, in strict justice, have been chosen. PUTTING UP A STOVE. BY CLARA AUGUSTA. Mr. Parker Jenks and his wife had a formidable job be- fore them, that cold morning last December. They were going to put up a stove, To the uninitiated, this may seem a little strange, but anybody who has ever undertaken to fit a let of old stove pipe with a lot of new stove pipe, and the thermometer at zero, and no fire inthe house, will heartily sympathize with my friends. In the fail Mr. Jenks had put an addition to his house in the shape of a wood-shed and cook room, and to save expense he had not had any chimney constructed for the cook-room, but purposed to carry the pipe from the stove through the partition. into the kitchen, and so into the kitchen chimney. There would be something less than a mile of pipe, and Mr. Jenks argued it would heat the kiichen quite enough to pay for the cost of the pipe. He had some old pipe on hand, and being economical sort of people resolved to use that and make up the de- ficiency in new. “Now, well begin airly,” said Mrs, Jenks. ‘It’s a go- ing-to snow, and there won’t be nobody gallivanting about a visiting to-day. If there’s anything I hate, it’s to have company come a trooping in when I’m -abeut sucha job as setting of a stove. And if ever you’ve took notice, Parker, somebody allers comes when you git all upina clutter.’? “Pye took notice they allers comes when nobody wants somm,’? said Parker, snappishly, for he was one of: those amiable men who prefer to eat their own beans and po- iatoes, Without any assistance from outsiders. Mrs. Jenks put on the worst dress she had, and when she was completely rigged, with a tattered towel pinned over her head, and a ban@anna hankerchief tied around her neck, Mr. Jenks was not so far out of the way in re- marking that she looked like a walking rag bag. The fire was put out in the. stove which. was to be set up, and there was nobody but Alameda Jeannette, Mrs. Jenks’ daughter, to keep warm; Mrs. Jenks did not think it worth while to litter up the parior by making a fire there. “Tf you’re desprit cold, Medy,’’ said she to her daughter, “vyoucan put yer father’s frock over yer shoulders and tuck yer feet up under ye!’ but to look at Miss Almeda no one would have thought there was any danger of her suffering with the cold, for her hair was the color of flame, and she had ali the kindlings ready laid in it, in the shape of about a peck of curl papers. Alameda seowled—a habit of hers when she was not pleased—and buried herself in the rocking-chair, with a novel and a piece of spruce gum. And Mrs. Jenks and Parker went about their enterprise, Parker was a tobacco chewer, and of course he had his mouth full, and mustrun tothe door to spit every five minutes, and of course he was cross, as men always are when they have any new and difficult job to do. The stove was heavy, and smutty, and hot, and as soon as it was moved a leg fell out. That put in, another leg fell out, and so on for about half an hour, until Parker made some blocks and mounted the stove thereon, He burned and smutted his hands so extensively that he could not tell which spots were burns and which were smut, and‘by the time the stove was ready to receive the pipe Parker’s temper was at the boiling point. The first piece of pipe was old, and the next was new. No. 2 was made to fit over No. 1, but it was not big enough. Parker hammered it out. It was too big. Then he ham- mered it in. It was too little: Then he got mad and swore at it, and struck ita fierce blow with his mallet, and hit his thumb instead of the pipe, and had to be dosed with pure spirits inside, and with camphor outside. Then he went at the pipe again. He hammered it out, and it was not the rightshape. Toooblong.: He rounded it. Tooround. He stretched it a little, and Mrs. Jenks holding it in place with two sticks of wood, it went to- gether and burst open the other end of the old pipe so that a rivet had to be put through before proceeding fur- ther. Piece No. 3 had a damper in it. Damper wouldn’t turn. Would stay shut. In vain Parker pounded at it and swore at it—it was bound to stay put. There was nothing to do but to file away the rim which held it, and dispense with a damper altogether. Y It was nearly noon before that refractory pipe was properly got together, and by that time the atmosphere of the room was so full of smoke, and dust, and smut, that anybody might have thought himself in Pittsburgh. Mr. Jenks took one end of the pipe, and Mrs. Jenks took the other end and undertook to engineer it to its place. An unlucky contact with the open door of the cupboard brought all their labors to naught. The pipe flew apart at every junction, and if possible the dust, smut, and smoke, were more blinding than before. And in the midst of Mr. Jenks’ very tallest swearing, and Mrs. Jenks’ despair, there came a rap at the door. “Gracious me!’’ cried Mrs, Jenks, peeping out beneath the curtain, “‘if it haint Squire Fitz Brown and his wife, and Julius Augustus!’’ ‘“Hevings!*’ cried Jeannette, ‘‘I wouldn’t have Augustus see me in this plight for the universe!’ and with one Spring she reached the pot closet. and closed the door after er. Julius Augustus was her lover, and Squire Fitz Brown’s family were as prim as pea-pods, ‘“T haint tohome! I won’t be!’? cried Mrs. Jenks; ‘‘so there! Jenks, you git behind the clock there in the cor- ner, and I’ll creep under the bed, and they may knock till the crack of doom for ali of me!” So Mr. and Mrs. Jenks took their respective places of concealment, and the Fitz Browns went on with their rap- ping. By-and-by, evidently, they got tired of the monotony, and opening the door walked in. ‘ “Goodness me!’ cried Mrs. Fitz Brown, collapsing into a spasm of coughing and sneezing, which threatened her total annihilation, “what does this mean? The atmos- phere is like a—a—a—well, likeanything! Hold my head, Lysander! 1 shall suffocate!’’ ‘‘Breaking up housekeeping ?”’ said Augustus, stepping daintily over the pieces of the wreck with which the floor was covered. ‘Gracious! what a dust! I mustn’t stop, it will ruin these new buff trowsers of mine!’’ and Augus- tus turned to the door, and opened the wrong one—that which led to the pot closet! and was at once confronted by Alameda, who had been sufficiently possessed of her presence of mind to seize a clothes basket and put it over her head—thus effectually concealing her face and its bat- tlement of curl papers. “Jupiter!’’? exclaimed Augustus, turning from the appa- rition in the wildest affright, and making one frantic dive he burst through the bedroom door, and got under the bed where Mrs. Jenks was already domiciled! Mrs. Jenks groaned, and to Augustus’ excited imagination there was something unearthly in the sound. With ayell of terror hescrambled out from ‘under the bed, out of the house, and was rapidly followed by his parents, and the trio made tracks away from the Jenks’ mansion as quick as possible. Augustus married Sophy Van Trimble a month after- ward, and Alameda is ‘‘keeping company’ with Joe Storms. Putting up that stove broke up one match, and made twomore. And the stove is now in working order, and draws beautifully. Notes on Minnesota--The Soil and Climate. Horace Greeley in a recent letter from Minnesota says: “J saw at the Minneapolis Fair a corn-stalk from a point further north that was nine feet long below the ear; how long above the ear, I cannot say; perhaps the tape-line gave out at that point. I never saw atany place, except in California, such mammoth. potatoes, beets, turnips, squashes, cabbages, &c., &¢., aS Were exhibited at this fair, held beside the Falis of St. Anthony, where the mer- cury falls 40 degrees below zero, and the growing season (from frost to frost) averages about one hundred days. Apples of the hardier varieties were abundant and very fair, though the early attempts to grow them here were mainly failures. Grapes also are abundant, and include Delawares, Coneords, Ionas, Clintons, Adirondacks, &c. I was assured that the Catawbas are also ripe, though I am not sure thatI saw any. All these must be covered with straw or earth in winter, thus protected, they sur- vive and bear bounteously. I find myselfreported as hay- ing preaicted that peaches would yet be grown here; a mistake that time may convert into a sagacious prophecy. It does not need this to demonstrate that Minnesota has achieved triumphs in fruit-growing that could not have been reasonably anticipated even six years ago. In the production of roots and vegetables, including the tomato, it would be very hard to excel her best efforts, whether in quantity or quality. Minnesota has a stern but healthful climate,-a rich soil, about the right proportion of timber to prairie, a most in- telligent and energetic people, and an immense faith in her own resources and her future, It is no credit to be industrious and efficient in this bracing, invigorating at- mosphere. I meet many who came hither given over by their doctors as victims to lung disease, but who are now as hale and hearty as need be.”’ AUNT JERUSHA \ AT THE CIRCUS. BY GLENDOWER, J have laughed at the droll exploits of Aunt Jerasha, the valiant champion of her rights, before whose vigorous arm many men have trembled, especially when it wielded that.-powerful persuader, her umbrella. Having thus ac- knowledged her pluck, with the hope of averting a prac- tical demenstration, which might result in a collision be- tween my ribs and those of the aforesaid persuader, I will now state that I consider Aunt Jerusha has been impru- dent in telling tales out of school—that she ought to be the last to prate about young ladies fixing themselves up to deceive their beaux, and disclosing the mysteries of the female toilet. Why, if you had seen her, dear reader, as I did once— ‘in my mind’s eye, Horatio’’—early in the morning, just before she had decorated her gums with two rows of show- case ivories, and before she had concealed her tawny scalp under a false front, you’d say she was the scranniest and the lankiest old effigy that ever stood as a model for the figure-head of a Dutch Iugger when wood was scarce. Thin! Why she might hide behind a pump! Without her Grecian bend on, she could crawl through a section of fire- hose, and you might tie her body in a Knot and hang it on a nail to dry! If that umbrella of hers were a little stouter, and a great deal longer, you’d take them for twins viewing them from a distance. She has a long neck, just like the handle of the umbrella, and her figure, from shoulders to feet, is of the same thickness—no, thinness—all the way down. I recollect she once visited a circus in the town of Gin- gerville. She was late, and the seats were all filled before she strode in with her umbrella, Looking around for a seat, she espied whatshe considered a good position be- tween two bashful lovers. Without. announcing her in- tention to the parties whom she desired to separate, she contracted her figure to lath-like dimensions by expelling her breath, and then, like a wedge, forced herself between the aforesaid lovers. They looked at her in bewilderment. Sucha thin wo- man had never met their eyes before, as to them she ap- peared to be all edge! “My good woman,”’ said the young man, mildly, ‘‘you have separated my friend and myself. Had you not bet- ter take this place,” and he arose, thinking that Jerusha would permit him to sit next to his sweetheart. “Young man,’? answered Jerusha, in a voice that aroused the attention of those in her immediate vicinity, “J don’t know as you need to worrit yourself because I’ve stopped that stream of nonsense Isaw you pourin into this simple Gamsel’s ear.’’ Here the simple damsel started and blushed deeply, for she was aware that Jerusha’s squeaky voice had made her an object of interest to at least two score of staring eyes. ‘‘Pve been a watchin’ of you both,” continued Jerusha; “and if I was either of your mammas—which thank the Lord I ain’t—I’d teach ye that it ain’t accordin’ to Sceripter to come to a circus pretendin’ you want to see the’ gals ride horses and jump through paper balloons, when you’re blind to what’s goin’ on in the ring, and have only an eye for. the ring you ixpect to capiure this poor gal with some day.’? “But, my dear madame——’? “Don’t dear madame me! I know yer dodge! Ye want to stuff this gal with silliness and love’s soft sodder. What?’s yer name, child??? Jerusha abruptly asked, turn- ing to the trembling girl, who was about nineteen years of age. “Madam,” said the young la@y, “tyour conduct is in- comprehensible. A perfect stranger, to address me in such a manner! If you persist in your actions I shali call for protection.’’ “Hello! What’s this rampus, about,’ shouted a man attached to the circus, and’ whose business was to pre- serve order. ‘‘This confusion must be stopped. What’s the cause of it?’’ “A lunatic—a wild lanatic!’? shouted a. dirty-faced urchin, arising ffom his seat on the third row behind Jerusha. “A lunatic, am I?” and Jerusha bounced up, and turned to the lad, shaking her umbrella at hima. ~“Pil iunatickle ye with this if I can get at ye.” She made a fierce stroke at the boy, but the weapon, being too short to reach the object aimed at, alighted with a thandering ‘‘thud’’ on the white hat of an irritable old gentleman who occupied the seat justin advance of the boy. The blow crushed the man’s hat, not only over his eyes, but also over his nose, making it an exasperating job to pull the hat from his head. At last he accomplished it, disclosing a face red with anger. He jumped up justin time to seize the umbrella as Jerusha made her sixth stroke at the boy, all of which had missed him, but alight- ed upon the back and shoulders of the irritable gentleman as he struggled to uncover his eyes. Firmly seizing the umbrella, he endeavored to wrench it from Jerusha’s grasp, probably with the intention of cleaving her with it from crown to toe-nail, for he seemed so swelled with anger thathe might explode! Jerusha, however, knew the value of her weapon, and clung to it with determination. Finding it impossible to jerk it from her hand, he sud- denly changed his tactics, and gave it a powerful shove, forcing Jerusha backward. She was already leaning in that direction, and when the old gentleman released his hold of the umbrella, she fell over on her back into the arms of the circus man, who was then endeavoring to make his way toward her. The circus man attempted to carry her out of the tent bodily, amid the shouts of the audience, who cried, ‘‘Put her out!’ ‘Cage the crazy critter!’ : Jerusha was not to be so easily vanquished. Sinking her nails into the face of the man who held her in his arms, she screamed, and kicked, and wriggied like an eel, until the man was forced to drop her. Jerusha, with her false front sadly disarranged, was now fully aroused. Springing up, she seized and brandished her umbrella like a Savage on the war-path. With three jong’ strides she leaped into the center of the ring, and shouted: a “Come on! Here’s the spot fo havg it out, where every one can see fair play. Vl fight it out ?n this line ifit takes all night. Come, first, you with thie white hat! You wanted to steal my umbrel, didye? Yome, now, and take it if you dare!” 4 : “Fair play?’ “Giv@the old gal a wr? “White hat, why don’t you go into the ring and face her?’’ shouted some of the audience, who seemed to'appreciate this un- expected and surprising performance. The uproar had awakened the attention of the actors in the adjoining tent, used as a dressing apartment, and several of them now hastily entered the largertent. The regular performance had not yet commenced, and the sight they beheld was both Indicrous and astounding. A long, bony woman, stamping like a lunatic, shouting and gesticulating in a. savage manner, and shaking her umbrella at an audience of fully fifteen hundred persons, Deeming remonstrance useless with such an excited creature, the clown, in an attractive costume of red and white, performed a trick so comical that it. at once ‘brought down the house.’? Quietly slipping behind the shouting Jerusha, and turning his back to hers, he adroit- ly inserted an arm under each of hers,then leaned forward, quickly drew her on his back, and holding her in this position, ran with her around the ring. When the clown, with his lively burden, had made the circuit of the ring two or three times, encouraged to repeat the performance by the applause and laughter of the assemblage, he ran to the entrance of the tent, and deposited the exasperated lady outside. It was a ludicrous tableau. The clown in full costume, with painted face, galloping around the arena with a loudly yelling and wilding gesticulating female on his back. As her arms were in & measure restrained from violent action by the way in which the clown held her, a regard for the truth of history compels us to state that her gestures were chiefly made by her lower limbs, which ; MM / site, were now, in regard totheir position, the upper ones, With them wildly swaying to and fro, she appeared to be balancing on her feet an imaginary globe. ‘She was prevented from re-entering the tent by the threats of a constable, and thus ended, to the regret of the amused audience, Jerusha’s visit to the circus. ——_ > 4 Our Living Hero! From the appended telegram, which appeared in all the daily papers, it will be seen that one of the char- acters in a story published in the NEw YORK WEEKLY is not a creature of the imagination, but a living hero. No better indication of the esteem in which BUFFALO BILL is held as an Indian fighter and ‘‘trail- er,” could be afforded than by the fact that Gen-. eral Sheridan selected him as his guide. This selection was complimentary alike to the famous scout, to Ned Buntline, who so graphically described his exploits, and to the New YORK WEEKLY, in which the great story of “Buffalo Bill’? was published: Fort McPHERSON, Neb., Sept. 22, 1871. General Sheridan and party arrived at the North Platte River this morning, and were conducted to Fort McPher- son by General Emery, commanding, General Sheridan reviewed the troops, consisting of four companies of the Fifth Cavalry. : The party start across the country to-morrow, guided by the renowned Buffalo Bill, and under the escort of Major Brown, Company F., Fifth Cavalry. The party expect to reach Fort Hays in ten days. THE LADIES WORK-BOX. A department designed especially for ladies, wherein will be an- swered all questions which may be asked by correspondents, re- jating to fashion, the different styles of dress, combination of colors, needle-work of all kinds, the arrangement of the hair, etiquette—in short, anything of especial interest to ladies.] It is indeed a “terrible temptation” tor our fair belles to visit the various fashion emporiums at this most attractive season. Even the most skillful pen-artists can scarcely describe the new beauties that are daily ener for our approbation. Watching the fashions almost hourly as we do, the changes are so gradual that they do not make the same impression upon us as they must upon our country friends, who have their garments changed each season after the styles are fully defined, and jump, as it were, from one extreme into another equally as outre. ‘A little incident recently occurred which is extremely sugges- tive, A country friend sent to one of our fashion reporters for an alpaca dress tobe made in the latest style. The order was promply filled, and in a short time came a letter of thanks, con- taining this sentence: : 5 “The overskirt hangs beautifully in the back, but hoops so in front that it will have to be changed, and I scarcely know how to remedy it. I tried by letting out the bands that loop it at the sides.” This overskirt was made after one of our newest and most pop- ular models. At McOreery’s openings of superb suits and evening dresses for fall, we noticed that most of the overskirts had drapery fronts, which were looped in every conceivable manner; some in circular folds, others in half puffs, and others so eer to appear criss-cross, or half slanting, and half circular. The various ar- rangements of the overskirt can scarcely be described, or even de- fined. The most ordinary skirt, placed in artistic hands, can be looped, puffed, and draped so as to have the appearance of being most elaborately made. ; : One of the most elegant garments at McCreery’s was a rich gros grain salmon, or rather a dark teacolor. The trained under- skirt was simply and elegantly trimmed with two narrow ruffies upon a deep flounce, headed by a_ puff, and standing plaiting of the silk. The front of the overskirt was double, each skirt being trimmed with rich tasseled fringe, the same shade of the silk. The back was trimmed with puff and ruffles, and was most taste- fully and elegantly draped. The aprenee was pompadour, around the neck were puffs and fringe, ed by rich and expensive lace, while the sleeves, demi-long and flowing, were finished with the rare lace. A handsome eveni dress was of drab silk, trimmed with cherry. The fiounces of the drab were both bound and headed with the bright color, while at the heading of the top flounce was a coil of both shades. The overskirt was trimmed to match, while the waist, besides the other trimmings, was ornamented with leaves of drab, bound around, and ended in the center with the cherry silk. This dress would be a propriate for a brunette. There were some most superb suits of black gros. grain, trimmed with black velvet, some were flounced with velvet, oth- ers had the flounces bound. Some were made with basques, oth- ers had ‘tight, plain waists;.all were more or less trimmed, but no two were made alike. Some elegant walking-suits were made of the two rich shades of brown, in velvet and Irish poplin. In one the underskirt was of velvet, and perfectly plain. The overskirt of Irish poplin, a lighter shade than the velvet, was trimmed with fringe, and open in front, the two sides being held together by heavy cords and tassels of silk. The jacket consisted of four or five pieces, the back, and two fronts, were of velvet, vest-shaped, while the side-pieces of poplin formed a jaunty jacket; the sleeves were of velvet. : Another suit Of silk and velvet was made in the same manner, except the velvet in this suit formed thejacket. ( In robes de chambre we saw some decided novelties, not in shape for the Gabrielle, will always be in favor for the mourning dress, but in ornamentation. One exquisite dress of white cashmere was ornamented with three perpendicular ruffles of white, on each side of back and front, each ruffle bound and headed with a bright shade of rose-color. Another was curved with blue bands and Tom Thumb fringe, and still another was of drab, trimmed with cherry-color; 4 ru of the cashmere band with silk extending from the neck down to the waist, and around under the arms to the center of the back, forming a round jacket. The sleeves were flowing. A dainty dress for an infant was most beautiful. The long skirt was composed entirely in front, and a quarter of a yard deep on the bottom of the skirtof bars of Valenciennes inserting; and al- ternate rows of embroidered medallions or thread cambric, edged with Valenciennes lace. The waist and sleeves are one mass of the delicate materials. There are cloaks for infants in all colors, richly embroidered with white with deep silk fringe, others trimmed with quilted silk, extending about a quarter of a yard deep on. the two ot the double cloak. White cloth sacques for little girls are simply bound around with white, or colored silks, or velveis. » 2 For misses we notice a very a polonaise, made in either silk or velvet, with tight back, and Gabrielle front. The skirt is set on a band at the waist, and joined on to the front, which is nearly as long as the back, and is festooned by three plaits, which are concealed by the fringe or trimming on the bottom of the postillion in the back, and fastened together down the front from the neck to the bottom of the A wrap which will be most popular before the real cold weather comes, is made of cloth, cashmere, or can be made in alpaca, or any desirable material. Itisacircle sacque withacape. The under sacque is loose or half-fitting, according to fancy, and is from three-quarters to one yard long, the sleeves coat-style. The circular cape is somewhat shorter than thesacque. ‘this garment is stylish, trimmed with heavy fringe, or a graceful trimming; velvet makes the garment appear rather stiff. The shapes of the collars have changed but little from last sea- son. Lace ismuch more pular than the linen, and we must admit that lace softens and tones down the harsh lines of the female face much more effectually than the prim line of immacu- late linen, so much in favor last year. The Shakespeare, the round-pointed collar, the standing collar, with square tabs in front, and the collar with three points, two in front and one in the back, are all made in lace, the real and Italian Valenciennes. Bright bows are stylish with the plain solid colors now worn; the newest tie has the straight ends edged with tworows of Valen- ciennes edge about an inch wide. Others are bias strips of silk hemmed around, and finished at the ends with double tassels, same shade as the silk. Among young girls the Roman tie is very popular, and it adds much to the appearance, as do all these little accessories of the toilet. Initial handkerchiefs have become greatly in favor. The cheap- er ones have the initial stamped in the corner in any style one may desire, either the plainest letter or one surrounded by elabo- rate scroll-work or vines and wreaths. In the more costly hand- kerchiefs this corner-work is done in the finest kind of embroide- ry. These embroidered initial handkerchiets cost from $i to $3 a piece, and will prove most acceptable Christmas presents. The hats and bonnets of the season do not differ materially from each other in shape, and could scarcely be told apart but for the strings to the bonnet. Most of the very stylish hats have very high crowns and narrow brims. At Madame Ferrero’s opening last week we saw a most elegant jay of hats and bonnets. Some were in the most beautifully delicate shades imaginable. The colors were so refined that it seemed almost a pity to even touch, much Jessto wear them. One hat of biue turquoise shade of velvet, had the high crown or- namented with two rows of large pearls; above these rows were standing ornaments of pearl, oval shaped; at the side was a fan bow, and a beautiful plume which rested on the crown and then draped over the back. A jaunty blue bonnet hada high puifed crown, with band of velvet, near the brim, to hold the puffs in piace falling. over from front to back were three ostrich tips, two jue and one pink. A delicate shade of pink velvet was trimmed with white lace and exquisitely shaded roses, with a vine of buds andleaves. One of white uncut velvet had putied front and crown, while the between was composed of puils of lace; vines of leaves and buds were half lost in the nests of costly laces. In the darker shades there were bonnets of rich green, trimmed with rgeous roses. The fronts of some were high trom the face, to Be worn with hair pompadour, or with a puffing of lace, or a roll of velvet; others were low, some with a quilling or fluting of the velvet, and the rest perfectly flatand plain. Tur are trimmed in rich shades, with two contrasting colors, or two shades of same; bows, ends, and plumes and flowers are the ornaments. In the more ordinary hats ornaments of jet are very much used, also pon-pons and aigrettes of bright colors. % For little girls we see some very pretty hats with puffed crowns and brims, the trimming around the crown being plaid velvet. These hats are reasonable in price, and very tasty. Thesailor hat is still worn both by boys and girls, and is much more suitable for a lady with a slender face than the talihat. Turbans also be- coming when the crowns are not too high. For full faces the high crown narrow brim hats are very stylish. >-e< To CORRESPONDENTS. RG@> GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.— Chartie’s Anna Maria.—ist. It would be indelicate for you to write to the gentleman unless he has expressed a desire for an in- terchange of correspondence, 2d. The following isthe popular explanation of the tides, as depending upon the law of gravita- tion: “If the earth be conceived to be wholly or in a great degree covered with water, and subject to the attraction of the sun, the force of which is inversely as the square of the distance, it will be obvious that while the whole earth will fall toward the sun with a velocity proportioned to the aggregate attraction upon its solid portions, the water nearest the sun, being accelerated with a greater force, will approach the sun more rapidly than the solid core; it will thus run from all sides into a protuberance beyond the form of equilibrium of the earth’s attraction and rotation, until the pressure of the elevated mass equalsthe difference in the attraction of the sun. Moreover, a similar protuberance will be formed onthe side opposite to the sun, since the particles of water, being solic by aless force than the solid core, will fall more slowly toward the sun and, as it were, remain behind. The same considerations hold in regard to the attraction of the moon upon the earth and the waters surrounding it; for although we are in the habit of considering the moon as simply revolving round the earth, it must be remembered that the attraction is mutual; that both bodies describe orbits about their common center of gravity, and that while the moon obeys the attractive force of the earth, the latter equally follows that of the former, by which it is at every instant of time drawn from the path it would pursue if that influence did not exist. As @ necessary conse- quence of the elevation of the water in the regions nearest to and most remote from the attracting body, there must be a corres- ponding depression below the mean level of the sea at points dis- tant 90° from the vertices of the protuberances, or at the sides of the earth, as seen from the sun or moon. It will be seen, there- fore, that, taking the whole earth into view, there are always two high tides diametrically opposite to each other, and two !ow tides also, midway between the high ones. The high tides are two great waves or swells, of small hight, but extending each way through half aright angle; these waves follow the moon in its monthly motion round the earth, while the earth, turning on its axis, Causes any —s place to pass through each of these swelis and the intervening depressions in a lunar day, or 24 hours 50 minutes. At mew and full moon, when the sun’s and moon's ac- tions conspire, the tides are highest, and are called spring tides; but at the first and last quartersof the moon the action on one body tends to counteract that of the other, and the tides, both at ebb and flow, are smallest, and are called neap tides.”..... Lillie S.—We doubt if you can find a purchaser for your poems at _pres- ent. Evenif greatly improved, you will find it very difficult, poems of all styles of composition being a drug in the market... . Charles Dargan.—\st. ‘“‘The House of Silence’? and “One-Eyed Saul” were writtem by Dr. J. H. Robinson. 2d, We are not at lib- erty to state. 3d, We may, but cannot aay. when. 4th. We have had the matter under consideration, and shall probably continue the series..... .. Old. Sait.—A ppointments as hght-house. keepers are made by the Secretary of the Treasury. e salaries vary from $160 to $1,000 per year........ W. L.L.—Although the “utlet of Lake Erie runs in a northerly direction, it does not follo~ that the water runs up hill, which it must do if the outlet is higher than the inlet. The waters of Lakes Michigan and Superior unite ara river flow into Lake Ontario, whose level is 322 feet below that of Lake Erie. From thence the waters take a northeasterly course by the St, Lawrence river, and are discharged into the ocean............ Lily G.—You should immediately, take measures to bring your recreant friend to sense of his duty to you. The fact of hishaving kept his action a secret is sufficient to condemn it, and proves conclusively that he knew he was acting dishonorably; and the lady who abetted him in it is, to say the least, a deceitful, bold creature, who in return for your hospitality has exercised all her arts and fascinations to win your lover from his allegiance, only to throw him off when some new victim comes along...... ..... Neptune.—\ist. Broadway obliquely intersects Fifth avenue at Madison square, Twenty-third street. 2d. The new cathedral now in course of erection is on Fifth avenue, between Fiftieth and Fifty-first. streets. 38d. The Central Park commences at Fifty- ninth street, 4th. The Fifth Avenue Hotel ison Fifth avenue, Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth streets...... Arthur Arlington.— Ist. We have one of the stories named. The others we have no recollection of. 2d. Dr. J. H. Robinson, 3d. Mad. Parepa-Rosa, the vocalist, is a daughter ot Miss Seguin, by her marriage with the Baron Parepa de Royeska, and was born in Edinburgh, Scot- land. 4th. We cannot say. .Telegraph.—The business of seater operating is one that is being learned very extensively by females and yea lads, and the wages are comparatively small. Unless employed in the large offices, the business is combined with other duties...... Englishman.—All male residents of the State of New Jersey aged twenty-one years are compelled to pay poll-tax. If you have escaped for fourteen years it was owing to a misunder- standing by the tax officials........ A Constant Reader.—Write to the American News Co. describing the kind of a book you wish. bioart Rik Joaquin.—ist. James and Jacob are Hebrew names, and have the same signification—a supplanter. 2d. “Owen the Con- vict” is out of print...... Subscriber.—We have received two or three letters similar to yours, and the probability is that you will be unable to recover the amount...... Theodora.—\st. Mother-of- pearl is the hard, brilliant internal layer of shells, and ‘is varie- gated with changing purple and azure colors, its value depending on the beauty of the specimens. Although found in several kinds of shells, particularly oysters, the large oysters of the Indian seas alone furnish it of sufficient thickness to render it available for manufacturing purposes.. 2d. See “Knowledge Box,” 3d. The value of autographs consists in their genuineness; a fac-simile is consequently worthless. 4th. Your penmanship is very good, but we make no pretensions of being able to read your character by Tere es). p Clear the .—You must have omitted to close the ‘slip mentioned, as we do not find it. Let us hear from you again.... Je Blue.—If you need only a small quantity, you can purchase the cement already prepared of a dealer in rubber goods; itis also sold by many dealers in bootsand shoes. If rightly prepared the course you pursued will produce the result required. See “Knowl- edge Box” tor more extended information.....-.. Luke Peel.—ist. There are in the United States and Territories 594 daily and 4,380 weekly papers; periodicals of all kinds, 6,056. 2d. See reply to ‘“Telegraph”’....... Bill P.—Consult an eminent yrs eens Silver Star.—ist. If in the habit of corresponding regularly, it looks to an impartial observer as if the lady had either changed her mind since your last interview, or the letters were “ane e with by a third party. In either event we would recommend that you bring the matter to a definite conclusion; if you cannot get any satisfaction through the mail, communicate with her in per- son, 2d. Rather poor, but could be easily improved...... Sailor Boy.—There are a number of papers in this city devoted to ship- ping interests, but none of the name mentioned... .. R. A.—He may love her, but he cannot have an exalted opinion of her dis- cretion; nor can she in her turn feel complimented by the re- quest—indeed, it is little short of an insult.:..- Briseis.—There are no regular lines to the diamond regions of South Africa from this port. The journey occupies trom three to four months, and costs about $100; this, however, only includes the passage money. There are regular mail steamers from Liverpool to Cape Town, which would be the best route to take. The climate is hot and dry, less rain falling than in any other region except the rainless districts, Although the papers of Ca Cacey would make it ap- pear that diamonds are very plentiful, yet private advices state that the lucky individuals are few compared to the number who are engaged in the search for the precious gems...... Toucher.— The U. S. Government does not purchase canceled am stamps. We do not know how the rumor originated, but there is no truth in &.. <3. Jack Spratt.—Fresh air and exercise will harden your muscles and develope your form....... Ignoramus.—Iist. In the division offractions,.if they have a common denominator, divide the numerator of the dividend by that of the divisor. It they have not acommon denominator, inyert the divisor, and multi- ply each numerator and each denominator by the other. 2d. The quotient 1s the result, meaning how many times the divisor will ‘© into the dividend, . 3d. Florida was purchased of Spain by the . 8. Government’ in 1819, and was admitted into the Union March 3, ‘1845... 4th. See .“‘Knowledge Box.” 5th. See “Work meats aes Pistols.—The law against carrying concealed weapons was passed by the Legislaturesof the State, and defines the wea- ns against the carrying of which the penalty shall be enforced, ut does not include pistols in the list. If it did,.o magistrate would have the power to permit a person.-to carry a pistol, im op- position to the provisions of the statute. It sometimes happens that persons who occupy places of trust or are compelled to be m dangerous neighborhoods at unseasonable hours, appear before a magistrate merely to convince him that they are in the habit of carrying the weapons as a meats of self-defense, in case any trouble should arise, and their characters would be affected by the knowledge that they were armed...... Simpson.—No....... Sibalia’s Barab.—\st. If you cannot procure employment for your spare time, perfect yourself in some study which you deem ay rove, useful a oot at some future period. ‘2d. See ‘‘Knowl- ge Bok 2.65 ce . B. commencing the letter to your lady friend, if your relations are not sufficiently intimate to warrant you in addressing her as “My Dear.” 2d. A gentleman should not enter the house after escort- ing a lady home unless invited to do so......... . Feeney.—ist. You have no right to complain, it you have allowed all your love affairs to be conducted by your parents, and the seeming indiffer- ence of the lady may be only assumed for.the purpose of infusing some spirit into you, to bring you toa declaration of your senti- ments. Engagements and marriages which are planned by pay rents are usually distasteful to the young tolks immediately m- terested, who prefer to do their own love-making. Young ladies, jally, do not like to look on such things as. amatter of course, particularly if they happen to have a vein of romance in their composition. Make use of the suggestion offered, and our word for it, your mind will be relieved-of any you may have in regard to the lady’s feelings. 2d. Mrs. Holmesis engagedon a new story, but we cannot say how soon it will be compieted...... 4 .—Eighteen years is quite young eee for a lady to re ceive company..... New York Weekly:—Ist. We are not at liberty to give the name. 2d. Yes...... Mrs. M. A. S—We have no know!- edge of the gentleman’s standing or capabilities......... E. J. €.— Edward is an Anglo-Saxon name, and means guardian of proper- ty.......0.N. Trance.—We will publish it ina few weeks.......... Jeremidh.—In introducing persons Of opposite sexes, the gentle- man should always be presented to the lady, as “Miss Jones, TE have the pleasure of presenting -to x Mr. Brown.” The gentle man should acknowledge his gratification by a few well-chosen and polite words. Avoid the hackneyedand meaningless phrases on such occasions, and substitute your own language, if you can do it neatly...... E. F. B.—\st. Our serials are not published in book form, 2d. The memory, like any other faculty, becomes impaired, if not exercised. Put it to the test, and it will strengthen below the level of Lake Huron, ani thence by the Niag by being taxed. 3d. See “Knowledge Box.”....... Broken Cane.— ist. ee Young is alive, and resides at Salt Lake City, Utah. 2d and 3d. See ““Knowledge Box.”....... A ler.—Ist. See Long “Knowledge Box.” 2d. The fare from New York to Denver, Col- orado, is $82; to San Francisco, $140 rry Sag Harbor.— Decidedly too young....Coin Collector.—ist. You may have them sent by express. 2d. We have not the space to publish a list of the xinga ee queensof England. Consult a history or encyclo- a. . There are a number of dealers in this mes! who will ly you. 4th. The term “‘Reign of Terror’? is applied to a period su in the history of the French Revolution, during which the country was under the sway of actual terror excited by the action of Robe- spierre and his accomplices, who cau to be put to death thou- sands of the nobility and the better classes of the people. Thisstate of things continued from May, 1793 until July, 1794, when the tyranny of Robespierre was denounced by his colleagues of the Assembly, who condemned him to death, and he was taken out and guillotined. . 5th. Its operation has been uninterrupted since its establishment....Potate.—See New York Directory.......... Conqueror. der by any dealer....4 .—Daniel Webster’s brain weighed fifty-six ounces; that of Ruloff weighed nearly if not quite as much r —Ist. Wecan only repeat our former state- ment. If you still have any doubts, call at the office and we will furnish you the paper containing the conclusion. 2d. We cannot tell you..... . Humanity.—The first society tor the prevention of cruelty to animals we have any record of was instituted in Lon- don, England, in 1824, and through its efforts acts tor the protec- tion of animals were passed at different times by Parliament. Its workings are similar to those of the society at present in this city, thousands of cases being annually prosecuted by them in the courts. There is a similar society in Paris, also in several of the large cities of this country....... Manhatian.—The battle of Har- lem Plains, which was little more than a severe skirmish, was fought on the 16th of September, 1776. The American troops were under the command of Col. Knowlton, who was himself killed. The British troops, composed of detachments from the main army} which occupied the lower portion of the island, were defeated, and driven back toward the city...... Frank B. M.—The initials I. N. R. I. are a contraction of Jesus Nazarenus, Rex Ju- esus of Nazareth, King of the Jews...... James E. D.— Aman born in America, no matter what may be the nationality of his parents, is an American.......... Fanny C.—Very good, but rather small for a copyist’s hand...... Frene.— When a young lady has two lovers, equally solicitous for her hand, and, imagining she loves them both, 1s in a dilemma as to which she shall accept, it is very evident she really loves neither, although she may es- teem them both very highly as friends. If she. truly loves either as a wife shouid love a husband, it does not need a third party to point out the course for her to adopt........ Constant Reader.—t you are unable to procure political influence, make application to the Board in person, referring them to your iriends for evidence of good character........ Charlie Henderson.—You might try the pian suggested, but we doubt if you succeed. ....... Sportsman.— There is no paper exclusively devoted to the subjects of hunting and trapping........ Elizabeth.—The fare from New York to Pitts- burg is $12.50, and the time occupied in making the journey about sixteen hours...... Ida.—We do not kuow the parties named..... The following MSS. have been accepted: ‘George Washington and Mary Phillips,’ ‘fhe Hidden Well,’ ‘Saved as by Fire.’....The tol- lowing wiil appear in anew mammoth monthly soon to be is- sued: ‘A Summer Picture.’....The following are respectfully de- clined: *D’Esparde’s Revenge,’ “Think Before you Speak,’ ‘Viola’s Fidelity,’ ‘Youth’s Wooing,’ ‘Words of Comfort,’ ‘The Cherished Rosebud,’ ‘The Last of his Tribe,’ “New Mexico,’ ‘Love's Invoca- tion,’ ‘A Physician’s Story,’ ‘The Dirtiest Man that Rides on the Train,’ ‘Waiting,’ ‘Scouting Dan,’ ‘A Year Ago To-day,’ ‘fwo American Scouts,’ ‘Do You Ever Think of Me,’ ‘Hearth and Home,’ ‘The Murder,’ ‘The Last Sleep,’ The Reason,’ ‘Jim Green,’ ‘The Grass Widow,’ ‘To the Memory of Phebe Cary,’ ‘The Lost Child,’ ‘Thoughts,’ “The Libertine’s Dream,’ ‘To Her I Love,’ ‘I Cannot Hear,’ ‘To FE. A.G.,’? ‘A Panther Hunt,’ ‘Sonnet to Miss Emma,’ ‘A Drunkard’s Wite’s Fate.’ a= - Be -Q— Another New Story. We this week commence anoilier Bew story, Ingenious in construction, and sofull of mysteries as to keep the reader’s attention continually enchained. “SYBIL’S IN- HERITANCE; OR, A WOMAN’S VOW," needs no far- ther recommendation than that afforded by a perusal of the opening part. The initial chapters are so remarkably interesting, and so plainly indicate the excellence of the entire story, that the reader will be impelled to follow it to the close. We advise our friends to examine the in- stallment given this week, and judge for themselves. They will then certainly extol it to their acquaintances, that they, too, may be delighted. Next week another new story will be begun. “THE UNKNOWN SUITOR,” by Mrs. Schuyler Meserole, wil, assuredly be pronounced one of the best works of fiction ever published. Although Mrs. Meserole is a new writer, the present work will elevate her to the ranks of our most distinguished novelists, with Lake Huron, and fiow into Lake Erie, which is nineteen feet. W.—Ist. “Dear Miss” is a proper formof ~ .—You can have flags of allnations manufactured to or- - "ag ‘sai @ Te) 4 hei. ie ed a # inde wey TO HATE. BY FRANCIS S. SMITH. Thou baleful, black-browed, murderous thing! Thou bane of human bliss! “Thou vampyre fiend of somber wing, Whose loathsome, lep’rous kiss Blisters the lip it meets, and turns Life’s sweets to bitterest gall, And like a hungry fire burns In souls that own thy thrall! Thank God, I ne’er have known thee yet, Vile monster that thou art! Thou ne’er hast had and ne’er can get _ A lodgment in my heart. Though I were doomed to feel the sting Of enmity’s foul blow, Td seek no shelter *neath thy wing, Thou minister of woe! I can afford to pity thee, And all whose guide thou art, For no poor wretch from pain is free While thou dost rule his heart. © J’d rather suffer from thy spite Than own thee as my friend; For Love, thy master, will delight When thou hast reached thine end. The Arch-Plotter. A TALE OF CRIME AND RETRIBUTION [“The Arch-Plotter? was commenéed in No. 40. Back Nos. can be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XIII. The ‘“‘Gun’’ was situated in a dark and dingy lane, out of Ratcliffe Highway, and was kept by a low and cunning Jew, named Nykin Nathan. The house was uented chiefly by thieves, water rats of the Thames, and the low- est order of sailors, men who were unwillingly admitted into any house aiming at decency. It was a large, square building, dating back at least three centuries, when, doubtless, it had been in the hands of some very different man. The remains of rich carving, and many architect- ural beauties, ke of its former grandeur. It was chiefly noticeable for the large number of rooms it contained on the first and second floors, every door being also carefully provided with locks and bolts, as if the denizens of the “Gun”? had not the greatest confidence in one another, or in the general honesty of the human race. Here men who had sudden reason for visiting the con- tinent, runaway clerks, fraudulent bankrupts. outlaws, fellows who had in some way or another outraged their country’s laws, would come to wait the tide that was to bear them away to some less harsh and suspicious land. Many were captured here by the officers of justice, but not one to whom Nykin Nathan had ever given his word. This was a mystery which had not been solved. But this was noted, that many men entered the house who never were seen to leave it again. This circumstance had been hinted to the police, but they had taken no notice ofit. li it excited their curiosity, they kept the fact to themselves. Nykin himself was a hideous Jew, of about sixty years of age, who was assisted in his business by a daughter so very corpulent as to be forcibly detained in the bar all day, seated in a chair of state, which was wheeled at night to a room on the same floor, where the huge Rebecca slept. Rebecca was still at the bar, and the house was tolera- bly empty. Two men sat eee in asmall tap room. The public parlor was untenanted, and the private one had the lights turned off. Four or five sailors were stand- ing at the bar, in sompany with as many girls, drinking rum. One man stood nd, leaning against & post. This man was about six feet high, with large limbs, a grizzly black mass of hair, beard, whiskers, mustaches, almost hiding his face. His nose was aquiline, and his eyes small and ferret-like. The forehead was low in the extreme. Altogether, the look of the man was ferocious. The animal wholly predominated. That huge mass of > flesh seemed to have no heart, soul, or mind. At the moment when he is introduced to U:c reader, he stood smoking listlessly, with his eyes closed. “Drink,” said one of the men, turning sharply to him. A hideous frown crossed the face of the man, as he took the pipe away. “Pi be thinking you'd like Keel-hauling, youngster,’’? he said, with a grunt. “No offense!’ exclaimed the other, with a look of semi- defiance. d “No offense! you great landlubber! ing to?” “To Mister Chips,’ said the man, sullenly. “To Luitenant Shipton,’? continued the other, fiercely; “and if I had yon on board, Vd stop your grog for a month.” Just at this moment three men entered. One had the appearance of a little seedy hanger-on about a police sta- tion, in a rusty suit of black, his eyes covered by green spectacles. The others were tall, gentlemenly looking men, though evidently in disguise. They wore huge top coats, with fabulous buttons, large neckcloths, and had their hats drawn over their eyes. wine and smoking his cigar. ’ we want 1s to get this young man r she Pearl of the Ocean.”’ . ; og vate: “Will he consent?” asked the sailor; ‘‘will he go wilt ingly??? ‘ “I think not,” said Littleton Gaskill, hesitatingty. “‘L fancy it will be difficult. Captain Ledra is very par- sonra THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. = who is not willing. He says, it is the only plan for guard- ing against treachery.” “You must earn your two hundred,” said the lawyer, coldly; ‘“‘you cannot expect toget it for nothing. He must be got on board, mark you, but no personal injury must be done him under any pretence whatever.”’ “His person is to be inviolable,’? answered the sailor, with a sneer. His knowledge of English had been ac- quired in the fashionable balls of London, where he had mixed with the élite, in point of rank, of English society. The marquis and colonel both eyed the lawyer sus- piciously. ‘‘You can drop him on the road, you know,” continued the lawyer, quite unmoved, ‘‘but no personal injury.” “You are very careful,’ said the colonel, with a sneer. ‘‘] will have no handin murder,”’ replied the lawyer. “Abduction is bad enough. Besides, I don’t see what good it can do. Out of the country, the boy will be in nobody’s way.” “J don’t say he will,”’ said the colonel, sullenly. “But do as you please.”’ “Now, gentlemen, to your hiding place. The hour ap- proaches. The young fool will behere in a few minutes,” said Gaskill, coldly. As he spoke, he rose and opened a kind of cupboard behind where he was sitting. It had originally been an alcove bed-place, and contained a table and two chairs. Holes were pierced in a dozen places in the door, giving airandlight. A strangernever would have suspected the hiding place. Everything could be heard as dis- tinctly as if the parties had been in the room itself. “Now, lieutenant,” said Littleton, ‘‘be cautious; [have prepared everything.” “How did I find out the boy?’ asked the supposed Shipton, looking at the lawyer with an odd smile. “The duse! I never thought of that. Perhaps the young- ster may smeliarat, and not go. I have it,’ cried Lit- tieton, striking his forehead. ‘Leave it to me; I will tell a good story.” j While the lawyer was speaking, he was quietly tracing a few lines on a pieceof paper. When finished, he placed them under the Other’s eyes with a look which indicated caution. The lieutenant read the paper without raising it from the table. It was brief, but full of meaning. “Harm not the boy. If he returns to England a year hence, he may be a fortune to us both.” The lieutenant nodded with a significant look. At this moment there was a knock at the door, and the head of the Jew was thrust slowlyin. The absence of two of the chief actors in the drama seemed not to as- tonish him. “What is it, NyKin ?”” said the lawyer, familiarly. “A young shentleman ash ish asking for Starlight.” “Show him in, Nykin, and shut the door,” said Littleton Gaskill. The Jew grinned. There was hideous satisfaction in his looks. He saw that the lieutenant meant business. He retired, therefore, and usheredin William Linley, who was buttoned up in a warm pea-coat. Our hero looked suspiciously around. and when his eyes rested on the two men, the huge sailor and the shab- by little lawyer, his heart misgave him. A slight suspi- cion of the trap laid for him crossed his mind. Nykin Nathan began turning out. his customers and shutting the shutters. “Your most obedient servant,’ said Littleton Gaskill, with great respect. ‘Mr. William Linley, I suppose??? “That is my name,’ replied the other, standing on his guard, ‘“‘and, as you perceive, [have obeyed your myste- rious summons.’’ “You have done wisely, young man. You are, I be- lieve, not om the best terms with Colonel Medway,” said Littleton, with a slight grin, and a quick glance at the al- cove. “ He is my bitter enemy—he_ has, I believe, ruined my prospects in life. What of him?” “Sit down, young man, and let us understand each other. I have sent for you under the impression that if I serve you, you will not be wanting in gratitude.” “Give meanameand position, and name your own price,’? said William Linley, eagerly. “Colonel Medway has offered me a thousand pounds to rid him of your presence,” continued Littleton Gaskill, who was enjoying in the recesses of his heart the fury of the colonel. “Why? What for? What William, in agonized tones. 3 “The very thing I want to know,” replied Gaskill, with alook at the alcove that spoke volumes. ‘‘If you are worth a thousand pounds to put you outof the way, it struck me you must be worth more to save. Now, it chanced that with me is employed Louis Delcour here— the husband of the woman who died with youin her arms on the 17th of February, 18—, at the Red Lion and Sun.” “Does he know my parents?’? eagerly asked William Linley, looking kindly toward the St. Malo man. “He is the very image of his father, with something of the softness of his mother,’ began the other, speaking in French. 4 Littleton Gaskill translated the words of the renegade to the eager youth. “But who were they ?”’ continued Linley. “He never knew,” said Littleton, without hesitation. “He believes his wife did. He himself never saw them. He speaks from a locket with their miniatures which he has at home, with numerous papers, probably referring to your birth.”’ “Where are they?’ cried the impetuous youth. ‘Keep have I done to him? said me not in suspense!’’ “At St. Malo,” replied the lawyer, with an intonation of yoice which he vainly strove to keep calm. “When does he heart was bounding with impatience and hope. “At daybreak,’’ said the lawyer, with a meaning glance at Shipton. aed go with him!’ cried William Linley, turning to the or. “What hour?’ asked Littleton, with a sign to Shipton, which he thoroughly understood. “Four o’clock,” replied Shipton, in French, with an admonitory grunt. “Four, said William, rising. ‘Just time to rush home in a cab, and leave word where I am going.”’ ‘¢”Pis just one—you will never do it,’? answered Gas- kill, looking again atthe sailor. “Hadn’t you better write a note and then lie down ?”? “1 prefer going home,” said William Linley, firmly. He had been feigning nearly all the time. He did not believe Gaskill. An involuntary, though very slight ex- clamation from the colonel had put him on his guard, as ore as the signs that passed between the lawyer and the sailor. “Out of the question,’’ replied Gaskill. ‘You will have to go on board at two.”’ “Then Monsieur Delcour can bring me the papers. If they prove useful, I will reward him handsomely.” ‘You had better go,’ said Gaskill, in his most insin- nating voice. Wiliam Linley made noreply. He saw the sailor cau- tiously drawing a bundle of thick twine from his pocket. He started back, clutched his heavy stick, and placed him- self on the defensive. “Liars and cowards! he said, fiercely; ‘‘fit instru- ments of your base employer, who may come forth {from his hiding plaee. Murderis no novelty to him, Butl will sell my life dearly.” “Mr. Linley! Mr. Linley! my very good friend!’ expos- tulated Gaskill, in the mildest of tones, ‘‘what means this? We mean no harm?” “Then stand out of my way and let me go. The first bbc serene near me I will brain him,’? answered Linley, ercely. “If you wish to go, certainly,’’ continued the lawyer. “7 will ring for Nykin tolet you out. Pity youdon*t know your friends, Mr. Lintey.”’ : Gaskill rang, and Nathan appeared. He stood outside the door with the door-handie in his hand. “Vat ish it??? he asked. ‘Any orchers ?? “This gentleman doesn’t know his friends,’’ said Lit- wee With meaning look. ‘‘He wishes to go—show him out.’’ . William Linley was not deceived by this seeming yield- ing to his wishes. He saw the glances that passed be- tween the lawyer and the hideous Jew. He clutched his stick allthe more firmly, and with a bound cleared the table which stood between him and the door. As he fell on his feet he gave a wild cry. He had falten into the trap. As he touched the fioorit gave way, and he plunged into a dark yawning pit that opened under his feet. it was this old trap and passage by which many a con- spirator and other persecuted men had escaped in former days, which explained the escape of so many from the clutches of the police by means of NyKin Nathan. “The young fool!’ said Littleton; ‘the has brought it on himself.’ , “Vat ish to be done?’’? asked the Jew, with a look of horrid meaning. ‘At your peril,’ answered Littleton, clutching his arm. “Leave him to Shipton, He knows what to do.’? Shipton took a candle and stood over the trap. A lad- der was now discovered, by which he descended into the depths beiow. When his head was on a level with the floor he closed the trap, which was so ingeniously con- trived that it left no mark. There are several of these existence to this day in Lon- don, hundreds in Paris. In Paris they chiefly serve to om arms and ammunition, They are the arsenals of revolt. The Marquis of Sevenoaks and the colonel came ont, ane latter was very pale; the peer was calm and super- cilious, “Dused sentimental and slow—ah!”? he said. “What did you use my name for?” asked the colonel, fiercely, addressing the lawyer. “Grand stroke that, Colonel Medway. his guard. He believed every word afterward, till you coughed. Why, lheard you as plain aslhear myself speak now. That it was put him up to the trap.”’ “You have got him now,’ said the colonel, fiercely. ‘*Mind he don’t escape from you. If he ever returns to England I shall know whom to thank,’ “Once the marquis is married and yourself free from debt,” whispered the manof law, ‘‘what care you for Linley ??? “That, sir, is My affair,’? said the colonel, tartly. ‘‘I simply beg toinform you thatif youlet the lad out of your clutches you may whistle for whatever money I owe you. ishall have to leave the country. The accusation alone is enough. Beware of this Shipton. Is he really her husband 7?) added Colonel Medway, with a shudder. ; aa my word, I think he is,’ said Littleton, care- iessly. “Then beware of him. will seli us all.” “He knows nothing,’? answered Gaskill, calmly; ‘‘that Threw. him off He is an infernal rogue, and ticular, He will not have one man join the expedition igclear. For that reason we may trusthim. Ignorance is here our safeguard.” 2? continued William Linley, whose. ‘useful in the upper circles of society. “Thope so. Excuse my keeping you waiting, my lord. I am at your service.”’ iy “Strange affair—ah!” said the marquis, yawning. see the duse—ah—did the boy—ah—mean by mur- der? “The fool accuses me of every crime under the sun,” replied the colonel, who knew that his noble friend would draw a line somewhere in crime. ‘‘I suppose he thought murder as good a bugbear as anything else to startle me with. Come, Littleton.” “J shall remain awhile. Be satisfied—all is safe. Be prepared with your checks in the morning. I shall have to pay Shipton to-morrow..”’ “Any time—ah—after twelve—my good fellow,’ said the marquis, who really did not understand this eager- ness to clutch money. _ **Whenever you like,’ replied the colonel, who had no intention of paying his agent one penny. He thought the profits out of a thousand pounds quite sufficient already for one night’s rascality. He could have got the job done better to his taste for a tenth part of the money. He be- gan to fancy that death alone would relieve him from the terror which hovered around him day and night when he even thought of the very ;ame of William Linley. The colonel and the marquis went away together, and, being in no humor for rest or sleep, quietly adjourned to one of those night haunts of the idle and the vicious, which are numerous in London. f The colonel reached home the winner of some hun- dreds, the marquis just minus as much. When Sholto Hilton went into his friend’s room next morning, he found Jack crouched down by the fire, pale and wan With watching. The dwarf was singularly at- tached to William Linley, who, even as a boy, had been kind to him. ‘Where is Linley? asked Sholto, somewhat surprised at remarking that the bed in which William Linley usual- ly slept was untouched. “Don’t *ee know ?”’ said the other, bitterly. “No! He was summoned away by a note last night, which made him rush out like a madman.” “Un war quite excited loike when un came here,” an- swered Jack. “He has been home, then??? asked Sholto, still more surprised. The man entered into an exact explanation of Linley’s conduct; his arrival at home, his departure, and his re- quest for Jack to wait until he came back—an order, he said, he meant to obeyif it proved years instead of hours. Sholto went out, promising to return and make further inquiries in the course of the day. It was with great regret and wo small amount of alarm that the ladies in Barnsbury heard of the absence of Lin- ley from home. There was something so very peculiar in his manner when he rushed away that all were struck by it. Madame Molitor alone, however, was alarmed at once because she alone knew the character of his invete- rate enemy. She did not as yet include the marquis in the number. CHAPTER XIV. In the richly-furnished. drawing-room of a splendid house in Piccadily were collected, three days after the outrage had been committed on William Linley, the Mar- quis of Sevenoaks, the Countess of Hawksby, and Lady Frances Herbert. The young people were seated apart, the lady leaning back in an arm-cChair, playing with an embroidered handkerchief, the noble peer stooping to- ward her. whispering as he stooped. The Countess of Hawksby was reading the morning paper, and noting the absence of her dear friends and acquaintances at the pre- vious day’s drawing-room, where Lady Frances had been presented. " : It was, indeed, a splendid room, with furniture of the most costly kind, hangings of brocade, and ornaments of ormolu, but nothing could be noticed beside the splendid beauty of that queenly girl, who, at the court of her sov- ereign on the previous day, had been the observed of all observers. On the occasion when we renew acquaintances with her, Lady Frances was evidently sad in mien. She sat listen- ing to the nonsense which Lord Sevenoaks was pouring ‘into her ear with a listless ee which was peculiarly e a to that gentleman. was pouring forth all is eloquence, as he believed, in the endeavor to make the lady fix a day for their marriage. He had received a commission to that effect from the Earl of Thistleton. “This is very—ah—cruel!’ he said, at length, taking a chair and sitting down with an air of fatigue. “What is cruel, my lord?’’ asked Lady Frances, roused to a sense of hearing by the cessation of speech on the part of the marquis. “Really—ah—now—you don’t mean to say—ah--that you hayen’t heard me?” asked the nobleman, with a mor- tified air. é “J beg your pardon, my lord marquis, you were saying” asked Lady Frances. spat “I was begging you,’’ replied Sevenoaks, aed earn- estly, ‘‘to fix aday for our marriage. Your father has been kind enough to say that the sooner it takes place the happier he will be.” _ sae ey “Am I not to be consulted ?’ said Lady Frances, fixing her large, lustrous eyes upon him with an inquiring look. “Qertainly, dear Lady Frances; I have been begging you this quarter of an hour to take the decision on your- self,*? urged the noble lord. = “My lord marquis,” said Lady Frances, gravely, ‘our acquaintance is of very short date. I have scarcely had time to know you ere lam asked to marry. This is not reasonable, my lord. That my father should desire our union, I understand; but, surely, you will not wish to trust wholly to the father’sfavor ?” ‘My dear Lady Fanny! my dear Fanny!’ exciaimed the peer, with real emotion—the love he professed was by no means assumed—‘‘I wish to rest my hopes wholly on the heart of her Ilével I have had fancies, doubtless. Lady Frances. Iam six and twenty, and until lately I had not seen you. But now, I love tn £8 sy maaan for the first time! May not the promise of the earnest devotion of a life induce you to shorten the/hours of probation 2”” “My lord, I can never marry,” said Lady Frances Her- bert, gravely, ‘‘without love; ‘and love is a flower, as I understand it, which will not bloom in an hour. I respect your lordship. You are, as far as I can judge, exactly the man to make happy the womanof your choice; but I feei none of that irresistible impulse which, to my mind, must influence a woman’s heart when she should give herself for iife to one of the opposite sex.”’ “You reason with me? replied the marquis, with a pained look. “J wish todoso. Surely, my lord, you would not add one to the list of fashionable husbands—you would not be one of those who marry for an estate or rent-roll, and take the lady asa necessary incumbrance? You cannot wish to live with one indifferent or hateful, only not daily quar- reling, because too weli-bred to doso? Wait, my lord, I am very young! I have seen very little of the world! Give me time; and take this promise, my lord, and I will seek to mold my feelings to your wishes. My father desires our union; our marriage is a fixed thing; give me time.” “But do you bid me hope for love?’ said the marquis, passionately. “Since I came to London I haye seen noone to please me so much as your lordship. Time will, doubtless, make the daughter ratify the father’s choice.” “Since you came to London,” repeated the marquis, emphatically, his passion getting the better of his reason, “but before?” ‘My lord,” said Lady Frances, blushing slightly, ‘‘I ac- knowledge no right in you to question me.” “By Heaven! ‘tis true, then! Your brother’s tutor was not indifferent to you!’ “My lord,” said Lady Frances, rising, and assuming the attitude of an outraged queen, ‘“‘the days of the Inquisi- tion are over, I believe!?’ “T beg your pardon?’ exclaimed the marquis, furious at his own want of temper and judgment; ‘forgive a hasty word!”? “Tf, my lord,’? she said gravely; ‘‘we begin by quar- reling before marriage, I can ave little hope of our agree- ment after! You Say that you, before you knew me, had fancies! I may claim the same Leip god ifI please! But I willbe candid, and say thatI had more than a fancy! But that fancy or affection—call it what you will—is pass- ed forever! You, my lord, therefore, have a ciear field be- fore you. Win, my lord, therefore my respect, if you would seek my love!’ “Lady Frances—dear Lady Frances—command me, ask of me what you will, any probation you please, and I shall be too happy to bide the trial.” ‘Let me refiect,”’ said Lady Frances, gaily, with a gayety which was forced and unnatural. ‘(Perhaps I may ask something of you sooner than you may think. Knights- errant were always wont to bide their time.” “Ask me everything but time,” cried the marquis. “Time is the only true test of affection,” said Lady Fan- ny, gravely. “A test,’? exclaimed the Countess of Hawksby, joining in the conversation, ‘‘which kills ail illusion. Lady Fan- ny. if you ever wish to be happy, never talk of time. Time will give your husband a wig, false teeth, and dyed whis- kers, a8 it will adorn you with many charms which will not be yourown. Time will make you selfish and be in- different. He will read the newspaper, and you yours, before you’ve been married three months, I and Hawks- by were a most interesting couple fortwo months. At the end of that time we began to long for society.”’ ‘My dear aunt,’ said Lady Frances, quietly, ‘‘time will never make any change in me, Qncee my affections are given, they will be so jor all time.” “But how can you insure such fidelity, sach miraculous perfection of love?” asked the old countess—a withered Specimen of the numerous class of dowagers who are so Be it remembered that in fashionable circles you never say ‘old woman,”’ or even ‘old lady.’? ‘Dowager’ is the accepted phrase. “By never marrying a man { cannot respect. When I cease to look up toa man, J shall cease to love him. I mean rather I should. I will never run such a risk.” This was said with a bitter emphasis which spoke volumes for the deep sufferings the beautiful girl had en- dured during the previous three days. “My dear girl,”? replied tlic countess, ‘‘be reasonable. We of the upper world should be above the petty feelings of the common herd. .We marry as an example—we mar- ry to keep up anobie and legitimate line—we marry to promote like royalty, certain interests of a high order— we therefore should not consider merely milkmaid ideas of happiness.’ ' “Lady Hawksby,” said Lady Fanny, in atone of grave remonstrance and rebuke, ‘are the poor and humble only to know the joys of happiness and love? Ifso, let me, for Heayen’s sake, change places. with Bertha or Mrs, Brown. That any poor lucre I may have should condemn me to misery and unhappiness is far beyond my appre- hension. What is your opinion, my lord?’’ “Really—ah—I did not—ah!—catch—the—ah!—last sen- tance,’ said the marquis, in a state of considerable con- fusion, which afterward made Lady Frances conceive a very grave suspicion. He had, during the conversation of the two ladies, ad- vanced toward the window. It was a kind of mechanical sort of impulse, to which he yielded without reflection. As he did so a cab drove up to the door, and a lady stepped hurriedly out. The marquis recognized the lady who had entered the concert-room on William Linley’s arm. The guilty conscience of the nobleman made him for a instant lose a presence of mind. He answered the question of Lady Frances Herbert with an abstracted and absent air, which made even the Countess of Hawksby stare. Ere, however, he could make any further remark a ser- vant entered with a letter, which he gave to Lady Frances with anexcuse. It was marked ‘‘Pressing and immedi- ate.’? Lady Frances turned to the marquis with an apol- ogy, reading out the superscription. The noble lord would gladly have torn the letter to atoms. But all he could do WA to grinandbow. Lady Frances Herbert opened and read: ‘A lady wishes to see Lady Frances Herbert on most urgent business—business of life and death. A stranger implores Lady Frances to listen to her for five minutes. Delay may cause unheard-of misery to her—to both.” “Show the lady up,’’ said Lady Frances, with a beating heart. She had a vague suspicion, which she would scarcely own to herself, whence the message came. “Madame Molitor,’’ exclaimed the servant, in tone of pampered domestics, announcing a visi The young lady started in amazement as she the face of her she had seen at the concert. Wii smile she turned to receive her visitor. { never said a word. “Lady Frances Herbert,’ said Madame Molit mildest and most gentle of accents, with an exquisite bow to the others so peculiar in manner, none could have ac- cused it of either pride or humility, ‘‘mayI detain you five minutes ?’? ‘“Madame!”? replied the young lady, with cold civllity, ‘‘my time is occupied just now, I fancy your business is of a nature that will wait.” ‘Not one moment!’ said Madame Molitor, this time im- petuously. ‘There is life or death in an instant of delay.” ‘““Mad woman,’’ whispered the marquis to the antiquat- ed Hawksby. ‘Better ring, marquis. Lady Fanny has, I fancy rather a strange circle of acquaintance.” ‘My lord,’*? said Madame Molitor, calmly, turning to- ward the marquis, and fixing her dark eyes upon his face, ‘not mad. You, I fear, know my painful errand but too well. Ifso, it is, doubtless, your wish I should be thought mad, twill better screen’’—she said this sentence with terrible emphasis—‘‘ twill better screen your injamy!”” “Woman!’ cried the marquis, in a blustering and con- sequential tone, ‘‘I hope and trust, Lady Frances, this impertinence——” “Touched in the head,” said the Countess of Hawksby, holding up her withered hands in pious horror, at the same time making a sign to Lady Fanny to ring the bell, which was close to her hand. “Lady Hawksby,’’ exclaimed the French woman, turn- ing to her; “if Clarice de Molitor de Fazensac be mad, ’tis bitter wrongs have driven her so.” “Clarice!” cried the dowager, leaping from her chair, while the marquis began to have a vague idea of the dan- ger he stood in, ‘‘is it possible, my little Clarice ?” “Your own little Clarice, Lady Harriet,’’ said Madame Molitor, sadly; ‘* ’tis then, by the memory ofthe past, I ask you to induce Lady Frances to hear me.” ‘My dear niece!’ exclaimed the countess, ‘‘pray speak to the dear child.” “My dear, good, delightful, little Clarice,’’ cried the dowager, ‘‘what can we do for you?” Lady Frances looked imperiously at the marquis, who took the hint in good part. He began to bea little less alarmed. He had not seen the note. “J see Walcot in the square,’’? he said. “I will take a turn and return in half an hour.’? And the most noble the Marquis of Sevenoaks bowed himself out. “Madame,” said Lady Frances, still haughtily, still coldly, at the same time motioning the Frenchwoman to a seat, ‘I am now ready to listen to you.”’ ‘Lady Hawksby,’’ began Madame Molitor, ‘‘I am about, in a sacred cause, to violate a terrible oath. Will you grant me a promise of the most profound secrecy?” “My dear child,’’ replied the countess, kindly, ‘I will do anything to oblige the daughter of my dear old friend, De Lazensac.”’ “Until, I give you leave, you will never reveal my se- cret. What it has cost me to Keep it, you know not. But I have sworn—’’ said Madame Molitor, in an imploring tone of voice. “My good Clarice, I give you the word of Lady Harriet Hawksby neyer to reveal your secret,’ answered the countess proudly. “And you, my lady??? said Madame Molitor, with a sweet smile, and a graceful bend of the head, Lady Frances nodded. ‘‘Lady Hawksby—Lady Frances, my name is not De Fazensac. Jam Mrs. Arthur Beauchamp, a widow with a living husband, from his father’s insane hatred of my country and my race,”’ said the Frenchwoman, with a look of deep feeling, and tone of pride. “urs. Arthur Beauchamp!” exclaimed the astonished countess, while Lady Frances glanced wildly from one to the other. “Mrs, Beauchamp!” she cried. “The same, andi come with this letter from my son, Clarice Archer Beauehamp—known to you as William Linley.” : “Great Heaven!’’ cried Lady Fanny, clasping her hands, ‘what have I done ?”” “Murdered my boy, I fear,’’ said the other, unable any longer to control her emotion; ‘‘given him up to his ene- mies, Colonel Medway and the most noble the Marquis of Sevenoaks.” “You are the wife of Arthur Beauchamp, of Stoke Po- geis?’’ cried the countess, : “The same.’? “But William Linley?’? asked Lady Frances, whose color came and went. ‘““Has disappeared since the night of the concert, when you saw him walking arm-in-arm with his mother,” said the French lady, in a tone of deep dejection. “But what mean you about the Marquis of Sevenoaks and Colonel Medway?” asked Lady Frances, hurriedly, while Lady Hawksby sat overwhelmed with surprise, and reflecting on the changes which this strange discovery would in all probability bring about. ee “J have no proof,’ replied Madame Molitor, sadly; ‘‘but my heart misgives me. On the evening of the concert, Mr. Linley—I must call him so still—was summoned away by a mysterious note. He went, and from that moment to this has never been heard of.” “But your reasons, madame?’ said Lady Frances, warmly, her pretty feet playing quickly with the thick carpet. “You must listen to my story, and judge for yourselves,”’ replied Madame Molitor. She told them the bitter story of her wrongs, her mar- riage, the conductof the proud baronet, her own deter- mination never to thrust herself on a family that were unwilling to receive her, her wish to cancel her union in the eyes of the world, and her reasons for changing her mind. Then she told of the birth of her son, her deter- mination when he was six months old to send him to his father to be educated as an Englishman. Tothis she was persuaded by Colonel Medway, who insisted on its being the surest means of reconciliation. Then she explained how, afew nights before the intended departure of the nurse with the child, and the proofs of his legitimacy, for England, the nurse had disappeared. Then came her journey to England, under the idea that the grandfather had stolen the child. The arrival at Stoke Pogeis. She told how the old man had cursed her country and her race, and yowed that if his son chose to outrage his father by owning his French wife, he would, by the exertion of his parental authority, have him put in a mad-house How she had taken a solemn oath never to claim her rights, the old man undertaking to see justice done to the child, of whose existence he had a clue. “You don’t mean to say, my dear Clarice,’ said Lady Hawksby, ‘that you believed in the power of that bad old man??? ‘‘He is noble, rich, and a father,’’ replied the other, with a touching resignation which went to the heart of the two Englishwomen. “Put, child, Mr. Arthur would have laughed at such an idle menace.”’ ‘Is it possible?” “Qertainly, child. But he must have been a preity fel- low to take things so quietly,’’? added the countess, ‘‘Madame, I had, as I now find, his enemy at my elbow. In the event of my child dying, Colonel Medway was_his heir. Such a calculation never entered my head. He it was who treated between us, and I fear my letters to my husband never reached him.’? ‘Colonel Medway?’ said the countess, derstand now.’ “You understand nothing, my lady,”? answered Madame Molitor, in a whisper; and then she told of her meeting with William Linley; her instant recognition of him, the evident instinct that guided him toward her, his plain, unvarnished, but terrible tale. At the point where the poisoning was described, the countess started and turned suddenly very pale. “You cannot mean,’ she said, “that Oolonel Medway poisoned the nurse??? : ‘The nurse died by poison—he was twice in the bed- room. All the papers proving my marriage and my child’s legal claim to title and estates, disappeared. What stronger clue, dear lady, can we imagine?’ added Mad- ame Molitor, “Poor Lady Cecilial—the villain!” muttered the dow- ager countess. } “What of Lady Cecilia?’ asked Lady Frances, looking at her with anxiety. “Nothing, child, but that she is very unfortunate to be married to such aman, Such a beautiful family of chil- dren, too.’’ ‘Yes!’ said Madame Molitor, bitterly, ‘my child is sac- rificed for his. The inheritance of my boy is gone forever.” “Don’t be too sure,”? cried Lady Hawksby. “Go on “T begin to un- with your story. Wve an idea—I’ve an idea, But let it alone at present.’” Madame Molitor did so—the rest was soon told. Lady Frances knew, herself, all about the child’s arrival at her father’s house at the age of five years, and his subsequent career. “Poor William,’? she cried—‘‘enemies already. But re- ly u, on it, dear madame, the baronet is not one of them. I have reason to know, he asked my father to take him in- to the abbey.’’ “Thank Heaven!’ said Madame Molitor, fervently. “But this disappearance is most mysterious,’ contin- tied Lady Frances, who had silently taken the letter out of Madame Molitor’s hands. ‘itis. Now I recollect that I saw the colonel and Lord Sevenoaks in whispered con- ference at the concert. Twice they pointed to William Linley, and once Colonel Medway spoke to him, and asked his address. Can they have murdered him ?” “No!*? cried the Countess of Hawksby, with undisguised horror—‘‘they have never dared. But how very horrid to be mixed up with such an affair. We shall bein the pa- Bere me of that sort of thing.” ‘But what can they have done with him?’ suggested Madame Molitor. - nee _ “One moment,”’ said Lady Frances, quickly, at the same time ringing the bell. A tall footman in rich livery came to the door. “Did your ladyship ring ?”? asked the bowing menial. ‘Is the marquis returned ?’? asked Lady Frances, in 3. tone so quick that the man quite started. “Yes, your ladyship; my lord is in the library,” replied John, somewhat confused. In a few minutes the marquis entered, with his most smiling countenance, and a low bow to the three ladies. He came straight up to the beautiful girl who was intend- ed as his wife by her old and cholaric father, delighted with the summons, : “Any thing—ah—I—can—ah—do’ said the noble peer, with his most affected drawl. “My lord!’’ replied Lady Frances, standing before him with flashing eyes; ‘‘you asked me to fix a certain day this morning?” “T did, but——”’ exclaimed the marquis, glancing sig- nificantly at Madame Molitor. “Tt is no secret, my lord. I will give you your answer the day aster William Linley is restored to his friends,” she said, with a searching look into the very eyes of her noble suitor. Despite the marquis’s great command of face, he slight- ly changed color, and his eyes fell under the steady look of his beautiful judge. “Mr. William Linley??? he stammered. ‘Really I do not personally know the gentleman.” “Ask Colonel Medway,” said Lady Frances, coldly; “he must be found. No power on earth—not my father’s will, stern as it is—shall move me to say a word more of mar- riage until this young man is found.” “And then?’ exclaimed the peer, with an eagerness which was unwise under the circumstances, “JT will explain nothing, my lord. Let William Linley be found. Thatis all I will say. Go, my lord. If you have any regard for me, you will not rest until he is re- stored to his friends.” This was said with the imperious air ef a queen. But Lady Frances Herbert was woman enough to know her power over the peer. The command in the secret recesses of her heart she could not but feel was something very like an implied promise. But the marquis was. rightly judged; his guilt deserved the most severe measures of retaliation. “Lady Fanny,’? he said, with a low bow, ‘“‘if Colonel Medway knows any thing of this young man, I will wring the secret from him, even at the point of the sword.”’ “J ask not the means—’tis the end I look to,” replied Lady Frances, with a wave of the hand toward the door. The peer went out without a word. . He failed not, how- ever, to bend courteously, even to Madame Molitor. “Was 1 not right?’’? said the lady, bitterly. “Right! Yes!? cried Lady Frances, imperiously; ‘‘and I thought of that man as my husband! I thought I could respect him. Never——’’ “Lady Frances!’ interrupted the countess, dryly, “your father has made up his mind!’ “4nd I mine!” said the young heroine, firmly. never be Marchioness of Sevenoaks.”’ “Child! you will be an obedient daughter!’ put in the countess. ‘Very proper to make him act rightly toward this young gentleman, but very improper to break off your marriage.” “My dear madame,” said Lady Frances, turning to- ward Madame Molitor, ‘‘how deeply I have to thank ou! “T have done my duty,” replied that lady, sadly. ‘Shall I find you at home in the morning ?”’ “All day,’? answered the impetuous girl; “but at home to no one else until two in the day.”’ ‘Madame Molitor shortly after took leave, with a pro- mise to return, the two ladies. again pledging themselves to profound secrecy. The next day the Marquis of Sevenoaks informed Lady Frances, with a look of meek resignation, that he had no arve ot William Linley. Colonel Medway knew nothing of him. Lady Frances turned scornfully away, and left the room, to weep a second time over the passionate flood of elo- quence the letter of her boy lover contained. Other days came, and other mornings passed, and still no tidings of William Linley. At the end of ten days, Madame Molltor ceased to call. She, too, had disappeared, and left no sign. (To be Continued.) “T will Hark Cringe, THE ONE-ARMED BUCCANEER. By Ned Buntline, Author of “BUFFALO BILL,” “CARLOS THE TERRIBLE,” “LITTLE BUCKSHOT,” etc. (“Hark Cringle” was commenced last week. Ask any News Agent for No. 49, and you will get the jirst part of the story.| CHAPTER IV. ‘Hard up the helm! Make sail, and bear down upon the fiendish buccaneer!’? shouted Lord Radcliffe, as he saw the vessels part. ‘More than half her crew is gone, her captain wounded. Starbuck, an’ you love me, man, lay us alongside of her again!’ ‘My lord, our mainmast is more than half shot away; it will not stand press of sail even in this breeze; we will be crippled if we do not have a care, and we know not what consorts this fiend may have within cannon sound, to come and finish what he hath begun. We’ve beat him off—let us be content!’ “Never! When twenty of my crew are dead or wound- ed nigh to death! Trim ship, I say—trim ship to close in!’? shouted the nobleman, now full of that fierce ex- citement which the warrior ever feels who thinks his work but half performed. ‘‘See! the pirate reels and falls upon his deck. Perhaps his wound is mortal. We will make Praeen ae of a disheartened crew!’ “My lord, look! It is not with the pirates we must bat~ tle now—Looxk!”” The old seaman pointed to the lee. Up, right against the dying wind, a wall of ebon cloud was rolling with such swift speed that already the waters were black be- neath its shadow. “Heaven help us now! Jt is a hurricane !’) cried the nobleman. ‘In with the canvas—in with it quickly, or we will have no spar left above our deck!”? Dropping pike, and sword, and lighted match, the sea- men and gunners sprung to: shorten sail, or, in truth, to take in all the canvas. Not even to toss the slain into the waters, or to remove the wounded men below, did they lose time, but slacking sheets and halliards @ll at once, and clutching brails, clewlines, buntlines swift in hand, they worked. They did not even turn to look at the sloop, whose weakened crew, under Gaspar and Andreo, were lower- ing all her sail, to see how she sped in preparation for the fast rising storm. Five minutes more, without a breath of wind to steady her, the brigantine rocked on the tumultuous waves, her canvas in, but the weakened mainmast swaying in its stays, and threatening to fall even before the tempest broke. Now they could turn to look at their enemy. Her sails were close furled, her prow pointed in toward the islands in the eastern board, and her crew gathered about the rigging where it reached the deck, as if ready to meet the blow as men do who in such seas become used to them. “Go below, my sisters—go below, my darling!’ saic Lord Radcliffe, as those to whom he spoke looked fear- fully upon the black clouds now rushing up and Close at hand. ‘The hatches mast be battened down. Go quick- ly an’ you love me!” They could but obey, for well they knew he would send them out of, and not where peril would reach thei soonest. They went to their cabin, then by the orders of those who knew the needs, each hatch was closed and made se- cure. Then almost with bated breath they waited, _ Not long. A sullen roar—a sirange sound like the roll of heavy gun-carriages sweeping at a gallop over frozen ground, or the hoarse cheer and thunder-tread of a vast. army rushing on in a charge—then lifting the black waves into sudden drifts of foam on came the hurricane! A second more—the crashing mainmast went by the board, and with axes, while the hull of the staunch ale seemed to bury in the water, asit drove before the wind, the ready seamen cut the rigging loose and let the wrecked spar go. It was well they did, for leaping into mountainsinky black at base, and white on crest, the waves rose, sweeping dead and dying from the deck and. forcing those who lived to. cling for life to the standing spars, the shattered bulwarks, and the ropes yet firm in lace, . Oh how the wild wind shrieked as the vessel flew over the waters—flew, alas, toward a coast where they need expect no friendly aid, even. if shipwreck, their impend- ing fate, should leave some to survive disaster. On—on, even as a wounded bird strives to escape when the eye of the hunter marks its course and looks to see it fall—on with wind and water shrieking, hisssing, like the furies in their wrath, the vessel sped! CHAPTER V. With her after-spars all gone, even had the wind been less than the fearful hurricane it was, the brigantine could not have been brought to the wind, so as to head off from the shore toward which she was fast driving. So fast in- deed under the bare spars left standing, that the owner,. Lord Radcliffe, as well as Starbuck and Sedley, knew she must soon be a wreck without: Providence intervened. in some way to them incomprehensible. , When the first blinding! mist of cloud and spray light- ened up so that they could take a clear glance at their. position, they saw that they would drive in, clear of the Isle of Pines; but under their lee were shoals and smaller islands not marked in their charts, and yet beyond rose the dark red rocks of the Cuban isle in terrible distinct- ness. m4 Could they find a smooth-water lee and holding ground: for their anchors, they might out-lay the storm, and thenr setting up a jury-mast aft from a spare spar yet left, do something toward reaching their destined port, to their ‘Tefit. : On, on they drove, the sloop now in plain sight, still ieading, and steered by men who knew every reef and shoal, and where safe harbor could be found, With quiv- ering hull and spars bent to all their tension—on—on went the brigantine, until the hills of Cuba, glorious in trees and fi@wers, were only too nearly visible. ‘Half an hour more, if we drive, as we go now, amd we are lost beyond hope!’’ shouted Starbuck in the ear of Lord Radcliffe, for the raging storm so deadened other sounds no low-toned voice could have been heard, Tne latter only nodded his head, with even a more sad reply in the look which accompanied the action. ‘Where is Sedley ?”’ he asked, a moment later. “Aloft, looking for some chance to make a lee if such a thing can happen for us,” replied the sailing master. At the same instant_the young officer was seen descend- ing from aloit hand under hand on an after stay of the foretopmast. Bounding aft to the helm, he cried to Starbuck: “There is anisland small and lofty, dead ahead, be- tween us and the man, If wecan haul up but three points we can clear it and. make a lee—if we do'not, we area wreck in twenty minutes.”’ “Is that pirate steering thither?’ cried Lord Radcliffe. “No, my lord—she heads to leeward of the isle, I think, toward a bay fngide the range of mountains looming up on yonder point?’ s “Jt is welf& take the helm yourself, Mr. Sediey, and see if you can bring her to enough to make the course.”’ “Pil also to the wheel!””? cried Starbuck, and the two officers at once relieved the tired helmsman already there. Hard'a Jee they turned the strong tiller, and despite the press of the wind upon the forward spars, the vessel Slightly changed her course. Had she now had the main- mast standing, even without canvas, she would have minded her helm more readily. “How is it now?” cried the noble owner of the brigan- tine. ‘Does she luff enough ?? “Not yet, my lord; not yet. Werise the island fast, you Bee. The point is yet upon our larboard bow a single point.* “Then Heaven help us!’’ sighed the nobleman. ‘We must first try to help ourselves, and hope for Heav- en’s aid while doing that!” cried Starbuck, who, having lashed the helm hard a lee, now sprung forward, with an ax in hand, snatched from its beckets aft. “What would you do? Hold fast to every rope and ern are but to much crippled now!” cried the young “If we do not clear the spars forward we cannot bring her to. We drive helplessly dead before the gale!” shouted Starbuck in reply: ‘Hold! hold?’ cried Sedley at that instant. ‘See, there Beems to be a deep cut or narrow entrance in yon island’s very center. Look, my lord—look!"? “Ay; to the helm again, to the helm, and keep away a point instead of luffing!’’ shouted Starbuck, as his eye, so guick and powerful in vision, also saw the narrow open- ing. ‘I will aloft and con the ship, while you, my lord, look to the anchors, and Mr. Sedley steers!” There were no sails to furi or sheets and braces to’at: tend, so the crew, clinging to shrouds and bulwarks, stood and gazed forth over the storm-lashed sea, while the vessel sped on like a scared bird, either to destruction or a refuge—they knew not which. Starbuck on’the fore-yard now guided the turn of the helm by motions of his hand, for no voice could have reached the helmsman in that dread turmoil of wind and Water. 7 As the vessel drove on, the shore came out more and more visibly, the narrow cut in the island, too, more plain, but the bold seaman acting now as pilot trembled when he saw not only that there was scarcely Width enough for hull and spars to pass, but that a white surf broke clear across the entrance. a “In such a sea, water five fathoms deep would break,” he said, more to comfort himself than ‘because he hoped there was so much depth—eyen the three fathoms which would be necessary to float their craft across the bar. On, swiitiy on, sped the’ brigantine, and now, as she closed upon the island, the pirate sloop, driving safely in toward the main island of Cuba, was shut off from their view, not to their regret. A few minutes more would decide the fate of all. Lord Rad¢liffe, with the anchor watch around him, stood forward where he How could sec'the white peril of the breaking bar acrosS-that narrow channel. Braye and true to his manhood, he stood still and firm, ready to act When the moment for action came. At the helm, aided by a veteran strong of heart and peer young Sediey kept his eyes on Starbuck’s signaling hand. On, on drove the gallant bark. The thunder of the surf beating against the everlasting rocks, now gave hoarse answer to the shrieking ‘Winds, and each ragged cliff, each stunted tree that clung in its torn crevices, came out more plain to their searching eyes. Aminute more, the: sharp bows, heading fair for the narrow opening, were hidden in the white, hissing foam— a second, with ashock which threw down almost every man and sent the topmast reeling fromits broken fid, a wreck forward of its stays, the vessel struck ! A breaker, huge*and terrible, rolled on—it seemed to overwhelm her—but what seemed must bé destruction was but Providential aid—the huge wave of broken water lifted the trembling hull fromthe grinding rocks and swept it on inside a little bay, at least to present satety. For almost before the men could draw a second breath, | the vessei rode:in smooth water, sheltered by lofty cliffs, which, covered with vines and flower-laden trees ‘and shrubs, rose all around them. wee for no instructions, they were not needed so much as instant action, Lord Radcliffe let both anchors go, and as the cables play out to the stoppered length and then held fast, the vessel swung to her moorings and lay quivering yet within a few fathoms of the shore. Till now, silentand almost breathless every man had waited for the issue—death or safety, with that courage which is a trueseaman’s pride. Now—when for the time they were safe—at least free from the dread of wreck, they could not restrain that heartyEnglish cheer with which they were used to speak & sudden joy. “Orit with the hatches!’ cried Lord Radcliffe now—“‘off with the hatches and Jet those from below come up to see that we are safe from the danger which the storm-king wrought.” The crew obeyed with a swift joy, and soon those most dear to the heart of the adventurous nobleman, were on the upper deck. Starbuek, with the crew, hastened to clear the wreck of spars aloft made when the sprung top-mast yielded to the shock, but Sedley lingered to receive one loving, grate- ful look from the azure eyes of that young lady who had net let pride or rank restrain herin the fearful hour of yet reeking battle from rewarding his courage by showing that that she loved him. And when those four lovely and sweet ladies looked about them and saw but trees and rocks and flowers and water almost as smooth as glass, their beauty glowed yet more brightly for the sight. *‘We are safe—we are safet’' cried Lady Radcliffe, as she threw her arms about her noble husband’s neck. , ‘“‘Rather sadly strained in hull and shorn of spars, but safe my !oved one!’ was his reply as he returned the fond embrace. ‘“‘A stancher craft, nor a braver crew never rode through a hurricane,” he added, as he saw how busy all were already in clearing away the loosened spars and rigging. ‘No man of them all seems to think of himself, bat for the good of all.” No words passed now between Algeron Sedley and Lady Mary, but.the latter in the one loving, grateful look she gave, spoke unwritten volumes to his true heart. Mr. Sediey, you may get out our long boat and take the ladies to yonder landing place, where I see a beach as white as snow, while:beyond it is a levél carpeted with grass and flowers, whereon atent may be pitched while we over- haul and refit as best we can'so as to get tosea and out of Waters none too safe, as we're been taught by this day’s quick experience?’ The young officer bowed low in answer to the words of Lord Radcliffe, perhaps as much to hide the roseate flush of joy with which he received the intimation of such plea- surable duties, as to show his deep respect for him who spoke, Pana now Lord Radcliffe, while he pointed out the safe- ty of the harbor and the loveliness which surrounded it, told the ladies how narroavly they had escaped wreck and destruction. “How good is He who ruleth land and sea—who made and can destroy, who buildeth up and taketh down! How good and merciful!’ said Lady Radcliffe, as she lifted her looks toward theskies, where the clouds now broken and scattering, yet drove on before the gale. “In His hands, with you my loved ones to care for, I have trusted, and my hope has never failed. We will trust Him yet, and hope to reach our distant home in safety, willing henceforth to rest amid the scenes where we spent our happy childhood,” replied the husband. “What hath become of the pirate who was so terribly punished by the braye act of Mr. Sediey, when he mowed them down upon our deck with the carronade?’’ said Lady Mary. “She was last seen drivingin toward theisland of Cuba. Most likely her crew are well acquainted with the lay of land, and shoal, and harbor, and can guide her to some safe haven. But have no fear of her. With her crew, at least one half slain, and ours yet strong in numbers, itis not likely she will ever try to cope with us again. Ves- sels of that class prey upon the helpless. They have found to their cost that we are not in that category. And as she was out of sight when we found safety here, itis most likely her flends believe that we have gone to wreck and ruin!” j OHAPTER VI. Borne into his cabin by two of his men and laid upon a couch, Hark Oringle remained unconscious for some time, but at last the efforts of Doctor Ripton, seconded by the care of the boy Victor, brought back a show of life. “You’re here once more, captain—but you've been a long time coming back,” said the surgeon, brusquely, when Hark Cringle opened his eyes. ‘Thine was no or- dinary swoon. Yet thy wounds are not as deep as a well nor as wide as ai. whale’s mouth. But you have losta tenth thy weight ih blood I think, you are so wondrous weak.” “The prize—where is she?" asked the buccaneer. “As she hatk not’ surrendered, she could scaree be termed @ prize, and if she be lost to her uwners, it will not be we, but the storm that makes her yield. We were beaten off with the loss of: more than half our men and few left hurt fer me to Jook to. So much the better for you, to whom I can give near all my time and care.” “Where is the orafti—where is she now and where are we?” . ‘Call Gaspar hither, my lad—he’ll be better able to an- ob your master than I,” said the surgeon, addressing Tictor. In a few seconds the Italian entered the cabin. “How fares my captain?” he asked. “Feebly, Gaspar—feebly. I’ve had a rongh overhauling », Ay—that potent wine gives me present strength. itseems. But where is the craft we should have taken??? “Past all capture, lL reckon, sir; for when J saw her last = she was driving head on toward the Magnolia Key, her main-mast gone, and-no chance to haul by the wind, even if she could have shown a rag of canyas.”’ “Magnolia Key? There is a harbor there.” “I’ve heard you say so, sir; but we were never in it.’’ “No; we’ve nevervhad occasion. But I explored it one lazy day, in idle curiosity. Ihave not forgotten the Kttle land-locked cove. But it is difficult of entrance—the pas- sage scarce ten fathoms wide.” “Then the stranger cannot have found safety there. Most like he lies shattered at the base of the cliffs on the shore of the island. Had hie passed to port or starboard, he would now be in sight.” ; And where are we, good Gaspar?” ‘Wellin toward our harbor in the Serpent’s Cove, my captain. The wind is lulling a little, and we shall make our anchorage without the loss of a single spar or an inch of rope or canvas.”’ ‘Most likely through tly skill and seamanship. Where is Andreo?"’ “On deck, sir; I left him in charge when you sent for me.’? “Ay, that was well. And now answer me. Didst thou see an angel on the deck of that stranger craft?” “Isawa woman, my captain, a woman as lovely as ever eye looked upon. She cast her arms about the neck of him who fired the gun that mowed down our men when) the victory was almost in our own hands.” “She 9 a woman—a living Woman??? ptain, with a sweet voice, too, for I heard its sre were others, too, on board the craft, but jest of them all.” if that woman lives, Jmust possess her. Ha! what ails thee? Look, Gaspar—the lad No, senor—it is but a spasm! gasped ‘the boy; m which will passeyen asitcame. See—I am better now!” _ ‘Take a cup of wine, lad. This cabin is close, and the sight of those blood-stained bandages have sickened thee, who art not used to them. Doctor, take them away.” “The boy will soon get used to seeing blood if he stays long on board our craft,’ said the doctor, grimly. “He did not seem to fear blood when alone, with a strength Which would have shamed my manhood, he dragged his captain back from among the dead and dy- ing unto hisown deck,’ said Gaspar, promptly. ‘‘He is a brave lad, and true as steel.”’ ‘Did he rescue me from that butcher-pen of death ?—he so slight of form and delicate ?*’? asked the buccaneer. “He did, my captain, while I, seeing that in a second more we would be boarded and most likely overpowered, cut the grapplings loose, that we might drift apart.” “Victor, thou shalt not regret the act. Life isnot worth much to me, yet.I would not like to die conquered on the conqueror’s deck. I owe thee much for thy courage and——’? ‘“Senor—do not mention it again. Iam giad I had the chance, to. serve thee. May I draw a fresh draught of wine for thee, to give thee strength?’’ ‘‘Ay, lad, and drink some more thyself.. Thou wert very white just now with sudden weakness, Gaspar, when this storm lulls and we are safein our anchorage, I have something for thee to do. An expedition on which I would send thee. Go now.and see to the craft, for I trust thee, where I will not trust Audreo.”’ The Italian bowed, and left the cabin, Victor, now alone with the buccaneer, for the surgeon had left with his bandages, filled a goblet with wine, and raising the head of his. master, placed the goblet to his lips. Mme latter drank, and with a better color on his cheeks sank back upon the couch. ‘Twas touch and go with me,’ he said, thoughtfully. “J was double-banked with Death, and now I owe my life to thee! Victor—do me this one favor!” “Name it, senor, and count it as done.” “Tam at times, a demon, with a temper which I cannot master. Then everything is mist before my eyes, a mist of blood, and I would slay my dearest friend were that friend standing in my way, Iask thee, when my evil mood comes on, to hide away from my mad presence. It willnot last long, and I would sooner die than harm thee now.’! “TY do not fear that thy hand would ever harm me, even in thine angriest mood, senor,”’ said the boy, in his low, sweet yoice. ‘I-ave nothing to live for, let come what may, I shall bow to fate!’ . “So young and yet so sad? history.’? “No—no, senor, Ask me nothing of the past!’ cried the youth, with a yehemence so strange, that it startled the pirate, and he tried to raise his head. “Pardon, senor—pardon my excitement, dark memory to me—I would forget it!’? “T would not recall it then. But when thine eyes flashed just now, it seemed as if some old memory came back to me. Thou must resemble some one whom I have met, or known in other days! Ah, the doctor here again?” “Ay, captain, to tell thee that if thou art not quiet, in- flammation will set in and all my skill will fail to put you on an even keel again. Thou must be quiet, or it will be worse for thee.’’ “Itis well, doctor, to say be quiet to one of my mold. But thou knowest that I chafe as much in bed as I would in chains.” “True, but chafing wears on thee as if would upon our good hull welg it tochafe against a rocky shore. Shall I give thee a soporific draught?” “No—there isnoneed. [{f will be quiet. Victor shal nurse me, and lull me to slumber by the gentle sound o music. For he hath a wondrous skill with harp and guitar too.’ “The boy is a treasure, doubtless,’’ said the surgeon, his lip slightly curling in irony. “We are inside the harbor, sir—shall we drop an anchor, or run into our concealment in the creek ?’? said Gaspar, entering the cabin at that instant, “Run within the creek, Gaspar. Should that stranger have escaped wreck, and linger yet in these waters, I would see him ere he sees us. Runin, and bid the men be careful in regard to noise andsmoke. Forbidthe firing of guns and pistols for the present, till we know in truth whether the brigantine be wrecked or no.” “Ay, ay, sir!” The doctor now retired in company with Gaspar, and again Victor was alone with the wounded buccaneer. “Thou art stronger, now!” said the boy. Some day I will learn thy The past is a But rest willdo yet more. I willtry to sleep, boy. Draw the curtains close, then go to the alcove and play some soit, dreamy air to lull my senses. It is weak and womanish, I know, but half my manhood ran from my opened veins!’ The Jad made no reply, but drew the curtains close around the pirate’s bed, then went to the place where the harp was standing and, sitting on the velvet ottoman be- fore it, swept the chords with a skillful hand till the air was full of music. CHAPTER Vil. The long-boat was soon out, and in it a tent, carpets, and various other articles which had been used before, when in their voyage they had camped on shore, were put, so that a resting place for the fair passengers might at once be prepared when they reached the shore. Then, with the boat’s crew seated on their rowing thwarts, young Sedley waited in the stern of the boat to receive the ladies, as Lord Radcliffe handed them over the de. When all were safely seated in the boat, the nobleman id: — “To the shore now, and enjoy yourselves among the trees and flowers. On this smallisland there is no dan- ger of finding ferocious beasts or poisonous reptiles. I Will attend to duty here, fora time, and pay you a visit when I see the tent is pitched and your luncheon all in readiness!” j The boat was shoved off. and afew strokes of the oars sent its bow high on the gently shelving beach. The ladies were led to thie land by Sedley, and soon, while the crew. under his orders, were erecting the tent, the ladies scattered hither and thither to pick up bright- hued shells or gather flowers, One only remained near where he stood to overlook the work, and that was Lady Mary. With a yearning look of interest she fixed her eyes upon his stately form and. no- ble face, and all unconscious that she spoke her thoughts aloud, she murmured: ‘“Woble, not by accident of birth; rich, not in lands or gold, but in courage more than knightly, honor all untar- nished, I love him as I think woman never loved before. I saw my brother frown to-day when, forgetting all) but that through Ain. we were saved, I pressed his noble form unto my grateful breast. He loves me—he dares not speak his love—he feels that my rank and his are barriers not to be overleaped. Love knows no rank—at least such loye as mine. Why should it, when God in His high bounty bestows on that young man the stamp of all that is noble to the eye and appreciating sense. No noble in allproud England’s realm hath a more kingly form, a clearer brow, a prouder eye. I love him, Heaven, how I love him!" Her sigh aroused the attention of the young officer, for his duty caused him to move close to where she was Standing, as he pointed his men where to place the tent poles. He turned and saw the rapt gaze of tenderness. which she was bending’ on him; saw it and blushed as if he had been a woman, surprised instead of surprising. “This is almost a Paradise of beauty, is it not. Lady Mary?” he said, moving his hand toward the beautiful hills, ‘All here is calm loveliness, while we canhear the raging ofthe storm outside the island.” “Tt is indeed a lovely spot,’ she answered. think we will remain here long?’ “¥ do not know, kind lady. We will have to rig ajury- mast, and refit rigging and spars before. we can trust our- selves at sea again. We could not find a better harbor it Seems to me—so still, so safe, so well-concealed.”’ “Think you that the pirate has found a harbor?” “Most likely. I will go to the top of the cliff above and see, for it is well for us to know where she is, if she hath harbored near.” “Permit me to go up also ?’! “The way will be difficult for thee, fair lady. The rocks are stecp and the thickets dense,’’ was his reply. “Nevertheless, thou wilt not be so ungallant as to say me nay, or to refuse thy helping hand if [ bein danger of a fall.” ““Assuredly not, noble lady, though I would save thee both fatigue and-trouble. Ican quickly scale the hill, for Iam used to climbing.’! ‘And I as well, on my father’s land in Cornwall’s mighty hills, there was ne’er @ country lass who could run as wildly throuzh the forest or climb the rocks more deftly than did J, a happy girl., I have not forgotten how to come and goamid sach rude acclivities. Let us hasten, s0 as to return to lun@h.”. And the lady, in her snowy robes of muslin, gathered “Do you LB AGE skirts, and started up the hill side with a cheery augh. The young officer stood an instant to sigh his admira- tion, as his eyes rested on her lovely form, then he hasten- ed after her. Laughing, she kept ‘on, so sure of foot, and so swift withal, that it taxed his strength and speed to overtake her, nor did she require his aid, for she was at the very peak, standing on a single rock, with the wild wind blow- ing her golden hair out in glittering streamers on its breath, when he reached her side. “Do you ‘see the vessel?” he asked, ashe reached the pot. ‘Not now,” she replied. “It hath this instant vanished out of sight, behind the line of trees which margin yonder ae oder a single sailit was moving in when 1 reached here. * *So near? Oh, for the sake of all most dear to you, Lady Mary, come down from there. The vessel nota league away, and you in that white dress between it and the back-ground of a black and stormy sky. Why did I forget all prudence and let you come up here ?”? “What so alarms thee, bravest of the brave? Thou didst not so pale before the pirates!*? ‘Lady Mary, were you seen from the deck of that vessel where you are standing now, I fear that they would toosoon be here to seek revenge, if nothing more. There may be more vessels like that which we have beaten off, more men to aid them in their fiendish work. Oh, pray, come down!” “I will, brave friend, for now I understand the cause of thy alarm. I did not think of it before. Thope I have not been seen. If Ihave, they could have had but an in- stant glance, and could not have distinguished me from a white-winged bird!” __ Even while she spoke the lady left the lofty perch and descended to his side, while he with a searching, anxious eye, scanned the distant shore to see if there were men or vessels to be seen. “‘T see nothing,’? he said, in answer to her look of in- quiry; “but a hundred sail might be hidden within the sound of cannon-shot and I not see them. Ah, there is trouble on board the brigantine, I fear. The men are working at the pumps and the vessel seems strangely down in the water by the head. I mus sten down!?? ‘Ay, do, nor wait for me—the vessel st have sprung a leak!” cried lady, and she followed him as he hur- ried from the spot, for she saw the long boat with only its crew on board pushing from the land recalled by signal to the brigantine. CHAPTER VIII. The Serpent of the Seas, under her jib alone, glided into as lovely a bay as dents the southern side of Cuba, and there are a hundred there as beautiful as a poet’s dream, and when inside, out of the Strength of the gale, moved on in stately beauty over the smooth water, while Gaspar made the report: already chronicled by usin our sixth chapter. ; When he came out, he gave this brief order to the helms- man: “Steer for the creek! It is the captain’s will!” “Good news. We'll have a jolly time with our pets on shore. I feared he’d put to sea again as soon as the gale lessened,’’ said Andreo, Gaspar made no answer, but taking the spy-gilass in his hand looked back as if to discoverif there was a sign to oe — of the craft which had so roughly handled them at day. He swept over the yet raging water, then his eyerested on the island spoken of by him as Magnolia Key. Only a moment, and his glass was moving on to starboard, when a flutter of white, a speck like a bird, caused him to stay its course. Not only that, but to. fix his glass steadily on one point, until the vessel sweeping on was hidden among trees, which also shut off his view. sg His flushed face told Andreo of some new excitement, but the latter did not know its cause. ‘Sawest thou anything on the sea, Gaspar?’ he asked. “Ts there a sail in sight?” “JT saw nothing on the sea—there is no sail in sight!’ was his reply, as his face resumed its wonted color, while the sloop swept on a little way, and then was brought to, close against a grassy bank, and moored in front of a lovely little savannah, where there were houses thatched with palmetto, and in front of them women and children were seen standing, while herds of cattle fed on the hill side, and groves of oranges and fields of plaintain and banana were seen on one side and the other, , Andreo did not wait to see the vessel moored, but went at once on shore, while Gaspar gave the necessary orders and then walked the deck to and fro, with his head bent down thoughtfully. : ‘ i He, too, spoke his thoughts in alow, muttering tone to himself, as men often do, when communing with their own souls. “Shall l teil kim that they are there?’ thus Gaspar spoke in his soliloquy. ‘That the woman whom he term- ed an angel is but a league away and safe from the storm??? : ; Undecided, the Italian walked to and fro, perh with wicked life better nature struggling with the evil of h for mastery. “Tf he knew she was there,we would most likely, weak- handed as we are, besent to capture her and those who have found harbor from the storm, as they must haye done, or she would not be alive. And for what good, the trouble and the risk! I will not tell him what I have seen!” “The captain would see Senor Gaspar. ee is 1] a ti) and bade me cal from the cabin, a He cannot rest. “Women who spared from deat “Spared from ble than death, 4 Victor, as he foli The Italian re when he came ou crew yet lingering ; s 0 eme had gone on shore., ‘“‘Get the barge ready, and ten of you with arms be ready to go with me. “Whither away, Senor Gaspar?” cried one who turned to obey. : “No matter where—those who go with me will soon learn!’ said the officer sternly. “I will be one of your crew, Senor Gaspar!”’ It was the boy, Victor who said this, coming from the cabin at the moment. “Ts it the wish of the captain that you go?’ The color rose in Victor’s cheek and his eye fell, “Did he bid thee offer thy services??? again asked the lieutenant. ‘‘T will not lie,‘’ said Victor, “He didnot. Contented with what he learned from thee, senor, he has fallen into a sudden slumber. He is breathing softly now. He will not wake before we return—please to let me go!" “Not without iis orders willl expose theeto danger, lad. Imight getabulet for my reward. I know him better than thou!’ “Tt doubt it!) said the. boy, with a singular look—‘‘T doubt it—and, Senor Gaspar, I insist that I be of thy com- pany in this expedition!’’ *‘And I say that unless ie says thon shalt go, thou shalt not enter the boat!”? : “Look! here isa diamond ring which was not.seen whenI became acaptive. It isarare and costly gem. Wouldst thou not like to own it, Gaspar?"’ The eyes of the Italian flashed as he looked upon the brilliant jewel, but there was a sound ofoars coming up the creek heard at that instant, and before he could make reply, a large boat, full of fierce, swarthy, savage-looking men, came swiftly up the narrow lagoon. “That devil, PEDRO PoOLIAS, here? What can he want of us?” cried Gaspar, ashe recognized a gigantic Span- iard who rose in the stern sheets of the approaching boat. (To be continued.) ; HISTORICAL ITEMS. THR Kremlin is “the heart” and sacred place of Moscow, once the old rortress of the Tartars, and now the center of the modern city. It is nearly triangular in form, in by a high brick wall, painted white, and nearly two miles in extent, and is in it- self acity. It has five gates, at four of which there are high watch-towers. The fifth is “our Saviour’s,’’.or the Holy Ga through whose awe-commanding portals no male, not even the Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russians, can pass except with uncovered heads and bended body. In England the Queen’s alms, or Maundy money, amounting to about £2,000 a-year, is distributed by the Bishop of Oxford as Lord High Almoner, and applications for grants from it must be madetohim. It is called Maundy money from being doled out on Maundy Thursday—in Latin Dies Mandati—which is the next Thursday before Easter, and so-called from our Saviour’s charge to his disciples of celebrating his supper. JOE MILLER, whose jests are proverbs wherever the English lan- e is spoken, died at the age of 54, in the year 1738, and was uried in the old cemete! pr to St. Clement Danes, in Portugal street, Lincoln’s Inn Fiel n agrave, the headstone of which was during many summers, until recently, regularly em- bowered and concealed by sunflowers. Citres of Refuge were places appointed by the Mosaic code of laws, for the security of persons who had been guilty of accidental or justifiable homicide, and were exposed to the revenge of pri- yate individuals, The right of sanctuary extended to one thous- and yards around the city, and wasavailable during the life of the high priest, in whose time the act was committed. THE taste for flowers came, it is said, from Persia to Constanti- nople, and was aan; thence to Europe for the first time in the 16th century. From the reign of Henry VII.-to that of Eliza- beth, the present common flowers were, for the most part, intro- duced into England, The art of preserving Rowers in sand was discovered in 1633. THE fundamental portions of the great charter of English lNb- erty, called “Magna Charta,’’ was signed by King John, at Run- nymede, near Windsor; it was many times: confirmed, and as fre- quently violated, by Henry III, This last king’s grand charter was granted in 1224, and was assured by Edward I. VeErY ancient fresco paintings exist in Egypt and Italy, and modern ones in the British Houses of Parliament, at Berlin, and other places. The fresco paintings by Giotto and others, at the Campo Santo, acemetery at Pisa, executed in the thirteenth century, are justly celebrated. Farrs and Wakes are of Saxon origin, and were instituted in Enzland by Alfred; they were called wakes from the people making merry during the vigil or eve. Fairs were established in France about the year 800, by Charlemagne, and encouraged in England in 1071, by William the Conqueror. A DIS®AF¥ is the staff. to which hemp, flax, wooi, or other sub- stanees to be spun are fastened. The art of spinning with it, at the small wheel, was first taught to English women by Anthony Bonavisa, an Italian. The distaff is used as an emblem of the fe- male sex. PRISCILLA BIGGADIKE was hanged at Lincoln, England, on the 28th ot December, 1868. She was the first woman executed pri- vately. ; Epwarp Youne, D. C. L., author of the “Night Thoughts,” was born in 1684, and died in 1765. WANDsSworTtH Meeting House was the first place of worship tor Dissenters in England. Jt was opened in-i572. 2—~ Ban 2 DEREAVED. BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD. Ah, had she known that Fate held in its quiver A swift, envenomed dart, A soul from Love’s sweet bondage to deliver, And paralyze her heart. Tiow had she shrunk to see the grass upspringing, To feel the Spring's warm breath, And know that they unto her house were bringing The messenger of death! TI hear the voice of Rachel loudly erying, Tn accents fierce and wild, “O God, grant this, though al) things else denying, O give me back my child? The house is lonely since my boy departed; ” The days are dark and crear; And to the desolate and broken-hearted, No gleams of Jight appear.” T hear a yoice speak to her out of Heaven, And say ‘Why thus rebel ? The child was only lent thee,—twas not given, And surely Jt is well ! When other mothers, with their fond Garessings, Renew thy grief and pain, Think that thy child is sharing richer blessings, Which they may ne’er obtain. Thy angel ones their ministrations giving, Requite the earthly loss; And mothers of the children who are living, May bear the heavier cross!” The Lone Ranche. A TALE OF THE STAKED PLAIN. By Captain Mayne Reid. {The Lone Ranche,” was commenced in No, 42. Back num- bers ¢an be obtained of any News Agent in the United States.] CHAPTER XXXIII.—(Continued.) ‘Senorita,’ he said, despite all that had passed, ad- dressing her with distant respect, “your brother has told me as wish to speak with me.” “I do, Don Francisco,” she replied, without quail in her look, or quiver in her voice. Ajudge upon his bench could not have looked more unmovedly on the culprit be- fore him. In returning her glance Hamersley felt as if his case was hopeless. The thought of proposing at once passed from his mind. He simply said: “May I ask, senorita, what it is you wish to speak to me about?’’ “About your going back to the Rio Del Norte. My brother teils me such is your intention. I wish you not to go, Don Francisco. There is danger in your doing it.’ “Tt is my duty.”’ “In what way? Explain yourself.’ “My men have beenslain—murdered, I may say. Thir- teen of them in all, comrades and followers. I have reason to believe that by going to Albuquerque I can find these assassins, or at all events their chief, and, perhaps, bring him to justice. Iimtend trying if it cost me my life.” ‘Do you refiect, Don Francisco, what your life is worth?’ “To me not much.” ; “It may be to others. You have at homea mother, bro- thers, sisters—perhaps one still dearer ?’? ‘“‘No—not at home.” “Elsewhere then??? Hamersley was silent under this searching inquisition, ‘Do you not think that danger to your life would be un- happiness to hers; your death her misery ?”’ ‘My disgrace should be more so; as it would to myself. Senorita, it is not vengeance I feel toward those who haye murdered my comrades; only a desire to bring them to justice. I must do it, or.else proclaim myself a poltroon, —a coward—with a self-accusation that would give me a life-long remorse. No, senorita, itis kind of you to take an interest inmy safety. I already owe you for my life, but I cannot permit even vou to save it again at the sacri- fice of honor, of duty, of humanity.”’ There was just a sprinkling of pique in this speech—the slightest touch of bravado. Hamersley fancied himself nein coldly judged and counselled with indifference. Had he knew the warm wild emotion that was Fg te in the heart of her who conversed with him, he woul have made answer in a different style. Soon after he was speaking in an altered tone, and with a changed understanding; and so was she hitherto so dif- ficult of comprehension. “Go!’) she said; ‘‘go and get justice for your fallen com- rades—and if you can, punishment for their assassins. But remember, Don Francisco, if it bring death to you, there is one who will not care to live after you!” “Who? cried the Kentuckian, springing forward with heart and eyes aflame. ‘Who?’ . He scarce needed to ask the question. .It was already answered by the emphasis on the last words spoken. But it was again answered in a more tranquil tone; the ovig dark lashes of the speaker yailing her eyes with mod- est resignation, as she pronounced her own name: . #Adela Miranda.” 5 From poverty to riches—from ,the dungeon to bright laylight—from the agonized struggle of drowning to that onfident feeling when the feet stand firm upon the shore— are all sensations of happiness. They are but dullin com- parison with the delirious joy which is the lot of the de- spairing lover, on finding that his despair has been but a fancy, and his passion is reciprocated. Such an experience had Frank Hamersley, as he heard the name pronounced. It was like amystic speech, open- ing to him the portals of Heaven. CHAPTER XXXIV. : RETURNING FROM A RAID. An Indian encampment. Itis upon a creek called Pe- can, aconfiuent’of the Little Witchita river, heading about a hundred miles from the eastern edge of the Staked Plain. There are no tents in the encampment—not even a tent pole. Only here and there a buffalo-robe extended hori- zontally upon upright sticks, branches that have been cut from the pecan. These and the umbrageous canopy of the trees protect the encamped warriors from the fer- vid rays of a noonday sun, striking vertically down. That they are warriors is evidenced by the absence of tents. A peaceful party on its ordinary passage across the prairies would have its lodges along with it—grand conical structures of dressed buffalo skins—with the squaws that set them up, and the dogs or ponies that transported them scattered around. In this encampment on the Pecan are neither squaws, dogs nor ponies. Only men, naked to the waist, their bodies above painted, chequered like parchments, or the tight-fitting jackets of the stage-harlequin, some showing devices fantastic, even ludicrous, others of an aspect ter- rible, as the death’s head and crossbones. An old prairie-man, on seeing them, would have at once said: ‘‘Injuns on the war-trail.”’ It did not need ‘this sort of experience to tell they were returning fromit.. If there were no ponies or dogs around the encampment, there were other animals in abundance; horses, mules and horned cattle. Horses and mules of American breed, and cattle whose ancestral stock had come from Tennessee or Kentucky, along with the early colonists of Texas. Andif there were no squaws or papooses, there were women and children—both white. A group of these could be seen near the center of the encampment. It did not need their disheveled hair to show they were captives. Nor yet the half-dozen savages, spear-armed, standing sentry over them. Their drooping heads and despairing faces were evidence sufficient of the sad situation. What were these captives, and who were their captors? Two questions easily answered. Ina general way the picture explained itself. The first were the wives and children—with sisters and grown-up daughters among them—of Texan colonists, from a settlement near the frontier—too near to protect itself from an Indian maraud. {t was one, pressed forward into the fertile tract of land lying among the Cross Timbers. And the marauders were a party of Comanches, with whom the reader has made some acquaintance, for they were no other than the band of the Horned Lizard. The time is about six weeks subsequent to that tragical scene of the caravan capture already described, and judg- ing from the spectacle now before us, we may conclude that the Comanche chief has not spent the interval in idle- ness. At least two hundred miles lie between the north- ern part of the Staked Plain, where the caravan was de- stroyed, and the Cross Timbers. Yet twenty more to the scene of the despoiled settlement, whose spoils in horses, horned cattle, mules and captives, now make such an im- posing appearance in the Indian camp. Such quick work requires some explanation. Itisa double stroke, at variance with the customs and inclina- tion of the prairie free-booter, who having acquired a booty, rarely attempt any other effort, till its proceeds are all squandered. Heislike the anaconda, that having gorged itself lies torpid, till the cravings of a new hunger once more arouse it to activity. This would have been the case with the Horned Lizard and his band but for a circumstance of a somewhat un- usual kind. The attack on the merchant caravan was not planned by himself, but a scheme of his secret ally—the military commandant of Albuquerque. Thesummons had come to him unexpected; and after he had planned his descent on the Texan settlement. But sanguinary as that act was, it had been brief, and left him time to carry out his original design, that had proved almost as tragical in its execution. Here and there a spear standing up, with a tuftof light-colored hair, blood-clotted, upon its blade, was evidence of this—quite as successful too. The grand drove of horses, mules and cattle—to say nothing of that group of wan, woe-struck captives—proved the spoil worth as much, or more, as that taken from the traders’ wagons. The Horned Lizard was jubilant, along with every war- rior of his band. In loss their late-made spoil had cost them little—only one or two of their number killed by the settlers in defehding themselves. It made up for their THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. @3e=- = ae — | Severe sacrifice sustained in their attack upon the cara- | van. Ifthe number of their tribe was reduced, there were now the fewer to share with; and what with the cotton goods of Lowell, the gaudy prints ef Manchester, the stripes, Stroudings and scarlet cloths to bedeck and array them, the hand-mirrors in which to admire themselves, the horses to ride upon, the mules to carry their tents, and the cattle to eat, the white women to be their concu- bines, and the children their attendants—all these were fine prospects for a savage—sufficient to make him jubi- lant—almost delirious with joy. Anew era had dawned upon the tribe Of which the Horned Lizard was chief! Hitherto it had been a some- what starving community, its range lying amid sterile tracts, on the upper tributaries of the Red River ana Canadian. Now before it was a time of feasting and lux- ury, Such as rarely occurs to a robber band, whether amid the forest-clad mountains of Italy, or on the trecless prai- ries of America. The Comanche chief was joyous and triumphant. So also his second in command, whose skin, with the paint cleaned from it, would have shown him nearly white. He was in truth a Mexican—in early life taken captive by the Comanches, and long since made familiar with tle myste- ries of the tribe—now one of its warriors, cunning and cruel as the Horned Lizard himself. It was he who had first put the Comanche chief in communication with the ruffian, Uraga. Asthe two stood together contemplating the group of captives, especially scanning the features. of the younger Women, the sensuous expression on their features was hideous to behold. it would have been a painful sight for father, brother, or husband, a And there were fathers, brothers, and husbands near— almost within sight. Aneye elevated six hundred feet above the plain would have seen them—that of the soar- ing eagle. here were birds above—not eagles, but vultures; for the foul buzzard frequently follows the red-skin in his maraud. Their instinct ,tells them that his path wi stained with blood and strewed vert arcasses, | ere was a flock of these birds hovering in the heavens above. “Fy _These same birds might have seen a similar sigh attention of the Indians... Now and then between the tio” carrying a dispatch. The vultures of the second flock were also hovering above an encampment. But very different was the ap- pearance of the personages composing it. They were al} men—not a woman or child among them—bearded men, with white skins, and wearing the garb of civiliza- tion. Not of the most select kind or cut, nor all in the ex- act dress of civilized life; for among them were many whose buckskin hunting-shirts, fringed leggings, ana moccasined feet showed equally the costume of the savage. Beside these there were men_ in blanket-coats of red, green, and blue—all sweat-stained and dust-tarnished, till the colors nearly corresponded. Others in frocks of blue-gray Kentucky jeans, or the good old copper-colored homespun, Still others in. the sky-blue cottonades, pro- duct of the hand-mills of Attakafras, Boots and brogans of all kinds of leather, stained and unstained—even that tanned from the skin of the alligator, Hats of every shape, fashion, size, and material—straw, chip, Panama, wool, felt, and eyen the silk belltopper (bad imitation of beaver), of all looking worst for wear. In one thing these perscnages were nearly all alike— their arms and equipment. All were belted, pouched, and powder-horned; a bowie-knife, with a revolving pis- tol in the belt—some with two—and each carrying a rifie in his hand. Besides this uniformity, there were still other resem- blances—at least amonga portion ofthem. It was no- ticeable. in their rifles, which were yagers of the army- branded pattern; still more apparent inthe caparison of their horses, that carried cavalry saddles, their peaks ana cantles mounted with brass. Among these there was a sort of uncouth, half-military discipline, indicated by some Slight deference shown to two or three of them, who ap- peared to be officers, They were, in fact, a troop, or, as among _ themselves styled, a company of ‘Texas Ran- gers.’ Not all in the encampment were of this organization— only about half. The other half were the fathers, broth- ers, and husbands, whom the Horned Lizard and his me had despoiled of their daughters, sisters, and wives. Like or unlike to one another, they were still more un- like to the crowd composing the encampment of the say- ages. The buzzards above seemed conscious of the dis- tinction, and perhaps also understood its er eee t before— almost certain had they—and could tell what was likely to follow from such a close proximity of adyerse colors and antagonistic forms: There may have been an electricity in the air, telling the birds of what was to come—in the Same way as they are forewarned of a storm, CHAPTER XXXYV. A COUP. I have spoken ofthe party of Texans as forming an en- campment. This isnot correct. They were only bivou- acked. . Not even a stoppage so ceremonial as this. They were but halted to breathe and water their horses, snatch- ing meanwhile a scrap from their haversacks. This last not leisurely. There were men among them that coule not brook delay—men with hearts to whom every hour seemed a day, every lost minute torture. These were they whose homes had been rendered desolate. Their associates, the rangers, were almost equally im- patient at detention. They had now struck the trail of their life-long enemies, and not only the younger, but the oldest of them—like old hounds upon a deer-track—were to be held. back by no leash until they had buried their bowies in blood. They knew whom they were in pursuit of—the Horned Lizard and his band. |Many of the rangers had an old score to settle with the Tenawa chief—a balance of bloody Sere » They were in hopes that the time was at and. iste: of “They can’t be jar off now, cap’n,”’ said a thin little ola man, completely clothed in buckskin, without tag or or- nament, and who looked as ifhe had seen at least half a century upon the plains. ‘I kin tell by the sign thet they passed this hyar pint jest a hour arter sun-up.”’ “You are sure of that, Cully?’ asked the individual spoken to, who was the captain of the rangers. “Sure asef I'd been hyar an’seed’em. This hottish ore oO’ sun air boun’ to bring ’em to a_ halt, specially as hey’re cummered wi’ the stock an’ Keptyves; an’ I reck’n I kin tell the ‘dzact spot whar they’ll make stop.’ “Where ?? ‘‘Pee-cawn crik. Thar they'll git sweet wateran’ shade. Sartint they’llstop thar, an’ maybe stay a spell. The skunks won’t hev neery idee thet we’re arter them so fur from the settlements.’? i “If they’re up on the Pecan,’ interrupted a third speak- er, a tall, lathy individual in a blue blanket coat, badly faded, ‘‘and anywhere near its mouth, we can’t be more than five miles from them. I Know this part of the conn- try well. I passed through it along with the Santa Fe expedition.” . “Only five miles!’ exclaimed anotherman, whose dress. bespoke the planter of respectability, while his sad. coun- tenance proclaimed him to be one of the bereaved. ‘Oh, gentlemen! Ourhorses are now rested. .Why not ride forward and attack them at once?” “We'd be durned foolish to do so,” replied the ola man in buckskin, ‘‘Thet, Mr. Wilton, °ud be jess the way to defeat all our plans an’ purpusses. “They’d see us long afore we ked git sight o’ them, time en to toat of the hosses an’ cattle—leaswise the weemen.’? “What's your way, Cully /’’ asked one of the rangers. “Wait till the sun go down. Then ’proach*em. Thar boun’ to hev fires, an’ they’ll guide us right into thar camp. Efitairin Pee-cawn bottom, as ’m_ sartint it air.: ave kin surround ’em eezy. Thar’s bluffs aboth sides, an’ we kin divide inter two lots, one stealin’ roun’ an’ comin’ from up the crik, whiles the tother *tacks ’em from below. Thet way we’ll make sure o’ keepin’ ’em from runnin’ off the weemen; besides it air the more likelier chance to count sculps.”’ “What> dooyou say, boys? interrogated the « r- captain, addressing himself more especially to the men composing his band. f ‘‘Cully’s right,’? was the response, spoken by a majority of voices. “Then we must stay here till night. If we go forward now, they may see us before we get within shooting dis- tances. Do you ‘think, Cully, you can take up the trail at night, supposing itto be a dark one?’ *‘Pish!’ retorted the guide, for Cufly was acting in that capacity; ‘‘take upthe traill Yis; on the blackest night as iver shet down over & parairas Durn me, I ked smell it! There wasno further discussion. Cully’s opinion was all-powerful and determined their course of action. The halt, at firstintended only tobe temporary, was continued till the going down of the sun, despite ex postu- lations and almost prayerful entreaties on a part of seme of the men—the settlers who had left their desolated homes behind them, and who were burning with impatience once more to embrace the dear ones whose absence ren- dered tpem desolate. Before another sun went down—even before it had fairly risen—they were one and all blessing the guide who had given the counsel contradictory to theirown. It was as Cully had predicted. The Indian despoilers had made halt on Pecan creek, and no longer fearing pursuit, tarried all night in their encampment. They had kindled large fires, and roasting upon them the fattest of the captured kine, spent.the fore part of the night in a grand feast. Engrossed with their joys, they had neglected guard; and in the midst of their savage festivities they were suddenly set upon from alk sides; the sharp cracking of the rifle, and the quick deto- nation of the revolver silencing their savage longeer‘and scattering them like chaff. ’ After the first fusilade there was but little left of them. Those who were not instantly shot down, escaped in the darkness, skulking off among the pecan trees. It was al- together an affair of firearms, and for once the bowie, the Texan's trusted weapon, had-no part in the fray. The first rays of the sun shed their light upon a strange scene—a tabieau sanguinary, and yet not altogether sad. On the contrary it disclosed a sight that, but for the rea surroundings, might have seemed all of gladness. Fathers half frantic with joy embracing children they had never never expected to see again; brothers clasping the hands of sisters supposed lost to them forever; hus- bands, late broken-hearied, once more made happy by the restoration of their wives. This was the pleasant side of the picture. Close by was presented that of less cheerful aspect. Corpses strewed over the ground, still bleeding, scarce yet stark or still. All of coppery complexion—all Indians. Among them, recognized by Cully and others of the rangers—his ancient enemies—the body of the Horned Lizard. Only one eap- a ai NN RE WT EE Also another flock not far off, though too far to attract the a straggler might have been seen passing, as if a courier — eae ee Ae A I ORTON mean OT Te Ra HS ws pe 5 sachet aunt erate te cence cern tment eet en nth oo pees rtice~enpeeericgnncesibnciipntememnaeii teen nr See ecteanpinrtormsenidieenceit nnn cee tn Sn a a ee wwent back to the tive was taken alive; and he, because having a white skin, had done what was disdained by his red-skinned asso ciates—begged for his life. ‘ A tableau at once terrible and pleasing—a contrast of passions and emotions suchas may only be encountered on the far frontier of Texas. CHAPTER XXXVIL THE FORCED CONFESSION, | On counting the corpses of their slain enemies, the Tex- ans found that at least one-half of the) Tenawa band:had fallen, including its chief. They could make an approx imate estimate of the number that:had been, opposed to them by the signs scattered around the camp,.as also by the trail they had been forseveral days following: , who escaped: had got off;:isome on their horses, hastily caught and mounted; others afoot, by taking to the tim- ber. ‘Chey were not pursued, as it‘ was ‘still dark night when the action ended, and by daylight these wild cen- taurs, Well-acquainted with the country, would be scat- tered beyond all chance of being overtaken. ‘ The settlers owere .Satisfiedat having’ recovered their Telatives, as well as their stolen stock; ,and for the rani gersienough had been accomplished :te slake their venge+ ful thirst—at least, for the‘time. ; ~’These last had not come off unscathed, for the Co- manches, well-armed with guns, bows and lances, had not died unresistingly. In Texas Indians rarely do,,;and never when they know that itis a fight with rangers. Between them and these frontier guerrillas, im one sense as much savages as themselves, it is an understood thing: warto the bitter end, and no quarter: either, asked or granted, E The Texan loss was three of their: number killed and about twice asmany wounded; enongh: considering the advantage they had had im this unwarned attack upon an enemy for once unwatehful. When the conflict was ended, and sun had made man- ifest the result, the victors took possession of the spoils— most being their own property. The cattle and horses that had strayed orstampeded during the fight, were again collected into a drove, those of the Indians being united to it... This done, only a short stay was intended— just long: enough to bury tle: bodies of the three rangers who liad been killed, get stretchers prepared for such of the wounded as were unableto sitin the saddle, and make their preparations for taking the back-track toward the settlements. They were not hastening their return, throughany ap- prehension of a counter attack on ‘the parbof the Co- manches. Fifty Texas Rangersand.fhere were this num- ber in the party—have no fear on’ any part of; the plains, so long as they. are mounted om good ‘horses, carrying rifles in their hands, bowie-knives and. pistols in their belts, a sufficient supply of powder :in their flasks, and dullets in their pouches. With all these things they) were amply provided,and had there been any, necessity for continuing the pursuit, or the prospect of striking another blow, they would have gone on, even though the chase should conduct them into the defiles of the Rocky Moun- tains. To pursue andslay the savage was their vocation, their duty: But the settlers were-desirous of returning to their homes, that they might relieve the anxiety of other dear ones who there awaited them, Glad’ tidings they could Carry. While the preparations for departure were going on, Cully; who: with several other rangers was collecting the weapons and accoutrements found upon their slain en- emies, gaveutterace to a peculiar cry that brought a crowd of his comrades around him, “A\Vhat is it, Nat?’ inquired the ranger-eaptain. “Look hyer, cap—d’ye see this gun?”’ “Yes; ahunter's rifle. Whose is it?’’ “That's jess the. question; tho’ thar arn’t no queshin naboutit. Boys, do any o’ ye recognize this hyer shootin’- irom?” : One after the other the rangers stepped up and looked at the rifle. . Ido,’ said one. ‘‘And 1,”? added another, and a third and fourth, all inaking the. affirmation in a tone of surprise. “Walt Wilder's gunt” continued Cully; ‘sure an sar- fin. I know it, an’ shed know it. See them two letters on the stock thar, ‘W. W.’, Old Nat Cully. hez good ree- zuns to recognize them, since ’twar Hisself that cut ’em. i did it for Walt two yeers ago, when we war scoutin’ on the Collyrado. It’s his weepun an’ no mistake.” “Where did you get it?’’ inquired the captain. “I’ve jess.tuk it out o’ the. claws 0’ the ugliest Injun as iver: made: trail on a paraira—that beauty thar, whose karkidge the buzzards won't be likely to tech.” As he'spoke, Cully pointed toa corpse. It was that of the Tenawa. chief, Horned Lizard, already recognized among the slain, “He must a heditin his clutch, when sutidently shot down,’ Cully wenton, “An’ whar did he getit? Boys, our ole Kummarade’s wiped out for sartin. I know how Walt loved that thar weepup. He. wouldn’t a parted wi’ if wnless “long wi’ his life.” This was the conviction of several others; who knew WaltWilder.. It was the companyto which he-had for- merly belonged, ; “Thar’s been foul play somewhar,”’ pursued Cully. “Walt ates, to Kaintuck, ef this chile arnt Poistook. But tain’t jiikely lie stayed Unar. ade: kedir't keep long off o’ the purairas, Ltell ye, boys, these hyer In- juts hey been makin’ mischief somewhar. Look thar; 100K at Unar leg@ius. Thar’s no eend o’ white sculps) an’ iresh ums, too.’ The eves of all were turned toward these terrible tro- phies that in gory garniture fringed the buckskin leg-wear of the savages. Cully, with several others who had known Wilder well, proceeded to examine them, in full expecta- tion that they would find among them the skin of their oid comrade’s head. There were seven scalps, allof white men, among many that were Indians, and not a few that exhibited the equal- ly biack, but shorter crop of the Mexican. Those that were indubitably of white. men showed the evidence of laying been recently taken; but none could be identified as that of Walt Wilder, There was some relief in this, for his. old comrades loved Walt, Still there was his. gin, which Cully declared could only be taken from himalong with his life. How hadit come into the hands of the ilorned Lizard? “JT reckon we can settle that,’? said the captain of the Rangers, “The renegade ought to. know something about it.’ This speech referred to the Mexican who had been ta- ken prisoner, and about whose disposal they had already ecoramenced holding council. Some were for shooting him on the spot; others proposed hanging; while, only a tew of the more humane advocated taking hin» on» to! the settlements, and there giving him a trial.. He would have to die anyhow—that was pretty sure; for nob-only as a Mexican was he their enemy, but now doubly so-from be- ing fosnd’ in ‘league with their more savage foemen—the Comanches. ‘ The Wretch was tying on the ground close by, trembling with fedr, in spite of the fastenings in which he was tight- iy held. He knew he was in danger, and had- only sofar escaped from having surrendered to a settler instead of to one of the Rangers. “Let’s gie him a chance o’ his life ef he'll tell all abont it,’’ counselled Cully. ~“‘‘What d’ye say, cap?’ ‘T agree to that,? answered, tie captain. “He don’t appear to be worth shooting; though it may be as weil to take him to. the settlements and shut him up ina prison. The promise of his life may get out of him all he knows. if not, the other: will.: He’s: not. an Indian, and a bit of rope hooked rown@ his’ neck will no doubt loosenjhis tongue, Suppose we try it, boys!’’ The “boys”? were unanimous in their assent, and the renegade wasiat once brought up for examination. -The man inthe green-blanket coat, who, as a Santa Fé expe- ditioner, had spent over twelve months in Mexican pris- ons, Was appointed the examiner. He had been long caough among the Mexicans to learn their language. The renegade was fora time reticent, and his state- ments contradicting. No wonder he hesitated to tell what he knew, so compromising to himself.. But when the lariat was at length noosed around his neck, the loose cha of it thrown oveT the limb of a pecan tree—the other conditions being at the same time made known to him— he saw that things could be no worse; and seeing this, he made confession, full, ifmot free. - Hyerything was disclosed that had occurred—the attack and ecapture of the caravan, the slaughter of the white men who accompanied it, and the retreat of two of them to the cliff, one of whom, by the description, ¢ould be no other than Walt Wilder. When the renegade came to de- scribe the horrible mode in which their old comrade had perished, the Rangers were almost frenzied with rage, and it Was with difficulty some of them could be withheld from forswearing their promise and tearing the wretch to pieces, fe declared, however, he had taken no part. in the cru- el transaction, that none of his acts were voluntary, that although they had found him among the Indians, he was there Only as their prisoner, and that they had forced him along with them, .this was evidently untrue; but faise or true, it had the effect of pacifying hisjudges so thatthe lariat remained loose upon his neck, Farther examination and cross-examination elicited everything except the strange alliance between the Mex- ican military and the despoilers of the caravan. Not thinking of this, how could they, his examiners, put any question about it; and the wretch, therefore, saw no rea- son to declare it. He might have had a hope of one day returning to the Del Norte and holding communication with Colonel Uraga. ‘Boys!’ said the ranger-captain to his meh, a5 soon as the examination was over; “you all loved Walt Wilder— all of you that Knew him yt “We did—we did!" was the response, feelingly Speken. “So did I, Well, he’s dead beyond a doubt. Its more than a month ago, and he couldn’t list that long shntup imacaye. His benes will be with those of the poor fel- low—whoever he was—that wentin along with him. It’s dreadful to think of them tombed in that way. Now, ftom what the Mexican gays, it can’t be 80 very far from here; and as We can make him guide Us to the place, I propose to go there,” get out the bones of our oid com- rade, andgive thei, burial,’ With the Texan Rangers Obedience to duty ig less a thing ofeommand than’ requests and this was a request that received an instantand unanimous assent. “Lob us gol’? was the cry that came from ali sides. “We necdn’t all make this journey,” continued the cap- tain. ‘‘There’s na need for any more than .onr boys, the Rangers, and such of the settiers as may choose to go With us. Therest, who have got to take care of Lhe wo- men, and some for driving the stock, can make their way back to the Cross Timbers at once. Weve left the track pretty clear of Indians, and they will be in no danger.” Without further discussion this arrangement was agreed upen, and the two parties commenced making the prep- ovations suitable to their respective plans Those. | ph ewe In less than two hours after, they “had separated—the Settlers, with their women, children) and cattle, wending their way eastward, «while the? Rangers, guided by the renegade, rode off in the.opposite'directiony CHAPTER XXXVIIn SOLDIERS ON THE MARCH: ‘What do you think they are?” "01 “Ut Sogers, for sartint.; 1. Kin, see the glint o’ ther buttons an’ ’couferments.’’ Mig ' “But what could-soldiers be doing out here? There are no Indiansupon the Staked Plain: such a small troop as that—considering they are Mexicans would not be likely to yenture out after them.’’ J “It mount be only a advance, gurd, an} thar’s a bigger body .o? theny behind. We'll soon. see. . Anyways, we mustn't let ‘em spy us; till we, know. what sort o’ varmints they air. Yis! sogers they be—a,troop o’ Mexikin caval- ry. Thar's nomistakin’. them ragamufiins... They're lan- zeers, too. - [Kin make, Out-thar long spears,stickin’ up over thar heads; an’ the. bits,0). ribbon. streamin’. out bé- hind. Pali yur:mule well, baek among the,bushes.. The direeshun they?re folierin’}might. feteh roe ¢lost te hyar. -Twont do ito, let ’em git sight 0’ us., Mexi they be, thar mout) be danger in.’em, Tall, eevents, it's best to hey the: advantage o’ fust, knowin? wh they. air, an’ what they’re arter.”’ ; @I)} : This brief dialogue oecurred between ,two men, Stand- ing beside two mules, from which they,had just dismount- ed. They'were /rank; Hamersley and Walt, Wilder. The placenvas by the edge of aclumpof stunted ‘‘black- jacks.” | It was about fifteen miles west from the valley of the Lone Ranche, from which they had-ridden. that morn- ings: They were on their way to the setihements of the Rio Del.Norte: for, the:, purpose already declared by the young prairie-merchant, ; a WOK ; The hour;was mid-day; and they, had stopped for their noon-hait, under the shade of the dwarf,but,.ambrageous oaks, where. they were enjoying, the. food their Jate.host had provided for their journey. $68 While thus agreeably engaged, Walt’s eyes, eyer0n the watch, had detected a suspicious sign, that appeared, in-a due westerly direction. . At-first it seemed only a,clond of dust, nob bigger than a; blanket, Gradually; however, it became more, extended, and soared, higher above the plain. ; As the two men stood guessing as toits nature—shading their eyes from the sun overhead—all at once its true character became disclosed to them. A puff of wind coming down from the north, caused the soaring cloud for a moment to sway sideways, showing underneath a body of mounted men. It was then that - Walt Wilder saw the “lint”? of accoutrements, that led him to pronounce it a party of ‘‘sogers.” That they were Mexican soldiers, was easily detected. There could be no others in that part of the country. It is true, a band of Texan cavalry had once crossed. the plains, ata point not very distant from where they were —the ill-starred ‘Santa Fe Expedition,’’—though few of these wore anything like a soldier’s uniform—beside, they } did not ¢arry weapons such as Walt nowsaw. The ad- vancing party waS evidently a troop of Mexican lancers, and could be nothing elise. ‘ If there had been any doubt aboutit, it was soon set at rest. As the hunter had observed, they were approaching in a direction to bring¢them close to the clump of oaks; and in less than half-an-hour after, they were nearly 9p- posite it, the dust-cloud still shrouding, and partially con- cealing them from view. : Still there was no difficulty in making out the character of the individual forms composing it, Jt was asmall party of between twenty and thirty filesmarehing in fours. They were regular Mexican lancorsy gariging thelr lances sioped, with the pennons dragging along™ -shafts—for there was not a breath of ait to float them. Their yellow cloaks could be seen, folded and strapped over the croups travelin’. behind them. Their horses were Of the small Mexican mustang kind, but one that headed the troop, ridden by an! er, Was a large animal—_ officer, in all likelihood the deg evidently a horse of American} Upon this horse the eyes of” Wilder secaine fixed, as soon as the animal was near enough to attract special | to observation. A half-surprised, half-interrogative expres- sion passed over his features, as he gazed through the ob- scuring dust. Suddenly it became changed to one of cer- tainty, while @ loud exclamation leaped from his lips: “Great Heayen! Frank, look ; “What is it, Walt?’ ‘Don’t ye see nothin’ ?"’ “Nothing more than what I see—a troop of Mexican lancers, mounted upon mustangs.’? = “Mustangs! That’s no mustang, that ere critter, at the head o’ the line. Amerikin hoss he is—yur hoss, Prank Hamersley!"! It-was Hamersley’s turn to be astonished. Sure enough, }. the horse ridden at the head of the troop, was the same he had been compel on at the base of the cliff, in their escape from Dg sav. A flood of light flashed inte the m crouching within the shadow of the bl once they recalled the suspicious circumstance, 2 and at the same time remembe*sed what tieir late. host had told them in relation to thefrufan Uraga. Was it he whe was leading the troop? Who else could it be? : They could see that the mam who fode thé large horse, was tall and bearded, just as Hamersiey Knew Uraga to be, and Jet like the Indian whom Walt had suspected of being & nterfeit.. Everything seemed to confirm th conjectures they had dwelt upon. And how rushed othe conjectures across the brain of both, with apprehensiots: that were almost agonizing. What was the purpose of this military expedition? Whither was it bound? As they saw it filing before their eyes, these questions were too easily answered. 1: was heading direct for the valley from which they had themselves come; and going as il guided! “Yes,” said Walt, ‘thar goin’ straight for the valley, an’ the Lone Ranche too. Thar‘'s no guess-work in that sort o’ Thar’s a guide along wi’ ’em, an’ thar’s beén a treeter.’? “Who could it be?” ‘Who? Why, who but the Injun Manooel, as went off *bout a week ago, to fetch thar things. Durnashun! yon- ners the skunk hisself.. Don’t you see that thing ridin’ on & male, near the head o’ the Jine?”’ Hamersley looked; and there, sure enough was the figure of @ man on muleback, differently dressed from the troopers. The dress was such as he had seen worn by the domestics of Miranda; aud although the distance was too great for his features to be recognized, the dark complex- ion, with other distinctive points, which the young Ken- tuckian. remembered, leit no doubt of his being the peon Manuel. No farther explanation was needed now. All was too painfully clear. The peon. had turned traitor, and dis- closed the secret of, Colonel Miranda's place of exile. He Was guiding the enemy direct to it. . Nor was there any required to conjecture what would be the result. Don Valerian was in danger not onf¥ of lis liberty, but his life. And along with him, the doctor. Butit was not of either, Frank Hamersley or Walt Wil- der were at that moment thinking. Close conjoined with their fate, was that of others far dearer to them; .and to the fate of these were. their appre- hensions turned, absorbing every thought. Hamersley breathed hard as the dark shadow swept over his soul, and spoke excitedly, though his yoice was husky, like that of a man in the act of being strangied. He gasped out; ‘They're going straight for the Lone Ranche Oh, Heaven!’ “Yes, they’re boun’ for thar,'’ Said Walt, in calmer voice, but speaking in atone equally anxious and dis- ponding. ‘'That’s thar errand out hyurforsartint. Then as polerticul refergees, an’ ef the varmint at thar head be him as l’ye been told about, the Lord have mercy on M’ran- der! Poor young feller, he’m the noblest species 0’ a Mexi- kin Lever see, an deserves a better fate. Hang or shoot him, they'll be sure, Thet’s Amijo'’s way, whensomdever he or Sandy Andy’s in the ’scendant. As for the poor ole doc, he may git off by sarvin a spell in prison, dut the gurls Hamersley’s groan interrupted the speech, his comrade seeing that it pained him. “Wal; we won't speak o? them now. One thing, they aint agoin’ to be rubbed out, like the men, From what the saynerita’s brother sayed, thar’s.a reezun for treetin’ her different; an’ ef thar’s to be no longer a brother:to purtect her, I reck’n she’s got a friend in you, Frank; an’ hyar’s another!’* Walt’s words sounded hopefully, ‘ Hamersiey felt it, but said nothing. His thoughts were too sad vor speech, - He only pressed the hand of his comrade, in a silent grasp.of gratitude, : “Yes,” continued the ex-ranger, with increased rem- phasis; “I'd lay down my life to Save that young lady from, harm, an' [know you’d lay down yourn; an''that ait to say nothin’ o’ Concheeter. As for yur gurl, Frank, I don't wonder your heart beats likea chased: rabbit—for. myen air doin’ the same. Wal, never fear. Ifthar’s) a hair o’ eyther o’ thar heads harmed, you’ll hear the'¢rack 0’ this child’s rifle; an’ see its bullet go into the breast o’ thimas harms ’em. I don’t care who or whathe air, or whar.he be. Nor I don’t carea darn—not the valiey/ 0° a dried buffler-chip—what may come arter; hangin’, garottin,’ or shootin’: Atall risk, them creeturs airboun’ to be pur- tected, or revenged. I swar it by the etarnal!’’ “Tjoin you in the oath!” groaned Hamersley, in in- creased fervor, once more exchanging a hand squeeze with hiscomrade. ‘Yes, Walt, the brave Mtrauda may be sacri- ficed—I fear it will be so—but for his sister, there is still a hope of her being saved} and Surely Heaven wilt help us? If not, shall be ready to die! ‘TO me death would be easier to bear than the loss of Adela!’’ An’ wi? tis child’ the same, for Concheetert’’ / (To be Continued.) oe PLEASANT PARAGRAPHS. THE RUGG DOCUMENTS+No, 59 BY CLARA AUGUSTA, I tried to shake Jonathan off from my skirta bot he hung on like a drownding man. If I) wus to die, I n’t git loose from Adela! im. “Don't be such a consarned coward!"? sea lL to him, “et goof my gound!. Yeu’ll pall my pannyhigher off, and ¢hen I shall be a4 flag as & Bhingte!’ “Drat the paunyhigher! and the panny lower!” ses Jonazhan. “Dov’t you see that so0’s right upon me?’ i pot oa my apes for, singer enuff, latety I can’t seem to see half sa wellas I used to. I bain’totd enuff to lose my eye- fight, so Lixpect that I muat be nigh-sighted. They say that no- dody buf young folks and scholars is_nigh-sighted) Mebby it’s writing so muelr!s what ailsme Miss Lucas, over to the Bridge, wears gold giassea for nigh sight, and she made herselr so by etudying Greek and Latin, and crotchetting piller case edgtny, And El Grimbrid—he’s a widower--onca remarked of ber, that gold glasses was very extinguished lookivg indeed. Beside, if;there were,’ akins though, | e W YORK war reece WEEKLY. asd Ew cae amazement, F seed that.she.was a leantag onto the arm of.aman. He was about, half as big as she is, an@ he had reddish whiskers and hair, and & nose that turned up higher than anything I’d ever seen. Exactly the nose'to take snuff into?! If that man don’t take snuff, ‘he’s dreadfully to blame, for he’s gob the: best’ convéniences for setting up’ in that! bizness of. anybody that I. know of. ; 4 “Mrs, Perkins,’!/sez the widder, as perlite as a baskit of.chips, ‘and you, too, Mr. Jonathan Perkins, come ont from behind your wite’s skirts and .show.yourself. Let me_ introduce you to my wee aes Nehemiah W. Pugmill; of Pugimillsville,‘in this . SY¥our hushand !’)\ sez. 1, ready to. sink with. sucprise to think that she'd actilly got married. ” aa ~ “Your husband!” sez Jonathan, sticking out jest the tip énd of his nose to look atvher. ‘YOu don’t mean'it?” “Yes I do!” sez the widder, triumphantly. ‘Been martied a week.” ( : og ; 5 , “Praise the saints!” ‘sez Jonathan, bouncing onto his feet, and striking into a.dance, like a wild. Injun, ‘Hallelujah! . Hooray! Hooray! Hip! hip! hooray! J congratulate you, Widder—I mean Mrs. Pugspill, I congratulate you! This is the happiest day of my lite!’ I’m charmed to see you both! I’m delighted! ‘P’'m——” - “Youre a fool, Jonathan! /Taint- no sech strange thingy fora person: to git marriedthat fou Need to go into tantrums about it!”? “But for herJ? \sez, he; “‘why,| Jerushy it’s the wonder of the airth, And it’s made.me a freeman! vi “Hail Columby! happy land! {oy Hail ye heroes! Heaven born band?! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause! Lives there a man with soul so dead Who neyer to himself has said— Oh, woodman! spare that tree! Touch not a single)bough! It ne’er, belonged to,thee! Why, should’st thou harm it now~ Shoutitig'the Battle Cry of Freedom! “Oh, Lord! I can’t, ixpress myself!” sez he, sitting down on a box of . cream of tartar that was onloaded there or the platform, and fanning hisself with hishat. ‘ : * "You'd better not ixpress,?-sez I. “Widder, ’m glad you've got matried. Tallers like taseehard endeayors rewarded, and if you hain’t endeavored, than,nobody mever did. I wish you joy.” To all of which, she and» My, Pugspill bowed and sailed away. Jonathan,acted like a crazy eticter, and insisted onto Kissing me full twenty times, rite afor@all them folks, and bent the rim of my bonnit so that it looked like.a patunt rat trap. Imiade outito git away from ‘him, and went and telegraphed to Ellen Sophier and to Arthyr Grey, both oG/em—ixplaining things —and while I was a-doing of it that muddle-headed Jonathan went and grabbed Salomy Huchins round the neck, and kissed her, and jest as he did'so, along come old Huchins, her husband, whiclris a dreadful jeHus man, and goes with a cane, and he laid .that-right over Jonathan's head as hard as he could whack. Jonathan clinched him, and down they both come onto a settee that was all squelched to pieces by their weight, and there they was arolling over and over and fying their best to dig one or tother’s eyes out, = ; s The depot man he grabbed a fishing-pole that somebody had sot up aginst the wall, and hit °em a sw’pe, and land o liberty! the fish-hook flopped Out and hooked Capen Peck right in the nose! Such a yell as he sot up! ~~ Es . Duston had to be sent fot2 cut the hook out. It wasa lece of bi d ee yuite a piece of his nose, but tejus pi of ss, and Peck i I don’t nov pf apy’ pe yas could better afford it. He’s got enuff left mow to nose twoamen handsomely! Middling sized men { mean. Fears. gee ‘As soon as f seed how. ras, I rushed between my husband and Mr, and | tt me with my ambrill. In five minnits th | Imade Jona ) parden, which he did, and sed hat he was so full wuse the Widder Spriggins had got f ried that he body, ancdt Salomy happened to be the fust one that he orgnd loose. Sopliier thatshe is broken-hearted, train, but I[haint heern nothing He sev, Grey has run away! But aking ! fF ne “has run away Dll have atry her to somebody else! see if I ; Yourn, : JERUSHY. ¥S'ON ANIMATED NATURE. a \ Reptilia—-The Alligator. The alligator is a hefty lizard residing in the southern section of the western hemisphere, and-may be styled a distant relation— say a cousin five thousand miles remoyed—of the Egyptian cro- codile. The two amphibia, although mUmibers of the same fam- ily, do not yisit, their estrangement being probably due to the fact that they live on opposite sides of thé globe,and have no taste for f travel. Notwithstagding their resemblance in a s, they are, in some aspect the very antipodes x - iptiles of this genus are known as sorry ‘uns (sometimes b Baur on account of the crocodile ‘tears they are sed to shed after having donea bad action, It is difficult distinguish the female from the male of the species, inasmuch as the alligatress is furnished with a mall coat of exactly the same cut and color as that of herlord’ “Inthe. Mississippi and Red River districts they are hunted for their hides, which bring a fair price in the Swamp, ugh generally considered a scaly kind of leather,, t ot the tribe are fond of blue-bottle flies, ds S a the tio men by them in the fight—the bearded men among the Indians, | ot suposed Be bee and haye a method of “eatching them» which reflects great credit on their skill Se gonivs as st. ts. Pretending:to be asleep, they open their ths very Wide, and the yawning chasm ap- pearing to the weak-minded in: fo be lined with beefsteak, they enter it with as much sangf eos if it were a butcher’s shop, whereupon up ¢ the lower miillary of the reptile, and the flies become the 1s of a § i e The fact that the lower maxillary up Co! vith the assertion of an- tique naturalists tha su w Of the creature is a mora- dle, and the othera e times, but it is quite the rev good deal of cheek in a: Mr. Waterton, F. R- Raye been thus in ancient ent, and it would require a ) re-assert the old theory, aymats; and the late of a certain occasion Well) I put.on my glassesiand looked at the widder, and, to my DEATH OF THE INDIAN CHIEF. BY THOMAS BARTLETT, Fast-bound the warrior stood; yet o’er his face— Perfect in symmetry of form, andimanly grace— Eyer and anon, there shot a gleim0f deadly hate, Himself the while unmindful of lis dire fate. But he was powerless; and his victoriots foes Stood by exultant o’er his many woes; ‘eek Taunting him with threat, and sneer, © |)” 3 That racked his inmost soul to hear, Yet still he stood undaunted; not a muscle stirred. When, far aboye the rest, a voice was heard, Saying, in’ thunder tones, that:seemed.to rend the:sky, “Come near, ye braves, andisee the Pawnee diel? They bounded on with whoop;and hideous yell; Like demons from the shades ofhell; Their sealping knives flashed out in deadly gleam, Still he steed like one wrapped in a dream. At last he spoke, with voice unfaltering and an iron will; ; His captors then stood back, and all was still; “Come on, I fear you not,” said he, with manly pride, “Tam no coward !!’ and with these words, died: Upward and Onward: A BRAVE BOYS STRUGGLES. By Roger Starbuck, (“Upward and Onward,” was commenced in No, 47., Back num- bers can be obtained of any News Agent in the United States. } CHAPTER XIV. MISSING. How long*he remained unconscious Fred could not tell. When he came to himself, he was alone; with the moon shining down upon him through the piti ‘“‘Whereias ‘Merrill? Where was Annie?’ he asked himself when at length memory recalled past events. With difficulty he-rose to his feet, andy élambered out of the pit, the sideg‘of. which being) coyered with trailing vines, afforded a good hold. He glanced round himin all directions, but could neither see nor héar anything. A sickening feeling came. over him; his heart beat ‘loud and fast. with apprehensions regarding Annie Band. He crossed the road, reached the hedge»behind which he had Jeft the young girl, but he could seeno sign of her. “Great Heaven! What can haye become of her!’ ex- claimed the young man, almost beside himself. ‘Annie, Annie,?” he called. Stil.there was.no. response, Then he sat down and pondered. Merritl—that rascally Merrill must know something of thegirl. But where was the man to: be found? . Whither had he gone ? Fred examined the ground, and his heart. sank ‘within him, ‘as hemoticed, here and there, that the long grass was trampled down, as if two people had passed that way, yom cok seeming to lead:in the direction of a'‘deep, dense orest. Dizzy, his brain seeming to reel, theyouth hurried along, and finally reached the woods, calling upon the name of the girl, to be responded to only ‘by the hollow echoes, mocking lim with unearthly sounds, On he went into the heart. of the dense forest, until, finally, aheadoflim, he beheld agleam, which he knew to be water.» | ) Br Then a strange fear came over him. He kept on to the river bank, upon which;:in theigrass, he now thought he could detect, by the faint moonlight, traces of a struggle. Could this have any reference'to Annie? His heart misgave him; he glanced round him, care- fully; then utfereda wild cry., Ahead of him, half way down the bank, he beheld something avhite.. He rushed tows it, and pickingit up, discovered that it was a white shawl. P Then, indeed; he believed that a certain terrible sur- misehe had formed was correct; that, the shawl was Annie’s, and that the poor girl had either been thrown or had fallen into the riyer during her struggles to: get away from Merrill, He rushed down to the, edge. of the bank, and. peered over, as if expecting to see the dead face peering up ‘at him from the clear depths, : he meunted a lively bridled him, and = “triumph. The amphibious referred to was ‘probably of the ‘half hoss” breed, at one far to Kentucky. 90d odor among the whites on aceount of its patchouly flavor. ‘The alligatress lays a’good many eggs, but they are byno means equal to hen-fruit for domestic purposes. She is watched while on her sandy nest by the predatory rodents, and, when she wad- dies off, they commence their poaching. Asa parént, the maie alligator is more cannibalistic than tender—in fact, the demoral- ized brute devours the youthful cadets of his family with infinite gusto; nor does he—notwithstanding all that has been said of the tearful nature of the genus—eyer subsequently show any signs of repentance or remorse, The “rough” of the lagoon.is in one sense.a donble-ender,.and this peculiarity in his build is a great advantage to him in battle, He can damage an adyersary as severely with-his caadal extremi- ty a8 with ‘his jaws, so-that int attacking him. there-is searcely the toss of a copper to choose between head and tail, QV, CULTIVATING A MUSICAL TASTE, The last device of aninyentive mind is an instrument called the “sugar-whistle,” which is\puréhhsable for the mmconsiderabie sum of one cent. Confectioners wh6 sdiPthis kindof whistle aver that it develops in children a taste for music, the tone-produced from it being naturally Siveet. : ae . A PRUDENT LADY, vie An anecdote is told of a youty lady-of Harrisburg, who was re- cently on a riding exeursion. “The horse commenced | Kicking, when she, in the most sinrple\manner, reyuested Her companion té get ott and hold the horse's leg, or he might injurethe yehicie, READING THE’ PACK, “T tell you what it iis, Bil,’ Said a little boy to a dirty-faced comradé; “i cam read a fellow’s face like a book”, “Gan you ? Read mine, then,” ‘Well, I guess your mother, is pretty nigh out of soap.” } CHICKABIDDER. FATHER AND DAUGHTER, AGREEING, “1 love to look upora a young man, Theteis dhidden potency concealed within his breast which charms and pains nie.’ The daughter of a clergyman ‘happening to find ‘the abdvye sen- tence at the close of a piece of her father’s manuscript, as he had left it fa his stady, sat down and added; “Them’s my seatiments exactly, papa-—ail but the pains,’! AN ASTONISHED PREACHER. During a religious comterence at Dayton, Ohio, a, lady assisted the good cause by taking a young preachér as atreée boarder. At night the fire bells rang, and the’preacher, desiring to see where the fire was, left his room, walked to the front window at the end of the passage, and leaned out. He was seen by the lady of the house, who wassinailarly occupied at a window on the floor below. She, thinking it was her son whom she beheld, hurried up stairs, and silently approaching the partialiy-robed figure, administered a few vigorous whacks with the palmof her hand, Then collar- ing the astonished preacher, she ted liim to herson’s room, where there was a light burning. The light revealed the terrified face of the preacher, who fancied that he was in the hands of a maniac. On realizing the blunder she had made, the woman fainted, and the preacher hurried to his own chamber, his light costume fiut- tering in the rear, so rapid was his progress. DAYTON READER. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS, Curious Cuss,—We cannot conscientiously recommend you to use alarm clocks at-your party as a stbstitutefor a brass band. We tried ‘the é¢xperiment once ourselves, and when the musical strains arose, a young gentleman guest. who twas reclining on a sofa, did the same, and shouted, as he cast a foot-stool at the head of his mother, who was standing hard by: “I won’t get.up yet! It can’t be eight o'clock already! You’ve been setting that clock forward again, confound your eyes!” Sugerer No. 1.—If your teeth athe so badly that °you' cahnot think of anything else, fill your mouth with blasting-powderand bitd-shot No. 1,and then try to swallow the end. ot, a red-hot poker. The result will divert your mind from the teeth. Superer No, 2 breathlessly asks: “What is a‘inan to do when a man’s mother-in-law persists in taking up her abode ‘at a man’s house, and bringing her mumerous family with: her, consisting of her mother, her mother’s mother, hergrandfather’s father, nine half-grown daughters “who want to go to boarding-school so bad” —of course at aman’s expénse—three superannuated, servants, seyen tom-cats, four yeller dogs, and a rattlesnake in a comatose state 7? For a man'thus afflicted there is no refuge but the briny deep. ys Taquirist propounds as follows; “What would you advise me to procure for my son, he being afflieted with the Asiatic cholera, the typhoid feaver, the heaves, the diptheria, and the glanders ¥” Procure & coffin, antl do it as quick as possible. A LEARNED PIG. \ Two.gentlemen were disputing as to the merits of a young man whose literary abilities certainly ptomised gréat’ things,bat who was at the Same time most repul. sive! and slovenly in his habits, “We,” exclaimed one of the disputants, at last, ““vhatever his fanltemay, he is, in my opinion, predestined to be, hailed as the! Bacon of the coming age.” berth ancy probable,” retorted the other, “Af.all events, [will willingly alfow he is the ‘pig of the present.” : ees A TAEKING MONKEY: We read that “a mechanital talking mionkeypis: the Jatest show novelty.” When we are rather overstocked with talking mon- keys supplied by nature, it is. merely, vaste ot time.to: employ science in the construction of ae cal ones.” If ths fnventor would try and inyent a plain for silencing Some of the “existing talking monkeys the work! would have causé t6 be grateful. A FRIGHTENED SETTLER,’ : A farmer who went to Texas to ‘buylatatni was greatly preju- diced against the country he théught to: setvle in, fromethe tact that a doctor whom he called to attend him Whenjhe was seized) with a fever, began trying on his bes imunediately adter writ- ing a preseription, The tact that While. the doctor was eying on his coat the chum bcrmaid wag examining bis. handkerchiefs, and the porter was struggling with his boots, tent Wings to’ his timagin- ation, and’déubtiess bad av iufluenés In fegurd to his Kpeeuy exit from the State, j , SPRAK WELL OF THE DEAD, Aman in Kansas was present atthe funeral of .a neighbor. of whom, no gpd eould truthiully be said. _ But everybody was say- ing something, and this man, not wishing to appear singular, but being incapudle of lying culogy, remarked that it'was ‘‘a nice quiet corpse,’ To P. P. ConrrisvTors —@. 2.—Published years ago...... The following MAS. are accepted; .“Petrvigum ;’? “Aisivers,” by M.3 “Teeth ;* “Strong Voice;* “Wittics;” *Shovel-Shocter;” ‘The Urbane School master?" “Bloeked;. *Ned's Exploit.:.... The fol- towing are respectfully declined 10 *Making Gold;” “Perkins Pa- pers; “Wanted,” “Couldn* Belleve Himself; ‘Carved Legs,” “No Relation; “Titles,” by I. K.; “Interesting to the Dramatic Profession ;" “Jominy Ntoaman’s Pasties” “Gid Jokes,” from Bismark; “J.B. Ds Documents;” “Stray Thoughts; “Irsh Sentinel’? “Jones Pupers;” “The Puss amd the Pie; uy Child's Origin;” “Hank, Sie, aad Orton.” "th the midst of a river, | »... Alligators tity be sean lying loose around in the Red River re- gion-at all hours of ¢1 y. Withs Peewiaes omer ape “assume § f hemlock toss for the pefa~" : d i on sitting ve fo rest on thie eanage themscives unpom- ae ‘ins, pla ae pe me ayous, are . ted in t e game by Srcadtul cuttings up of this feretions monsters. : * "i fhe neatest way agan alligato i all his é whenever a ybuotatte. opportunity occu, ver be shot in the water, however, as he always dives n he i¢s tims asitming condition. .The flesh of thee reis sometimes eaten by the South American Indians, but t While he stood there, the terrible excitement, joined to his weakness from the sufferings he had endured,, made his brain reel so that he tottered and fell over into the water. : He made a grasp at the grass, growing near the edge, but it gave way, and he-was whirled -on by the current, out toward the middle of the river. Heawas.an excellent swil erbuti was noi too weak to force his way against te cuffent, to the sh ore. , In fact his strength gave Way, 50 that he believed he was doom- ed to a grave in the deep watens, whgn he noticed, aiead of him, pilot boat, scudding along grpat speed. if he could only make himselé fe: he might be saved; other- wise it was not likely that he Would be, as those aboard could not hear him at such a distamee. \ : P With all his might he shouted. andiafter repeating the calif sev- eral times, he saw a man on the deek waving somethin, probably a handkerchief, as.a signal that he had heard thie yoiee. The next moment ‘the pifot-eratt shot up into the wind. A boat was lowered, and rapidly approaching the young mn, who continued shouting to guide :t to him, it soon picked him up. “How came you there, young man ?)’ inquired one of the boat- men. Fred essayed to reply, but there was a strange sensation in his head. Everything seemed to swim before him, and he sank back, unconscious in the boat, He was conveyed to the pilot-ctaft, and deposited in one of the meat little bunks in the cabin, te be soom restored to his senses. “Where am I?’ he wildly asked, glaneing round him; “and ‘where is she? O! save her! sayéhér! The bull wilt gore her to {-death! There he is, with his sharp horns ready to dash them into ,her bosom’. Heaven help her! ‘Heaven help her!” “Of whom. dovyou speak?” inquired one of the met, “Of Anniel Annie! Quick, or/she will perish! Good Heavens! itis only-half a bull! The headis MerrilPs, and his eyes are glar- ing like a fiend’s! Wretel! Rascal! Only let mé get at him, and Ail pay him off!” f : The rough fellows who listened to" this delitious tirade, were deeply affected by the young méarnstielantholy condition. Like ali, true seamen, they could deeply sympathize with a fellow-crea- bure’s sufferings. ; “Heisdu.a bad state,” saidthe captain—a tall) Rardy-looking man, wearing a rough coat anda blue shirt. ~ “wonder who he can mean by Merrill “I don’t Know,” said the one he addressed. sonrebody who has done him a great wrong.” “He certainly looks as if he had had a hard time of it,” said the captain, surveying the seiled garments of the youth. “What do you think we had best do with him, captain 2” said the other.’ “Keep him here, or take him ashore to thie hospital in the boat ?”? “TL can’t spare the time,” said the captain, glancing at his watch; “He will'be just as comfortable, if net more so, where he is. There is something about the young fellow that I like, His looks remind me of some person I haye seen before.” As he spoke, he closely scrutinized the face of Fred Start. “Very well, Captain Hooker,” said the man. | “I'think as you de about his being more comfortable here than he would be ashore. The windis fair, and we would not be in time for the in- poppe re off Sandy Hook if we stopped to take him tothe nospital,”’ ; The eaptain still was looking steadily down at the sufferer. “What is your name?” he at length séothingly remarked, “My name! And what of my mame? Itisa goodone! It has always been a good one, although Merrill would like to make it out bad. O! where is she? Tell me, for Heaven’s sake! My brain is on fire! It will burst.’ Annie! Annie! Annie!” 5 His ravings became Wilder every moment. He threw himself about the bunk with such violence that the men were compelled to held on him te prevent his leaping out, This could not lastlong. He gradually seemed to grow calmer, and finally dropped off into a deep sleep. Meanwiile the pilot craft Kept on before a spanking breeze, so that by daylight she was outside of Sandy Hook. She was in time forthe steamer, whicly was piloted past: the Hook and through the Narrows. Toward noon of this day, Fred Start awoke. His fever had sub- sided, and he was able to convetse rationally. He ate sparingly ot breakfast, and drank a cup of strong tea, when he was enabled to tell his story. Tlie captain listened with. much interest, meanwhile scanning the speaker's face, with the same Intentness he had shown betore. “Where have I seen, you?” he, sald at length... ‘What is your name??? “Fred Start?’ *What?? exclaitied the captain, springing from his seat and glaring upon the young man, “surely you do net mean that?” “That is Iny name.” “Ay, ay, now I wnderstand,’’ said the rough captain, grasping the youth's hand firmly, “‘why your face looked so tamiliar, Don’t you remember‘me?” Fred shook his head. “What, not Jit Hooker, whose little girl you saved when you were a mere boy?” “What, are youhe?”’ exclaimed Fred. “rT am,” he answered, “and may Heayen. bless you for the brave deed! Ihave not seen you, believe, much since that night, the reason being that the stove store man gave up business, and I took to piloting.” “You will help me im my search for Annie!’ said. Fred. least all you can, while you are ashore,” “Certainly,’? he answered, “I willdo my best. Like yourself I do not believe shé was drowned, but rather that she has been car- ‘ried otf!’ “Heaven help her abductor{” exclaimed Fed, clenching his‘fists, ‘af I get bold ot him?” CHAPTER XY. THE MEETING. Toward night the pliot:boat anchored alongside the whart. Jim Hooker invited Fred to stay at Ins house tor the present, to which the youth consented. Mrs,. Hooker,was overjoyed at seeing the preserven of her little girl. The latter was now grown toa young woman, She was not bud looking; her eyes were large and of # soft brown, her-brow was broad and white, her hair, of a chestnut coloz, pushed back ofrom her brow. The deformity of the shoulders, however, was plainly manifest, and perhaps it was. the consciousness of this that made her biush so deeply when she saw Fred. “See, Mary!’ exclaimed the captain, with a hearty laugh, “here is the Uitte boy who saved your life on that night of the fire. 7 warn you, however; not to fall in love with him, as his affections are already engaged, if Iam any judge.” , Ajdeadly paleness succeeded the blush which had dyed the cheeks of Mary. “Of course, I—I--do not suppose he could care for such as I,” she stammered. Then, as if aware that shehad said too much, she colored, painfally. ‘Tam very glad to see you; Miss Meoker,’’ srl» Bred, respect- “But te probably is “At fully. Then they alisat down and conversed, Kred, however, was ab- seat, and answered at random, : He wag ¢hinking of Aunie, of whose fate he could not form even a conjecture. Meanwhile, Mary watched him, shyly,)and thought she had never seen & handsemer young tellow, that-he had saved her life, Miled her with emotions she was unable to control, Pred did not remein long. the police stationyand there told bis story Wilile he*was sight of Fred bk rew back, turning deadly palo, Finally, seeming to recover his self-possession, he motioned to the young man. The latter walked to his side. “Well,” he sternly ingnired; *‘what do you want 2 “I wish to ask you,” said‘ the latter, in low voice, “if you can teil me where my child is??? 2 Briefly Fred explained all; “For her sake,’’ pleaded Band, in the same.low voice. “you will say nothing about my attack upon you ‘with the pistol “Twill let that pass,” said Pred) *onone condition, which is this, that if your daughter be found, you will not endeavor to force ber to live with you.” : . “T promise,” answered Band, . while his knitted brow betokened how littlehe relished being dictated to by the young man whom he had had in his power. “But where, can!she be??? “Heaven only knows.” responded Fred, his flattering voice be- tokening his anguish. : Soon atter, Band departed. He had eome tothe station to make Known to the authorities the loss of his child, he said, on leaving the place, that he would search every nook and: corner until he ound her. Fred was also determined to prosecute the search. But as he ‘Hooked along the street with his companion, there ¢arde over him a feeling of such weakness that he felt as ifreadytosink. In fact his late hardships had been too much for even this young man, why was as strong in health asa lion, _Hooker helped him along, so that he just managed to reach the pilot’shome, His good-natured friend led him to his couch, upon which the youth sank to drop into a feverish stumber. Several times he would wake with a start, to behold a pair of farge, sym- pathizing eyes turned upon his face. They were those of the deformed Mary, whose womanly sympa- thies had been at once excited by his‘melancholly condition. Sey- eral times, when he would start and halt awake, she would apply a glass of cold water to his parched lips, and once or twice she wiped the perspiration from his brow. Occasionally he would pronounce, in his broken slumber, the name of Annie, which fell like a cold weight upon the heart of the gentle watcher. Why? . Did she love Fred on so short an acquaintance? In one sense the acquaintance had not been so very short after all. Ever since that night when Fred. had so. galtantly resened her from the flames of the burning building, his image had often pre- sented itself to the mind of the girl. As she grew to womanhood, the image had also grown in her mind, and bya remarkable coin- cidence the image of the young man, wds .the eounterpart of the reality, as she discovered on meeting him now. She had never dared to think that even such @ meeting would lead to love on his part: for her; but she had hoped that they might be dear friends; and this was not all—she had, unknown to herself, nourished a hope that her fine conversational powers might prove attractive to the young man. Fred became worse. His delirium returned, his wounded arm was swollen, and the fever had mounted to his brain. "He tossed about upon his couch, looking so wild and haggard that Mary, while doing all she could to alleviate his sufferings, shed tears upon his account. Finally he sank into a deep sleep, when Mrs: Hoolier said that he would be better by morning, if not, it were best te call a phy- sician. CHAPTER XVL IN THE CELLAR. To return to Annie Band. As soon as possible she! Kad made her way on the other side of the hedge by an opening at one ex- tremity. Emerging into the road, she thought she could hear the noise of a scuffle, In fact such was the case; for it was at this moment that Fred and Merrill were fighting at the bottom of the pit, which, not being very deep, the sound.of.their gasping and tug- ging was perceptible. Annie ran to the hedge, and finally contrived. to,crawl through an aperture therein. Just as she did so, Merriil,made his appear- ance from the pit. She hurried past him, but ereshe could reach the opening, he caught her arm. $ “Hold! where are you going?” “Where is he?’ Where is Fred? him?? “This is the first time you have complimented me by the name of wretch,” said Merrill. “Pray, what has caused this change: I was not aware that Fred was your lover.” Ag he spoke he darted after her, seizing her by the shoulder. “Let me go!”’ she exclaimed, indignantly. With a quick motion she flung him off, and advancing to the edge of the pit, looked down: Through the gloom she could make out the outline of the young man’s figure. “Fred! Fred! Oh, answer me!” she wildty called. There was no response. “Dead—dead! You have killed him!” she exclaimed, turning to Merrill. ‘Nay, I do not think he is dead,” answered the latter. Annie was about descending into the pit when he again caught her arm. F. “No! he exclaimed. me!”? “Away! let me alone?” she exclaimed. ‘‘Never again; as long as you live, lay a hand upon me!” She endeavored to break away from him) but he now held her firmly, actually dragging her along toward the woods. “What would you,do?” she cried. ‘“What means this outrage?” “You must go with me!” hesaid, fiercely. “You shall got” “fT will call for help!’ Before she could cry out; however, the .raseal pressed a hand firmly upon her mouth. A moment atter, he had secured a hand- kerchief round it. He dragged her . on with a rapidity which soon. brought them near the bank of the river. ' In her struggles to escape, her.shawl fell off, eatchtng upon 2 wig. Merrilldid not notice this, but dragged her on until they came tovan old one-story house situated «about a hundred yards from the river. At the door of this building be knocked. ' The summons was answered by a hideous looking woman, with skinny face, and wild, black eyes, “ah? and who may this be exclaimed, fixing her keem girl into the apartment. f “My good woman,” said Jaane, from whese mouth the hand- kerchief now was loosened) “I pray you not tolet thisman harm me. Help me, for Meaven’s sake!” $ “Hat ha!” laughed the jhag, “them that calls' upon Maggie Mull calls in vain, proyided the chink is paid down in advance.’ And she glared’ with a bideous smile at Merrill, whe at once seeming to understand her, bade her lock the door and he-would: give her plenty of-**chink.’? “For Heayen’s sake, what do you mean to dof screamed An- nie, as she bounded toward the door. “None of that, if so bein’ he can come down with the aeedy,” exclaimed Maggie Mull, asshe placed herself betweem Annie and the door. “Oh, let me go. You are a woman} surely you will not——” “Hush !?? cried Mag, as she put her bony hand over the mouth of thegirl! “you make too much noise. Lock the door yoursel’,”* she added, to Merrill. ° The latter at once turned the key in the lock of the door. “Now; Mag, leave her to me,” he said, as he threw a couple of gold pieces upon a table in the center of the apattment. The old woman eagerly flew to the coins, and, snatching then up, surveyed them with greedy eyes. “Goold! blessed goold!” she cried, in a sort of weird scream, which was so horrible that it made Annie trembk. ‘Ah, it’s Inany a day simce you and I met each other.” And sitting down with the gold pieces pressed to her bosom, she. began rocking herself to and fro, as if the coins were infants she Was putting tosleep. Meanwhile Merril had drawn his dacger, and. now was advane- ing toward the young girl, who had retreated to a corner of the dingy apartment, “No noise”? he exclaimed; “if you cry out, that moment this Wretch! you haye not Killed “You must not go there! Come with have brought tomy nest 7° she upon Merrnl, as he dragged the ¥ blade shat be'stained with your best blood.’ Poor Annie was too frightened and exhausted to sen even had she been disposed to do so. ; She remained in the Corner as Merrill approaebed, her eyes fixed steadily upon his face, F “Listen to me,” he said, ashe drew nearer; “Lum rich; I have eyerything that man or womun may. desire.” “Except a clear conscience,” said Annie, solemnly, “which niches cannot buy,”’ He started back, his eyes gleaming wildly, and the perspiration starting eut in big drops upon his brow. Then, reflection convincing him that Annie knew nothing of his past life, he recovered his self-possession. “As Psaid, lam rich. Well, 1 would make you wife, would make you mistress of my splendid mansion, and, all that it con- tains, Can a girl have a better offer thanthat ? Consent, Annie, consent to be my wife,and here I swear that I will never give you reason to repent it.” ‘All this you would obtain from meat the point of the knife,’ said Annie, scornfully. “Nay, Isheathe my dagger at once,’ he said, returning the weapon to. his breast pocket... ‘cand now I bope there. will be no turthér opposition to my wishes.” “You are mistaken,” answered thé girl, in afirm voice: “Your wealth might dazzle some people, but I aim not'of the number. I would not aceept you fora husband were yon three times as: rich as you are, forT tell you~ plainly [do not and never could love you.” A dark flush passed over Merrill's face. F anne doubtless, prefer the newspaper pedilar,” he said, sneer- ingly. “TP do,” she. quietly answered; ‘‘and that is one reason why [ could never tove you. The contrast is too great.” Merrill again drew his knife. “Now, then,” said he, “I have tried persuasion vetth you. As that does not suffice, { will try force.” “You may kill ine, but vou cannot force me-telove you,” re- plied the young girl, spiritedly. He raised the knife, eee! that you will be my wife this moment, or you die!’ he cried. His blazing eyes were turned down upon her face; a frown wrinkled his brow, Annie, however, was a determined) girl whem she was roused. She looxed him steadily in the eye. “Strike !’? she sakl, fearlessly. ‘You cannot conquer my sou with your threats. My decision is unalterable.” Merrill, who had notreally intended to strike, but had hoped to. frighten Annie into consenting to his wishes, returned the knife to his pocket. out, yet lived who could long thwart my wishes.”? 4 hate he spoke askle to Mag, whose eyes twinkled as he pro- ceeded. i A few minutes later he left the honse. When he was gone the old woman, locked and: bolted the door, then seated herself in front of Annie, and, looked. at her for some time without saying a word. The hideous aspect of the woman, with the black stump.of a was So repulsivé that Annie turned aside her head. “Don’t go for to bein’ offish,”) said the old hag; *4f you do, 2 reckon you'll soon change your tune,’ ; “{.do not wish te have anything to.say. to.yow,” reptied Annie,, yd worn who for. money can thus. abuse her sex, deserves only contempt,” “Be keerful, now,” ¢ried the womani\ in'a rage, as she-sprang- up, her claws seeming. ready to ‘tear the ‘soft'flesh of the young: girl; “don’t give me any of your-imperenee.”) Annie looked at her steadily, without. saying a word, andthe old woman resumed her seat. Finally she arose. ‘Come, yer must now go with me,” she-said, seizing Annie-by the hand. ‘ i The girl, knowing that resistance would be useless, followed, to be conducted into 4 damp cellar, the walls of which were covered with a green slime, The light of the flickering eandie the hag carried threw a strange glare throughout the dismal vault. “There, how do yer like yer quarters?” said the hag, glancing round her with a echuckie, ; Annie shuddered. The dampness of the place struck a chill to her frame, Miss Nellie Thurston. who made a balloon ascension . from the Watertown, N. ¥. Fair Groun landed in the woods, about twenty-five miles back of Richland Station, in the town of Red- field. She remained in the basket of the balloon suspended in a tree all one night, and jumped out the next morning and made her. way to a hotel, where she arrived in a rather “‘mussed-up” condition, but without having suffered any serious inconvenience. The funeral of a young lady in Hartford, Conn., recently was attended by her youns friends of the ‘‘Children of Mary” So- ciety of St. Peter’s Church, who wore white robes and blue circu- lar capes, with long white vails fastened to their hair with flow- ers, each carrying flowers in her hand, which were scattered on the coffin at the grave.. The young Jadies walked in procession, leading the long line of carriages to the cemetery. Two black-boys, riding horse-back at full speed; in Notta way county, Va., a few days ago, in opposite directions, were un able to manage their steedg, and the horses came together with such force that one was ipS’tantly killed and the other fatally in- jured. Neither of the boys was harmed. A Miss Eliza Pettibone, of a smail town in Maryland, has bought a church for the Methodists; has made her first payment by her profits of her needle, and intends to discharge the debt in the same way. f BG Miss Clara ‘De Bow, a your lady, while dressing fora par ty in Nashville, Tenn., was badly burned, her light totes taking fire from an unextmiguished match which she had carelessly threwn upon the floor. a@- The daughter of a wealthy gentleman in Ireland, who was recently, after the death of her mother, Sent ‘to “Louisyiile, Ky., to be-educated, has been made imsane by home-sickness and has started on her return home, in charge of a triend. pap A lady of high social position in Louisville, Ky., was missed from her husband’s residence.on'a Saturday, and van not heard of until the next Tuesday, when she was iound in a negro’s hut, greatly under the influence of liquor. It was with difficulty that she was persuaded to return home. é 3g Of thirty-six thousand pupils. in the New York public schools who haye been vaccinated, not one, it is said, has taker the small-pox. BG The Government Printing Office at Washington, said to be the largest establishment in the world, is now being added to by additional buildings that will increase its capacity one-third. Bap A French girl, only twelve years old, neatly and tastefully dressed, has surprised the Poopie of Vermont with her skill in the use of an ax. She cuts and piles up a cord of wood daily. pam The daughter of a physician in Toledo, Ohio, keeps all his accounts, collects his bills, and, generally, does the work of a business agent. ap A boy in Nashua, N. H., who three years ago swallowed a tin whistle, died recently, afterpresenting ail the symptoms of consumption. Bar Six men died in New London, Conn., in August, whose average age was seventy-eight years; and four women whose ay- erage age was seventy-nine years, three months. The crop of snakes in Vermont this season is good.-A striped specimen at South Danville had sixty young ones. BGP An abscess with which Queen Victoria had been for some time afflicted, was opened on the 4th of Sept., and is now healing satisfactorily. nq Philadelphia has a church over one hundred and fifty years old. ap A beer barrel exploded and killed a boy in Boston the other day. Rg Louisville, Ky., has commenced the manufacture of plate glass. —_—_— > 9+ PERSONAL. R. J. MW. writes as follows from Toronto, Canada: ‘Having been for three years a reader of your very valuable paper, the NEw YORK WEEKLY, I should make some acknowledgement of its splendid properties, especially us and telling attacks it makes against the use of strong drink. I am very well acquaint- ed with some young men of this city who, I am sorry to say, have been addicted to this vice, and seeing how things were going, J took a number of your paper in which Mr. Judson had written astory about intemperance, and left it with them to read when they got sober, which opened their eyes to the downward course they were pursuing. Since then they have been constant readers of the NEw YORK WEEKLY, and the lesson has not been lost upon them. The result has been that ten of my friends have been led to subscribe, and affirm that it is the best thing they ever did.” F. M. Cutter.—The MS. came duly.to hand. We will communi- cate with you as soon asa decision is arrived at. Minnie writes as follows, from Frankfort, N. Y.: “I thought I would write and let you know Kew much we like the New York WEEELY here. Jt is ceitathly the best paper of its class, andI reatty do not know how I should get —— withont it after becom- ing accustomed to looking for it so regilarly every week. Your temperance articles have been the means of doing much good, as I can testify fron’ my own observation. I am greatly pleased with the serials now running through your columns, and the poetry is excellent.” Fannie C., writes: ‘‘The temperance stories published in the New YORK WEEKLY no doubt do much good, and I trust are the means of reforming many already on the road to ruin, and keep- ing others from going that ruinous way. Would that they might do much good in that great city of New York where so many make use of the poisonous liquor.” HW. A. J., of this city adds his testimony tothe preceding letters, in regard to the work the NEW YORK WEEKLY is doing in the cause of temperance: ‘I amin favor of, and a pl advocate of Temperance. Lam pleased with the NEw YORK WEEKLY for the interest it takes in the temperance cause, A correspondent in last week’s paper hit. the nail on the head, when he said that the temperance stories in the NEW YORK WEEKLY have found read- ers where temperance papers would have failed. Sometime since I gave atemperance paper to a friend, who was very fond of his glass, and learned afterward that he never read it. The same man called my attention to a temperance story in the NEw York WEEKLY, andsaid it went toa tender spot, and he was go- ing toreform, and judging from appearances—a new suit of clothes, and a coat of white paint on his house—I think he has.” has. Montgomery writes as follows, from Philadelphia: “The admirers of the NEW YORK WEEKLY, are having a great treat here just now, viz: The representation at the Museum of F. S. Smith’s story of ‘Bertha, the Sewing Machine Girl.’ It is certain- ly one of the best pieces of its class that we have ever had. It is not one of those impossible dramas, but it is something probable, and shows the life of the working girl very truthfully. ‘Bertha’ is personated by a lady from Booth’s Theater in your city, and she makes it a beautiful character. The hero is Jack Ryerson, a rough diamond, which is also personated by a gentleman from one of your theaters. In this version the story is followed very closely, and refiects great credit upon Mr. Smith for so truthfully portraying the life of a sewing girl. ‘There are a many in this city who will now commence to read the NEw YORK WEEKLY, which is without exception the best story paper published, and I hope that you will reap the benefit you so justly deserve. No doubt you think it very presuming on my part to address this ietter to you, but you must, pardon me, because 1 feel so glad that the New YORK WEEKLY is ahead of all, and that it has published one of the most lifelike stories yet written.’’ ——___> 9+ TESTIMONIAL CONCERT.—A grand concert for the bene- fit of that charming vocalist, Mrs. Josie Johnson, will be given on Wednesday evening, Oct. llth, at the UNION AVENUE BAPTIST CHURCH, GREENPOINT. As the bene- ficiary, professionally and personally, is eminently de- serving of the testimonial here announced, we hope that the place of entertainment, now considered the lead- ing Baptist church on Greenpoint, will be densely packed by Mrs. Johnson’s numerous admirers. The Brooklyn Cross-town cars pass and repass the church.