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VoL. XXX,

THE FOURTH OF JULY.

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

Ring the bells and raise your banners—
Every sign of joy display;

Shout aloud the song of freedom—
This is Independence Day.

On the mountain—in the valley—
Shout the anthem of the free;

Let all hearts rejoice to welcome
Freedom’s anniversary.

Proprietors. } Pi

While our loyal troops are marching, -
Cheered by many a lusty shout,
Let the grandsire tell his grandchild
What the pageant is about.
Let him tell the story truly,
While the child is in the mood;
How our heroes fought for freedom
While our land was drenched with blood.

Let him speak with graphic power
Of the men who dared to fight
*Gainst the greatest of the nations,
Nervyed by justice, truth and right.
How they struggled on for freedom,
Hungry, ragged, sick and sore,
While they totter’d in their marching,
And their steps were tracked by gore.

How e’en beardless boys, elated,
Seized a gun or pick with pride,

And at Lexington, undaunted,
Fought with old men side by side.

How the mothers and the sisters
Urged the son and brother on,

And the feeble, white-hair’d pastor,
Honor in the battle won.

How King George’s haughty red-coats,
Flush'd with power, pride and skill,

Strove to drive the hated Yankees
From the crest of Bunker Hill.

How they silently marched upward,
Tn a solid body massed,

And were swept down by the rebels
Like ripe grain before the blast.

How they rallied, stung by madness,
Swearing all their strength to spend,

But were hurled back in confusion
Twice ere they could gain their end.

How our noble boys, outaumpered,
Made a masterly retreat,

And though forced to fiy the battle,
Gained renowr. in their defeat.

How great Washington, our leader,

Always hopeful, firmly stood,
- Till be gave tousanation — ;

New-born and baptized in blood.

How he then wished to retire,
But the people not content,

Sought him, and by acclamation
Hailed him our first President.

Fell the little ones this story
On each anniversary.

Hand it down through all the ageg—
Let it not forgotten be.

Tell them while the coruscations
Of the pyrotechnic show,

And the shouts.of joyous freemen
Set their young hearts all aglow.

O, ’tis an important lesson—
Let it not neglected be;
It in time will lead all nations
Now in chains to liberty.
They will follow our example,
They will flnd a Washington,
Who will gild their night of bondage
With the beams of Freedom’s Sun.

Kings and princes are but human—
All our citizens are kings;

All our Yankee boys are princes
While the bell of Freedom rings.

Then let tyrants heed the motto,
Penned in words of living light,

** When men rise against oppression,
God will surely aid the right.”

Oh, then raise the starry banners,
Every sign of joy display;

Shout aloud the song of freedom,
This is Fndependence Day!

On the mountain—in the valley~
Shout the anthem of the free;
Let all hearts rejoice to welcome

Freedom’s anniversary.

 

A
Woman’s Temptation.

By MRS. FLORICE NORTON,
(4 NEW CONTRIBUTOR.)

 

[A Woman's Temptation,” was commenced last week. Ask any

‘News Dealer for No. 36, and you will get the opening chapters.}

 

CHAPTER IV.—ConTINUED.

There could not have been any position more
enviable than thatof Hubert Ruthven. Lord
Arncourt made him what was in reality a mag-
nificent allowance; but with his strange, quaint
love of freedom from all restraint, he would not
have his heir to live with him.

“T prefer being quite alone,” he would say,
when Hubert suggested even a long visit. “Life
would be nothing to me without fr
restraint of a visitor would not suit me.”

Although he always insisted upon this one idea
of living quite alone, Hubert had the option of
living at any place where his uncle was not. If
Lord Arncourt was in Scotland, Hubert resided at
Neversleigh: when his uncle used to go there,
Mr. Ruthven went to London,

Every possible source of pleasure was open to
the young man; rich, free, young, handsome,
with one of the finest possessions in England be-
fore him, and nothing to do in return for it all
but. to marry to please his uncle.

“Never mind money,’’ Lord Arncourt would
say, at times, “you have not to think of that:

noble birth is what you want in ajwife. To tell.

you a secret, Hubert,” he continued, “I have ney-
er rn more than half my income; the remain-
der has been accumulating until it forms a colos-
sal fortune by itself. It shall be all yours if you
lease me, so that you can dispense with mone
a wife, but a cannot dispense with high
birth and noble blood.”

That truth was repeated and repeated until it
became duly impressed on Hubert's mind; yet,
for all that, it did not prevent the catastrophe.

Lord Arncourt, who had probably gratified
every whim that it was poe for the heart of
man to conceive, suddenly took a fancy for mak-
ing a collection of Roman cameos. He imagined
himself to be a perfect judge of cameos, and he
was determin that the “Arncourt cameos”
should be known all over England,

STREET & SMITH, j Nos. 27, 29, 31 Rose St.,

| the town, and I

eedom; the!

_Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1875, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. 0.

0. Box 4896, New York,

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NEW YORK, JULY

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19, 1875.

¥ the apple blossoms, Miss Luttrell.”

 

 

Three Doliars Per Year. Vienaneis S. STREET,
Two Copies Five Dollars.

 

No, 87.

FRANCIS 8S, SMITH,

 

 

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“I shall probably be away one year, perhaps
two, for Lintend my collection to be unrivaled
and I want you to reside the whole time at
Neversleigh. At the town, Neverstay, there are
several things on hand. The new schools are

master for
Do not spare money; they are my gift to
ke things done liberally.” .

Lord Arncourt went on to mention several
other things that required attention. And all
unconscious of what wasin store for him, Hu-
bert listened attentively, promising to carry out
his uncle’s wishes to the very letter.

“Remember,” said Lord Arncourt, “that you
are my representative, and do not be afraid of
dispensing hospitalities. I shall be pleased to
hear of all kinds of gayeties, balls, dinners, fetes
—anything you like; but remember the most
pleasing news you can send me will be of your
engagement and coming marriage.

“IT really hope that I may be so fortunate,”
said Hubert.

“Tam told that the Duke of Ormescombe is
about to purchase Herensley Park; it is said
thathis daughter, Lady Grace Morelton, who
was presented this year, is one of the most love-
ly gti in England. The great wish of my heart
is that you may marry her.”

As Hubert watched the anetOUe, open-handed,
yet selfish man depart, he did. wish that fate

way, Hubert, you must get a g
them.

marry so as to please his strange, liberal, cynical

uncle.

When Lord Arncourt was gone, he took up his
abode at ae ae arth Abbey and busied himself
in carrying out all his uncle’s instructions.

The first thing of course was the schools; but
if he had known the trouble, the sorrow, the re-
morse that was to come to him over those
scnools, he would have fled far from Never-
sleigh.

He advertised for a capable master—not a
young man; he wastoo young himself to have
much care for youth. In reply he was inundat-
ed with }otters.

From tie midst of countless numbers he chose
one signed John Luttrell—a well-written, well-
expressed, concise, business letter. The writer
avowed himself capable of conducting a school;
he had received a first-class education, and only
desired one thing—a quiet resting-place where he
could work and live in peace.

The letter pleased Mr. Ruthven. So little did
he think it was aninstrument of fate, he an-
swered it, and the result was the engagement of
John Luttrell as master for the everstay
! Schools, ata salary of two hundred per annum,
‘house and garden included.

Mr. Luttrell was to commence his duties
toward the close of June, the. school was to be
opened by the rector, and a grand tea party giv-
en to the pupils by way of inauguration.

If Th one had warned Hubert Ruthven of the
result, he would have fied in utter dismay.

CHAPTER V.

The twenty-seventh of June arrived, and when
Hubert Ruthven awoke he remembered that it
was the day of the school fete, and that duty re-
quired him to be present at Neverstay.

He knew that Mr. Luttrell had arrived, and
had expressed himself delighted with the pretty
gabiod schoolhouse, and the large, picturesque
garden. A;

All orders had been given for the children’s
feast. It was to take pie ina large orchard
belonging to one of the Neversleigh farms; still
Hubert felt it his duty to ride over to the school-
mae’ house and see for himself that all was
well.

He rose early. The typical “gentleman who
lives at home at ease” is not always tobe found
in a wealthy man; he works harder at times,
and more industriously than those he employs.

Hubert rose at six, k breakfast ot seven,
and rode off, while the dew was yet on the
grass, to Neverstay.

In the after
every detail of that ride. The blue sky, with its
white, Ppa clouds fast vanishing before. the
heat of the summer sun; the air so full of fra-
stance from the i and the clover, from the

me-trees in flower, from the lilacs fast vanish-
ing, from the huge white magnolias, from the

 

 

 

finished, but they have to be opened; and, by the | h

might be kind to him, and that he might love and | sel

ears how well he remembered | f

 

3 thats 1 hedges with

asses of scarlet bloom; the woods were filled
with bluebells and wild larkspur; the birds were
beside themselves with glee on this bright June
morning. He saw bees so busy that they filled
the air with their musical murmur; butterflies
with bright purple and golden wings. He was
no poet, but eart grew warm and tender as
e looked around him, for it is such a fair,
bright world, if we have any heart at all, it must
be touched by its brightness.

So he rode on through the sunshine and the
flowers until he came to the schools. They were
built just outside the town, so that the children
might have all the benefit of the fresh, sweet air.
They were pretty and picturesque, with large
windows, and bright, large, cheerful rooms. He
did not wait to enter, but rode on to the house,
that stood at some little distance from the schools.
A beautiful cottage—not new, as was evident
from the abundance of foliage that wreathed its
walls, red and white roses framing the windows,
passion flowers twining round the rustic porch,
Jessamine and fragrant woodbines mixed with
drooping vine leaves. It stood in the midst of a
magnificent garden, that stretched.at the baek
of the house far down to the brookside; there
the pretty brook ran between. green banks away
inte the clover meadows, and lost itself in the
broad, clear river Never.

It was a picture of neathess and beauty; the}

windows. were all open, and the lace curtains
looked white as snowdrops.
ee an ideal cottage,” said Hubert to him-

The door was opened; he went into a_ small.
pretty passage covered with bri ht, cool. mat-
ting, and was. met by a little maid, servant. He
inquired if Mr. Luttrell was at home. She said
he had gone down to the orchard, but would the
gentleman wait?

So Mr. Ruthven was shown into a pretty par-
lor, filled with flowers and books. °

“I could almost fancy a lady had arranged this

lace,” he said, looking around on the graceful
ower-stands, pretty bird-cages, and little orna-
ments.

One side of the room was lined with a low
book-shelf; as he read the names of the volumes
Hubert smiled.
aan schoolmaster will do,” he said.

Still the sunny moments flew, and Mr. Luttrell
did not appear. The window was open, and the
garden looked very tempting. He thought he

would walk through it and see what the flowers |:

were like.

He passed the beds of lilies and roses, the great
cluster of clove carnations, the old-fashioned
southernwood with its subtle fragrance, the
mignonette and sweet pansies; then suddenly he
heard a voice singing:

“Dinna forget, laddie, dinna forget.”

A sweet, clear voice, with a ring of passion and
tenderness; and the sad, sweet words of the old
Scotch song came to him over the flowers. wd

“Dinna see laddie, dinna forget.” He ea
almost afraid to break the spell by moving,
when the song.ceased he went forward, There
was a large space of Pi een grass where the ap-
ple-trees grew, and sitting under one of them—
the blossoms making a, frame for her, falling
around her in rich showers—was a young girl.

Delicate and lovely as Titania herself. A girl
with a sweet, = face; a white brow, from
which waved clustering hair of a golden hue;
dark gray eyes, fringed with long lashes; sweet
red lips,and features whose delicate loveliness
was something wonderful. He caught a glimpse
of the pretty foot—one that might have belonged
to a duchess; little, white, slender hands. ‘The
girlish figure was'simply clad in a robe of blue
muslin, with white lace at the throat.

A picture as fair, as pure, and as bright as the
morning ‘itself; full of gleams of sunlight; one
that from his memory was never to die.

He went to her, and she started, not in alarm
but with surprise. He took off his hat, and stood
bareheaded. before her.

said. “I called to see Mr. Luttrell.’ :

A light broke over her face, making it so
av beautiful that he drew back, half in
ear.

“My father,” she said; “and. he is gone down
to the orchard, thinking that he might see Mr.
Ruthven there.” }

“Tam Mr. Ruthven,” he replied; and she drew
back with something like awe in those dark gray
eyes.

“T canonly trust that lam not intruding,” he |'

 

~- "You are Mr. Ruthven?” she said; and he could
not help noticing that there was something of
reverence in her voice.

“My father will be so sorry to have missed
you,” she said, simply; “he was so anxious to

ysee you.”

“T can wait until he returns,” said Mr. Ruth-
ven, “I am not busy, and, if you will — me,
I will wait here with you, Miss Luttrell.”

She smiled assent, and her face flushed.

“You have chosen a pretty spot out here among
the apple-blossoms,” he said, as he sat down on
the rugged rvots of a tree.

“Yes; more beautiful than anything I have ever
dreamed of in my life. It is strange that you
should come just now, Mr. Ruthven, for I was
just thinking of you.”

“Thinking of me!” he said, in surprise. “I am
very much honored. May I ask what you were
thinking about me?” ing

“IT was wondering,” she said, loo at him
with grave, sweet, unconscious eyes, “whether
you were young or old, or what you were like;
and thinking that I should like to see you just
once, and thank you for all the great happiness
you have given me.”

He looked still more surprised.

“f am afraid you credit me with too much,”
he said. “What happiness can I have given
you?”

She smiled, and, that smile made her so won-
drously beautiful that he was again almost
frightened before her. i

“It is through your goodness,” she’said, “that
we came here, and I have never known what real
happiness means till now. All my life I have
lived in: a narrow street in Islington; I never
even saw areal garden like this. I did not know
“a world held such beautiful places as Never-
stay.”

“Have you seen Neversleigh and the woods?”
he asked.

“Not yet,’ she’ replied. “My father said I
must content myself with the house and garden
at first, lest I should really lose my senses with
delight. I have only seen a real wood in my
dreams.”

“But did you never go out of Islington?” he
asked.

‘Sometimes; very rarely... I have been to
Hampton Court,,to Hampstead, and Highgate;
but they do not. seem real country like this. There
is not one moment of the beautiful day in which
Ido notthank you.”

“T am much pleased,” he said. “that my choice
was so fortunate; but I think it is all due to your
father’s merit, and not to my goodness.”

“T was thinking that I should like to tell you
how exceedingly )
me,” she said, musingly; “and now [ have
thanked you. But words ‘are very weak to ex-
press what I feel.” i

“You express yourself most charmingly,” he
said, almost ata loss for words. :

She laughed, and that graceful, silvery laugh-
ter was like the chime of sweet belis. >

“My father speaks very differently,” she said;
“he tells me that Ido not speak good grammar
even.”

He was rather startled at that.-

“With such a clever father you must,I am
sure, be clever yourself,” he said. __

“No, Iam not; I always prayed him not to ed-
ucate me. He wanted me to learn Latin and
Greek. He used to talk to me about Lady Jane
Grey and her learning, but the very thought was
terrible to me. No one educates the birds, yet
how sweetly they sing. What is more beautiful
than an untrained flower?” s

Hubert Ruthven looked in positive wonder at
the fair, pure face. ‘

ae begged him,” she continued, “‘to let_ me lead
a simple, careless, happy, graceful life; and
though he was unwilling at first, he consen
after a time, and the result is I am not clever.”

There was a sound of footsteps. Sne looked
round. The color deepened in her face, the light
in her eyes.

“Here is my father,” she said; and by the
proud tone of voice he knew that in her eyes the
world did not hold that father’s equal.

CHAPTER VI.

Mr. Ruthven was pleased, as he had expected
to be, with the schoolmaster. He was not a gen-
tleman; he lacked that nameless, intangible
something that proclaims the gentleman—the
man of good birth, of good descent, accustomed
to the refinements of good society—he lacked

appy you kindness has made |]

 

 

 

ns ea

een eens)

 

 

 

| that; but he was thoughtful, competent, intelli-

gent—a well-educated man.

His manner tu Mr. Ruthven was excellent;

there was no cringing, no fawning, nothing sub-
servient; yet he was respectful, and seemed in
everything to admit the other’s superiority.
_ They all then returned tothe house, Alice hold-
ing her father’s hand, and a very pleasant hour
was spent. The master confirmed what his
daughter had said. How delightful the change
was from Islington to Neverstay.

“It is like coming to a fresh world,” he said. “I

'| think we shall be very happy here.”

Then he turned to his
fondness and pride that
Ruthven.

“T did not mention in my letter,” he said, “that
I had a daughter, presuming that the fact was of
no importance to any one hut myself.”

“Miss Luttrell is a very charming fact,” was
the gallant reply. “I hope she will find Never-
stay agreeable. You will make friends and ac-
quaintances in time. Some day, when you are
disengaged, I shall be pleased. to show you all
over the Abbey and the grounds; we have some
ry. splendid pictures and some very beautiful

Ss.

ughter with an air of
id not escape Mr.

Mr. Luttrell expressed thanks. Alice spoke no
word, but the delight that shone in her face sur-
any that she could put into words. Then

it was time for Hubert to go. He could find no

| pretext for lingering. He arranged ‘to be at the

orchard at four, and remain for an hour.

You will find the school fete a grand institu-
Bon. he said. “All the fine ladies will’ be

ere.”

“Who are the fine ladies ?” asked Mr. Luttrell,
with a smile.

“Lady Ethel Langham, Lady Delaware, the
Misses Douglass—I could not even remember the
names.”

“Then I must not go,” said Alice, drawing
anes. with a little look of disappointment on her
ace. :

. “Why not? Certainly you must—that is, if you
will,” said Mr. Ruthven, with a smile. “You are

| not afraid of fine ladies, are you ?”

“I have never seen any,” she replied; “but I
think I should be very much frightened at them.”

Mr. Ruthven laughed, and Mr. Luttrell placed
his hand on the golden head. The same thought
passed through the mind of both—that she had
nothing to fear from being brought into competi-
tion with anybody.
_ And then Hubert Ruthven left. Mr. Luttrell
went with him to the garden gate, and stood while
he mounted. He e@ back by the same way,
Shenae the same woods, in the same sunlight;
but what had come over them? What had -
pened to him? It seemed an age since he had
risen that morning, cool, calm and self-possessed.
He had ridden through those woods without a
thought save for the business he was bent pon:
he was returning haunted by a lovely young face,
haunted by the sweet gray eyes and lovely lips,
haunted by the refrain of a sweet, sad song, “‘Din-
na forget, laddie, dinna forget,” his heart Poatitiie
as it had never done before, his pulse thrilling
his whole soul warmed by the memory of tha
fair young face.

What had come over him? He did not know.
He was only just twenty, but he had run the
vegeta of the London -rooms; he had seen

utiful faces, with trained glances and artificial
smiles; but he had seen nothing like this girlish,
simple beauty, so free from art, so unconscious,
so devoid of guile.

hat had come over him? There was another
color on the grass, a brighter light in thesky; the
music of the birds seemed sweeter and fuller, life
seemed mer and brighter. Snatches of song
rose to his lips. The summer itself was not
brighter or warmer than the love that, unknown
to him, was springing in his heart.

That morning, as he had sat at breakfast, the
notion of a school-feast had been rather tiresome
than not; now he took out his watch to count the
hours, and see how long it would be before he saw
her again.

“Ah! if fine ladies knew the charm of sim-
plicity,” he said to himself, “we should have no
more of affectation.”

How he enjoyed his lunch, praised the efforts of
the cook, praised the wine, until the servauts, ac-
customed to his good humor, wondered at its
sunny brightness.

He was quite unconscious, though he took great
pains with his dressing, though he placed a won-
derful white rose in his coat; it never once oc-
curred to him that:it was all for her; yet he was
thinking of her. He told the head gardener to
prepare a bouquet of choice flowers.

“She seemed sofond of flowers,” he said to him-
ni “and many of these will be quite strange to
ler.”

But he knew no more than a dreaming child
what had come over him, or the meaning of this
strange light that lay on earth and sky.

The fete was a most delightful one; the orchard
was the very place above all others for it ; the
grass was long and thick, softer than the finest
carpet ever woven by mortal hands; the shade
beneath the great apple and pear trees was
pleasant and fragrant; there was a band of music,
and to the children’s great delight, huge swings
were fastened among the pee trees. There
were large tables spread with tempting cakes and
uscious fruits—a table round which the children
gathered in keen delight. Such preparations for
tea as gladdened the little ones even more than the
fruit. But perhaps the most amusing part of all
was the fine ladies who, with all the gracious
patronage imaginable, thought themselves “most
condescending.” There was Lady Ethel Langham
talking very pretty poetry about children and
flowers, yet most-carefully avoiding both. There
were the Misses Pent in pastoral raptures.
The entrance of Mr. Ruthven produced a great
sensation ere: them. He paid his devoirs with
a smile on his handsome face, and then looked
anxiously around for Alice Luttrell. ‘

He saw her standing at her father’s side, look-
ing half shyly at the fine ladies who had been
criticising her, wondering if she thought herself
good looking, etc. He went over to her at once.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself, Miss Lut-
trell,” he said; “it is a pretty, bright, ani-
mated scene.” :

“T am half-frightened,” sh said, gently.

“What! at the fine ladies?—they are very harm-
less,” said Hubert. F

“But they look so beautiful and so stately.

“Did you ever look in a glass?” asked Mr. Ruth-
ven, laughingly. }

Yes, she replied, wonderingly.

“Then you need not fear on the score of beauty,
Do you see that stately-looking lady in black?”

“Yes,” said the girl. a

“That is Lady Delamaine. I will introduce

our father and you to her, and you will see how
tittle there is to fear.”

The schoolmaster knew perfectly well, no one
better, the exact behavior required. The great
lady’s heart was won by the beautiful, blushing
eee timid manner, the shy, sweet embarrass-
ment.

She dismissed Mr. Luttrell with a few words
but kept his daughter by her side, and took great

 

  

well”

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

meena rnenis seme

delight in her. Mr. Ruthven stood for some time
behind Lady Delamaine’s chair.

“Itseems to me,” said Lady Ethel Langham,
“that if we want a word from Mr. Ruthven we
must pay attention to that odious girl.”

They did so, and the “odious girl” proved to be
so beautiful, so modes’, so graceful, and so shy,
they agreed that “for a young person of her class,
she was reallyysuperior.”

CHAPTER VII.

Any one can see the end of that summer Idyll—
Herbert Ruthven, Just twenty, tired of fashiona-
ble society and what he called fine ladies, ong ing
with a young man’s longing for love and happi-
ness; the romanee of heart and soul just awaken-
ed into life—nothing could have been more pro-
pitious for a love story. — > ;

She herself was so deliciously naive and simple,
she had not one idea of coquetry; but the most
dangerous flirt who ever played with the hearts
of men was not so dangerous as this simple girl.
She showed such keen delight in his society, she
worshiped him with such unconscious devotion;
she was so frank, so charming, that he could not
help loving her. :

He had not thought of anything ofthe kind
when their aequaintance first began; he was the
generous patron, she the daughter of the patron-
ized; hewas the grand signeur, she the school-
master’ x -; he the greatest man in_ the

b me of the humblest gitls. What
mi common between them except
the relationship of patron and patronized? He
liked to send baskets of fruitand game down to
the schoolhouse; it seemed a generous and a
proper thing todo. He liked to place bouquets
with the fruit, for one fond of flowers it seemed
only a charity. He gave the schoolmaster the
run of the library, and one fine morning he kept
his word and took them both over the abby and
the grounds, showed them the state-rooms and
the pictures, all the glories of Neverstay, and
Alice thought herself in fairyland. She could not
believe thi. was the real natural earth—her most
fantastic dreams had not even foreshadowed
anything so grand, so gorgeous.
nd he~—the prince, the hero who had dawned
upon her young life so suddenly—was to be mas-
ter of all this. She did not think so much of the
mere material advantage it would give him as
she did of the halo that surrounded liim.

Father and daughter had spent the whole of a
happy day there; they had ence of lunch,
set out in the dining-room. For the first time in
her life, Alice saw plate of silver and gold—saw
such fruit and flowers as she had thought were
only to be found in sunny, southern climes—had
tasted wines that might have been the true nec-
tar of the gods. It was like a new revelation to
her—a new world. No wonder thatit steeped her
senses in dreamy languor, and woke her heart
and soul into love that was almost pitiful from its
intensity. Hubert Ruthven did not seem to the
girl like a mere ordinary man; he was a hero, a
primes with all fairyland at his command--a

ing, who had but to uttera wish, and it was
gratified—a wonder, a marvel! And the girl’s
simple soul fell down before him, while the wor-
ship she gave him was in itself a greater marvel
than all.

Hubert Ruthven was Ltn a fogs ,
he had, ore taken his share in the follies of
the world, but no one could lay a dishonorable
action to his door. As for the betrayal of a wo-
man, he would sooner have thought of i a
friend’s pocket—it was not in him todosuch a
deed; so that no thought of harm to Alice ever
crossed his mind. He had been so skeptical over
jove—he had seen sv much of what was false and
unworthy to pass by the name, that he did-not
know what was happiness; he did not know that
he was falling in love with Alice; he did not know
that the glamour falling over him—the lightthat
made the world so fair—the tender, strange hap-
piness that filled heart and soul—was love; he
would have been the first to laugh incredulously
at such an idea.

it did not occur to him that he was continually
finding some pretext or other for visiting Nevers-
stay; that a day seldom passed without his see-
ing Alice. It did not once occur to him as strange
that going through the woods he should meet her
so often, and that they should sit together by the
brook-side, whiling the long, bright summer day
away. He had his faults, but he was a gentle-
man, and a manof honor. If he had believed
that he was falling in love with Alice, or that
Alice was doing the same with him, he would
have g ne away at once.

He brought her books from the library; he
made her many simple, pretty presents of en-
pravings and rare photographs; his words and

oughts opened fresh worlds to her, and, poor
girl, she did what was only natural under thecir-
cumstances—gave him her heart, her whole love.
and made her world, her life, all begin and en
with him.

How long matters might have gone on in this
uncertain way can never be told, but that Lady
Delamaine happened to interfere. She was a
kind-hearted, good-natured woman, and she had
taken a kindly liking to the schoolmaster’s lovely
daughter. She heard the rumors, of Hubert’s
continual presence at the schoolmaster’s cottage,
and from simple good-nature resolved to give
him a hint. It was not long before she had an
opportunity. In the middle of Septembera large
shooting party assercbled, at her house, and he
was one of the guests. Under pretext of speak-
ing to him on some business connected with the
wchools, she took him into her own room;

“Mr. Ruthven,” she said, inher frank and cor-
dial manner, “I want to say afew words to you
in good part; you promise me not to be offended?”

“IT could never be offended with you, Lady Dela-
maine,” he replied.

“In that case I shall be just as frank with you
as though you were my own son.”

“You could not do me greater honor, or give
me greater pleasure,” said Hubert, touched by
the elder lady’s tone.

*‘The schoolmaster at Neverstay, Mr. Luttrell,
has a very pretty daughter,” continued Lady
Delamaine; ‘“‘so pretty, poor girl, that she wiil
find her beauty a snare, lam afraid.”

Hubert’s face flushed, but his eyes did not fall
before the calm, serene gaze.

“Tam told that few days elapse without your
horse being seen at her door, and that you spend
whole hours with her.”

“It is perfectly true,’ he replied; struck him-
self by remembering how true it was.

“Well, my dear Mr. Ruthyen, we have agreed
ae. r am to speak honestly. Why do you go

ere ?”

He paused again, remembering that he had
never even asked himself the question.

“Why,” he repeated. “I declare, Lady Dela-
maine, tdo not know; because I have found it
pleasant, I suppose.”

“Exactly so; and Iam quite sure you are too
good to sacrifice the fair name of a young girl
because you find your visits pleasant.”

“T have not done so,” he replied, proudly.

“Pardon me—not intentionally, perhaps; but it
is done. People are beginning to talk strangely
about Miss Luttrell, and to look coldly on her,
because you are known to spend so much time
with her.”

“People might learn to mind their own busi-
ness,” he replied, with a warmer flush on his face.

“That they will never do,’ said Lady Dela-
maine, “The best thing isto give them no op-
portunity for talking. Where a young man visits
. girl and pays her attention, it means one of two

hings.’’

“What are they?” he asked.

“It means that he loves her, and intends to
make her his wife; or it means that heis a villain,
and intends to ruin her.”

Hubert Ruthven stands silent before the honest
words of an honest woman.

_“You mean neither of these things,” she con-
tinued. “You could not, in your position, marry
such a girl—it would be an incongruous marriage.
And I am equally sure that you are incapable of
the other.” .

“You do me justice,” he said, with a flush that
mounted to his brow.

“It is only natural to suppose,” continued her
ladyship, “taat the young girl must in the end
become attached to you, if yowpersevere in these
visits. Willit not be better to avoid all further
chance of wrong or mistake by discontinuing
them altogether?” ;

He was silent for a few minutes, then he held
out his hand to her with a frank, sweet smile.

“Iam quite at a loss how to thank you,” he
said. “Lady Delamaine,I wish every young man
had a sensible friend like you. have actea
thoughtlessly—that I confess with shame and
sorrow; but I have done no worse. [ will take
your adyvyice,and pretty Alice shall not come to
&orrow through me.”

 

 

 

 
  

   

Be ae
SR

 

“Spoken like yourself,” said Lady Delemaine
“she is a pretty gil, and a good girl—too good
to be lost.” ; :

“Do not mention such a thing,’ he said, with a
shudder; “the girlis pure and simple as.a child;
it would be cruel even to think of her being lost.
Thank you, Lady Delamaine, you shall see that
you haye not spoken to. me in vain’

But during ‘the remainder of the day he was
abstracted aid il] at ease. Of course if must be
done. Scandal must not touch Alice through him.
Yec rather than haye told her that the ¥ must

ive up all their pleasant interviews and ple t
arte he would have faced the niost deadly peril

[TO BE CONTINUED.) \
The Right to Dramatize thts Story is Reser osd by the Author.

THE SCALP-TAKER.

By Ned Buntline.
[‘‘The Scalp-Taker” was commenced in No. 33. Back Nos. can
be obtained from any News Dealer in the United States.) "

CHAPTER XIX.

When Natchez Bill heard Big Bowie utter the ery: “I’m
& higger if they’re net Indians,” his heart utterly gave
Way.

“Us all up with us now, boysl’? he groaned. “Our
scalps will hang on the Kiowas scalp poles, and the
wolves will pick our bones!’?

“1’m off!’ cried Big Bowie,
they may not see mel”?

And he crept away with a celerity and stealih that
much belied his former profession of utter helplessness.

“The coward—to go and Jeave two men with broken
legs, helpless as infants, to be butchered by the red
fiends!’ groaned Natchez Bill. ‘

“Hush! They may pass without seeing us!’ said. Ham-
ilton. “If they do not, it is better to die fighting than to
perish whimpering like whipped children. Nerve your-
self, and if you know how, be a man!”

Stung by the sarcasm in Hamilton’s words and tones,
Natchez Bill drew his revolver, and dragged himself up
behind the body of his dead horse, where Hamultou had
already crept to post,

Night was closing very fast, but in ifs haze the two men
piainly saw a small, but compact advancing column of
mounted men, Whose spears rose like a hedge above their
heads as Lhey came on, Showiug plain against. the ciear
sunset-gilded sky, Which served as a background,

“I see sculps or pennons on the spear-heads—if scalps,
the party must have more behind, or they would not ven-
ture so hear a town that is almost always full of rangers
aud brave bordermen!” said Bill.

“Hark! I hear the jingle of wheeled spurs and the jab-
ber of men speaking in ithe Spanish tonguel” said: Hainil-
ton. ‘Let’s call out and they'll come to our help, for they
are a hundred yards out of our line!l?

“ITush! not aloud word, if you value your life, or want
to keep your mouey!"’ whispered Natchez Bill, trembling
allover. “They are Mexicans ou a raid, and a thousand
times worse than the Indians of the Piains, Maybe Cor-
tinas himself is at their head, for he has sworn to dance
at a fandango in San Antonio, and he is just the cuss to
doit! If he overhauled us, he’d cut our tiroats first and
then rob our bodies. He never spures an American “who
is in his power!”

Hamilton kept still. THe loved his money too well to
risk its loss, and in all his agony he yet hetd life at worth
saving. In silence he, like Natchez Bull, watched the
forms of the daring riders as they Kept on ata walk to-
ward the town, evidently keeping the wind of their
horses for au hour when it might be needed.

Soon the jingle of spears and the rattle of sabers died
away, the Spear-heads could no longer be seen, aud dark-
ness closed entirely over the sufferiug men.

“Big Bowie—where are you?” called out Natchez Bill,
now, as loudly as hewould, for, he was sure tle Mexicans
were too distant to hear him.

“Here, boss!’ replied the ruffian, froma hollow in the
prairie a littie way off, into which he had crawled.

“Qome here, you big coward! _ e

“Boss, that isa hard word. Bat I forgive you, My
scalp 1s worth saving whether you think your's is. or mot.
1 wasn’t going to throw it away if I could ielp: it! re-

“Tt is coming twilight and

tio crippled gamblers lay. : _

“Well, Pil say no more about that. For mercy’s sake,
get to town and send help out tous, Send out an ambu-
lance, and have us carried in. We'll perish here before
daylight if we don't get help!” :

“J don’t know how I?ll find the town now in the dark,
or if I did, how they could ever find yuu out here if I sent
them?

“J’ve got matches and a bull’s-eye Jantern here. I'll
light that two hours from now, for by that time help will
come if you go in and send ft1?

“Suppose them Indians meet me 9?

“They were not Indiaus—only some Mexican herders, I
reckon. Go on, Bowie; goon, and Vil give you five hun-
dred dollars if you get help ont here to us!”

“Bully for youl! That is the best medicine for my lame
leg out. Vil getin, in some way, boss. Su take it cool
till I come back, for I'll come.with the help myself. Have
you any idea what course I must steer to get to town!??

“Yes—that large red star is right over it. Keep for that
and you can’t miss reaching the place.”

“Allright, boss; lim off, ‘That five hundred is as good
as wheat for me!”

The next instant Big Bowie limped away at a very fair
rate of speed fora cripple that could hardly crawl till the
five hundred dollar bribe was mentioned.

“Curse ’em! they’re all alikel’? muttered Natchez Bill.
“You can hive them to cut a throat, or do you a favor;
but expect it as a favor, or out of gratitude for anything
you've done, and youcan as well expect to skim sweet
cream from a gallon of sour cider. But I'll get even with
Big Bowie. I hold his note for five hundred dollars lent
over three years ago, and I never expected to get any-
thing on it. He'll get his five hundred doliars in the
shape of that paper. But I didn’t hint that, or he would
never have started after help.”?

And the gambler, iu spite of his pain, chuckled at the
thought of tis getting even with the fellow.

But the end was not yet. A form was seen looming up
iu the darkness, and Big Bowie came limping back.

“Why in thunder are you here? J] thought yon were
half-way in to San Antonio by this time!’ cried Natchez
Bill.

<4 had got a good start, boss, when something struck
me,’

“T wish it had Knocked you down.”

“fT dont; it didn’t hit hard enough forthat. It was this:
Something whispered, ‘You'd better take your pay in ad-
vance,’ and so ye come back to get it.”

“You mean whelp! you now owe me five hundred dol-
lars. I’ve got the note in my pocket,’

“Just so, boss; but you don’t turn that note in for this
job—not if this court. knows herself, and | think she does.
Either sheil out the five hundred on the spot, or I don’t
send you help if you lie here and rot, aud die.”

Natchez Bill groaned, for he was caught in his own
trap. Big Bowie had been too smart, after all. Lighting
his lantern, he counted out the money and handed it to
ihe conscieuceless robber.

“Go, now, for Heaven’s sake! lre moaned.
both as near dead a8 we can be and live.”?

“Din off, boss, But you might as well tear up that note;
you know I'll never pay it,’? said Big Bowie, as he aguiu
walked off toward the town.

“Them chickens hadn’t hatched when you counted
them, Bill,” said Hamilton, by way of consolation.

“The scoundrei!l Wil have his throat cut if ever he
shows his head in Indianola again,” cried Bill, “1 never
thought he’d be so cursed sharp. I knew he was mean
enough to stea) the coppers fro: a dead nigger's eyes,
but 1 didn't believe he could get ahead of me.”

CHAPTER XX.

In one of the hardest old dens that San Antonio conld
show, & fandango was in full blast. It was none of your
mere shindies; it was a baug-up fandango, with Mexican
guitar-players, and Mexican and half-breed giris to dance
with, aguadiente by the barrel, aud whisky all as pienty.

The room was crowded by men of every Class, some
playing monte in the corner devoted to that game, others
worshiping at the shrine -of Bacchus, or, in vulgar par-
lance, drinking like hogs—l beg pardon of the hogs; still
others dancing with the highly-dressed senoritas.

Rangers, wearing bowile-knife and revolver; stockmen,
booted and spurred, with knife in belt, and bull-whtp in
hand; gamblers and loafers—aill were there, to look on,
or to participate.

Suddenly there was quite an influx of strangers in the
reom, the most of them appearing to be Mexicans of a
superior class to the ordinary Greaser. All wore the in-
evilable poncho, beneath which their arms of defense or
offense Could be easily concealed, and which, 1n a melee,
wrapped around the leit arm, often serves a very useful!
purpose as a shield, or to faunt in the face of an enemy
while the deadly cuchéllo, or long, narruw-bladed kuile,
finds its way to his heart. ‘

One of these, a tall and elegantly-formed man, remark-
able for the richness of his dress—embroidered velvet,
with buttons of pure gold, stood for a moment, on enter-
ing the room, and scanned as if at a glauce every face aud
form there,

Then, selecting the prettiest Mexican girl in the room,
he went over, and whispering a compliment that sent the
red biood in a flood up to her very temples, asked her to
dance,

She assented, and placed her fair hand in his.

He bowed low and kissed it, anda wild light ofjoy
flashed through her eyes, for he had transferred a bril-
liant solitaire diamond from his finger to hers.

“La Hejial he cried, ina yoice that sounded likea
bugle to the musicians, and instantly their instruments
struck up one of those wild, impassioned Mexican dances,
which once seen can never be forgotten. The writer first
saw it at Puebla, during our war with Mexico, and he has
seen it in dreams a thousand times since.

At first, slow and stately music; the two who dance it
move with agrand dignity over the floor, then, as the
music quickens, they glide here and there, their bodies
Swaying with all the grace of bending branches, their
arms waving toand fro, while their fingers snap like
castanets, their eyes speaking of love and passion, every
motion a studied grace.

Faster and faster the music—faster and faster flew the
agile dancers, till every eye in the room was fixed upon
the handsome couple. Never had the people of San An-
tonia seen a fairer, nobler sight. Now advancing, now
retreating, the girl seemed to yield and then to refuse the

“We're

 

 

 

plied Big Bowie, as he limped up to the spot where the’

 

wild entreaties of the cavalier, then witha wild bound,
springing to his arms, they whirled about the room in a
gitdy waltZ until panting, exhausted, trembling with
fatigue and excitement, sue Sauk duwnh OM 2 Seat near Lhe
bar.
“Dos vasos de vino \'’—two glasses of wine—Cried the
Cavalier; wud us-they were filled, he turned and handed
one to his fair pariner, and drained the other to her
healto and happiness, ” s °R
Ab that instant an old ranger, known allo
“Old Rucky,” athin, drie@-up-looking chap, but wi
steel iiseifand brave as tle bravest, came ito the room.
He had not seen the dange which we have but faintly
deseribed, nor dit he see the Stranger until he was plump
up to the bar near which the] .tler stood. ‘
Thee the instant his eyes were Axel a, him, he
clapped his haud en his six-Shooter aud shugted; =
“CORTINA!"? i ae
Tn a second the stranger threw the magnifie
Which he carried intoe the faceand over thy

s.

,

fol is
; ead of the
daring seout, and whilé the Jatter was | g to free
himself, the Mexican shouted: ¢ aa

“Yes, Lam Cortina, and Ihave képt.my word! Ihave
danced a fandango in your town, in sight of the Alamo!”

A hundred Knives and pistols were drawn in a second,
but the tall strangerbounded unharmed from the room,
closely followed by his adherents, and befure another
sight fellupon hii, the rattle of horses’ hoofs aud the
clatier of sabers Lold that he was off and away.

“I'd give my whole ranch on the Guadalupe, yes and
every hoof of stock on it, for one shot at that infernal rob-
ber!" cried Old Rocky, as he freed himself from the heavy
Serape, or poncho, ‘ill Keep (his till I see him again!”
he added, as he looked at the magnificent garment, em-
broidered iu the richest manuer aud woven of the finest
material.

There was no more dancing there. Every one had Cor-
tina on his tongue, and the women seemed wild to think
of lis daring and his grace,

It was indeed a daring act, for at that moment Captain
Burleson, son of the former Vice-President of the Repub-
lic, hud a company of a hundred scouts and rangers in the
town, armed and used toarms, preparing for a raid of
vengeance into the Comanche and Kickapoo regions far
up the Rio Concho or Little Blue, and iuto the Wichita
mountains, if mdeed they did not go further, in the search
for captives, scalps and horses.

A nong these menu was Old Rocky, who got that name
While scouting in the Rocky Mountains with Kit Garson,
Freemont aud others—thiough his right hame was Young
— ‘Red Top,” the school-master; Bill Lambert, the dandy
scout; Bill George, Sam Fiddler, a great chum of Big Foot

  
 

> orien ® x

 
 

      
 

Colorado Turuer and others, almost as daring, who could
have wiped out Cortina and all his band in ten minutes
had they known of their coming.

But the daring baudit was gone, on picked horses, al-
most fresh, and pursuit would haye-been useless, for
heading iua straight line for the Rio Grande, he was
leagues on his road toward his favorite crossing at the
mouth of the Arroyo de San Diego, before the force could
have been mustered and mounted,

No one danced again that night in the Fandango Iall,
but huudreds came and went who wished to see Cortina’s
gift to the lovely dancer, Lina Beccero—a diamond worth
thousands of dullars—uo one there, indeed, could tell now
much. Jigah

Aiong these visitors wasa young man in a buckskin
suit, with a pair of old-fashioned revolvers and a heavy
knife in his belt, who was a stranger to all present; but
when Old Rocky took a quizzical look at his oulfir, he
Started back, then going cluser, he eyed the pistols aud
knife with wonder, s Fg s

“Stranger, when did Post-Oak Bill shed them tools, and
how did you come by them? -That’s what Old Rocky
Wants to know, and that sudden!’?

The young stranger turned on his heel, and, nettled
at What he deemed an insolent tone, if not an insolent
question, looked Old Rocky full in the face, without giv-
1ug’any answer.

“Why don't you speak when you are spoken to?’ said
the old ranger. “Do you wanPstirring up?’ and he laid

his-hand,on the hilt of his bowie-knife, —
lna a ieiea ond a cocked Derringer was on a level with his
eye, andthe young man quietly said: —

“Sur me up, if you think it will pay 1

Rocky never quailed, but he let lis hand drop from the
hilt of his Knife, aud said: 2

“A civil question” deserves a civil answer. Maybe I
spoke a little sharp—it’s a way. I have.”

“Tuen I will atiswer you civilly. Post-Oak Bill died in
my arms, and left these Weapons and all his viher prop-
Perl x10 me by will, and a debt of vengeance, which I in-
tend to pay.) - 7
~ “Whatt Post-Oak Bill dead!’ cried Old Rocky, and the
cry was echoed by twenly men who had been the old

ranger's friends. “What took him off? It wasn’t rea-
eye, for he never drank hard, not even in his troubles.”
“No. His wound through the lung broke out again,

inflainmation set in, jhe died in the hotel where |
stopped, He Look a liking to me, because I did all I could
for him int Sts ua | he gave me these tools and
all his property, as 7 said, by will, which Pl show you,
or any of his friends; and 1 promised to hunt up his
child, Julia, whowas taken by the Comanches, or die a
irying, Here is her picture, which he wore till’ he died.
I wear it now, and will til I fiud her. And I promised
him never to spare a red that came inmy range-—to scalp
every onelcan, That is the debt
ef, and DIL pay it” pe ; i

“Boys, this Hit\le Yank speaks the truti. Ican see if in
his eye, hear {it in the ring of his voice!’ cried Rocky.

“T reckon he’ll do to tie to, ifhe isa Yank,” ered an-
other, a regular prairie dandy in his dress, looks aud out-
fir, whom Rocky called Bill Lambert.

“What's your name, bub??? asked Rocky.

“Sam Hall, they call me at homes but when Post-Oak
Bill gave me this suit, he christened me Buckskin Sam.”

“Then Buckskin Sam shall be your name out here. If
you want to hunt Comanches aud Kiowas Vil put you in
the way of going on the trail.’

“He'd better join us rangers, Tell never havea better
chance,” cried Sam Fiddler, “Oap Burleson will take
him on your recommend, Rocky, especially when you tell
him youve looked into the throat of the little Yauk’s Der-
ringer.’

“Who cares if] did ?? said Rocky, petulantly.
lad was right, and l was wrong.
up for his rights,’?

“So do 1,”? said another ranger, known as Bill George.
“11 take him for a chum, and have him in iy mess,??

“Come around to our quarters, aud Til introduce you
to Cup Burleson. He is game, you bet; and when you
know the rest of the boys, you’!l swear you never got into
a better crowd,” said Rocky.

The rangers now left, aud Sam went with them.

“The
liike him for standing

 

CHAPTER XXII.

Sam spent several hours with the rangers that night,
listening to their stories of fights in the chaparral, among
the hills and on the plains, not giving out a word about
his own already startling adventures, preferring if they
came out at all to Jet them come from otmer lips, merely
saying that he had come in on the trail from ludianola
with a couple of friends, arriving just at night,

He was introduced to Captain Burleson, a fine, military-
looking man, inwhom his men reposed unlimited confi-
dence, aud who seemed to hate Indians as badly as he
could, while he loved Texas aud the Texaus better than
all the rest of the world.

Sam wanted to join the company In a kind of indepen-
dent way, Without pay, with the right to leave whenever
he wanted to, but Burieson would only take him as the
rest came, for a Uiree months’ term of service, wnder pay,
and amenable to certain rules of discipline, far indeed
from hard or Strict, but sufficient to keep the men to-
gether, control their movements, insure a constant guard,
and otherwise make thein reliable as soldiers.

Sam did not decide that night, but promised to as soon
ashe had gotthe willof his dead friend recorded, paid
up taxes, aud takeu pussessiou of the real estate left to
him.

He had indeed privately made up hisown mind from
the start, for he knew he could never get a beiter chance
to learn the trade of hunting Indians, with men who had
been all thelr lives in such work, aud who not only knew
the country they were going into, but the Indians them-
selves, men who could aid him to the utmost in the
search for the captive girt.

Sam, amid ali the teinptations to drink held out in invi-
tations on every side, held frm in his determination not
to let his young manhood be weakened by the curse of
mankiud, aud not @ drep of alconolic poison passed his
lips.

Tiis set him up a notch on the hind sight with Captain
Burleson, who said that he wanted no rum-bravery in his
crowd, and Sam retired with the verdictthat he’d make
a ranger if he lived long enough, even if he was a Yan-
kee, as they term all Northern men, no matter what State
Lhey come from.

That night Sam did not disturb Miss Dean with a rela-
tion of his. intentions, dut he told Charley Gibson, who
had not retired, about his meeting the raugers and what
he thou of them.

Gib knew them all, had served with some of them, and
asked him had he not met Hogey Benneit—Psalin-Singing
Hogey, some called him.

“There was a chap who seemed pretty full,”? said Sam,
ee droning Methodist hymus to himself all the
time.

“Thav’s Rkim,I know. He’s a good fellow in a fight,
but as lazy as a fat coon. and always hungry. He'll eat
his rations and yours too, and then grambie because he
hasn't got enough. He'll sing from morning till night,
and then go it from night till morning. He's too lazy to
cook, but the boys can’t get mad with him, he is so good-
natured, You met Bill Lambert—Dandy Bill, you say.
Ue is 2 romantic cuss, has his sweethearV’s name on his
saddle-horn where he can see it when he rides. He sits
as stiff in the saddle as a riding-master, or a militia gen-
eral on muster day, sings love songs when he is on guard,
and leads in every fandango the boys take stock in. Oh,
heisatrimmer! Bat when fight comes, he’s in every
time, yon bet!?

Thus Gibson went on till Sam knew the character of
nearly every man whom he remembered jn the crowd.

It was very late when the two men turned in, in the
same room, taiking wll one was too drowsy to answer the
other,

Neither had heard of the villains whom they had left
unhorsed in the rear, for Big Bowie, worse hurt than he
had supposed, had literally to creep to the town.

Al a Very late hour he got to the saloon of an ola ehum,
and roused force enough to go out ina wagon afier Reddy
Hamilton and Natchez Bill. When found, these men were
almost dead and quite unconscious, and Big Bowie, with
his tongue unloosed by drink, told the whole story—how
one man, and he a little Yankee, had killed their horses
and crippled them all in a running fight,

 

Wallace's, logey Bennett, Reckless Joe, or Joe Owens, -

eance 1 spoke

VEEKLY. $i

a a a A

 

 

When the wonnded men were brought in, a surgeon
was culled, and he asked the assistance of the surgeon
belonging to Burleseu’s rangers, tor there were two ain-
putations to perform, one on the leg of each of the two
principal gamblers, NatcheZ Bill and Reddy Haniilton,
and there wasmpiay sated ancie to putin place for Big
Bowie, while his knee-Gap wis also badly hurt.

Tius the whole thing came out, and, when Bockskin
Sau woke the next < he was famous, The Raugers
had all got the | ‘vf his work on the previous day,
and now Burleson was more than anxious to have him in
his Company—Bo anxious, indeed, that he agreed to give
sai lis discharge at any thue he wanted it, im the Indian

   
  
 

     

   

coull ore rhere; for Sam wanted to beso indepen-
dent that if fe heard of Post Oak Bill’s daughter, he
could leave give all lis time to the duty of recover-

words, that he could goin on his own

fhenever he wanted Lo,
So Sain wis enrolled, even before he had attended to
his legal business instown, &@nd wade arrangements for

leaving Miss Dean in giafety,

Sam _ had another surprise that morning—one which
gave him great pleasure, too, for every friend counts In a
Strange place.

He was taking his coffee, when in rushed amanin
Ranger’s uulform, with “specs” astride his ose, shout-
jug: ea

“Where is he—the noblest Roman of them all? Hora-
tio, sworn brother of my soul—where art thou? Let not
rprocee the answer to my call! Hal I see thee=I clutch
thee

Sam sprang to his feet, recognizing his old chum, Joe
Owens, as Stage-struck ashe had been when he suped in
the Old Bowery, aud as full of Shakespeare und nouseuse
as ever, . .

Joe rushed to his arms, and embraced himin a manner
which would have made George Fox weep, and my old
friend Studiey feel like envying.

“How came you out here?’ cried Sam, the moment
that he could escape from that crushing embrace, for Joe
had grown 23.SlrOng AS @ Zrizz!y. Dearie,

“By fluod and fleld, my lord!’

“Oli, stop your iusernal play nonsense just this once,
and teilme how you came out here, and what you are
doing in Ranger's uniform)?

“Ye gods, what taste! But Pl e’en humor thee, if it
costs—a drink! Have you not heard of Reckless Joe?”

"Why, yes; l?ve seen his name iu print a hundred times
—Aa dare-devil scout aud ranger.”’

“Thanks, my noble lord—you do me proud! I am the
man?

“You? Why, I thought you were in New York, in
Goodyear’s comb factory, spending your spare time and
money at the theaters!”?

“No, Lhave been out here two years, and, fs you see,
am not quite unknown to fame. Do you know howl got
the name of Reckiess Joe, and what made me take rauk
among the Rangers so soon ??

“ “No. Enlighten me—that is if you can doit outside of
Shakegpeare.”?

“Well, l will try to get down toyour level. I nearly
ruined my eyes, you know, sawingcombs with that in-
fernal patent of my brother’s—may his spirit take things
easy. Phe last] heard of him he wasstill at work for
Goodyear in his factory, at Greenpoint, Long Island. J
came @uthere to belter my health and condition, and
found pleuty to eat, but uo work to make the wherewithal
to biy that plenty. Sol enlsted with the Rangers. I
saw that becuuse I was a Yankee. Ihad gotto makea
point or else be kept under foot. So I made up my mina,
if they pushed on me, ld kick from the word go. I did,
and, being so near-sighted, weut in at close quarters, and
after | had nearly wiped out a couple of their roosters,
there Was no more crowing over the “blind Yank.” You
can bet your last red ou that! But that wasn’t where |
got my naine. We were ona scontover on the South
Fork of the Rio Frio, in Walde county, following a big
baud of Kiowas into the mountains, who had made a raid

ver this way, killed a lot of people, and carried off three
Per four hundred horses. They were strong, over three
hundred in the war-party, and we Rangers had ouly forty
nen all told. I was in the advance guard when we came
on them, all drawn up for fightin a big basin in the
mountains, and when the other boys shouted, ‘Indians
ahead! I just drove my spurs into my mustang and went
in. Icouldn’t see the cusses on the start, for my eyes
were poor, or I should never have gone in that way, you
bet! When I did see them, they were all around me, and
I was alone; but I dropped my reins, and with a s:x-
shooter in cach hand went to work. I conldn’t miss, they
were around me so thick that they were in each other’s
way. tL hi

“I was just piling ’em up, had my last load out, and
was goingdor my bowie, when the boys got up to me,
and after that-it- was iurder and nothing short of it. The
reds took a panic, quit. fighting, and run, all that could.
But we went through more than half the band, and got
back all the horses. From thatday I’ve been called
Reckless Joe, for the boys never would have charged
such acrowd had I not, literally, blindly Jed the way.
They followed to try and save me, aud the consequence
was We carried in more scalps than any Ranger company
bad ever done before or has since, according to our num-
bers. So, my boy, you seeit isn’t so bad tobe near-
Sighted after all, And l?ve been a king-pitv out here ever
since. And you’ve Commenced well, too. I heard how
you met Od Rocky on the start. You've made friends by
it, and he’*H bear you no grudge. He likes aman, be he
young or old, big or little.””

“Tam glad of it! said Sam. ‘I’ve had nothing but
enemies ou Texas soil so far, and I want Iriends. I may
need them by-and-by.*’

“Fheard about your shooting them chaps and their
horses, and bringing ina lady safe whom they meant
to rob. You are a hero already made, Sam, before
you've feathered out asa Rauger. You musi tell me all
ubout it.”

“T will when we are ranging, Joe. Now I want you to
go with metothe Recorder’s office, aud then to see my
house and lot. By that time Miss Fanny Dean will be up
and Pll introduce you, You'll not be too near-sighted
then, IH bet. She is pretty enough to open a blind man’s
eyes!’

wry lord, Iam thine!*?
“There you go again, Old Bowery!”
{TO BE CONTINUED.)

——_—_ + 0 ~+
THINGS GENERALLY.
BY MAX ADELER.

THE GOOCH CASE,

— Probably you huve never heard of the facts in the fa-
mous Gooch breach of promise case, in our State? I don’t
vouch for them; I mereiy give them as they have come to
me. Itseems that Thowas Hay had been eugaged to ve
married to Miss Julia Gooch, but had given her up aud
gone off and married a Woman who was worth over half
a million dollars, The money, of Course, was the attrac-
tion; but nobody understood how he could have gone
back on Julia even for such an, inducement, and Ido not
comprehend it myself, for it would appear from the sequel
that she was the most beautiful aud fascivating woman
that ever appeared in this vicinity, However, Julia de-
termined to be revenged, and she sued Mr. Hay for
breach of promise, laying her claim for damages at
$10,000.

On the day of thetrial she came into court with her
vail down, and, while her lawyer was laying her grief b:-
fore the jary, nobody paid particular atteution. Afiera
while she came on the witness stand and began to testify.
Then she took Off her vail, and the effect was wouderful.
The attorney for the defense feil in love with her atthe
first glance, and, when he canie to cross-examine her, he
asked her questions which helped her to make out Mr.
llay to be the hardes!-hearted scoundrel on the continent.
When his turn came to speak, instead of assisting his
ciient, he put in astrong plea for Julia, and said that if
the jury didn’t give her at least $15,000 they would deserve
the contempt of every honest man. Then be seut a little
note to Miss Gooch, asktug her to be his.

In the meautime the clerk of the court went over to see
her, and proposed to her under pretense of asking her her
fullname. The foreman of the jury saw what was going
on, and winked at her not to give a decisive answer until
he could get out of the box to tell her of his loveyand he
sent her his eard, wiilh a memorandum to the effect that
if she would hold off he would get the jury to give her
$20,000 damages. All the other jurymen also winked at
her, and, wheu they saw the foreman writing to her, the
whole of them jumped out of the box and proceeded to
propose to Julia in chorus, Julia’s own attorney had iu-
tended to pop as svon as the trial was over, but he was
alarmed at the way things were going, and go he pulled
away a juryman named Sinith, and shouted to Miss Gooch
not to pay any attention to these fellows until he could
speak to her confidentially. Then Smith became mad that
he was interrupted just as he was about to get an answer,
and he smote the lawyer ou the nose, whereupon the
lawyer turned to Julia witha pathetic Jook, and asked
her to gaze on his nose, aud see how it could bleed for
her.

Of course the judge was indignant at these breaches of
decorum, and, after demanding order in the court, he re-
qnesited Julia to take a seat by him so that she would be
safe froin this unpleasant persecution, She did so, and
the first thing the judge said to her was: ;

“J love you to distraction. Say you'h be mine! O, Julia!
I cannot live without you, darliung!—(silence in the court!)
—but if you will accept me, | will love you more ardently
—(Mr. Jones, compel that juryman to take his seal!)—
than man ever loved woman before. -I will make you—
(Mr, Wamisiey, proceed with your argument, sir; don’t
stare at me in that manner!)—the happiest woman in Del-
aware. Will you have me?!

Then the lawyers said that they were willing to rest
their cases, and the judge began to iustruct the jury. He
made a strong argument for Julia, and said among otuer
things that it was Nonsense to talk about less than $50,000
in a case like this. The jury gave a verdict williout Jeay-
ing their seats for $60,000, and each one of them screamed
at Miss Gooch that he was the man that fixed that figure,
while the foreman climbed down and tried to get up at
the judge’s barto explain thathe wanted to make it
$70,000, but the others wouldn’t let him. But the judge
Knocked him off with a volunie of “Chitty on Evidence.”

Then Mr. Hay arose and said that. since the trial began
he had found that all his old love for Miss Gooch had re-
kindled tn his bosom, andif the court would grant him a
divorce he would marry her on the spot. But the judge
said the court would die first; and he tried to lead Juha
down the rear. staircase so that he could see her home,
but the lawyers and the jorymen flew at him, and said
they wouldn't permitit. Tueshe fined the whole Jota
hundred dollars aptece for contempt of court, and ordered
thetn to be imprisoned until it was paid.

Then he emerged with Julia, while the jurymen blew
kisses at her, und when the two reached the Gouch mane

 

 

sion they found the jurymen there, sitting around in the
parlor, waiting for Julia to come in, They had paid their
fines on the spot. The judge was awtui mad, and while
he was arguing the mater with the crowd, Julia excused
herself jor a few moments, — ~~ ae

She was gone an hour. When she e back she haé
& young man with her, and she anounee that sue had
beeu out be oouaaeal Mewitt him. The Presbyterian min-
ister had performed the ceremony. The judge said it was
an outrage, and the jurymen wanted 16 reconsider the
verdict, But she got her money, and he of the jury-
men committed suicide, while Hays? law; er Went iuto a
monastery and became a monk, ?

Perhaps this is not exactly true. I only give it as it was
reported. .

HE WANTED TO DISCOUNT Ir,

— The Wiiow Hoops has buried threé husbands, but
this fact not discourage her from taking a fourth, His
name is Brierly, and she married him Pspring. Just
after her return from the Weeping tour
one day by a visit from Mr. Toombs, t
she came into the parlor, Toombs opened the conversa-
l10n as follows:

“Abt Mrs. Hoo—Brierly, Imean; I hope I see you well.
Did you havea pleasant trip? Nice weather while you
Were aways a little backward, maybe, but still coimfort-
able, and likely tu make things grow. Cemetery looks
beautifal now. I was out there to-day to a burying.
Grass is comiig up.charming on your lot, and I noticed
a blackberry bush growing out of Mr, Lloops’s grave. He
was foud of ’em, Treckon. There they were laying,
Hoops, and Smith, aud McFadden, all three of them, snug
as a bug in a rug. No woman could have doue fairer
with those men than you did, ma’am—those mahogany
coffins, with silver-plated handles, were good enough for
the patriarchs and prophets, and the President of the
United States himself daresn’t ask anything better than a
hearse with real ostrich feathers and horses that are black
as ink all over, except the near horse that’s a litle yaller
about one hoof. ; :

“I know when we laid Mr. McFadden ont I said to Tim
Potts, my foreman, that the simple-hearied affection that
you showed in having that corpse buried in style almost
made me cry like a child; but I never fully realized what
woman’s love really is till you made medine Smith's cof-
fin with white satin, and Jet in a French plate glass sky-
light over the countenance. That posilively worked on
my feeliugs so that I pretty near forgot to distribute the
gloves to the mourners, aud I Jeft the lid unscrewed lil
we got to the graveyard. And Smith was worthy of it;
he deserved it all. He was a man all over; no difference
how you looked at him; stoutish, maybe, and took a coffin
that was thick through; but he was all there, aud I kuow
when you lost hi:n it worried you like anything.

‘Now, it’s none of my business, Mrs. Brierly, but cast-
ing ny eye over those sepulchers to-day it struck me thatI
might fix ’em up a little so’s they’d be more comfortable
like. Ithink McFadden wants a few sods over the feet,
Where the chickens have been scratching, aud Hoops?’
headstone is worked a little out of plumb. He’s settled
some, I s’pose. J think I’d_ straighten it up and puta
gas-pipe railing around Smith, And while you're about
it, Mrs. Brierly, hadn’t you better buy about ten feet be-
yond Hoops, so’s there won’t be any scrouging wheu you
plant the next one? I Jike elbow-room in a cemetery lot,
und J pledge you my word it'll be a tight squeeze to get
Mr. Brierly in there andJleave room for you besides. It
can’t be done so’sto look any ways right, andi know
ran don’é want to roust all turee of ’em out. and make
*em Move up So's to let the rest of youiu, Of course, it
*d cut you up, and it d cost like thuuder, too. ;

“I Know when Mr. Butterwick moved his three wives out
of the Methodist burying-ground over to the cemetery the
horse ran off white the remains were tn tie cart, and the
sacred dust was spilled out of the tail-board all along the
streets for half-a-mile.) And when they collected the three
Mrs. Butterwicks lie coukiu’s tell which, was. which to
save his life, and for mouths it ’d bother him the worst
kind when he’d want to come out and mourn. over the
grave of Maria to think that maybe he was crying over

art of Emeline, for he never liked her much” anyway.

When a person’s dead aud buried it’s the fair thing to let

him alone, and not to go husuing him. around ‘the com-
munity. That’s my view anyway; and [say that if I was
you, sooner than put Hoops on top of McFadden and
Smith on top of Huvops,J’d buy in-the whole reservation
aud lay ’em forty feet apart.

“And how ts Mr. Brierly? Scemin pretty good health?
Do you Uiink we are to have him with us loug? I hope
50; but there’s consumption in his family, I believe, Life
is mighty unceriains We dowt Know what tmhinute we
may have toskip. I’m a forehanded kiud of a man, and
while his wedding suit was. being made I just stepped
into the tallor’s and ran it over with a tape-imeasure so’s
to get some idea of his size. You'd hardly believe it, but
I’ve gota black walnut casket at the shop that'll fit him
as exact as ifit had been built for him. It was the luck-
iest thing. An odd size tuo, and wider than we generally
make them. 1 laid itaway up-stairs for lim, to be pre-
pared in case of accident.’ You’ve been so cléver with me
that I feel 8 if] ought to. try my best to accommodate
you; and know how women hate to bother about such
things when their grief is teariug up their feelings and
they are fretting about getting their mourning clothes
in time for the funeral.

“And that’s partly what I called to. see you abont, Mrs.
McFa—Brierly Imean. I’ve got a note to payin the
morning, and the man’s pnshing me awful hard; but I’m
cleaned right out. Haven't gotacent. Now it occurred
'o Me that maybe you’d advance me the mouey on Ar.
Brierly’s faueral if I'd offer you liberal terms. How does
15 per cent strike you? and if lie hangs on for six or seven
years I'l} make it 20? Mind you, Loffer the casket and
the best trimmings, eight carriages, the nobbiest hearse
in the county, and ice enough to Keep him fur three days
in the swelteringest weather in August. And Ldon’t
mind—weil—yes, Ill even agree to throwin a plain tomb-
stone. If you can do that to accommodate a friend, why
PU—No? Don't want to speculate oa it?) Oh, very well;
I’m sorry, because I know you'd been satisfied with the
way Pda handled him, But no matter, L spose I can
skin round aud borrow elsewhere. Good morning; drop
in sometime and Vii show you that casket.” .

As Toombs was going out he met Mr. Brierly at the
door. When he was gone, Brierly said:

“My dear, who is that very odd-looking mau?

Ant! Mrs. Brierly hesitated a moment, turted very red,
and answered:

“That is—that man is—a—a—he is, I belleve,—a—a—a
—f some kind of a—an undertaker!”?

Then brierly Jooked gloomy aud went up stairs to think.

THE WATER PERAMBULATOR.

— When Cooley read the accounts of Paul Boyton’s exploit
in swimming the English channel, it struck him that he
could improve a liitie on Boyton’s life perserver. Hesaid
he had invented an apparatus with which a man eould
walk on the surface of the water, aud with a littice practice
glide over it with the velocity wilh which a good skater
skims over the ice. So he iuvited a party of us down to
the river one day to see iim Operate the machine. At the
appointed time he appeared with something that looked
like a smaH gunboat under each arm. Then he strapped
one on each foot, and we saw that the article was about
four feet long, and shaped like a shallow scow.

As he prepared to lower himself over the edge of the

wharf, he asked us to designate the point on the other
side of the river at which we wished hint to land. He
said it was immaterial to him whether he went one mile
oY six, up stream or down, because he could just hop
along over thatriver like a Swallow. Tis general idea
was to producea revolution in navigation, and to make
men independent of steamers and other vesseis when they
desired to travel upon the water with rapidity,
Then he dropped into the stream with his scows, and
steadied himself by holding onto the side of the wharf
until he was ready to start. Atlast he said the experi-
ment would begin, and he struck ont with his left foot.
The front end of that particular scow scuttled under the
water, and as he tried Lo save himself wit his right foot,
theend of that scow also dipped down, and Cooley
tumbled.

The next minnte he was hanging head downward in the
river with bothing visible to the spectators. but the bot-
toms of two four-foot gunboats, The patent apparatus
simply kept all the rest of him under water, Then a
couple of men paddled out to him in a skiff, and hauled
himin, Then we unbuckled his scows, took off his
Clothes, and rolled hint over a vinegar barrel {o work the
water out of him. In about an hourhe came to, and ut-
tering & groan, he Said:

“Where am I???

We explained to him, and he asked: \,

“What drownded me ?? \

We told iim that he was injared by an attempé to revo-
lautionize navigation, and he demanded:

‘How a? f wry todo it???

We reminded hijm that he had started for a skim np the
river, with a frigate tied to each foot, and then he asked:

“Where ip the thunder are them machines?”

We showed them to him, aud calling Ben Martin to him,
he said faintly:

“Ben, I wish yeu’d cuss them things forme. Cuss’em
Vigorous, and Uien split em up tuto kin‘lin’ wood for the
poor. Wm too weak to do justice to the sabject.’?

Then we took hin home, and he was in bed for a fort-
night. He says now that all he wants to live for is to see
Boyton some day go chuck to tle bottuum. Then he'll be
perlectly happy.

-————_>est__—.
Historical Items.

THE first white man who visited the present site
of Chicago was the French Jesuit missionary Marquette. This
wasin the year 1673. In the following year he camped there,
Subsequently, there was a French trading post there. In 1804,
the government bnitt a fort near the mouth of the Chicago
River. This fort was more than once abandoned because of
trouble with the Indians, and was once destroyed by the savages
but was agnin rebuilt. In 1830 the town was surveyed und jJaid
out. There were at that time about a dozen families in the set-
tlement, besides the officers and soldiers of the fort.

THE phrase “Thunders of the Vatican,” was first
nsed by Voltaire in France in 1748. The Vatican, which is the re-
sidence of the Pop*, issiid to contain seven thousand rooms.
The library in it, fonnded A, D. 1448, is noted for its collection
of manuscripts. The number of books is comparatively small.

VoLUNTEERS Were first raised in England in 1794,
in view of a threatened invaion by France. In the United
States, on the breaking out of the Mexican war, Congress author-
ized the enlistment of 50,000 volunteers, A much larger number
responded, but Jess than 30,000 were actually needed «r enrolled.

THE Greek phalanx consisted of 800 men in asquare

battalion, with shields joined, and spears cressing each ctier.
The Macedonian: phalanx was instituted by Philip of Macedon,
B.C.

 
     
  

 

Tue original manuscript of Washington’s Farewell

 

Address was sold at auction, 1n Philadelphia, to a citizen ot New
York, for $2,300, Fe. 12, 1850,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ee ae

———
ee eam

 

\

 

 

a
on

 
 

   
  
   
  
   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~COME, DARLING.
BY WILIAAM ROSS WALLAGR.

Lonely, oh, lonely!
Ah, would that thy bloom
Could this sad darkness drive
From the deptus of my room!

Ah, would that thy voice
With-its music so dear,

So divine in its love,
Could the solitude eheer.

Ceuld the solitude cheer *
Where thou, Aveline, art,

Never lonesomeness lowers
On forehead or heart.

But all's light, life and joy,
And a Paradise springs
With a rapture of murmurs

Of seraphim-wings.

$ Come, darling! Come, darling!
All loneliness flies,
7 When I heaven in the light
Of thy tender blue eyes.

O, she 1s with me now!—
There—there—rapture-kissi—
Another—another—
Iam swooning with bliss!

 

ONE 3
NICHT’S MYSTERY.

By Mrs. May Agnes Fleming.

{“One Night's Mystery” was commenced in No. 29. Back num-
bers can be obtained from any News Agent in the United Stutes.]

CHAPTER XVI.
‘“HIS HONOR, ROOTED IN DISHONOR, STOOD.”

Sydney sat very sllent and thoughtful during the
homeward drive, lying back in her cozy corner, and
watehing the white, whirling night outside. Allun-
eonscious of Bertie’s good resolutions, her thoughts
were running in an entirely opposite groove. If
anything had been wanting to open her eyes to the
true state of Mr. .Vaughan’s affections, to-night at
the theater had opened them. She had seen him
look at Miss De Courcy as he had certainly never
looked at her. She understood the secret of his
brief absence as well as he did. himself; there no
longer remained a doubt in her mind. He cared
notning for her, and he did care a very great deal
for this dashing actress.

“Then I shall never marry him,” Sydney thought
—‘*never! never! This is why he has not spoken—
why he is so o&en absent—why he Stays out so late
nights. Heis running after Miss DeCourcy. Oh!
why cannot he be brave, and speak out, and tell me
the truth! I don’t want to marry him—I don’t want
to marry. anybody—and he must know it. Papa
would net be so very angry, and he might forgive
him—perhaps.”

But hare Sydney stopped... Papa would be most
tremendously angry; papa would never forgive him
to the day of hisdeath. She could never dare tell
papa the truth; if the marriage was broken off, it
must be through her own unwillingness to keep to
the compact, not his, else Bertie was ruined for life.

J will speak to papa Lhis very night, it I geta
chance. J] couldn’t marry Bertie—oh, never! never!
—knowing he cared for another more than me; that
all the time he was standing by my side in the
church he was wishing another girl in my place. No,
I couldn’t, not even to please papa. I don’t eare for
Bertie now, but if f were married to him, it might be
different; and to grow fond of him, and feel sure
he cared nothing for me—no, I could not bear that !”

The pretty, gentle face looked strangely troubled,
as Bertie helped her ont, and she ran up the steps
and into the hall, How white and wild the. night
had grown—the trees standing up ink-black in the
whirling whiteness,

Captain Owenson had sat up for the return of the
‘members of his household. A bright fire and a com-
fortable supper awaited them. Mrs. Ojvenson, Cy-
rilla, and Bertie partook ot cold chicken and cham-

agne, with appetites whetted by the. keen wind,
Poe Doly De Courey had completely taken away
Sydney’s. Her father was the only one who noticed
it—her father, whose doting eyes never left her face
for long.

“Well, little one,” he said, “what is it? Has Lady
Teazle been supper enough for you? You eat noth-
ing.”

It was altogether the most random of shots, but it
went straight home. Sydney started guiltily, and
seized her knife and fork; Bertie set down his glass
untasted; Miss Hendrick, delicately carving a wing,
smiled in malicious triumph.

**T do most sincerely mane this supercilious little
dandy will lose Sydney,” she thought, *‘even at the
eleventh hour! A dandy one could forgive—Freddy
is that, bless him!—but a fool, never!”

**How did you find this famous actress, of whom
Bertie speaks so highly?” pursued the captain, whose
evil genius evidently sat at his elbow prompting
him: ‘Is she the star he makes her out, or was the
‘School for Scandal’ a disappointment ?”

There was a pause. As a matter of course, Mr.
Vaughan reddened violently. The question being
addressed generally, no one felt called upon to an-
swer, and it was Aunt Char who came to the rescue.

“TI am sure I think it was very nice,” that good
lady: said, ‘tand Lady Teazle played remarkably
well. Idon’t think it’s a very. moral play myself,
because it was, of course, shocking of that wicked
Mr. Joseph Surface to make love to a married lady.
But really I could not help laughing when the screen
fell, and there she was before her husband and the
two Mr. Surfaces. One had to feel for her, too, she
looked so ashamed of herself. I saw you laughing,
Miss Hendrick—you thought that particularly good,
i am sure.”

*‘Particularly good, Mrs. Owenson,” replied Cy-
rilla, that malicious smile deepening in her dark,
derisive eyes; ‘so good that I langh now in recol-
lecting it. I think we all admire Miss De Courcy ex-
cessively—not so much as Mr. Vaughan, perhaps,
who is an old friend, but very much indeed for a first
acquaintance.”

Bertie lifted his eyes and looked across at her
with a glance of absolute hatred.

**Malicious little devil!’ he thought, “I would like
to choke her.”

‘Well, puss, and what do you say?” continued
Sydney’s father.

*‘I think Miss De Courcy is very pretty and very

opular; but of actors and actresses lam no judge,
roma: dia you see Harry Sunderland with Augusta
Van Twiller? I wonder it they really ave engaged ?”

Then the talk drifted to the Sunderlands, and Ber-
tie was sate again. He drew a deep breath; his
eyes had not been opened a second too soon, He
Was suspected even by Sydney. For this obnoxious
Miss Hendrick, her keen black eyes saw everything;
a his enemy, and would do him harm if she
could.

*‘But that she shall not," he thought, as he said

ood-night, “Pll prove an alibi to Sydney, though

should have to swear blaek is white.”

He went to his room, and his example was follow-
ed by Cyrilla and Aunt Char. For Sydney, she lin-

ered yet a little longer, seated on a hassock at her

ather’s sfde. her yellow head lying on his knee, her
blue, dreamy eyes fixed on the fire. For a moment
or two he watched the thoughtful, childish face in
silence; then his hand fell lightly on the flaxen hair.

“What is it, petite ?’ he asked—so tender the harsh
old voice was! ‘What troubles my little one? For
you are in trouble, I can see that.”

The way was opening of itself, and Sydney felt re-
lieved. She had been thinking anxiously how to
begin.

Rtrouble, apa!” she answered, taking the hand
fondly in both her own. ‘No, not trouble; that is
too strong a word. Trouble has never come near
me yet.”

“And pray Heaven it never may. What is it
then ?”

“Well, papa, I am—what is the word ?—worried.
Just the least bit in the world worried.”

‘About what ?’ he asked, quickly.. ‘‘Not Bertie?”

“Yes, papa, Bertie, and—this marriage. Don’t be
angry, papa, please; butit you wouldn’t mind, I
would rather not.”

“A somewhat mixed-up speech! Rather not—
what ?”

“Rather not be married, please. I don’t seem to
care about being married, papa.”

Papa laughed.

“Tam so young—only a little girl after all, you
know; anda married lady ought to be wise and
sensible and old.”

“Old? One’s ideas of age differ. What may seem
a ripe age in your eyes, ae

‘Twenty-one or two—that is a good age to be mar-
ried, if-one must be married at But I don’t see

  

   

 

   
 
 

why onemust, especially when one doesn’t seem to
care about it. I would rather stay home with you
and mamma just as 1 am.”

‘*Mamma and [ intend you shall stay home with
us just as you are.”

.**Oh, but it will be different. I meanas we are at
present. Bertie and I like brother and sister, not
man and wife. Put off this marriage, papa—say for
three years to come. What difference can it make ?
And I will be twenty then, and beginning to grow
old and wise. I should prefer it—oh, so much, and
Iam sure Bertie would too.”

“Bertie would too!’ Her father sat suddenly up-
right. ‘‘Has he told you so, Sydney ?”’

“Oh, dear, no!" Sydney answered, laughing; ‘*he
is much too polite. You need not put on your court
martial face, Captain Owenson; Bertie hasn’t said
the least word about it one way or other.”

“One way or other! Do you mean, Sydney, he
hasn’t spoken to you at all since your return?”

““Was it necessary ?” Sydney said, trying to speak
lightly, but not succeeding in keeping down the
flush that arose over her face. ‘* You saved us all that
trouble.”

“Sydney!” Captain Owenson cried, ina voice that
made Sydney jump, ‘there is something more here
than I know of. Pou were willing enough all along,
willing enough when you came home a fortnight
ago. What does this talk of breaking off mean
how, at the last moment ? What have you discovered
about Bertie Vaughan?”

“Nothing, papa,” Sydney came. near gasping in
her alarm; but even in this extreme moment she
checked herself, It would not be true, and the sim-
ple, white, absolute truth came ever from Sydney
Owenson’s lips.

“You were willing enough a week ago,” her fa-
ther repeated; ‘‘what have you discovered about
Bertie now ?”

“T was willing enough because I had not thought
the matter over,” Sydney answered, her voice trem-
ulous. ‘‘Papa, 1—I don’t care for Bertie—in that
way.”

“In what way? Falling in love do you mean?
Oh! if that beall—pooh! A very good thing for you
too; the love that will come after marriage will be
all the safer to last, Are you sure, quite sure, there
is no other reason than this ?”

“T think it is reason enough,” retorted Sydney, a
trifle indignantly. ‘‘I may be romantieif you like,
but I should like to—to love the man lam going to
marry.”

Captain Owenson lay back and laughed, the thun-
der-cloud quite gone. For a moment he ‘had been
startled (boys will be boys, you know); bnt after
all it was only a school-girl’'s sentimental nonsense.
He patted the fair flax-head as he might a child’s.

“And this is all! Well, ’m very giad. I am atraid
you have been reading romances in the Chateauroy
Pensionnat. Love, indeed!) Well, why not? he’s.a
tall and proper fellow enough, a young gentleman
of the period, with all the modern improvements;
parts his hair in the middle, wears a nice little mus-
tache, and an eye-glass, lemon kids, and a cane. He
can sing, he can waltz, can dress with the taste of a
Beau Brummell, and has a profile as straight as a
Greek’s. Now, what more can any young woman of
the present day desire in a husband? What is to
hinder your loving him to distraction if you wish,
since that is a sine quinon ? It ought not to be
difficult.”

‘**No, I daresay not,” Sydney thought, her eyes fill-
ing suddenly. ‘*Miss De Courcy finds it easy enough,
very likely. Oh! how cruel papa is!”

**Well, my dear, you don’t speak,” her father went
on, bending down to’ catch sight of her face; ‘tare
you listening to whatIlsay? It oughé not to be
difficult,”

‘**Perhaps not, but I don’t, and—that is all.”

**What! cheeks flushed, eyes full, and voice trem-
bling. Sydney! what is this? Is the thought of
marrying Bertie Vaughan so hateful to you? Have
you let things go on only to throw him over at the
eleventh hour? Is this only a girl’s caprice, or is
there some reason at the bottom of it all? Speak
and tell me the truth, If he is unworthy of you I
would sooner see you dead than his wife. But—if
he is, by——,” a tremendous quarter-deck oath, “the
shall repent it!”

There it was. If she told the truth she wouldruin
Bertie’s life forever—if she did not tell it she
ruined herown. Tell, she could not, no matter what
the cost to herself.

‘Oh, papa, how cross you are!” she said, in a pet-
ulant voice, that she knew would bring him down

 

 

 

from_his heroics; ‘tand I wish you wouldn’t swear.
It’s ill-bred, besides being wicked.” te

‘IT beg your pardon, Sydney,” he said, suddenly;
onl it is, I beg your pardon, my dear. I beg—
His!

He lifted his smoking-cap reverently, then sank
back in his chair.

‘Dearest, best old papa!” Sydney cried, touched
with contrition, jumping up and flinging her arms
around his neck, ‘i ama wretch for worrying you
with: my silly fidgets. You’re a gentleman and a
sailor—that you are, every inch. After all, what's
the odds? Lord Dandreary says,one woman's as
good as another, if not better—I don’t see why the
same rule shouldn't apply tomen. If I must marry
somebody, whether or no, then I may as well marry
Bertie since it will please you. I know him, any-
how, that is one comfort. Cecilia Leonard eloped
from school with a young lawyer of the town two
weeks after she was first introduced to him, and she
told me when she came back that she was three
months married before she was properly acquainted
with her husband. Now, ’'m acquainted with Ber-
tie, and won’t have the trouble of cultivating him
when I'm his wife.”

‘‘And he isn’t a bad sort of young fellow, as young
fellows go,” her father added, thoughtfully; ‘not
any more brains than the law allows—your sharp
little head has found that out for itself, I suppose,
my dear. He never would make his way in the
world alone; but dropping into my shoes, he’ll
make you a good husband, I think, my dear—a kind
one, a faithful one, and a very excellent country
squire. As you say, we know him, and I like the
lad. He has been brought up to consider you his
wife, and The Place his home for life, and it would
not be quite the thing to throw him over now. He
has no profession, and it is a little late in the day
to learn one; besides, he isn’t clever, and I don't
believe could earn his salt if he were a lawyer or
a doctor to-morrow. And he is fond of you, little
one—don’t get any foolish sentimental notions into
your head to the contrary; and, for pity’s sake, Syd-
ney, don’t be an exacting wife—don’t expect too
much from your husband. He doesn’t speak to you,
perhaps, because he takes it all for granted. Very
likely he takes too much for granted, but that is
easily set aright.”

**Papa!l” Sydney cried out in alarm, at his smile
and tone, ‘tvou won’t speak to him about this! You
won't tell him to—to speak to me? Oh! I should
die of shame.”

‘Foolish child! As if I would ever cheapen my
darling’s value, or make her blush. Trust me, Syd-
ney. For the rest, when I am gone. if you were
not Vaughan’s wife, you might fall a victim tosome
subtle-tongued fortune-hunter; for you know you
will be very rich, my dear, and your poor mother
has no more worldly wisdom thana babe. Bertie
is not a brilliant match—not at all the sort of man I
would have had him—but he is ours, and we like
him. I think he will make you a tender husband,
and the fortune-hunters, by-and-by, will have no
chance. Believe me, it is better as it is.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Sydney sighs, hopelessly—
fate seems closing around her, and itis of no use
to struggle. ‘Forgive me for troubling you, papa;
I won’t do it again.”

“There is only one thing in the world that can
trouble me very greatly,” her father answers, ‘tand
that is to see my little girlunhappy. Are the doubts
all gone, and will you take Bertie, or Ks

“| will do whatever you think best, pupa,” is her
answer, and then he holds her fora moment in si-
lence.

“Heaven bless my good girl!” he says, softly.
“‘Now go to bed; it is close upon one o’clock.”

Sydney goes, a glow at her heart. After all, just
doing one’s duty and simply obeying brings its own
reward. She is quite happy as she kneels by the
bedside to whisper her innocent prayers. It must
be all right, since she is sacrificing her own will to
please her father—since she is pleasing her father
on earth, she must be pleasing her Father in Heay-
en. For Bertie, she will be to him a wife so de-
voted, she will give him a heart so tender and true,
that she will surely make him happy, surely wean
him from all passing fancies for ether women. And
so, with a smile on her lips, she falls asleep like a
little child.

But Captain Owenson lies awake long that night,
thinking. One result of his cogitations he gives
them at breakfast next morning. Sydney shall
welcome her friend with a party. and introdnee her
to the best Wychcliffe seciety. The stately old sailor
hasall an Arab’s notions ot hospitality. He likes
quiet, but he is ready to throw his honse out of the
windows any day to please the guest who breaks
his bread.

“Not a large gathering, you know?” he says; ‘‘just

 

 

an off-hand affair—say Thursday next, You and

   

 

 

 

 

mamma can make out your list this morning and
have them delivered before night. That will give
four days to prepare—quite enough in this primitive
neigaborhood, I should say.”

“Papa, I do think you have the most beautiful in-
spirations!” cries Sydney, with a radiant face.
“How did you know Cyrilla and I were pining fora
party?” .

She goes to work delightedly the moment. break-
fast is over,

“Come and help me, Bertie,” she calls brightly;
and when Bertie comes makes place for him, with a
depth of shining welcome in her eyes he likes, but
does not at all understand. ost

He never will understand her; her nature is as far
above his as the sunlit sky above the snow-whitened
earth out doors. She thinks, as he sits beside her:

‘*He is the one man of all men Iam ever to care
for. I want—oh, I do want to make him happy.”

The invitations are all written and all dispatched.
Then she and Miss Hendrick go off and hold a pow-
wow on the subject of feathers and wampum—of
their. dresses and adorning, that is to say. Aunt
Char descends to consult with Katy, the cook, and
Captain Owenson waylays Bertie, his. hat on his
pene his cloak over his shoulders, his stick in his
land.

“The morning's fine, Bertie,” he says. “I'll take
your arm for a turn on the piazza.”

So they go; Bertie with much greater alacrity
than he would have shown yesterday. He has
Shaken off Dolly's gyvyes of steel, or so he thinks,
and is about to slip on his wrists those of Sydney.
He is the son-in-law of Owenson Place, and is pre-
pared to behave as such.

The ground is white with snow, beginning to melt
and runin little riyulets in the. heat of the noon
sun. They walk slowly up and down, talking of
many things, and it isapropos of nothing and rath-
er suddenly that the elder man at last looks in the
younger man’s face and asks:

‘Bertie, Sydney’s been home overa week. Haye
you and she settled upon your wedding-day?”

Bertie starts, colors, as usual, and shrinks from
meeting those keen, steely eyes.

“Rea ve he laughs, ‘I don’t believe we have. I
didn’t like to hurry her, but I—I must ask her this
week.”

‘‘Because,” pursues the captain, setting his lips,
“she has grown tired of the engagement and wants
to break it off.”

“Wants to”’—Bertie paused aghast—'wants to
break it off! Sydney!”

The idea is so absolutely new that he cannot fora
moment take itin. He may flirt, may play fast and
loose with his tetters, may contemplate even run-
ning away with somebody else, but for Sydney to
want to break with him--Sydney! No, he gives it
up; he cannot realize it.

‘She spoke to me last night,” goes on her father;
“urged me in. the strongest terms to make an end
of the proposed marriage. She’s not in love with
you, if seems, and has some girlish notions of the
desirability of that emotion in connection with the
married state. Of course, I could never think of
forcing her inclination,” pursues this artful old sea-
man, carelessly; ‘‘and itis never too late to draw
back before the ring is absolutely on. She. would
prefer it—she even appeared to hint that she thought
you would prefer it too.”

“She is mistaken,” cries Bertie, thoroughly star-
tled, thoroughly alarmed; “greatly mistaken, alto-

ether mistaken. Give up our’ marriage? Good

feaven! Captain Ovwenson, you will not listen to
such a thing as that?”

It seemed to him like a new revelation now that
it was brought before him from the lips of another.
Sydney wanting to throw him over—his little Syd-
ney! And then Owenson Place and all his hopes for
life. Bertie Vaughan actually turned pale.

“*You won’t listen to what Sydney says,” he pleads;
“she doesn’t know her own mind. Not love me?
Well, of course not, she hasn’t had achance; we
have been separated for the last five years. I was
so sure it was allright that I didn’t pester her with
love-making. I was so sure——”

‘‘Ah, yes! I daresay, a little too sure, perhaps.
It doesn’t do to take too much for granted where
a woman is in question, be she seventeen or seven-
and-thirty,” says the cynical captain.

‘But it isn’t too late yet,” goes on Mr. Vanghan
in hot haste. “TIl talk to Sydney; I'll convince her
of her mistake. JZ want to break off the engage-
ment! By Jove, what couldhave put so preposter-
ous an idea into her head!”

“Yes, what fifdeca! That’s for you to find out,
my iad. She seemed-tolerably convinced of it too.”

“It’s Miss. Hendrick’s work,” exclaimed Bertie,
resentfully; ‘confound her! I beg your pardon,
sir,” as the captain turned savagely upon him, “!
know she’s your guest and Sydnéy’s friend, but a
serpent on the hearth to you and a false friend to
Sydney ifshe tries to poison her mind against me.
Of herself, Sydney would never have thought of so
absurd a thing.» Miss Hendrick dislikes me, and I
must say it—I dislike her. She knows it too, and
this is her revenge.” .

“Be good enough to leave Miss Hendrick’s name
out of the question, if you please,” says the seig-
neur of Owenson Place in hia most ducal manner.
‘*As you say, she is my guest, and nothing dispar-
aging shall be spoken of -her in my presence.”

*‘At least I will go at once and speak toSydney,”
says Bertie, excitedly—tat once! It is intolerable
to me, that she should remain one moment with so
false an idea in her mind.”

But the captain holds in this impetuous wooer.

“Softly, my lad—softly,” he says, and he laughs
in his sleeve at the diplomatic manner in which he
has attained his end; ‘there's no hurry. Sydney
won’t run away, and if you speak to her mae ay
or to-morrow either, she will suspect I have been
speaking to you. Let me see. Suppose you
wait until the night of the party, making yourself
as agreeable as may be in the meantime. Then
broach the subject of the approaching nuptials, get
her to name the day, and.convince her of your un-
dying devotion if you can, H’m! What you say is
very true, my lad; those maples do want thinning
out.”

A clpninpant squeeze of the arm-—Bertie looks
around bewildered by this sudden change from ma-
trimony to maples, and sees Sydney and Cyrillaap-
proaching. The question of their respective toil-
ettes has been settled; they are in hats and jackets
en route to Wychcliffe, shopping.

May Bertie be their escort? He looks eagerly at
Sydney, and Sydney glances snspiciously at her papa.
Surely, papa, after his promise too, has not—— but
no; papa looks innocent and unconscious as some
playful lambkin.

No, he may not be their escort, Sydney answers;
the subject of shades and textures is altogether too
important to be interfered with by the talk of a fri-
volous young man. So he stays, nothing loth, for
the truthis he is mortally atraid of meeting Dolly
face to face in the Wychcliffe streets. And then, as
that face arises before him, rosy, laughing, charm-
ing, a tace he must never see or dream of again, he
strikes into a path among the maples, with a sort
of groan. If he could only care tor Sydney as he
cares for Dolly—little wild, outlaw that she Is! Ben
Ward will marry her no doubt one day—hang Ben
Ward. And the odds are, she will make no endof
@ row, insist on seeing Sydney it may be, or the
captain, telling her story, showing his letters——
Oh! gracious powers! not that! at any cost she must
be kept quiet, and these fatal letters got back.
What a hideous scrape he has got himself into;
how is he to get out of it? One whisper of the
truth, and he will be expelled Owenson Place—dis-
graced and ruined for life. To keep Dolly quiet
will be no easy matter, for she is fond ef him, not
a doubt at that. He groans dismally again as he
thinks of if. She will not resign her claim upon
him without a struggle. After all, swerving from
the straight path of honor and rectitude may be
very fine fun for awhile, but it doesn’t seem to pay
in the end. If he had kept his faith with Sydney
intact, what a duse of a worry it would have
saved him now.

He thought until his head ached, but he could
think of no way out of his troubles, Then in weary
diagust he gave it up, and lit acigar. It was ofnouse
turning his hair gray thinking; something would turn
up—something always turned up when things were
at their worst. He must get out of this morass some-
how; their would be no end of lies to tell, but Mr.
Vaughan did not stick at a lie or two in a difficulty.
He must appease Dolly in some way—get her out of
Wychcliffe until the wedding was over. After that
he didn’t care. Sydney and her fortune would be
his. Dolly might say and do what she pleased. Be-
tween this and the night of the party he would do
the dutiful to Miss Owenson, avoid the town andthe
theater. After that—but after that had not come;
time enough to think of it when it did.

* * * * * * *

Thursday night. Vehicles of ail sorts and sizes
rattling up under the frosty sky to Captain Owenson’s
hospitable front door. The house is all alight
basement to attic—wonders have been gone in four
days, A tolerably large company had Wen invited,
the upper skimmings, of course, of country society;
anda “good time” was confidently looked forward to,

 

a Sa A A SA SAS

 

  

 

 

 

For though Captain Owenson @d not do this sort of
thing often, he did do it when he did do it.
* cd * * *

“They hay’n’t invited you, Dolly, have they? No,
I suppose they hav’n’t. No more have they me.
Well, the loss is theirs, let that console us,” re-
marked casually Mr. Benjamin Ward, escorting
haane Miss Dolly De Courcy that same eventful
night. { .

‘Invited me where? I don't know what you're
talking about. Who ever invites me any where?”
retorted Miss De Courcy.

Dolly is looking thin, and her bright bloom of color
has faded. Her piquant face has taken an anxious,
watchful look of late, that longing, waiting look
which is one of the most pathetic on earth. Since
the night of ‘the School for Seandal” she has seen
nothing of Bertie Vaughan—absolutely nothing.

“Why, to Miss Owenson’s ‘small and early,’ of
course. Hav’n’t you heard of it? All the upper
crust of Wychcliffe are bidden to the feast; you and
I, my Dolly, alone left out in the cold.”

‘Miss Owenson!” At sound of that dreaded and
detested name Dolly looks quickly up. “Is Miss
Owenson giving a party ?’? she asks. ‘*When?”

‘“To-night. Nothing very extensive, you know.
Wine and sweet cake, cards and music, dancing and
tea. Miss Sunderland’s going—saw her yesterday,
and she told me about it. Dused shabby of them to
leave me out; but it’s all the doings of the ‘Fair One
with the Golden Locks’,” says Mr. Ward with calm
indifference.

Dolly says nothing, but Ward hears her breath
come quick. The cold, piercing Noyember moon-
light falls on her face, and he sees that frown of jeal-
ous pain and anger that never used to be there.

“It’s of no use, Dolly,” he says, not unkindly, ‘of
no use waiting for Vaughan any more. He won’t
come,”

‘*‘Who says he won’t 2?” Dolly cries, angrily. ‘‘What
do you know about it? You only wish he may not.
He will come.”

“He never will. He is going to marry the cap-
tain’s danghter—he won’t marry you. He likes you
best—maybe—it isn’t in him to like any body but his
own lovely self very strongly, but all the same, he
won’t marry you. You needn’t keep that look out
for him, Dolly—that ‘light in the window,’ any more.
He—never—will—come,” asseverates Mr. Ward, a
solemn pause between each little word.

She does not speak. She sets her teeth hard to-
gether, and her hands clench under her shawl.

“Give him up, Doll,” says the. young mill owner,
good naturedly; ‘let him take his heiress and have
done with him. He isn’t worth one thought from so
true-hearted a liltle woman as you. Give him up
and marry me.”

She looks up at him with haggard eyes, that have
a sort of weary wonder in them.

‘Would you marry me, Ben, knowing how—how
fend Iam of him ?”

“Oh, that would come all right,” responds Ben,
with his usual cheerful philosophy. ‘‘I’d be good to
you, and fond of you, and ‘women are uncommon
that way; married women, I mean; they always take
to aman that is goodto’em. Men don’t; but then
husbands and wives are different somehow.”

Mr. Ward pauses a moment to ruminate on this
idee, but it is too complicated for him and he gives

tup.

“Say, Dolly, stop thinking of Vaughan—he’s a
sneak, anyhow-—and leave the stage and marry me.
Marry me the day he marries Miss Owenson—there
will be a triumph for you, if you like!” cries Ben, in
a glow of happy inspiration.

; - her lips set, and her eyes keep their haggard
ook.

‘Thank you, Ben,” she says, huskily; *tyou’re a
good fellow, a great deal too good for me, but I can’t
do it, can’t give him up. know he’s, what you
say, only I'd rather you didn’t say it. I know I can’t
trust him—all the sameI can’t give him up. And
he sha’n’t marry Miss Owenson. No!” her black
eyes blaze up with swift flame, ‘‘not if the wedding-
day was to-morrow. Her father’s an. officer anda
gentleman. [ll go to him—Ill go to her, and Pll
tell them both what will stop the wedding—that he
is pledged tome. Don’t look at me like that, Ben
—tI can’t help it, I wish I could. And don’t trouble
yourself to come home with me any more during
the few nights I play; i¢isn’t werth while. You can
never get any better thana ‘thank you’ and a shake
hands for your pains.”

“Pll take them then, and see you home all the
same,” is Ben’s answer; ‘*but Iwish you would think
again of this.” :

“Trt ee till the day I die, it conld make no
difference. If I can’t be Bertie Vaughan's wife—
and he has promised me I shall—it doesn’t much
matter whether I am ever anybody’s at all or not.”

“That for his promise!” cries Ward, contemptu-
ously. ‘Dolly, you’re an awful little fool !”

*T know it, Ben,” answers Dolly, quite humbly.
‘‘T can’t help it, though. Don’t come any farther,
please. Iam at home now.”

‘‘And you'll never marry me—never? You're sure
of it ?”

“pill never marry you—never. I’m sure of it.
Good-night.”

*“Good-night,” says Mr. Ward,and he pulls his hat
over his eyes and turns and strides home, as if shod
with seven-league boots. It is all over, he will never
ask her again, but, when months and months after,
he asks the same question of Mamie Sunderland and
receives avery different answer, that scene is back
before him, and the gas-lit drawing-room ‘curtained
and close and warm,” wherein they cosily sit, fades
for a second away. The chill, steel-blne moonlight,
the iron-bound road, the frostily-winking stars, and

Dolly’s miserable face, ag she says “good-night,”
are before him. Ah! well, it would never do for
men’s wives to know everything.

She does not enter the house. A fire, a fever of
impatience. of jealous, sickening terror has taken
hold of her. They have not invited her—true;
nevertheless she will be there.

She starts rapidly onward, she reaches the high
white house, and meets no one on her way. She as-
cends the portico steps; allis brilliance within. lights
and music stream out. The drawing-room windows
are open, chiJly as is the night, curtains of lace and
brocatelle alone separate her from the dancers. No
one is near; she stands motionless looking in. She
sees him almost at first glance—he is dancing with
the daughter of the house. <A fierce spasm of hot
pain goes through the little jealous actress’s heart.
How pretty—how pretty she is! with her fair, feath-
ery hair, her blue, bright eyes, her softly tinged
cheeks, her sweet, smiling lips. How prettily she is
dressed in palest pink, not a jewel about her,
not even a flower in her hair, only arose ribbon
tying all its. brightness back. And he-—but
Dolly turns away with a despairing gesture,
words are poor to describe him! Just at the
moment the dance ends, and with his partner on
his arm, he comes directly toward the window at
which she stands. She draws back in terror. There
is a great stone urn close by; she erouches down be-
hind this, very close to where they stand. Are they
coming out? No; they remain in the shadow of the
curtains, and look out at the white, cold loveliness
of the night. She sees—as soon as she is able tosee
anything distinctly, for the mist that is before her
eyes—Bertie wrapping a fleecy white scarf about
his companion’s shoulders, hears (as soon as her
startled hearing returns) the tender tones of his
voice. She cannot catch his words at first, so lowly
and hurriedly he speaks; but by her drooping face and
averted eyes she can guess he is wooing his bride.
And she crouches listening here. A more dramatic
situation could hardly have been devised for the
Wychceliffe Lyceum. Even the accessories are not
wanting. She outin the cold, under the midnight
sky; they in the rosy light and perfumed warmth,
the dancers in the background, andthe slow German
waltz music over all. She does not catch his words
for a while, though she strains her ears to listen.
But he raises his voice presently, and she hears,

“Care for her! An actress! Sydney, what folly
to think of me! I tell you I care for no one inall
the world but you. I hold your promise to be my
wife, and by that promise I elaim you. You will not
retract your plighted word?”

“You know that I will not,” she answers; ‘‘but,
Bertie, on your honor, would you not rather marry
that actress than me?”

“You insult me by the question, Sydney. I decline
to answer.”

“Oh! nonsense, Bertie,’ Miss Owenson says, half
laughing; “don’t try heroics. It’s a very natural
question, I think, Young men don’t blush at the
sound of a lady’s name, nor brighten at the sight of
her face for nothing, and I have seen you do both,
sir, for Miss De Courcy. Honestly, now, you do like
her better than me?”

“Do you insist upon my.saying yes,,Sydney? I see
how it is—you wish to break off our engagement,
and a poor excuse is befter than none, Very well—
so be it; it shall never be said I forced your inclina-
tions, no matter how deeply I suffer myself.”

He folded his arms ina grand attitude, and stood
drawn up, looking very talland slender, and affront-
ed and cross,

“Oh, dear!” sighed Sydney, halt laughing, half
vexed; *tyou will do private theatricals. No, I don’t

 

want to break off—it would vex papa; and of course

 

 

 

 

 

 

everything is arranged, and there would be a dread-
ful deal of talk, Besides, l like you——- Oh, non-

sense, Bertie!” impatiently; ‘no tender scenes, if
you please. But if I thought you cared for the ac-
tress, or were pledged to her in any way, I wouldn’t
marry you—no, not if I died for it!”

‘*Pledged to her!” Bertie repeated, flushing guilt-
ily. “What awful nonsense!” 3
“Well, yes, I suppose it is nonsense. You wouldn't
go,that far even—— There’s Harry Sunderland ask-
ing for me—I must go.”

‘Promise me first that the last Thursday in
November will be our wedding day,” ne says, barring
her way.

Harry Sunderland has espied the rose-pink robe,
and is making for it. In desperation she pushes
past him and out. :

**What does it matter?” she says, impatiently; “as
well one day asanother. Whenever you like—yes,
the last Thursday, then. Don’t come out just yet—
I don’t want Harry to know I was——”

‘Spooning here with me,” says Bertie, laughing.

“Yes,” says Sydney, with a little look of disgust;
‘spooning here with you, Don't appear upon the
festive scene for the next ten minutes.”

She vanishes. Bertie remains, a satisfied, com-
placent smile on bis face, and regards the heayenly
bodies. Fora moment—then—" private theatricals”
indeed! Sydney ought to be here tosee them. A
dark, crouching figure starts up, hs if out of the
ground, directly in front of him. The streaming
lamplight falls full upon an awfully familiar face, and
a voice that sends every drop of traitor blood in his
body back to his heart says:

“Bertie!”

{To BH CONTINUED}

Our Knowledge Box.

A FEW PARAGRAPHS WORTH REMEMBERING.

 

QUESTIONS ANSWERED AND INFORMATION WANTED.—
Epicure,—APPLE BUTTER.—We give you two recipes. 1. Take a
barrel of sweet cider, fresh from the press, and boil it down te
about one-fourth. Deposit into the cider as many sweet apples
as the cider will cover, the apples before being putin to be care
fully peeled, cored, and dried in the sun for a dayor so. Then
boil altogether till the apples are soft. 2. Buil down a kettle of
cider to two-thirds the original quantity. Pare, core, and slice
juicy apples, and put as many into the cider as it will cover.
Boil slowly, stivring often with a flat stick, and when the apples
are tender to breaking, take them out with a perforated skim-
mer, draining well against the sides of the kettle. Put in a sec-
ond supply of apples and stew them soft, as many as the cider
will hold. Take from the fire, pour all together into a tub or
large crock; cover, and Jet igstand twelve hours. Then return
to the kettle and boil down, stirring al! the while, until it is the
consistency of soft-soap, and brown in color. You may spice to
taste if you please. Keep in stone jars, ina dry, cool place. It
should keep all winter...... ZL. B. ¥.—ToO REMOVE SUPERFLUOUS
Hair.—The hair will grow again if removed, but as you insist
upon using a depilatory, get a strong solution of sulphuret of ba-
rium made into a paste with powdered starch. Apply immed&
ately after mixing, and let it remain teu or fifteen minutes.
Wash off the paste with warm water, and if there is any smart-
ing apply cold cream. Take care and not abrade the skin....... ~
Midshipman,—Yes. Address your letter thus: To the President,

. S. Grant, Washington, D. C....... Constant Reader.—The
sufest are soap and water...... S. F. S.—Salts ot lemon will re-
move iron rust, ink stains, etc. Wash off with clear water...... #
Charlie Smith.—Corns.—A certain cure for corns this recipe is
said to be: One teaspoontul of tar, one teas; oonful of coarse
brown sugar, and one teaspoonful of saltpeter—the whole to be
warmed together.. Spread on kip leather the size of the corns,
and in two.days they willbe drawn out..... ¥..2. G.—INDELIBLE
Ink FOR CLoTH.—Take one inch of a stick of nitrate of silver
and dissolve it in a little water, and then stir it into a gallon of
water..... . Wm. C.—Nothing that we can recommend....Soup.—
We have not the space for full particulars. You will find them
in Prof, H. Dussauce’s Treatise on the Manufacture of Soap.
Price $10. Write to the New YoRK WEXKLY Purchasing Agency. -
Photographer.—We cannot tell you........ Etna.—1. Not good. 2.
Bi-carbonate of soda. 3. We cannot tell you...., .J. S. R.—Try
rusty nail water........ Big Bill.—We de not know........ Harry
Wright.—Write to the New YorkK WEEKLY Purchasing Agency.
bn de Silver Wing.—l, Resulve to give it up, and stick to your
resolution. 2. About 75 cents. Write to tie New YORK WEEKLY
Purchasing Agency........... D. W. £.—1. Yes. 2. Some are and
some are not. 3. Caster oil....... GN, S., L. P.S., James F.—To
BRONZE GUN BARRELS —Oue part of nitric acid to five parts of
water. With this moisten a piece of sponge or cloth and apply
to the gun-barrel. Repeat the operation several times, then wash
with water. Dry and then rub with boiled linseed oil. The shade
deepens according to the numberof times the operation is re-
peated...... W. B.—To BRIGHTEN CHROMOS.—A coating of equal
parts of white copal varnisn and alcohol, mixed, will brighten
chromos, which should first be cleaned with. water..........
Mesmo.—We cannot tell you....... Gas.—No....... K.K,.K.—CHaAnr-
COAL CRAYONS. Saw tlie finest-grained, sottest, and blackest
pieces of charcoal into slips cf the size required, put them intoa
pipkin of melted wax and allow them tv macerate over a slow
tire for half an hour; then take them out and fay them on blot-
ting paper to dry. This process may also be employed tor red
aud black chalk. Drawings made with these crayons are very
permanent, and if warmed slightly om the wrong side, the lines
will adhere and become as durable as ink. These crayons may
also be made by simply shapiug the charcoal with a knife. Wik
low charcoal should be used for this purpose....... R. L.—Yes.
Sphinz, John Chinaman.—THE CHINES! ART OF CATOHING FISH is
tnis: Take cocculus tudicus, pulverize and mux with dough,
then scatter it broadcast over the water as you would sow seed.
The fish will) seize it with great avidity, and will instantiy be-
come.s0 intoxicated that they will turn up on top ot the water
by dozens, hundreds or thousands, as the case may be. Then
gather them up, and put thei iato tubs of clean water, ana pre-
sently they will be as lively and healthy asever. Their flesh is
not injured in the least........ H, H. B.—No reeipe........ Flying
Dutchman.—l. Bay rum diluted. 2. Castor eil and braidy will
help the hair. It is, in our epinicn, the best oil thatcan be used.
thd. P. A—BLUING FOR CLOTHES.—Take one ounce of sett Prus-
sian blue, powder it and putin a bottle with one quart of clear
rain water, and add a quarter of an ounce of oxslic acid. =A tea-
spoonful issufficient fora large washing...... N. £. 8.—We can-
not aid you......Jn Earnest.—A teaspoontul of bi-carbonate of
soda will, we think, make the candy what you desire it to be.
Add it when a little of the candy dropped in cold water becomes
quickly hard and snaps apart like a pipestem. A good work on
the manufacture of candy can be obtained for 50 cents.... Wit
tiam.—Te get FAT see No. 31 of volume 30... .Lite/field-—No re-

cipe of that kind........ John.—To be had of any cruggist—......
Harmony.—On!y an adopted one...... Inquirer.—Yo TRANSFER
PIOTURES see No.4 of volume 30.......... U. MH. H.—To PREPARE

AND CLEAN FErATHERS.—Feathers are prepared by exposing
them to the sunsinne until perfectly dry, and then beating them
toremove the dust and loose dirt. When carelessly collected
and dirty they may be cleansed with lime-water; or, still better,
with a weak solution of bi-carbouate of soda, or with Water con-
taining a little chloride of lime; alter which they are rinsed in
clean water and dried as betore, Old feathers are puritied and
cleansed in the same way...... oS. BP. ONO... 6. N. L: W., Katio
Daily, H. E. H., Newsdealer, Vulcan, White Tiger, A. K. McG.,
An Anxious Friend, C. H. G., Questioner Pihill.—Your letters
have been received, and wiil be answered as sven as possible.

 

MEDICAL DEPARTMENT,

Hygiene.—l. It is produced by an obstruction of the respiratory
passages, 2. No. 3. Sometimes a dose ol oil will pass it turough
the bowels. 4. No. Itisoftenamere habit, 5. Any obstruc-
tion of the respiratory passages will cause the change referred
to. A little cum-arabic slowly dissolved in the mouth will often
clear the voice.

?. K. P.—\. We know nothing about them. 2and 3. Consult a
regular practitioner on both suvjc- cts.

Constant Reader, Jus. J. W., Z. G. G@.—For PIMPLES see No, 22 of
volume 30,

Stonewall Jackson.—WoRMS—A SIMPLE AND Sar# VERMIFUGE.—
Powdered rust of iron is agood vermiiuge. It expels the werms
and strengthens the constitution, To a child six years old twenty
grains may be given. An adult may iake a quarter of an ounce.
It may be given in molasses orin beer. Follow always with an
aperient—senna for a child, castop oil for an adult.

B. J. E.—PERITONITIS.—The peritoneum, or serous sack, which
lines the abduminal cavity and invests the intestines, is liable to
become inflamed. When this occurs the affection is termed peri-
tonitis, It is often an accompaniment to puerperal fever, which
is a disease peculiar to childbirth. The attendance of a skilllul
physician is indispensable in such a case.

A. McD.—SaLt RaxvM.—Take half a pound of swamp sassafras
bark and beil it in enough fresh water to cover it for the space of
half au hour. Take off the water, and thoroughly wash the part
alfected. Add hog’s lard to some of the water, and simmer it over
a moderate fire until the water 18 evaporated; anoint the part
affected, continuing the washing and anvinting fourdays. A
cure is generally certain.

Brooklyn Boy.—Drink nothing but water for a few weeks, and
avoid rich, greasy or salt food. A dose of magnesia once ina
while would also help you,

Constant Reader, Despondent, and Robert S. We cannot aid
rou.

: Carl Fitzsimmons.—Get the opinion ef a regular practitioner on
the subject—one who can give you his personal attention,

D. E. Nervous, P. H., John E. D., Fanatic.—See No. 32 of velume

30.

Angie L.—Tineture of muriate of iron, half an ounce; fluid ex-
tract of buchu, three ounces. Dose, one teaspeoutul ina wime-
glassful of water just before going to bed,
~ Shamus.—Al ways in such cases consult a regular practitioner,

Breti, Pressman, Joseph J. H., Ashamed, John S. Your letters
have been received, and will be answered as soon as possible.

> O~<
eer bs

HINTS FOR THE HOME CIRCLE.

— Ribbons and silks should be put away for pre-
servation in brown paper; the chloride of line used in manutac-
turing white paper frequently produces discoloration, A white
satin dress should be pinned in blue paper, with brown paper
outside, sewn together at the edges.

— To prevent the creaking of doors, applya little
soap to the hinges; or take lard, soap and black lead, equal parts,
and apply.

—- New linen may be embroidered more easily by
rubbing it over with fine white soap. It prevents the threads
from cracking.

— To remove water stains from engravings or pa-
per, fill a sufficiently large clean vessel with pure water, dip the
engraving in, waving itbackward and forward until wet through.
Then fasten it to a flat board with drawing pins, and Mf it dry in
the sunshine, ’

— There is no better remedy for chafing than
alum water applied with a linen or cotton rag.

— To get rid of fleas in beds sprinkle chamomile
flowers under the sheets,

— To tak? creases out of drawing paper or en-
gravings, lay the paper or engraving, tace downward, on a sheet
ot smooth, ung*ved white paper; cover it with another sheet of
the same very slightly dampened, and iron with a moderately
warm flat irod.

— Anattral dentifrice is the common strawberry.
Tta juice, without any preparatien, helps to dissolve the tartare-
ous iperustafions eon the teeth, and impreves the breath. Use
with the juie. a tolerably soft toothbrush.

THE great Indian fighter, Burrano BiIL1, in his
first story, ‘‘THE PxkAREL oF THE PRAIRIE,” Vividly

portrays the dangers and adventures incidental to
life on the border. Bill has been there, and ‘knows

 

 

how it is himself.”

 

 

 
   

     

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ee

NEW YORK, JULY 19, 1875.

 

ODD ees

eee

 

 

 

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FOURTH OF JULY!

The celebration of our great national jubilee is an an-
nual event which cannot be too thoroughly emphasized
nor too universally participated im by every class of free
America. Let» the bells peal, let the cannon roar, and
from every flag-staff and pinnacle unfurl the glorious old
flag with its alternate rays of red and white which never
look brighter than on the birthday of the nation. All
hail! beautiful emblem of the union of the States, Ex-
pansion of territory has not weakened the force of this
union, and the heart of California beats as warmly for the
common weal as that of the “Old Thirteen”? who fought
together through the Revolation.

The great principle of self-government, applied upon a
vast scale, has carried this country through the fierce
struggles of party, through the bloody tests of both fo-
reign and civil war, and wé are stilla prosperous and
united people. Individual interests and sectional feelings
will always, to a limited extent, spring up throughout so
broad-spread aland as lies between the Atlantic and
the Pacific Oceans, but let a foreign foe appear and
threaten us, then it will be seen that a people of forty
millions in number can be banded together as earnestly
as @ nation of three millions, and that the spirit of inde-
pendence alone can fuse a vast diversity of local interests
in one common mold. see ees ee

It is well that our peopie, in their strength, in their joy-
Ousness, and their gratitude, should go up to their altars
to revive these historic memories wluch should ever be
held sacred in this country. It is well that the population
should annually renew their yow of loyalty tothe Union
and the Constitution which we have inherited from our
fathers of the Republic. On this day of days the spirit of
Washington is with us, as well ag those of his brave com-
peers. The priceless Declaration, penned by Jefferson,
and the never-to-be-forgotten Farewell Address of Wash-
ington—these should be read before every large assembly
who come together on this national occasion.

Washington’s Farewell Address was a priceless legacy
to his countrymen. Every sentence, every word, should
be engraven upon the hearts of Americans, approaching
as it does the nearest to the inspired words of Scripture
of any other composition known to our language. It is
calm and dignified, without an appeal to passion or an
effort at display, it addresses itself to our soberest senses
and carries conviction in every line. True, we must have
our share of domestic broils and jangles, and listen to the
threats of political demagogues and local quarrels, now
and then, This is the weakness of human nature, but we
have no fear for the perpetuity of this Republic as a con-
federacy of free and independent States,

 

 

REVOLUTIONARY HEROES.

What a proud list of names comes up in memory’s
record when we refer to the civic and military heroes of
the Revolution—names indelibly engraven upon the scroll
of fame. The principal actors in that great historical
drama cannot be rendered too familiar to ourselves and
to our children by frequent mention, and especially should
they be remembered in our “Fourth of July number.”
First in the throng of civic heroes comes the name of
Thomas Jefferson, the brightest on the roll of Virginia’s
sons; Robert Morris, an Englishman by birth, but Ameri-
can at heart, and who sacrificed his private fortune for
his adopted country; Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, the
first to propose independence in Congress; John Jay, of
New York, author of the famous address of Congress to
the people of Great Britain; Patrick Henry, of Virginia,
called the Demosthenes of the Revolution; John Rut-
ledge, of South Carolina, statesman, soldier and Chief
Justice of the United States; Samuel Adams, of the old
Puritanic stock, whom the royal Governor of Massachu-
setts declared could not be bribed.

We do not forget John Hancock, of Boston, President of
the Continental Congress of 1776, who, when he affixed
his bold and handsome signature to the Declaration, suid:
“The British ministry can read that name without spec-
tacles; let them double their reward.” There is John
Adams, of Massachusetts, second chief magistrate of
the Union, who died July 4th, 1826, on the same day with
Jefferson, with the words: ‘Independence forever!’ on
his lips; Benjiman Frankiin, printer, statesman, philoso-
pher and poet—he who “‘plucked the lightning from the
clouds and the scepter from tyrants.” And so the honor-
ed names of these statesmen, these clvic heroes pass in
rapid review before the mind’s eye, never too frequently
to prompt us, their children, to hold sacred the heritage
which they bequeathed.

Now turn we for a moment to the thrilling memories of
our military heroes. Pre-eminent, of course, is Washing-
ton. Then follow Ben amin Lincolm, of Massachusetts,
the first Secretary of War; Israel Putnam, of Connecti-
cut, ‘‘bravest of the brave;’* Daniel Morgan, whose rifles
were the terror of the foe; William Moulirie, of South
Carolina; Thomas Sumpter, familiary termed the South
Carolina “‘game-cock;*? Kosciusko, the Polish hero, who
fought for liberty here as he had done in his own country;
John Stark, of New Hampshire, the hero of the battle of
Bennington; Joseph Warren, of Massachusetts, who fell
at Bunker's Hill; Nathaniel Green, of Rhode Islana,
whose brilliant campaign at the South won the admira-
tion of the country; Francis Marion, the great partisan
leader of South Carolina, and Henry Knox of Boston,
founder of the artillery service, and afterward Secretary
of War. We have only glanced at the historic list; let
our readers fill up the blanks.

HIS.

The Declaration of Independence which severed the
colonies of America from the mother country, was passed
by an unanimous vote a little past noon on the Fourth of
July, 1776. “Now, gentlemen,’ said Dr. Franklin to his
colleagues, ‘‘we must hang together, or we shall surely
hang separately.’? The old bell, still extant, and hang-
ing in the State House of Philadelphia, pealed out the
glad tidings to the gathered multitude in the streets,
There were no telegraphic lines in those days, but never-
theless the news spread like wildfire.
ride the intelligence was disseminated north, south, east
and west, until the thirteen colonies were apprised that
the decisive step had been taken.

The prominent.actors in this thrilling scene of a great
historical drama can no more be forgotten than the deed
itself, which pledged their lives, their fortunes and their
honor to their country’s service. The names of Hancock,
Jefferson, Adams, and their noble compeers are indelibly
fixed upon the scroil of history as connected with this
never to be forgotten event. On the seventh of June the
resolution of independence was moved by Richard Henry
Lee. On the eleventh a committe of five was chosen to
announce this resolution to the world, and Thomas Jeffer-
son and John Adams stood at the head of this committee.
To Jefferson was intrusted the important duty of penning
the famous Declaration of Independence, which has given

him one of the proudest niclies in ‘the temple of fame.
The idea of a separation from the mother country was no
doubt for a iong time latent in the minds of the leading
spirits of the times, but it was not generally entertained
until a few months before the adoption of the Declaration.

The notes of defiance were sounded, North Carolina
authorized her Congressional delegation to concur in the

 

 

 

 

Fast as men could:

Declaration, Massacliusetts spoke in the same spirit, and
Virginia directed her delegates to indorse the measure.
Rhode Island, Connecticut and New Hampshire all favor-
ed it promptly, and so did Pennsylvania and Maryland,
the last State voting against it at first, but at the instance
of Charles Carroll and other patriots it at last came into
line with the rest. Richard Henry Lee cast the die, by
his resolution as follows: ‘That these United Colonies are,
and of right out to be, free and independent States, and
that all political connection between us and the state of
Great Britain is, and ought to be totally dissolved.’? Johu
Adams immediately seconded the resolution, and then
Massachusetts and Virginia stood shoulder to shoulder in
this most important step. The resolution was taken up
three days afterward, and then postponed until the first
of July, a committee being appointed to draft a resolution.
This committee consisted of Thomas Jefferson, of Vir-
ginia, John Adams, of Massachusetts, Benjamin Frauk-
lin, of Pennsylvania, Roger Sherman, of Connecticut, and
Robert R. Livingston, of New York. Jefferson was the
youngest member of the committee, and, a8 we have
said, to him was intrusted the writing of the Declaration.
The resolution of Mr. Lee was taken up in committee of
the whole, the chair being filled by Benjamin Harrison,
father of William Henry Harrison, President of the United
State in 1840. Jefferson’s draft of the Declaration was
debated, slightly modified, and finally agreed to in the
course of a three days’ session. Norecord oi that important
debate has come down to us upon the pages of history,
but we know that the discussion was one of great earnest-
ness, as the thrilling subject was of vital importance.
Then commenced the struggle for independence which
is familiar, as it should be, to every school-boy and girl in
America. Wecannot too often refer to that period and
to the men whose patriotism won for us the glorious her-
itage which weenjoy to-day. To this subject we have
devoted considerable space in the current number of the
NEw YORK WEEKLY As an appropriate recognition of the
anniversary of July, 1776. If ever the fire of patriotism
burns low in the heart of an American citizen itis kin-
dled to a flame when he turns back to the pages of his-
tory and reads the story of the struggles, sacrifices and
heroism of the Statesmen who first declared the rights of
the country, and of those soldiers who fought and bled in
its defense, ze ”
———__—__ >

Statue of Washington.

Probably the most faithful statue of Washington which
is to be seen to-day, is thatof Houdon, which was made
for the Legislature of Virginia, and which now ornaments
the capital at Richmond. It is appropriate for us to refer
to this well-authenticated effigy of the Father, of his
Country, in this special number of the NEw YORK WEEK-
LY, our Fourth of July issue. This Statue was modeled,
after due consultation with Franklin and others, in the
actual costume which Washington wore, and from casts
taken {rom his head by the artist himself, then considered
one of the greatest of living sculptors. The Legislature of
Virginia has taken such steps as will place within the
reach of the people correct copies of this eminent work of
art. One of these is in the Boston Athenzum.

In the capital building at Richmond there is a spacious
court room, where the federal and superior courts of the
State are held. In the center of the rotunda, surrounded
by an iron inclosure, stands the statue referred to. The
atitude is firm, erect and graceful; the countenance digni-
fied and commanding, and the costume is that which
Washington wore as commander-in-chief, The following
is the inscription on the pedestal:

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

“The General Assembly of the Commonweath of Virginia
have caused this statue Lo be erected as a monument of
affection and gratitude to George Washington, who, unit-
ing to the endowments of a hero, the virtues of the
patriot, and exerting both in establishing the liberties of
his country, has rendered his name dear to his fellow citi-
zens, and given to the world an immortal example of true
glory.

It ls well that we should have before us these tangible
evidences of our past history, and yetit is not absolutely
necessary, for Washington is so deeply cherished by us
all, that we need few mementoes to remind us of his name
and services. Such tokens, however, tell the stranger
who may come among us that Republics are not ungrate-
ful. Such emblems also inspire the ambition of each suc-
ceeding generation. Every State of the Union should
erect a statue of Washington. That which ornaments the
rotunda of the capital at Boston is remarkable for its gen-
eral excellence. It is a master-piece of Canova’s art,
and is visited from far and near by those who appreciate
the perfection of art.

Other countries, under monarchical rule, would have
erected countless monuments to such a hero as Washing-
ton, but the lack of monumenis will never eradicate from
the American mind the reverence which is universally
cherished for the memory of this pure statesman.

COUNTRY BOARDING.

As soon as the momentous Fourth of July, with its fire-
crackers and spread-eagle style of patriotism, is over, mi-
gration to the country from the city commences.

Weare unable to say who originated the fashion, but
alas for cemfort! it was originated.

For weeks previous to the middle of July, the theme at
the tables of our rich and fashionable city people is,
‘Where shall we go for the summeg?’’ It is discussed at
breakfast, and dinner, and tea, and no doubt enters
largely into the curtain lectures which pater familias is
forced to listen to after he stretches his aristocratic limbs
to court ‘tired Nature’s sweet restorer’? on his rosewood
bedstead.

The advantages of seaside, and mountain, and lake re-
treats are summed up and viewed in every light, and all
the family, collectively and individually, relate their ex-
perience in country boarding,

If there is still left upon the face of the earth an indi-
vidual sfmple-minded and innocent enough to put any
faith in newspaper advertisements, that individual might
readily believe that this continent of North America is
full of earthly paradises, rejoicing in such names as Pop-
lar Lodge, Woodbine Villa, Beechwood Retreat, Rose-
lawn, etc., etc., where board can be obtained for the
modest sum of three dollars a day, and all the delicacies
of the season—not to mention such incidentals as trout
brooks, saddle horses, game shooting, and picnic groves
Within a stone’s throw.

Nobody who is anybody staysin the city through the
heated term; itis so unfashionable! and one might as
weil be dead as out of the fashion, and so the stampede
takes place.

The head of the family, who is supposed to have impor-
tant business relations ‘down town,” is expected to run
up to Poplar Lodge once a week to bring the news, the
last fashion plate, and a box of goodies,

The eartily paradise where boarders are taken in, is
generally a square, two-storied, modern house, painted
white. The front door, whichis green, is in the middle of
the structure; and there will usually be found three red
poppies and a half-dozen marigolds in a little fower-bed
beside the front steps.

The white house is always destitute of blinds or cur-
tains; and as for snade trees, the nearest one is an apple
tree half a mile off, which bears apples so gnarly and sour
that the worst bred pig would turn up his nose at them.

The ‘sold man’? who owns tlie paradise does not believe
in shade trees, Shade trees, he will tell you, ‘‘spiles the
clapboards,”?

The boarders are put to sleepin a chamber which has
the sun all day. The furniture of this chamber consists of
a yellow bedstead, surmounted by a feather bed weighing
about fifty pounds, and alhusk bed of about the same
bulk; two boisters, four pillows, and a patchwork quilt
of red and green calico, ‘pieced’? in “window sash’?
pattern.

A chair has to be called into requisition in getting safely
into this bed; and even then a person has to be very ex-
pert to accomplish the feat without accident.

And after you are safely landed there, if you do not find
yourseif surrounded by animated nature emanating from
the secret places of this wonderful bedstead, you need to
thank your stars.

There will bea round, braided mat by the side of the
bed, made out of the ‘‘old man’s’? cast-off coats and pan-
taloons; the bureau will be glorified by two green wool
lamp mats—chef a@‘@uvies of Angeline Mariah’s genius
“when she was at the cemetery over to the bridge;’’ and
there will be four wooden-bottum chairs, which will give
you the spinal disease to look at; a yellow washstand,
with a cracked blue pitcher and a cake of castile soap re-
posing in a broken saucer; a looking-glass eight by ten,
with a peacock’s feather over the top of it; a wall basket
made out of an old hoop-skirt; two plaster of Paris spegi-
mens of statuary, a pine cone vase, and a pin-cushion
sewed on the bottom of a broken lamp,

There will be no Closet in the chamber; country houses
never iiave such conveniences; but there will be plenty of
rusty-headed nails ranged around the walls of the room,
on which you can exhibit your muslin dresses to the ad-
miring manipulations of the flies and crickets.

At night, if you leave the windows Open, it will be as
much as your life is worth to fall asleep. Musquitoes and
gnuts, those interesting little accessories of life in the
country, are abroad in hosts atthe ‘very witching hour

 

 

 

 

of night? when city boarders get ready to sleep.

If you close the windows you will suffocate; if you leave
them open you will be bled without mercy; so you can
take your choice. ‘

Of course, you cannot help thinking of your cool, tidy
chamber at home, with its straw matting, and its hair
mattress, and its green blinds, and wire netting, and the
refreshing bath which awaits you in the morning—but
then you should do your best to put such foolish thoughts
out of your mind, for it is so unfashionable to stay at home
in the summer, even if you are comfortable.

The promised ‘delicacies of the season’? are not forth-
coming in any great variety. The table fare will be boiled
potatoes and fried pork, with corn bread and molasses
ginger bread by way of dessert. Sometimes, when the
hostess wants to do a big thing by you she will treat you
to dried apple pies,

And though, asa general thing, you agree with the
poet who says:

“T loathe, abhor, detest, despise,

Abominate dried apple pies!”
you are reduced to such astrait that you are thankful
even for the dried apple abomination, and ‘take the goods
the gods provide."’

Whenever you ask for new milk you are told that it is
all sold to go to the city. Ditto the vegetables. Ditto the
eggs. Ditto the chickens. Ditto everything eatable.

The post-office will be about three miles off, and every
friend you have in the world might die and be buried be-
fore a letter would reach you. -

The railroad depot will be two miles away, across lots,
and the pastures through which the path leading thereto
runs will be full of prancing colts and crooked-horned
palit and you’d as soon risk yourself in an African jun-
gle.
Pater fanvilias has to run his legs nearly off every time
he comes up, in order to catch the train, which is always
ahead of time; and as a natural consequence the head of
the family swears whenever country boarding is men-
tioned, and everybody is shocked at his degeneracy.

But never mind. There are compensations in store for
you.

You have spent the summer in the country, and can
claim to be somebody! KATE THORN.

—_—_————__ > o+—____——_

An Invitation ! from Josh.

Our contributor, JosH BILLINGs, having taken a
contract to catch all the trout in the west branch of
the Peabody River, has left for the ‘Glen House,”
White Mountains, where he will remain for the sea-
son, and promises all who will call upon him brown
bread and speckled trout for breakfast. Notwith-
standing his absence from the city, Josh’s contribu-
tions will appear regularly in the New Yor«

WEEKLY.
a a rs

BRAVING A BULLY.

BY JAMES L. BOWEN.

 

Several years since, when I was quite a young man—
aud gray is now silvering my hair—I had occasion to visit
the far Westin government employ, with a party of sur-
veyors. The nature of our errand, our numbers, and the
elaborate preparations we had made. against any hostile
demonstrations, insured us from any molestation, save in
a few rare instances; yet in that wild country it was im-
possible that we should remain long without witnessing
many scenes not familiarin law-abiding and cultivated
districts. Be sure we were not beyond the pale of law—
that is, there were certain officers, widely scattered, who
occasionally shot down some drunken desperado, if his
friends were not too numerous, but beyond such heroic
acts they seldom exercised the powers they were supposed
to possess. Generally, each separate community had a
recognized leader, some man more muscular and reckless
than his fellows, and who by virtue of these qualities had a
certain number of followers, who were ready to see that
his will was the ruling power in that vicinity. Ofcourse
such men were the real law-makers, and they were very
seldom opposed or molested.

Such a one was Jack Dunlaw, Jack’s headquarters
were at the station on the Overland Mail route where we
chanced to be located for a few weeks, while surveyiny in
that vicinity, and we had a good opportunity to witness
a most interesting incident in his experience, which tran-
spired while we there. In appearance he was formidable
enough, as we Saw himon the morning after our arrival.
Fuliy six feet six inones in height, with jong arms and
legs, sligutly stooping, with a ponderous frame, immense
masses Of hair and beard, clothing in keeping with his
general appearance, and neither over-cleanly or attrac-
tive, a bowie knife and revolver thrust into his belt as he
walked about the station, Jack was ceriainly the man to
intimidate any person of moderate nerves.

For many years he had been recognized as the leading
spirit in that vicinity, and from tat position he had
grown independent Of all restraint save his own will. He
had a e@hosen band of followers wit0 were ready to sup-
port him in every villianous undertaking. We were not
long kept in waiting before some of his peculiarities were
brought to our notice.

The Keeper of the station, Frank Russell, was a medium-
sized man, some forty years of age, who had recently
come to the place, bringing with him a family consisting
of one daughter, his wife, and a young man who had been
in his employ several years, and who was said to be the ac-
cepted lover of the daughter Cora. Stephep Ranney was
hisna me, a very quie:, gentlemanly appearing young man,
some five feet nine inches high, and weighing at a moder-
ate estimate a hundred and fifty pounds, He seldom spoke
unless addressed, when his words were brief and to the
point.

On the morning following our arrival, while the chief
engineer of our corps was preparing the work for the
day, the remainder of the party, after examining their in-
struments and putting everything in readiness for ser-
vice, disposed ourselves about the station to smoke and
wait foc orders. While wreathing ourselves in vapor,
and longing fora day or two of rest, in strode Jack Dan-
law, and demanded a dram of whisky. The barkeeper
produced the beverge, and Jack, who was already more
than excited by the potations of vile liquor, which he had
swallowed, turned it down witha gurgie. Just as he
lowered the lin cup which served instead of a tumbler,
Oora Russell entered the room, looking for her father.
‘Here, gal, give us a kiss!’’ Jack exclaimed, as he caught
sight of her.

Alarmed at his brutal manner, the girl turned to leave
the room, but before she could do so the bully had caught
and kissed her repeatedly with his liquor-fumed and to-
bacco-stained lips.

As she broke from his grasp and escaped at length, he
turned to the bar again, and with some beastly re-
marks, threw down a coin and sauntered out, those of his
admirers present laughing heartily as he left the place.
As the scene progressed Isprang from my seat ana
took a step toward the ruffian, but a surveyor pulled me
back, and witha diffidence and cowardice of which I
ever since been ashamed, [ did not make a second move-
ment. .

I saw the father turn slightly pale, but he made no pro-
test, only following his daughter from the room, and re-
turning several minutes afterward as calm as ever.

No one seemed to resent the fearful insult, which, per-
haps, no where else in the civilized world would have
been permitted to go unpunished, and in a day or two we
almost ceased to think of it, as other brutal acts on the
part of Dunlaw came under our notice.

The third day after the above incidents took place we
were off duty. It had threatened rain during the morn-
ing, and the day proved dark and cloudy. Shortly after
noon one of our party, anxious to seesome specimens of
the famed rifle shooting of the West, took from his
baggage a finely-mounted powder-flask, which he offered
as a prize to the best shot.

There were half-a-dozen volunteers, and the details
were speedily arranged. Three shots each were to be
allowed, at one hundred and fifty paces,and the man
whose three shots made the shortest string, measuring
from the center of the bull’s-eye, was to receive the flask.
Jack Dunlaw and Stephen Ranney were among the
contestants. Ihad been quite curious to see how these
two persons would meet, but I noticed no change in the
young man’s deportment. He spoke but little, and when
the list was arranged for the precedence, voluntarily took
the last place. Then folding his arms and leaning against
doorway, he carfully watched the trial.

Jack was one of the first to try his skill, and when three
shots had been fired it was found that one of his bullets
had struck within an inch of the center, while the other
two were not more than half an inch farther removed.

“Four inghes!”? the surveyor announced, after carefully
measuring the distances of the several shots.

“Yas,” growled Jack, throwing himself upon a bench;
“Dll wait here till you beat that, someon yer, and when
yer dew it ye kin take that ther little powder-box.””

The others fired in their several turns, and our party
was quite surprised to find the shooting no more accu-
rate. Indeed we began to look with distrust upon the
wonderful stories of romance writers.

All had fired at last save Stephen Ranney, and Jack had
made much the shortest string.

The young man took his place, and raised his rifle,
which was considerably shorter than any of the others.

“Look here, youngster,”? growled Jack, with a wink to
his admirers, ‘‘you’d better have a pop-gun; that wouldn’t
hurt anybody, and you'd be jist as likely tew hit the mark
as yer Will with that boy’s plaything.”

Stephen made Ho reply, but placing his weapon in rest,
bowed his cheek to the breech, and the next moment the
sharp report rang out.

“In the edge of the bull’s eye, half an inch from the cen-
terl’’ shouted the marker, ‘The best shot made yet.??

“Its an accident! He can’t hit the board next time!”
cried Jack.

I saw from his manner that he was getting excited and
angry; but Stephen reloaded his weapon in the most un-
concerned manner imaginab’e. As he was about to fire,
ate walked toward the target to mark the effect of the
shot. j

It was given as promptly as the first, amd, to the sur-
prise of every one, it struck almost exactly im the cenier
of the bull’s eye, But without waiting to hear the result,
Stephen turned to reload his piece.

With a@ stride like that of an enraged elephant, Jack
Dunlaw moved up to the side of his successful competitor.

“Don’t ye dar’ do that ag’in!”” he hissed, between shut
jaws. “If yer do, ’twill bea hard day for yer.’ Now mark
what [tell yer! I ain’t goin’ to fool around no upstart

 

like you. Ye’ve made a lucky hit twice; now let that
end it}?

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.  #3ss0=-

 

The young man made no answer; but I saw his cheek
become a shade paler, and his hand atrifie less steady,
as he rammed home the bullet. Then, with lips tightly
compressed, and eyes fixed upon the target, he dropped
upon one knee, and leveled his rifle.

“Now don’t yer make another mistake!’ was Jack’s
last admonition, accompanied by a shake of the fist so
close to the young man’s face that I began to feel like
grasping the buily from behind and dragging him from
the scene. -

The third shot sped as the others had done, and then
the young man sprang to his feet, dropping the rifle to the
ground in a manner which showed that patience had
nearly ceased to be his ruling virtue. Still I could not
anticipate the scenes which were to follow. -

The last bullet had struck just outside the bull’s eye,
and alter carefully measuring the three, Tom Tarbox, he
who had offered the prize, and kept the measurements,
stepped up among the crowd now gathered, and said:

“Gentlemen, Mr. Ranney has made the best record, his
three shots measuring but two inches; so to him I give
the flask, according to agreement.”

He reached forth the prize as he spoke, but before the
young man could take it, Jack snatched it from the sur-
veyor’s hand and thrust it into his pocket. No one anti-
cipated such @ movement, and it was some moments be-
fore Tarbox recovered his self-possession so as to speak.

“The flask belongs to Mr. Ranney,’? he said. ‘Please
let him have it.”?

“The flask belongs to me,’ retorted Jack. ‘His shootin’
war all accidental. Heonly happened to hit whar he did.
Hor then, he ken have the flask if he can git it, or you
either.

Tarbox bit his lip, and looked to the other members of
the party, undecided how to act. Seeing his irresolution,
Ranney stepped forward, and said:

‘Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Tarbox. The flask is mine,
and I will see to getting it.”

“You will, en?’ snarled the bully. “Git away from
mer-o0h of arm’s reach—or I’}l mash ye like a roast

ater

Thus speaking the giant swung his fists about, but the
young man did not move. Instead he received a blow
upon the head which Knocked away his hat, and seemed
to change his whole nature to that of a young lion. With
astrength and agility wholly unlooked for he dealt the
giant a fearful blow full upon the nose, which knocked
him to the ground, and deluged the uncomely face and
beard with torrents of blood. There was a momentary
struggle upon the ground after the bully fell, and then
Stephen stepped back a pace or two.

Inamoment the ruffian was upon his feet again, and
with a fearful curse he placed his hand where he expected
to find arevolver. Butit was gone. Then he sought for
his knife, Wut that too was missing. The young man had
taken the precaution of removing them, so that now the
two stood upon equal ground. But what a contrast!
Nine inches in height the bully towered above his antag-
pnlst, while in actual weight he was more than twice his
equal.

There was no parley or hesitation. Finding himself
weaponless Jack rushed for the young man, and would
have crushed him in a deadly grasp, but the young man
did not wait for the process. A quick, fierce blow, falling
just where the other had fallen staggered the rascal, and
before he could see what had become of the man he sup-
posed already in his grasp, a tremendous crack in the ear
brought him again to the ground. Again he scrambled
to his feet, and again he was knocked down by a single
revyerberating blow. The third time he arose, but before
he could wipe the blood from his eyes sufficiently to dis-
tinguish his antagonist the hard earth again became his

da.

This time he did not rise immediately. It was patent
to every one before this stage of the encounter that he
was overmatched for once, and at last that fact seemed to
have become clear to hisown mind. Drawing the flask
from his pocket he castit upon the ground, muttering
savagely:

“Thar’s yer old flask! Takeitif yer want it so bad!’
Stephen stepped to the spot where the coveted prize lay
and picked it up, placing it beside his rifle. Then turning
again to the discomfited bully, who had now risen to his
feet, he continued:

“Jack Dunlaw, I am not done with you yet. A few days
ago you brutally insulted Cora Russell. I could have shot
you dead, and I should have done it had I not pitied you.
Now you can take your choice—go, and on your knees
ask her pardon, and then quit this place forever or die
where youstand! This quarrel is not of my seeking, but
now that you have begun it take your choice. I give you
three minutes to decide.”?

A half-dozen watches were produced, and the attention
of our party was divided between their slowly-moving
hands and the excited group before us. At first it seemed
as though Jack desired to renew the fight. He looked
around upon those who had been his confederates, but
their sympathy had gone, and it was apparent that Ste-
phen Ranney had in a moment become the hero of the
occasion. Jack’s eyes, too, were nearly closed from the
euergetic blows he had received, and his courage, if any
he had ever possessed, seemed to have gone entirely.

A nod, a watch closed and returned to the pocket of its
owner, announced the expiration of the time. Not a
change of muscle or expression passed over Stephen’s
features as he remarked: deers
“Pretime ts up, Jack Dunlaw; will you live or die?’’
Jack looked around once more, and plaintively asked:
“What do you say, boys?’?

“Do as he tells yer,”? replied one who had been Jack’s
most devoted supporter in times past.

The last hope seemed to leave the contemptible giant. In
& voice weak and wavering he said:

“ll leave, that orter satisfy ye.’?

“You will do what I said, or-——"

The sentence remained unspoken. Jack Dunlaw bowed
his head, and walked meekly away to make the-required
apology. I did not follow, though many did. Five min-
utes laterI saw him, the blood washed from his face,
walking slowly away into the forest. We did not meet
a again, nor did he return to that station to my knowl-
edge.

The favor which Jack lost was transferred to Stephen,
and a fine village, which has since grown up there, bears
to-day the stamp of his quiet energy and courage,

FANNY’S STRANGER.

BY HERO STRONG.

 

 

 

“I tell you, Fanny Shawmut, you were made for each
other!’*

“And I tell you, Aunt Hildred, I would sooner die than
marry him!”

“You areafool, Fanny! You are as headstrong and self-
Willed as your father was before you!”

‘Please leave ny relations entirely out of the discussion!
Iam my Own mistress, twenty-one years old last June,
and free to refuse the Emperor of Russia if I choose to!
And [ tell you, Aunt Hildred, once more, that I will not
Stay here to meet Earle Rochefort, to be inspected like a
cow or @ horse just up for sale! So there!”?

And Fanny Shawmut left the room, and shut the door
behind her in a way which showed that she had a temper,
as it was right and proper she should have. Fora woman
without a temper would be as insipid as broth without salt
or pepper.

Aunt Hildred Ames put her smelling salts to her nose
and took along sniff. Such contumacy in Niece Fanny
she was sorely tried with. Ifshe had dreamed that ever
the girl would have developed so much obstinacy, she
would have declined to become her guardian, even to
please her dying brother.

A very few words wiil explain how matters stood.

Earle Rochefort was a@ young man of twenty-eight or
thirty, a native of Mrs. Ames’ own town, and a prime
favorite with the good lady. According to her idea, there
Was not another man in all the world worth naming be-
side him. His father had been Aunt Hildred’s first love,
but treachery on the part of somebody or other, it does
not Matter whom, had separated them; and he had found
another woman, and Aunt Hildred had found another
man. But when Earie’s father died, an explanation had
taken place, and Aunt Hildred had promised to love the
son for the sake of the father. And indeed, she found it
not very difficult to love Earle for his own sake, for he was
gentle and affectionate, and won the regard of all with
whom he came in contact.

But he did not marry, though a-great many beautiful
young girls would gladly have accepted him, and so it
happened that at eight-and-twenty he was still a bachelor;
and about that time Aunt Hildred’s brother, John, died in
Madeira, and left his daughter Fanny to her aunt’s care.
Fanny, pretty, spoiled, an heiress in her own right, and
accustomed always to troops of servants to order about,
did not fall readily into the groove her aunt had prepared
for her. She made up her mind that she would no¢ love
and marry this Earle Rochefort, of whom she had heard
so much.

As yet, she had not met Mr. Rochefort. He was absent
in California, where he owned some mines, and had been
there nearly a year perfecting some arrangements for
their improved working. But he was expected home
daily, and Aunt Hildred was continually agitating the sub-
ject nearest her heart. She had likewise written to Earle,
over and over again, glowing descriptions of Fanny, and
had dwelt largely upon her favorite plan of a union be-
tween her two children, as she called Earle and Fanny..
Young Rochefort, with alla man’s aversion to having a
wife picked out for him, began also to fairly hate the name
of Fanny, and to feel very much averse to meeting the
paragon.

In fact, so strong did this feeling become that he decided
not to go to Elmwood, Aunt Hildred's town, but to spend
the winter in Derby, a place some hundred and forty miles
distant.

He couid make “business”? an excuse; for, in addition
to his other advantages, Rochefort was wealthy, and aman
of property is always supposed to have plenty of business
on hand. So he wrote to Mrs. Ames to that effect, prom-
ising to run down and see her some Saturday night, the
very first opportunity.

Fanny, meanwhile, had packed a few dresses, and as
little finery as it is possible for a young lady to exist with,
into a couple of trunks, and in spite of Aunt Hildred’s re-
monsirances, had departed to make along visit to her
Cousin Bentley’s folks in Derby.

The very day of Fanny’s departure, Mrs. Ames received
Earle’s letter, and when she had read it, she executed a
pas de seul which would have done credit to a French
dancing master,

“Glorious!” she cried; ‘things couldn’t have happened
more to my liking! I’ll write to Cousin Martha this very
day, and get her on my side, and so, Miss Fanny, we shall
see you Mrs. Earle Rochefort yet, in spite of yourself! For
I Know he will fall in love with you, if he meets you, and
I dou’t believe you can help fallingin love with him!”

Aunt Hildred capered around the room so gayly that

 

tf whom

the staid old cat fled under the sofa to recover her equa-
nimity, and the very Canary in the cage stopped his sing-
ing aud contemplated his mistress in silent awe.

The letter to Cousin Martha was written and dispatch-
ed, and Aunt Hildred felt willing to await the course of
events, She felt moderately sure that all would be just
as she wished it.

Fanny Shawmut looked very pretty in her dark blue
traveling suit, and her coquettish round hat, with its
White feather, as she took her seat in the cars the morn-
ing she began her journey to Derby.

ore than one gentleman looked wistfully at the unoc-
cupied seat beside her, but she spread out her skirts in a
Way that lady travelers have, and put her muff on the
cushions, and none of them were bold enough to ask her if
the seat were engaged.

The car filled up rapidly, and presently a young man in
a heavy traveling cloak paused beside her, and asked ,the
question she had been expecting somebody would be im-
pertinent enough to ask.

She had a great mind to tefl him she preferred sitting
alone, but he had taken up the muff and made himself
comfortable before she had quite made up her mind to be
so impolite. Then she looked at him, and was obliged to
confess to herself that she had never seen a finer face. Its
clear blue eyes, and blonde hair and mustache just suited
Fanny’s taste, for her own hair and eyes were black, and
her lips and cheeks glowing like the heart of a cleft pome-
granate. And, of course, she liked a blonde man best—
indeed, how could she help it?

And he had such a grave, sweet voice, and he was so
careful not to sit on her flounces, and he did not twiddle
with the tassels of ler muff in the way most men do, but
held it daintily, just as if he knew it was real Russian
sable, and had cost two hundred dollars.

They became very social, and talked of a great many
things. They vowed that they both liked the same au-
thors, ard this, of itself, is a wonderful strong bond of
ey: By-and-by they wandered to religion, and
then to politics, and on both subjects their opinions
agreed. Alter that it was plain sailing.

A furious snow storm set in, for it was'in New England,
and the month was January, and the wind blew a gale
from the northeast; but our young friends were so much
occupied in getting acquainted that snow storms were of
no account whatever.

After awhile it began to be very cold in the car. The
Small stove was entirely insufficient to send out heat
enough to combat successfully with the streams of frigid
air rushing in at every crevice; and to make things more
uncomfortable, the locomotive floundered through the
fast increasing drifts in a way which showed the passen~
gers that ere long snow would assert its power over
steam,

Night was coming on, too, for the days in January are
very short, you know—and the train was just entering
upon the twenty mile stretch known as Brownslow’s
Common, and there were not half-a-dozen dwellings from
one end of this desolate waste to the other.

Fanny began to feel very nervous. She wondered what-
ever slie should have done without this gentleman who
occupied the seat with her, and who wrapped his travel-
ing shawl round her so carefully, and insisted on sitting
next the window to keep off the cold draught of air,

Fanny thought that if only that Mr. Earle Rochefort, of
unt Hildred prated so much, had been like this
Interesting stranger, how easily she could have stayed at
psa and married him, and made Aunt Hildred
lappy.

The storm increased, the drifts became more and more
formidable, and at last the engine gave a plunge forward,
which shook everybody out of their seats, and demorai-
ized things generally.

They were oif the track, ahd no more progress could be
made that night!

Fanny cried, and clung to her stranger, who did not
appear a bit sorry that the accident had happened. He
comforted the young girl, and drew her down on his
shoulder to finish her crying, and took off her hat so that
it would not be crushed (it was a Paris hat), and wound
her soft white “cloud” over her curls and braids in such
a delicate and skillful way.

Ah, welll Fanny had lost her heart to him before the
crash, and now she was completely subjected.

Alter all, it was a very delightful night. Fanny dozed
alittle, and her stranger sat beside her and kept her
wrapped up. The other men in the car swore over thie vile
situation they were in, and went out on the platform to
smoke cigars; and the women fretted, and the two babies
who were along squalled at intervals all night; but none
of this disturbed Fanny Shawmut.

In the morning aid Came—an extra train, with a snow-
plow attached, and a car with troops of men with shovels,
and baskets of provisions. The stranger secured all the
nicest things for Fanny, anc she had never enjoyed any-
thing before as she enjoyed these sandwiches and see@
cakes.

But everything delightful must have an end, and in due
time the train was put on the track, and Derby was
reached.

The stranger put Fanny inacab, and went with her to
Cousin Bentley’s, and asked permission to call on her, and
sothey parted. He had not thought to ask her name, nei-
ther had she thought to ask his.

The next day Cousin Martha received Aunt Hildred's
letter, and that evening, when Fanny's stranger called,
oddly enough, Cousin Martha herself opened the door for
him, and took his card. Thenshe showed him into the
parlor, and followed him in, and shut the door behind her,
and staid there talking with him full twenty minutes be-
fore she called Fanny.

The stranger was introduced as Mr. Fort, which Fanny
thought a very singular name. But then, afier all, ‘‘what's
in a name???

Of course they had avery delightful evening, which
was but the beginning of a series of delightful evenings.

Mr. Fort’s heart held out just a fortnight, and then he
told nis love in words too glowing for the cold point of our
cynical pen to write, and the two young people did a very
desperate thing—they engaged themselves, aud set the
wedding day just one month ahead.

Fanny wrote her aunt avery graphic account of the
whole affair, dwelling on Mr. Fort’s kindness and deyo-
tion during the snow-storm, and ending with saying that
her lover was so farin advance of that odious Earle Roche-
fort in all the virtues and graces, that she was sure Aunt
Hildred would be delighted that her disobedient but ever
loving niece did not stay at home and marry that Califor-
Dia bear.

When Aunt Hildred read the letter, she laughed till the
tears came and dimmed her spectacles, and she hugged
the cat, and shook hands with Betty the cook, and then
proved herself a true woman, and in her right mind, by
overturning her wardrobe to see if she had any dress suit-
able to wear Lo the wedding.

Fanny came back to Eimwood just a week previous to
this important event, and Mrs. Ames’ house was turned
upside down with the grand preparations. Fanny de-
clared she hoped that abominable Rochefort wouldn’t put
in an appearance at the wedding, for she knew she
couldn’t be decently polite to him; and thereat Aunt Hil-
dred would go off into such convulsions of laughter that
Fanny began to look serious, for she was certainly afraid
her aunt’s brain was softening. So many brains did
soften nowadays!

The wedding dress and vail were splendid, and Fanny

looked like an angel in them. Just about five minutes be-
fore the time set for the performance ofthe ceremony the
bridegroom was announced.
But what was Fanny’s amazement to see Aunt Hildred
rush up to him, throw her arms around his neck, and call
him her ‘dear Earle,” and tell him how glad she was to
see him back.

And then Aunt Hildred led him toward the bride, and
making a low obeisance, went through with the ceremony
of an introduction.

“Miss Fanny Shawmut, allow me to have the pleasure
of presenting to you Mr. Earle Rochefort, to wuom you
are about to be married!’

Fanny’s black eyes blazed, and her little red mouth un-
closed to say something spiteful, but Earle stopped it with
a kiss, which is always an excellent way to stop a woman
from scolding.

The wedding came off just as though nothing had hap-
pened, though everybody remarked that Fauny had a very
ae color for a bride. Brides should always be pale, you
<nOW.

It proved a very happy union, though Fanny is wont to
declare to Aunt Hildred that she never would have mar-
ried that Earle Rochefort if it had not been that she could
er bear the thought of not using that “lovely dress and
vail.

—_—

Police Commissioner Matsell, although he bears the
reputation of being atemperate man, is not averse to
“going ona bust,” and a very extravagant bust at that.
We forget how many thousand dollars his last bust has
cost him; but a close guess may be made when the reader
is informed that the famous sculptor, Miss Julia Griffin,
induced the commissionerto sit up with her while she
chiseled his classic head in marble.

A SPIRITED STORY.

The next number of the NEw YORK WEEKLY will con-
tain the opening chapters of a delightful story, entitled

NORAH GLENN;
THE ROSE OF SLIGO.

By John F. Cowan,
Author ef “O’CONNOR’S CHILD,” “CHARLE
GALE’S PLUCK,” etc., etc. | \
This is a spirited romance of the Emerald Isle, and ex.
hibits the author at his very best. In characterization,
plot and skillfal treatment, it is superior to ‘‘O’Connor’s
Child;’? and this is high praise, as all will admit who have
read the story just named,. The characters are: racy of
the Old Sod, and are ably contrasted; the plot is pleasant-
ly mystifying, though far from extravagant; and the
scenes, most of which are strikingly dramatic, call into
piay that remarkable descriptive power and vigor of die-
‘tion for which the gifted author is so justly renowned.

 

 

 

 

‘“NORAH GLENN’? will be commenced nexi week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE MEN OF '76.
An Ode for the Fourth of July.
BY MICHAEL SCANLAN.

Oh, goddess of the chainless soul,
That soars beyond the blind control
Of circumscribing kings,
O’ertopping all their weak imprisonings,
And filling all the earth with light, all hearts with love,
Sweep downward from thy heavenly home above,
And let me feel thy overshadowing wings,
For I would sing of those who died
Upon thy altar steps for thee,
The snowy waste and storm-swept mountain side,
Requiemed in dread sublimity ;
So let thy spirit, as I touch the lyre,
Leap wild along the blood like subtle fire.

 

 

Marching with buoyant tread
Along thy sun-illumined ways,
We cannot sound those tempest-ridden days,
Grim foes about and darkness overhead!
When they arose to win the high emprise,
Not even the light of high example beamed
In far traditionary skies,
For all the past was void and unredeemed ;
Yet spurning all the soft allurements strown
To keep them in the narrow grooves of kings,
They moved unawed ’gainst armed threatenings,
And burst the iron bonds that bound them to the throne.

As tho’ some mighty spirit, trumpet-toned,
Had swept adown the hoary centuries,
And at her call the deep embosomed seas
And time-defying mountains, iron-zoned,
Had yielded up, full armed and cap-a-pie,
The very flower of all death’s chivalry—
By whom the drooping world was ever cheered;
By whom was freedom’s banner ever reared!—
To pluck oppression by the royal beard;
So rose the men of antique mold,
The iron-hearted chiefs, who rolled
Aggression howling back
Upon his blood-red track,
And set a limit o’er whose sacred bound
He dured not peep,
For all within was consecrated ground,
Where no base trooper’s tread could haunt its peaceful sleep;
By whom the purple pale of kings was rent,
Who out of chaos carved a continent,
Above whose sun-washed sides their hands unfurled
That flag which lit with hope the long-despairing world!

Marching thro’ devasting years,
Begirt with tangled ways and stealthy foes,
Treading with weary feet the crisping snows;
Wooing sweet sleep with low and bated breath
On rifie-pillows, on the dreary heath,
When sleep was shadowed by the specter death;
Or hurling back the foe with charging cheers;
When valor grew appalled before tle hopeless t.sk
Of hewing pathways thro’ an endless waste—
For Heaven had wisely worn its chastening mask
To hide its purpose, so that they might taste
The bitter fruit of adversity,
And learn the happiness of being free;
When croaking ravens’ pinions beat the air,
And Hope drew on the visor of despair;
‘When Freedom poised her high, protecting wings
For flight unto the solitary zones,
That never felt the accursed weight of thrones,
Nor heard the joy-dispelling tread of kings;
*T was then their spirits, like the gods in throes,
Flung off exhausted nature, and arose,
Clothed in high resolve, invulnerable!
With haughty crests they drove upon their foes,
As Heaven once charged upon the hosts of hell,
Plucked victor honors from black-browed defeat,
Relumed the eyes of Hope with promise sweet;
And base mercenaries fied at their advance,
As thro’ bristling rounds of adverse circumstance
They hewed a pathway thro’ the joyous land
Where Peace and Liberty went hand in hand.

Then, goddess of the chainless soul, oh come,
And let thy spirit breathe along the lyre,
Until my song shall fall like tongues of fire

Among the traders in the public marts,

Striking base, jabbering tratiic dumb,

Into the deep recesses of the peopie’s hearts,
Until the public pulse shall beat

In royal fever heat,

And earth shall feel the tread of master feet,

As men step out in plenitude of pride,

Till far and wide
Shall hymns of high thanksgiving roll—
The voice of the nation’s soul—
To hail the high-bern day, forever to be blest,
When heroes raised thy empire, gracious freedom, in the West.

Red-handed despots; ye who’ve filled the world with gloom,
The howling past is yours, with all its wasted bloom,
And ye shail sink into its shapeless tomb
As piague-stricken pirates sink in ocean graves,
And dark oblivion’s waves
Shail roll in seething horror o’er your memory:
But Freedom, spirit of enduring love,
On earth but not of earth,
By the high title of celestial birth
Drawing immortal vigor from above,
Lo! all the unborn years of God are thine!
And they whé rose above the level ways
Of common life, and gave its fleeting days,
With undivided love, to thee,
And died that men miglit live,
To them thou’lt surely give
The measure of thy deathless years.
Like spotless suns set in unclouded skies,
So shall their fame in fadeless glory shine,
And all the rolling ages shall go forth
And gladly sing their worth,
And all the peopled future’s soulful eyes,
Redeemed from slavish fears,
Will proudly challenge the o’erlooking heaven,
And bless them for the light which they have given.

Ho! let the brazen-throated cannon wake
The slumbering mountains with its loud command;
Let swinging bells from airy steeples shake
Their silver voices over the land;
But louder, sweeter, grander far
Than pealing bells or roll of war, ‘
Shall the nation’s thrilling voice
In consciousness rejoice!
And let our flag of light,
Our country’s starry chart,
Rebuke the tardy night,
As it flies unto the rampart’s topmost height,
To catch the sun’s first ray
That ushers in that day
That sees the flowering of a free-born nation’s heart!

LOVE
WORKS WONDERS!

(‘Love Works Wonders” was commenced in No. 30. Back num-
bers can be obtained irom any News Agent in the United States. j

 

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Assistance was soon procured, and Sir Oswald was car-
ried to his room; Doctor Helmstone was sent for, and
when he arrived the whole house was in confusion. Lady
Darrell wrung her hands in the most graceful distress.

“Now, Elinor,” said Lady Hampton, “pray do not give
way to anything of that Kind. It is a fortuuate thing for
you that I am here. Let me beg of you to remember
that, whatever happens, you are maguificently provided
for. Sir Oswald told me as much. There is really no need
to excite yourself im that fashion.’

While Lady Darrell, with a few graceful exclamations
and a very pretty slow of sorrow, Managed to attract all
possible sympathy, Pauline moved about with a still, cold
face, which those best understood whe knew her nature.
It seemed incredible to the girl that anything unexpect-
ed should happen to her uncle. She had oply just begun
to love him; that evening lad brought those two proud
hearts closer together than they had ever been; the ice
was broken; each had a glimmering perception of the
real Character of the other—a perception that in time
would have developed into perfect love. It seemed too
hard that after he had just begun to like her—that as
soon as a fresh and genuine sentiment Was springing up
between them—he must die.

For it had come to that. Care, skill, talent, watching,
were all in vain; ie must die. Grave-faced doctors had
consulied about him, and with professional keenness had
seen at once that his case was hopeless. The ailment was
@ sudden and dangerous one—violent inflammation of the
lungs. No one could account for the sudden seizure. Sir
Oswald had complained of pain during the day, but no
one thought that it was anything of aserious nature. His
manuer, certainly, had been strange, with a sad pathos
quite unlike himself; but no one saw 10 that the com-
mencemeut of a mortal illness,

Lady Hampton frequently observed how fortunate it was
that she was there. To all inquiries as to the health of
her niece, she repiied, ‘Poor, dear Lady Darrell is bear-
ing up wonderfully;”? and with the help of pathetic little
speeciies, the frequent use Of @ Vinaigrette, a few tears,
and some amiable self-condolence, that lady did bear up.

gt eC
ee

 

Strange to say, the one who felt the keenest sorrow, the
deepest regyet, tie truest pain, was the niece with whom
Sir Oswald had continually found fauit, and whom he had
disinherited. She went about with a sorrow on her face
more eloquent than words. Lady Hampton said it was
all assumed; but Lady Darrell said, more gently, that
Fee was not a girl to assume a grief which she did
not feel.

So the baronet died after a week of severe illness, dur-
ing which he never regained the power ef speech, nor
could make himself intelligible. The most distressing
thing was that there was evidently something which he
wished to say—something which he desired to make them
understand. ‘When Pauline was in the room his eyes fol-
lowed her with a wistful glance, pitiful, sad, distressing;
he evidentiy wished to say something, but had not the

wer.

With that wish unexpressed he died, and they never
knew what it was. Only Paulive thought that he meant,
even al the Jast, to ask her forgiveness aud to do her
ustice.

; Darrell Court was thrown into deepest mourning; the
servauls went about with hushed footsteps and sorrow-
ful faces. He had been kind to them, this stately old mas-
ter; and who knew what might happen under the new
regime? Lady Hampton was, she assured every one,
quite overwhelmed with business. She had to make all
arrangements for the funeral, to order all the mourning,
while Lady Darrell was supposed to be overwhelmed with
sorrow in the retirement of her own rooin.

Oue fine spring morning, while the pretty bluebells were
Swaying in the wind, and the hawthorn was shining pink
and white on the hedges, while the birds sang and the sun
shone, SH Oswald Darrell was buried, and the secret of
oon he iad wished to say or have done was buried with
lim.

At Lady Darrell’s suggestion, Captain Langton was sent
for to attend the funeral. It was a grand and stately pro-
cession. All the elite of the county were there, all the
tenantry from Audileigh Royal, all the friends who had
known Sir Oswald and respected him.

**Was he the last of the Darreils ?’’ one asked of another;
and many looked at the stately, dark-eyed girl who bore
the pame, wondering how he had left his property,
whether his niece would succeed him, or his wife take all.
They talked of this in subdued whispers as the funeral
cortege wound its way to the churcil, they talked of
it after the coffin had been lowered into the vault, und
they talked of it as the procession made its way back Lo
Darrell Court.

As Lady Hampton said, it was a positive relief to open
the windows and let the blessed suushine in, to draw up
the heavy blinds, 10 do away with the dark, mourning as
pect of the place.

Everything had been done according to rule—no
peer of the realm could have had a more magnificent
funeral. Lady Hampton felt that in every respect full
honor had been done both to the living and the dead.

‘“Now,’? she wisely remarked, “there is nothing to be
done, save to bear up as well as it is possible.”?

“Then, aftera solemn and dreary dinner, the friends
and invited guests went away, and the most emburrassing
ue of all had to be gone through—the reading of
the will.

Mr. Rameden, the family solicitor, was in attendance.
Captain Langton, Lady Darrell, Lady Hampton, and Miss
Darrel] took their seats. Once or twice Lady Hampton
looked with a smile of malicious satisfaction at the proud,
calm face of Pauline. There was nothing there to gratify
her—no queen could have assisted at her own dethrone-
| ment with prouder majesty or pronder grace. Some of
/ the old retainers, servants who had been in the family
| from their earliest youth, said there was not one who did

on, wish in his beart that Pauliue migut have Darrell

7 Court.
; Laé@y Darrell, clad in deepest mourning, was placed in a
| large easy chair in the center of the group, her aunt by
her side. She looked extremely delicate and lovely in her
black sweeping robes. Pauline, who evidently thought
the ceremony an empty one, as far as slle was concerned,
stood near the table. She declined the chair that Captain
Langton placed for her. Her uncle was dead; slie re-
gretted hin with true, unfeigned, sincere sorrow; but the
reading of his will had certainly nothing to do with her,
There was not the least shadow on her face, not the least
discomposure in her manner. To look at her one would
never have thought she was there ty hear the sentence of
disinheritance.

Lady Darrell did not look quite so tranquil; everything
was at stake for her. She held her dainty handkerchief
to her face lest the irembling of her lips should be seen,

Mr. Ramsden read the will, and its contents did not
take any one much by surprise. The most important
item wasalegacy of ten thousand pounds to Captain
Aubrey Langton. To Pauline Durrell was left an annuity
of five hundren pounds per annuin, with the strict injuuc-
tion that she shouid live at Darrell Court until her mar-
riage; if{she never married, she was to reside there until
her deat. To all his faithful servants Sir Oswald left
legacies and annuities. To his well-beioved wile, Elinor,
he beqeathed all else—Darreli Court, with its rich depen-
dencies and royal revenues, his estate in Scotland, his
house in town, together with all the vaiuable furniture,
plate, jewelry, pictures, all the moneys that had accumu-
lated during his lifeume—all to her, to hold at her will
and pleasure; Luere was DO restriction, Do condition to
mar the legacy. a nape

To the foregoing Sir Oswald had added a codicil; he
left Miss Hastings one hundred pounds per aunum, and
begged of her to remain at Darrell Court as companion to
Lady Darrell and his niece.

Then the lawyer folded up the parchment, and the cer-
emony was ended.

“A very proper will,’ said Lady Hampton; “‘it really
does poor dear Sir Oswald credit.’

They hasten to congratulate Lady Darrell; but Captain
Langton, it was noticed, forgot to dv 80—he was watcli-
ing Paulige’s calw, unconcerned departure from the
roo. ;

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXIX.

There was a slight, only a very slight difference of opin-
ion between Lady Darrell and her aunt after the reading
of the will. Lady Hampton would fain have given up Lhe
Elis, and have goue to live at Darrell Court.

“Sir Oswald’s willis avery just one,’ she said, ‘‘ad-
mirabie in every respect; but I should never dream, were
lin your place, Elinor, of keeping that proud girl here.
Let her go. I will come aud live with you. I shall make
a better claperon than that poor, faded Miss Hastings.’’

But Lady Darrell was eager to taste the sweets of
power, aud she knew how completely her aunt would
take eyery vestige of it from her.

She declared her intention to adhere most strictly to the
terms of the will

“And, aunt,’ she continued, with firmness quite new
to her, “it would beso much better, I think, for you to
Keep at the Elms. People might make strange remarks
if you came here to live with ime.””

Lady Hampton was shrewd enough to see that she must
abide by her uiece’s decision.

The captain wastoremain only two days at Darrell
Court, aud Lady Darrell was anxious to spend some little
time with him.

“I like the captain, aunt,’? she said; ‘‘he amuses me.”’

Lady Hampton remembered how she had spoken of
him before, aud it Was not her intention that her beautiful
niece should fling away herself and her magnificent for-
tune on Aubrey Lungton.

‘She is sure to marry again,’ thought the lady; ‘‘and,
dowered as she is, she Ougit to marry a duke, at least.’?

She represented to her that it was hardly etiquette for
her, a Widow so young, and her loss being so recent, to
eltertain a handsome young officer.

**f do not see that the fact of his being handsome makes
any differeuce, aunt,’”? said Lady Darrell; “still, if you
think Limust remain shut upin my room while the cap-
cain is here, Of course, 1 will remain so, though it seems
very hard.”

“Appearances are everything,’? observed Lady Hawp-
ton, Sagely; ‘‘and you Cannot be too careful at first.”

“Does he seem to pay Pauline apy attention?’ asked
the young widow, eagerly.

“IT have pever heard them exchange more than a few
words—indeed the circumstance has puzzled me, Eliner.
I have seen him look at her as though he worshiped her
and as though he hated her. As for Miss Darrell, she
seems to treat him with coutemptuous indifference.’

“T used to think he liked her,?? said Lady Darrell, mu-
singly.

‘*He liked the future heiress of Darrell Court,’’ rejoined
Lady Hampton. ‘All his love has gone with her pros-
pects, you may rely upon it.”?

Lady Darrell, brought up in a school that would sacri-
fice even life itself for the sake of appearances, kuew
there was no help for her enforced retirement. She re-
yo in her roums until the young officer had left the

ourt.

Lady Hampton was not the only one wio felt puzzled
at Pauline’s behavior to the captain. Miss Hastings, who
understood her pupil perhaps better than any one, was
puzzled, There was somewhat of calm, unutterable con-
temptin her inanner of treating him. He could not pro-
voke her; no matter what he said, she would not be pro-
voked into retort. She never appeared to remember his
existeuce; no one could have been more completely ig-
nored; aud Captain Laugton himself was but tvo cogni-
Zant of the fact. If he could have but piqued or aroused
her, have stung her into some exhibition of feeling, he
would have been content; but no statue could have been
colder, no queen prouder. If any littie attention was re-
quired at her hands she paid it, but !here was no denying
Lhe fact that it was rendered in such a manner that the
omission would have been preferable.

Ou the evening of his departure Lady Hampton went
down to wish him farewell; she conveyed to him Lady
Darrell’s regret at not being able to do the same.

“I am very sorry,’? said the captain; “though, of
course, under the circumstances, I could hardly hope for
the pleasure of seeing Lady Darrell. Perhaps you will
tell her thatin the autumn, with her permission, I shall
hope to revisit the Court.”

Lady Hampton said to herself that she should take no
such message. The dearest wish of her heart was that
the gallant Captain should never be seen there again.
aoa made some gracious reply, and then asked, sud-

enly:
: coer you seen Miss Darrell? Have you said good-by
o her

Aubrey Langton looked slightly confused.

**I have not seen her to-day,” he replied,

Lady Hampton smiled very graciously.

“I will send for her,” slie said; aud wheu, in answer to
her summons, a servant entered, siie asked that Miss Dar-
rell might be requested to favor her with her presence in
the library. It did not escape her keen observation that
— Langton would ratner have avoided the iuter-
view.

Pauline entered with the haughty grace so natural to

 

 

 

 

he was no more to her than the very furniture in the room.

Riven: Wished to see me, Lady Hawpton,’’ she said,
curtly.

*“‘Yes—that is, Captain Langton wishes to say good-by
to you; he is leaving Darreil Court this morning.”’

There was the least possible curl of the short upper lip.
Lady Hampton happened to catch the glance bestowed
upon Pauline by their visitor. Fora moment it startled
her—it revealed at once such hopeless passionate love and
such strong passionate hate. Pauline made no reply; the
queenly young figure was drawn up to its full height, the
thoughtful face was full of scorn. ‘he captain concealed
his embarrassment as he best could, and went up to her
with outstretched hands,

*Good-by, Miss Darrell,” hesaid; ‘‘this has been a very
sad time for you, aud I deeply sympathize with you. I
hope to see you again in the autumn, looking better—more
like yourself.??

Lady Hampton was wont to declare that the scene was
one of the finest she had ever witnessed. Pauline looked
at him with that straight, clear, calm gaze of hers, so ter-
ribly searching and direct,

_ “Good-by,” she said, gravely, and then, utterly ignor-
ing the outstretched hands, she swept haughtily from the
room.

Lady Hampton did not attempt to conceal her delight
at the captain’s discomfiture.

‘““Miss Darrell is very proud,’ he said, laughing to hide
his confusion. ‘ must lave been unfortunate enough to
displease her.’?

But Lady Hampton saw his confusion, and in her own
mind she wondered what there was between these two—
why he should appear at the same Lime to love and to
hate her—above all, why she should treat him with such
sovereign indifference and coutempt.

“lt is not natural,” she argued to herself; ‘young girls,
as arule, admire—nay, take an uncommon interest in
soldiers. What reason can she naye for such contemptu-
ous indifference ?””

How hittle she dreamed of the storm of rage—of passion
me Siero love, of fury, that warred in the captain’s
sou

He was ten thousand pounds richer, but it was as a
drop in the ocean to him. If it had been ten thousand
per annum he might have been grateful. Ten thousand
pounds would discharge every debt he had in the world,
and set him straight once more; he might even lead the
life he had always meant to lead for two or three years,
but then the money would be gone. On the other hand,
if that girl—that proud, willful, defiant girl—would but
have married him, Darrell Court, with all its rich depen-
deucies, would have been his. The thought almost mad-
dened him.

How he loathed her as he rode away! But for her, all
this grand inheritance would have been his. Instead of
ridiug away, he would now be taking possession and be
lord and master of all. These stables with the splendid

stud of horses would be his—his the magnificent grounds |~

and gardens—the thousand Juxuries that made Darrell
Court an earthly Paradise. All these would have been
his but for the obstinacy of one girl. Curses deep and
burning rose to his lips; yet, for his punishinent, he loved
her with a love that mastered him in spite of his hate—
that made him long to throw himself at her feet, while he
could have slain her fur the wrong he considered that she
had done him.

Lady Hampton could not refrain from a few remarks
on what she had witnessed.

‘*Has Captain Langton been so unfortunate as to offend
you, Miss Darrell??? she asked of Pauline. “I thought
your adieus were of the coldest.”

“Did you? I never could see the use of expressing re-
gret that is not really feit.??

‘Perhaps not; but it is strange that you should not feel
50me jittie regret at losing such a visitor.”

To this remark Pauline deigned nothing save an extra
he of weariness, which Was not lost upon Lady Hamp.

Ou.
* # # # # #

‘“Paulive,’? said Miss Hastings, one morning, ‘I do not
think you are compelled by the terms of Sir Oswald's will
to reside at Darrell Court whether you like it or not.
There could be no possible objection to your going away
for a change.’?

The beautiful, restless face was turned to her.

“I could not leave Darrell Court even if I would,’? she
returned.

“Why not? There is really nothing to detain you here.”’

“] am waiting,” said the girl, her dark eyes lit by a fire
that was not pleasant to see—‘‘I am waiting here for my
revenge.’?

“Oh, Pauline!’ crid Miss Hastings, in rea) distress.
“My dear chiid, you must forget such things. I do not
like to hear such a word from your lips.’

Pauline smiled as she looked at her governess, but there
was something almost terrible in the calm smile.

**What do you think I am living here for—waiting here
in patience for? I tell you, nothing bat the-vengeauce |
have promised myself—and it shall be mine}?

 

CHAPTER XXX.

Six months had passed since Sir Oswald’s death, and
his widow had already put away her cap and heavy
weeds. Six months of retiremeut, she cousidered, were
avery handsome acknowledgment of ail her husbaud’s

ve aud-kindhess. Stre was in a state of serene and per-
fect sell-content—everything had gone well with her.
People had expressed their admiration of her devotion to
his memory. She knew that in the eyes of the world she
was esteemed faultiess, And now it seemed to Lady Dar-
rel) that the time was come in which she might really en-
joy herself, and reap the reward of her sacrifice.

The ‘armed neutrality’? between Pauline and herself
still continued. Each went her own way—their interests
never clashed. Lady Darrell rather preferred that Pau-
line should remain at the Court. She had a vague kind
of fear of her, a vague dread that made her feel safer
where Pauline was, and where she could know something
of her. Whole days would pass without their meeting;
but, nuw tliat there was to be a little more gayety at Dar-
rell Court, the two must expect to be brouglt into daily
communication.

Lady Darrell was an amiable woman. It was true she
had @ small soul, capable of maintaining small ideas
ouly. She would have liked to be what she called ‘*com-
fortable”? with Pauline—to live on sisterly terms with her
—to spend long hours in discussing dress, ornaments,
fashionable gossip—to teel that there was always some
one at hand to listen to her aud to amuse her. She, in
her turn, would have been most generous, She would
have made ample presents of dresses and jewels to such
a friend; she would have studied her comfort and inter-
ests. Butto expectorto hope for a companion of that
kind in Pauline was as though some humble little wood-
blossom could hope to train itself round a grand, stately,
Sad passion-flower.

Lady Darrell’s worldly knowledge and tact were almost
perfect; yet they could never reveal to her the depths of a
noble nature like Pauline’s. She could sooner have sound-
ed the depths of the Atlantic than the grand deep of that
young girl’s heart and soul; they would always be dead
letters Lo her—mysteries sie could not solve. One morn-
ing the impulse was strong upon ner to seek Pauline, to
hold a friendly conversation with her as to half-mourning;
but when she reached the door of the study her courage
gave way, and she turned abruptly, feeling rather than
Kuowing why the discussion of dress and mere personal
appearance must prove distasteful to Miss Darrell.

Little by little Lady Darrell began to take her place in
the graad world; she was too wise and wary to do ii all
at once. The degrees were almost imperceptible; even
Lady Hampton, ove of the most fastidious of critics, was
obliged to own to herself that her niece’s couduct was
highly creditable. The gradatious in Lady Darrell’s
spirits were as carefully regulated as the gradations of
color in ler dress; with deep lavender and black ribbons
she was mildly sorrowlul, the lighter grew the lavender
the lighter grew her heart. On the first day she worea
Silver gray brocade she laughed outright, and the sound
of that laugh was the Kuell of all mourning.

Visitors begsn to arrive once more at Darrell Court, but
Lady Darrell still exercised great restraint over herself.
Her invitatious were at first confined to matrons of ma-
ture age. ‘She did not feel equal to the society of gen-
Uemen yet.” ¢

There was a grand chorns of admiration for the nice
feeling Lady Darrell displayed. Then elderly gentiemen
—husbauds of the Matrons—were admitted: and, after a
time, “braw wooers began to appear at the hall,’ and
then Lady Darrell’s reign began in reai earnest.

From these admiriig matrons, enthusiastic gentlemen,
ardent lovers, and flattering friends Pauline stood aloof.
How she despised the whole of them was to be gathered
only from her face; she never expressed it in words. She
did not associate with them, and they repaid ler beha-
vior by the most hearty dislike.

It was another proof of “dear Lady Darreli’s sweet
temper” that she could livein peace with this haughty,
abrupt, willful girl. No one guessed that the bland, ami-
able, suave, graceful mistress of Darrell Court stood in
rs of the girl wuo had been disinherited to make way

or her,

‘Pauline,’ said Miss Hastings, one day, “I want you to
accustom yourself tothe idea of leaving Darrell Court;
fori donot think there is any doubt but that soouer or
jater Lady Darreil will marry again.’’

‘“T expect it,’she returned. ‘Poor Sir Oswald! His
home will go to strangers, his name be extinct. How
little he foresaw this when he married!’

“Let it take place when it may, the Court can be 20
home for you then,” continued Miss Hastings.

Pauliue raised her hand with @ warning gesture.

“Do not say another word, Miss Hastings; I cannot
listen. Just as criminals were fastened to the rack, bound
to the wheel, tied to the stake, I am bound here—awaitiug
my revenge!’

“Oh, Pauline, if you would but forego suclyv strange
speech! This longing for vengeance is in your heart
like a deadly canker in a fair flower, It will end badly.”

The beautiful face with its defiant light was turned to-
ward her.

“Do not attemptto dissuade me,” she said. ‘Your
warning is useless, and I do not like to grieve you. L.ac-
quainted Lady Darrell with my determination before she
married my uncle for his money. She persisted in doing
it. Let her take the cousequences—bear the penalty. If
she had acted atrue womanly part—if she. had refused
him, as she ought to have done—he would have had time
for reflection, he would not have. disinherited me in his
anger, and Darrell Court would have descended to a Dar-
rell, as it ought to have done.’?

“If you could but forget the past, Pauline!’

“T cannot—it is part of my life now. I saw two lives
before me once—the one made noble, grand, and gracious
by this inheritance, which I should have kuown so well
liow to hold; the other darkened by disappointment and
shadowed by revenge. You know how some men wait
for the fair fruition of a fair hope—for the dawn of suc-

her; her proud eyes never ouce glanced at the captain; | cess—ior the suushine of perfect prosperity; so do 1 wait

 

 

for my revenge. We Darrelis never do things by halves;
we are not even moderate. My heart, my soul, my life—
which might have been, I grant, filled with high impulses
—are concentrated on revenge.”

Though the words she spoke were so terrible, so bitter,
there was no mean, Vindictive, or malign expression on
that beautiful face; rather was it bright with a strange
light. Mistaken though the idea might be, Pauline evi-
dently deemed herself one chosen to administer justice.

Miss Hastings looked at her.

‘But, Pauline,” she said, gravely, ‘‘who made you Lady
Darrell’s judge ?””

“Myself,” she replied. ‘Miss Hastings, you often speak
of justice; let me ask, was this matter fair? My uncle
Was irritated against me because I would not marry a
man I detested and loathed; in his anger he formed the
project of marriage to punish me. He proposed to Elinor
Rocheford, and, without any love for him, she agreed to
marry him. I went to her, and warned her not to come
between me and my rightful inheritance. I told her that
if she did I would be revenged. She laughed at my threat,
married my uncle, and so disinherited me. Now, was it
fair that I should have nothing, she all—that I, a Darrell,
should see the home of my race go to strangers? It is not
just, aud [ mean to take jusiice into my hands.””

“But, Pauline,’ opposed Miss Hastings, ‘if Lady Dar-
rell had not accepted Sir Oswald, some one else would.”

“Are such women common, then?? she demanded,
passionately. ‘I Knew evil enough of your world, but I
did not know this. This woman is sweet-voiced, her face
is fair, her hair is golden, her hands are white and soft,
her manners caressing and gentle; but you see her soul is
sordid—it was not large enough to prevent her marrying
an old man for his money. Something tells me that the
vengeance I have promised myseif is not far off.”?

Miss Hastings wrung her hands in silent dismay.

“Oh, for something to redeem you, Pauline—something
to soften your heart, which is hardening into sin!”

“IT do not know of any earthly influence that could, as
you say, redeem me. I Know that lam doing wrong. Do
not think that L have transformed vice into virtue and
lave blinded myself. I kuow that some people can rise
to a far grander height; they would, instead of seeking
vengeance, pardon injuries. I cannot—I never will.
There is no earthly influence that can redeem me, because
there is none strouger than my own will.”?

The elder lady looked almost hopelessly at the younger
one. How wassle to cope with this strong nature—a
nature that could own a fault, yet by strength of will per-
severe init? She felt that she might as well try to check
the angry waves of the rising tide as try to control this
willful, undisciplined disposition.

How often in after years these words returned to her
mind: ‘Il know of no earthly influence stronger than my
own will.”

Miss Hastings sat in silence for some minutes, and then
she looked at the young girl.

‘“‘What shape will your vengeance take, Pauline?’ she
asked, calmly.

“Ido not know. Fate will shape it for me; my oppor-
tunity will come in time.”’

*“Vengeauce is a very high-sounding word,” observed
Miss Hastings, “‘but the thing itself generally assumes
very prosaic forms. You would not descend to such a
vulgar deed as murder, for instance; nur would you avail
yourself of anything so commonplace as poison.’

“No,” replied Pauline, with contempt; *‘those are mean
revenges. I will hurt her where she has hart me—where
all the iove of her heart is garnered; there will | wound
her asshe has wounded me. Where she can feel most
there i mean to strike, and strike home.’

“Then you have no definite plan arranged?’ questioned
Miss Hastings.

“Fate will play into my hands when the time comes,”’
replied Pauline. Nor couid the governess extract aught
further from her.

eer

CHAPTER XXXI.

Autumn, with its golden grain, its rich fruits, and its
luxuriant foliage, had come and gone; then Christmas
suow lay soft and white on the ground; and still Captain
Langton had not paid his promised visit to Darrell Court.
He sent numerous cards, letters, books, and music, but
he did not appear himself. Once more the spring flowers
bloomed; Sir Oswald had been lying for twelve months iu
the cold, silent family vault. With the year of mourning
the last of Lady Darrell’s gracefully expressed sorrow
vanished—the last vestige of gray and lavender, of jet
beads and black trimmings, disappeared from her dresses;
and then she shone forth upon the world in all the grace
and delicate loveliness of her fair young beauty.

Who could number her lovers or count her admirers?
Old and young, peer and commoner, there was not one
who would not have given anything he had on earth to
win the hand of the beautiful and wealthy young widow.
Lady Hampton favored the suit of Lord Aynsley, one of
the wealthiest peers in England. He had met Lady Dar-
reli while on a visit at the Eims, and was charmed with
her. So young, fair, gifted, accomplished, so perfect a
niistress of every art and grace, yet so good and amiable
—Lord Aynsley thought that he had never met with so
perfect a woman before. Lady Hampton was delighted.

“I think, Elinor,’? she said, ‘‘that you are one of the
most fortunate of women. You have a chance now of
making a second and most brilliant marriage. 1 think
you must have been born under a lucky star.””

Lady Darrell laughed her soft, graceful little laugh.

“T think, auntie,’ she returned, ‘tliat, as I married the
tirst time to please you, | May marry now to please my-
self and my own heart.”

“Certainly,’? said her ladyship, dubiously; ‘‘but remem-
ber what I have always told you—sentiment is the ruin of
everything.”

Aud, as Lady Hampton spoke, there came before her
the handsome face of Aubrey Langton. She prayed men-
tally that he might not appear again at Darrell Court un-
til Lord Aynsley had proposed aud had been accepted,

But Fate was not kind to her.

The next morning Lady Darrell received a letter from
the captain, saying that, as the summer was drawing
near, he should be very glad to pay his long-promised
visit to Darrell Court. He hoped to be with them on
Thursday evening.

Lady Darrell’s fair face flushed as she read. He was
coming, then, this man who above all others had taken
her fancy captive—this man whom, with all her worldly
scheming, she would have married without money, if he
had but asked her. He was coming, aud he would see
her in all the glory of her prosperity. He would be al-
most sure to fall in love with her; and she—weil, it was
not the first tiine that she whispered to her own heart
how gladly she would love him. She was too excited by
her pleasant news to be quite prudent. She must have a
confidant—slie must tell some one that he was coming.

She went to the study, where Miss Hastings and Pau-
line were busily engaged with some waier-colors. She
held the open letter in her hand.

“Miss Hastings, I have news for you,’? she said. “I
know that all that interested Sir Oswald is full of interest
for you. Pauline, you too will be pleased to hear that
Captain Langton is coming. Sir Oswald loved him very
much.”?

Pauline knew that, and had cause to regret it.

“I should be very pleased,’? continued Lady Darrell, ‘‘if,
Without interfering with your arrangements, you could
help me to entertain him.??

Miss Hastings looked up with a smile of assent.

“Anything that lies iu my power,” slie said, ‘*I shall be
only too happy to do; but I fear I shall be rather at a loss
how to amuse a handsome young officer like Captain
Langton.”

Lady Darrell laughed, but looked very pleased.

“You are right,’ she said—“‘lre is handsome. 1 do not
know that I have ever seen one more haudsome,”? Then
she stopped abruptly, for she caught the gleam of Pau-
line’s scornful smile—the dark eyes were looking straight
at her. Lady Darrell blushed crimsoi, au the smile ou
Pauline’s lips deepened.

**] see my way now,’’ slie said to herself.
and opportunity will combine at last.”?

“Aud you, Pauline,’? inquired Lady Darrell, in her
most caressing manner—‘you will help me with my
visitor—will you not?”

“Pardon me, I must decline,’? answered Miss Darrell.

“Why, Lthought Captain Langton and yourself were
great frieuds!”? cried Lady Darrell.

“T am not answerable for your thoughts, Lady Darreli,”’
said Pauline.

“But you—you sing so beautifully! Qh, Pauline, you
must help me!’ persisted Lady Darrell.

She drew nearer to the girl, and was about to lay one
white jeweled hand on herarm, byt Pauline drew back
with a haughty gesture there was no mistaking.

“Pray understand me, Lady Darrell,’? she said—‘‘all
arts and persuasions are, a8 you Kuow, lost ou me. I de-
cline to do anything toward entertaining your visitor, and
shall avoid him as much as possible.”’

Lady Darrell looked up, her face pale, and witha
frightened look upon it.

“Why do you speak so, Pauline? You must have some
reason for it. Tell me what it is,’?

No oue had ever heard Lady Darrell speak so earnestly
before.

“Tell mel’ she repeated, and her very heart was in the
words.

“Pardon me if I keep my counsel,’ said Pauline, **There
is wisdom in few words.”

Then Miss Hastings, always anxious to make peace,
said:

“Do not be anxious, Lady Darrell; Pauline knows that
some of the unpleasantness she had with Sir Oswald was
owing to Captain Langton. Perliaps that fact may affect
her view of his character.”

Lady Darreil discreetly retired from the contest,

“Tam sure you will both do all you can,’ she said, in
her most lively manner. ‘*‘We must have some charades,
and a ball; we shall have plenty of time to talk this over
when our guests arrive.”? And, anxious to go before
Pauline said avythiug more, Lady Darrell quitted the
room.

‘‘My dear Pauline,’ said Miss Hastings, ‘‘if you would
But she paused suddeuly, for Pauline was sitting
with a rapt expression ou her face, deaf to every word.

Such a light was in those dark eyes, proud, triumphant,
aud clear—such a smile on those curved lips; Pauline
looked as though she could see into futurity, aud as
though, while the view half frightened, it pleased her.

Suddenly she rose from her seat, with her hands clasp-
ed, evidently forgetting that she was not alone.

“Nothing could be better,” she said. ‘I could not have
asked of fate or fortune anything better than this.’?

When Miss Hastings, wondering at her strange, excited
manner, asked her a question, she looked up with the
vague manner of one just aroused from deep sieep.

“What are you thinking of, Pauline?’ asked Mrs. Hast-
ings. :

“Tam thinking,’? she replied, with a dreamy smile,
“what good fortune always attends those wi0 know how
to wait. lhave waited, and what I desired is come,”

“Time, fate,

—"’)

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3e=> 5

 

Thursday came at last. Certainly Lady Darrell ha@
spared neither time nor expense in preparing for her
visitor; it was something like a warrier’s home-coming—
the rarest of wines, the fairest of flowers, the sweetest of
Smiles awaiting him. Lady Darrell’s dress was the per-
fection of good taste—plain white silk trimmed with black
lace, with a few flowers iu her golden hair. She knew
that she was looking her best; it was the first time that
the Captain had seen her as ciatelaine, so she was anx-
ious to make the most favorable impression on him.

_ ‘*Welcome once more to Darrell Court!’ she said, hold-
ing out one white hand in greeting.

“It seems like a welcome to Paradise,” said the captain,
profanely; and then he bowed with the grace of a Clies-
terfield over the little hand that he still held clasped in his
own.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

WORKING
FOR WAGHS.

By Julie P. Smith,
Author of “TEN OLD MAIDS,” ete., etc.

 

 

(“Working for Wages” was commenced in No, 31. Back num-
berscan be obtained from any News Agent in the United States.}

CHAPTER XIII.
WHERE IS THE MONEY TO COME FROM?

The next evening Mr. Jack was obliged to go down
again to the village, and as he came abreast of the old
tavern he found Wat Wayland evidently waiting for him,
and who immediately set out to head him off, and begged
him to look at the horses he had for sale.

The farm-hand took out his watch.

“T have exactly fifteen minutes, Wat. If you can get
them on view in that time, 1’ll examine them gladly, aud
buy them out of hand, too, if they suit me; but they must
be gentle, high-bred, spirited, and crammed full of ex-
cellencies, or they won’t do.”?

“They are the sort, Douny. Jll sell them cheap, too,
for | want money,”

_ “Very well; I’m going down to get some oats, and over
the bridge to the tinner’s; 1711 be back in five minutes.”

Jack was more than pleased, he was delighted with the
beasts, and after a good trial he bouglit them.

“Where did you get them, Wat? he asked, as he was
counting out their price.

“From my uncle,” replied Wat, with a queer little
cough behind his hand; “he raised them himsef. They
were sired by Spry Pluck. I trained them to the saddle.
I hope you may be able to keep them, for there’s lots of
thieves around, aud you had better take good care to lock
your stable.’*

“I don’t apprehend any danger,’’ replied Donny.

“Ol, well, maybe there isn’t any; but I thought it right
to mention the report,” replied Wat, exchangiug winks
with a slouching, stoop-shouldered mau, who was loafing
hard by, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, and who
grinned from ear to ear in enjoyinent of some hidden
pleasantry only understood between the two.

“Put them back into your stabie, Wat,” said Donny,
**till Lo-morrow, when I will arrange for them, aud come
and claim my property.”?

‘*Will they be safe in your stable, captain?’ asked the
loafer, after Donny was gone. “If you ain’t the biggest
joker, you’ve got the cheek!”?

*T feltit right to give him fair warning. You may be
sure I shall look out for Donny Deipster’s property while
I have the care of it, even if I have to watch all night,
What happens afterward I can’t be responsible for.’?

“Tn course not. Captain, shall 1 ride Prancer for you f*

The first thing Mr. Jack did on reaching Esperanza was
to ask his employer if he might keep a couple of horses in
his stable, and have the priceof their board deducted
from his wages.

Mr. Winchester was surprised, and not pleased. It
knocked over his preconceived idea of rigid economy, and
he said as much very plainly.

“It is nol extravagance, sir,’ explained the farm-liand,
who seemed pleased with the gentlieman’s view of the
case, and listened in respectful amusement to his lecture.
“T shall realize handsomely on the beasts, I bought them
very cheap, and I will make five hundred dollars at least
when I dispose of them.”

“Sure of that, Jack ?””

“Quite sure, sir. I was raised among horses, and f cali
myself a fair judge. Beside that, I have another object in
view. Miss Wilmerding wants some lessons, and I intend
to give them, with your gracious permission, which I
count on as certain. Iam quite able to do it, and I don't
believe she will have a better opportunity. The steecs are
reliable, and so is their master.’

He smiled as he looked in his employer’s face while he
talked, who smiled in return. He had been interviewed
by his niece upon the subject, and he knew how the desire
to become a dashing equestrienue had taken full posses-
sion of hersoul. He had been coaxed into a promise to
order a habit from town, which promise he had already
furtively kept. He had sat patiently smoking, while hig
soft hat was filched from his respectable head—turned up
at the sides, pounded and punched in the crown, trie@
on; and then she Came aud stood before him, and triums
phantly said:

“Pll borrow it, Uncle Win. Wll stick in a scarlet feather,
and oh! lll have such a good time!’

The excellent nan would have turned the world upside
down to piease this radiant, glowing beauty, whose rich
youth was so like her dead mother’s that he almost forgot:
the weight of the burdeus of business and responsibility
he had been bravely carrying for s0 many years since
poor Adelaide had dropped asleep in his arms; and in
face of the trusty manhvod before him he shouldered back
all scruples and fears.

“IT believe you, Jack,’? he answered. ‘I know you are
ali right, and I see no well-grounded reason for thwarting
Jessie in her wish. DPve had my arms round Tilpah’s
neck this morning, under her authority, who would insis&
that a@ hug wasa necessary test of friendship, perfectly
understood by tie mare, and calculated to inspire her
confiaene, Take good care of the child, Jack. I—well,
she’s a legacy, my precious—ahem! I hopelI am not
catching the hay-fever. My throat feels a littie—— Yes,
but where is the money to come from? I never advauce
wages on principle.’

“| shall not ask it, sir. You are quite righ!—I never do
either; it spoils the hands—I meau—in short, 1 havea
little money laid up.??

“You seem to have a cold, too, Jack; people never
ougiit to be sick iu such air as this. The only proper way
Lo shift into another sphere is to dry up and blow away.
Very weil, in that case I shallinterpose no objections.
You are quite sure it won’t hamper or cripple you in any
way? Ishouldn’t like that. You see, I interfere iu your
aa by rigut of the deep interest 1 take in your wel-

are.’

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester,’? replied the farm-hand,
wary ne mean to deserve your good Opinion as long
a8 1 live.

 

CHAPTER XIV.
MR. JACK’S EXTRAVAGANCE,

The birds were just in the middle of their three o’clock
concert, when Jessie was awakened from a school-dream
to hear the quick patter of horses’ hoofs over the hard
drive; and being one of those people who like to know
the why of everything, she sprang up to ascertain who
Was ulriving so early at Esperanza. Mr. Jack cantered
past on a beautiful black horse, whose mate was ridden
by her dealer, Wat Wayland. The twomen spoke to-
gether in subdued voices, and Wat scanued all the win-
dows. with a half bold, half suspicious glance which
seemed habitual to him. When they reached the stables,
they stood talking a moment after dismounting, or rather
Wat talked, and Mr. Jack listened witha disapproving
face; but he closed the conference by takilg out lis purse
and handing Wat a couple of bank-bills.

“That is all, Wal,’ said he, sternly; ‘‘vyou needn’t say &
word about payment—I know by long experience what
such promises are worth. You are welcome to it, but
don’t hope for any more. I despise gambling and gam.
biers, and I wou’t help apy man to leaa such a life.”

“Well, Donny, I have a good many fellow fools. What
this world Calls operators are all gamblers—the principle
is the same, luck and Chance. I[ thank you for this, any-
how; the child is the father of the man, sure enough.
You’re the same old chap. When you do a fellow a good
turn, you like to take it out of him by scolding. I’m going
to chop round as 800n as Lsee a good place; you must re-
member the world doesn’t go as easy to me, poor devil,
as to you, the pet of a grand lady. I had nothiug but an
old uucle, and a dused sourkraut of a sharp file he is. My
boyhood was bitter, 1 was whipped at a cart-wheel, kept
hard and Close, and I got habits you never needed to have,
because it was such a dreary grind to live. I ain a Kil-
dermaster, it is true; but the dead and gone old fogies in
their grand tombs don’t shell out any of their lay-up for
my keeping. If you ever find out I have gone clean bad,
Donny, remember I couldn’t help myself.”

“That's all gammonu, Wat; you have good health and
abilities, and if you loved an honest life you would make
it. Remember you are to keep your mouth shut on my
affairs. I don’t choose to be a subject of talk over beer-
jugs and among horse-jockeys.”

“11 keep mum, Donny, especially on the shaking you
gave that little one. Why, old chap, you nearly let his
soul out? He Was as limp as a wet dishclout when you
dropped hijn.”’

“So you were skuiking, were you? Well, mind my
caution, or Vil come down and show you how it was
done.”?

“Pooh! Donny, I’m not afraid of you. You've outgrown
me in all ways, but I can hold my own in a fair figlit.’’

“Wat, you’ve lots of good in you. Come, if you'll take
hold of anything descent and earn a living, I'll back you—
say a country store like Slapjacks, down below. He
makes money in his dingy den, and so could you. I
should like to help you out of temptation for the sake of
old times.??

“Thank you, Donny. I couldn’t stand a shop. There
has never been a Kildermaster a counter-jumper yet, and
I shan’t be the first to degrade the name.’?

“Degrade! Wat, that is shameful nonsensel’?

“There! stop there, Donny. You’re one sort of fellow,
lam another, both made out of circumstances which we
didn’t build, and we shouldn’t come to the same mind if
we talked till doomsday. So, good-by, and good luck to
the horses.’?

The air was so clear that Jessie lieard most of the talk,
and it confirmed her good opinion of her teacher. He
had also power Lo achieve, to command, and that suited
her. ’

After Wat departed Donny set to work with a dispatch
and briskness which looked as if he meant to accomplish

 

 

 

 

 

a

—-

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a good deal before snurise. Ie bronght out a blanket,
which hefastened about iis waist, mounted Prancer lady
wise, Gausing*the drapery to flap shirt-fashion about his
legs, and pul. him through his paces, trotting, galloping,
runing atid Walking. Having fully satisfied himsel{, ap-
parently, concerning the good temper and reliability of
the aniinal, he dismounted, patted aud caressed him, led
him to his stable, and iaving disencumbered himself of
his equestrienne gear, he took @ salt box, aud went gaily
whistling down the long méadow, where he stood by Ue
bars and called Sniggle aud Dibble, who instantly ad-
vanced, looking for the treat they were sure of,

“Jessie, who wafched him all the time, knew that the
farm hand was about to keep his promise, and that Tilpal
Cuuld take her time and recover at her leisure,

She saw difficulties in her way, but felt able to breast
them. Aunt Mabel would frown on the plan, Penelope
would ridicule tt, and the widow sneer, but with Uncle
Wiu on her side, she had no fears, and looked joyfully for-
ward 40 the fulfillment of her long cherished desire.

 

CHAPTER XV.
GREAT COMMOTION AMONG THE WOMEN.

“Whose horses are these, Jack?” asked Percival Pen-
dragon, that morning afier breakfast, ashe and Eustace
saw them at the watering-trough,

“Mine, Mr. Pendragon,”

“Yours! good joke! Hal hal
suppose.”?

As Mr. Jack took imperturbably this remark, the little
beau persisted:

“Come, tell us where you got them ?”

‘“oThe Grand Laima sent them to me by Elephant Ex-
press around the Great Desert; they arrived this morn-
ing, in tolerable conditiou, you see, Mr. Eustace, consid-
ering; but Pi briug them into better. shape in a couple of
weeks.”’ .

“My father mentioned them to me,’ replied Eustace,
laughing. at his friend’s rebuif. ‘He thought extremely
wellof them. Spirited fellows, ain‘t they 2???

“Oh, it isu’t a joke, then?! said Pendragon, ‘Jack is
a horse-jockey. Atd pray what will you do with them?”

“IT haveadim ideaof riding them of early, mornings
while Mr. Pendragon is snoring his little snores, and also
in tlle evenings while Mr. Pendragon is admiring his litue
boots on the piazza rail.’ Hustace laughed again.

“You'd better retire, Pen,’? said he,

“Retirel, Oh, uo—better than that—I’m going to do the
big fellow a good turn—Pil hire his horses, The ladies
haven’t seen me ride, Of course you'll be glad to turn
an honest penny, you Jack, that you didu’t have to sweat
for?”

“PF want no hire’n here, Mr. Pendragen, bien. obdlige.”!

“What do you meany’’? squeaked the manikin, prancing
round on his toes, as he always did when in a rage, “You
are impudeut!?

“I couldn't be impudent to you, sir—thatis a state of
affairs inconceivable. You could not imagine au elephant
impudeut to & mouse, could.you? Why Icould. make a
gate fur you to walk through like Colossus of Rhodes,
Oh, no, sir, [have been uniformly obligiug—you remem-
ver how Laccommodaied you on the hillone day—aud I
am always ready to help the weak and assist the deserv-
ing; but you can’t have my horses, notif you were Uther
and Pendragon rolied into one, with the monster white as
milk and the serpeut red as fire.”?

“Gibberish,” squeaked the little beau, who evidently
knew nothing of the romautic history of his renowned
names above, :

“Come on, Perey,’? said Eustace; “letv’s,.go fishing.
You'd better leave Jack alone. He’s getting out of my
depth, I assure you.”?

Jessie took her first trial that very, evening.. She could
not wait the tardy arrival of the habit, and really looked
extremely well in the velvet jacket and train-skirt she
improvised for the occasion, with her uncle’s sofi.beayer
adorned as she liad threatened, Tue ride proper was pre-
ceded by a long and thorough lessou—mounting froni the
hand, rising in the stirrups, lioiding the figure, carrying
the whip, ele.; to allof which she gave eager heed, and
took in so readily that Mr. Winchester, who presided at
the solemnities, was Charmed with her wonderful apti-
tude, and sighingly lamented Penelope's disinclination to
exertion, He stood gazing afier the pair, wheu at last
they trotted slowly out of the wide carriage. road, with
many thoughts chasing each other through his brain,

The guests were asseinbled on the piazza to witness the
exodus, and asudden and violent desire to go and do
likewise was simultanéously kindied in each female
breast, which found Characteristic expression.

“You shall take me out with those horses, Percival,’?
exclaiined Penelope. “To-morrow I will go! I wonder

Gay old lady again, I

you have not thought to have some of yourown. The
idea of that lout leading us gentiefoiks!""
“T mean to buy some, right off,” said Penelope. “I'll

send to town to-morrow morning!!

“Yes, and be a week before you get them: and Jessie
cantering up aud duwn before my very face all that while!
No, sir! You must take those. Dll mot waitaday!’?

Percival wis obliged to. confess flat he had already tried
to procure the steeds. without marked success.

“Very well! ZUspeak to the hoor myseif! Me will
not dare to refuse me, I believe!’

Mr. Pendragon could not pin his belfef implicitly to that
coufession of faith, but had no objeciion to her making
the trial,

Mrs. Gumrill took an early opportunity of insinuating
to Hustace her intense relish of equestrian exercise, and
very plainly hinted that he, as a polite host, should im-
press into his service the stecds of the hireling for her
pleasure, Eustace laughingly demurred, though he Kept
to himself lus conviction that the dumpy lady would look
like a bag of satid on horseback; aud stated his willing-
ness to ry what could be done in the village for horses—
or even to risk her neck, if she wished, on the great car-
riage bays—and suggesting that a canter might with dili-
gence be got out of vid Deacon or the donkeys.

Honoria remarked, ina general way, in Lamport’s pre-
fence, that she meant to come out on Sniggle or Dibble,

if no Steed were furnished her; and Mr. Caladore politely

assured her in private ‘tirat she had better leave all sucit
freaks to Miss Jessie, and added, with a shrugs

“If it was @ thing [could hire or buy of the man called
Jack, nothing would give me greater pleasure; but I
Wouldn’t ask a Joan, hoteven to pleasé the prettiest wo-
man I know, who is called Noral?

The consequence was arankling in the minds of the
Women, an envy of the fortunate Jessie, a vici flouting
and sarcastic reception of her from Penelope, friendly ad-
vice from the widow to tarry on terra firma till perfectly
robed, and not make a figure of herself in such a skirt,
and an assurance that she was entirely too tall to make a
passable appearance onfathorse, recommending a howdah.

“Ah, how splendid you were up there, darling! Um
wild to go, too. Couldmt you coax Mr, Jack to take me
along fur a bit of a lesson,’) said Honoria, rapturously,
when she got her friend to herself, ‘Indeed, ye looked
like an Irish Jady.”’

fu the course of the following week Mr. Jack was inter-
viewed by the ladies, wiio each went secretly, aud on ler
own account, Penelope was the first who appeared to
him on the next morning after Jessie’s preparatory les-
son.

“Jack! I must have those horses about three o’clock.
Lintend to go out with Mr, Pendragon.”

“Yes, Miss Penelope. What hour did you name for me
to harness ?’?

“Not the carriage horses; Iam going ont on horseback.”

“Oh, very well. Where shall I find the saddles ??

“Why, where you put them, of course, stupid!
ought to Know where you keep the things.’

“{ beg pardon, Miss Penelope, but L have not had any
put in my charge, nor have I ever seen any at EHsper-
anza.’?

“That sounds welll Pray did you and Jessie ride with-
out saddles yesterdiy evening?”

“Oh, you mean my saddles, Miss Winchester? They
will not fit the horses, or I should not object to lending
them.’

“What nonsense! when you had them on and used
them last night.”

“On, T comprehend yon want my horses{ That will be
impossible. They are not in condition yet, and can do no
more than take Miss Jessie, Wilmerding out for her lesson
thisevening. And if they were, I should not permit Mr.
Pendragon to mount Bijou; I must be éareful of his
mouth. Andasl hope to dispose of Prancer to Miss
Wilmerding, when he is trained, I shall not let any other
lady use her. J have an eye to business, you perceive, as
befits a Jaborer.”? -

“You refuse me, then—nte, your master’s daughter!

“Most positively, Miss Penelope—and decidedly.”

“Lil have you discharged.”

“On what ground??? asked Jack, smiling pleasantly in
the face of the enraged young woman.

“Tmnpertinence!’? stormed she,

“Mr. Winchester hires me, hot his daughter. If he is
discontented with my discharge of duty he will let me
know; tillthen, permit me to bid you adieu.”

With his duke’s bow, Mr. Jack dismissed himself from
the presence of the irate lady, who stamped back to the
house in a small tempest of fury, which she made haste
to hide in her own rvom, well knowing the good-natured
ridicule any revelation of the scene would procure her
from her papa and Enstace; and too much ashamed to
meet Percival after such @ signal failure, she had recourse
to a burst of spiteful tears.

Mistress Gu'nrill presented herseif at the balcony all
smiles—powder, rouge and jewelry.

“Good morning, Mr. Jack. I hope you are not in a
hurry because J have come to request a lesson in jumping
the rope on the sly. I want to astonish Jessie. It is posi-
tively too bad for her to have all the fun to herself.”

“Very sorry, madame, but Tam only a learner in that
sublime art—Miss Wilmerding is the fountain of knowl-
edge. I commend you to her.”

‘Indeed! Yes; but I must havea look at your beauti-
ful horses, Pretty dears! Oh! they wou’t bite, will they???

“On the contrary, they are so gentle that you may come
into their stalis, if you like. Miss Jessie was here a few
minutes ago feeding apples to Bijou, who is almost as
fond of her as Tilpah herself,"

“Is it possible! Do you know I havea little favor to ask
of you, Mr. Jack? I believe you men who don’t see very
much of ladtes are always pleased with such little atten-
Sions from them, Isn't it so? Now T am passionately
fond of riding, and would you be so kind as to let me and

Eustace go out for an hour on these horses ?'?

“Are you Mr, Hustace’s agent, madame ?’!

The widow had a great mind to say “yes, but reflect-
ing that she couldn’t count on the straightforward young
man to help her out jn sucli @ statement; and, judging
from the farm-nhand's face tuat it would not aid her cause,
she truthfully replied:

“Oh, no, Jack; [came of my own mind entirely.’”

“lam too little skilled in making leagues with women,
Mrs. Gumrill, to veuture with such a oristress of arts—
whom the gods would destrog they first niake mad.’?

“Law} how complimentary! I didn’t kuow as your

You

ef
eh

     
 

to-you.

oWe are not often go inspired, madame,.. I beg pardon;
IT couldn’t think of advising Mrs. Guuiriil about the time,
or order of her going.”’

“On, thank you. Then you will saddle the horses 2?”

“I shall, certainly, madame, this evening, to give Miss
Jessie her usual lessou. Excuse me, 1 must get away
among the potatoes,”?

With a sliding obeisance, he left the nonplassed widow
to digest at her sweet leisure his intentions and behavior,

“Ou, Mr. Juck,’? said Honoria, clasping her hands, “1
like youl’

“Thank you. T think Imay venture to return the com-
pliment,’? said the farim-hanud, pausing, hoe in hand,. for
the next outcry.

“But [like you more since you got the nice horses.”

“IT haven't a doubt of 1,7? auswered Jack, laughing;
fo him that hath shall be given.’ ”

“Oh, Mr, Jack, coulda’t you—now couldn't you—give
me just one littie ride? I never did aye a ride in all my
life. Jessie will like it. She loves me—I love Jessie. Say
yes, please.””

“With whom will you ride, Miss Honoria?”

“The young girl turned a quick, arch look at him.

“Not with Lumport Caladore,’’ said she, while her
cheeks crimsoned—“with you and Jessie,’’

‘Tf you will have a little patience, Miss Honoria,’? an-
siwered the farm-hanud, ynuch. pleased. with her pretty
manner, ‘I shall be able to oblige you. Tilpah is getting
well, and then you shail certainly go out with your frieud
as olten as you like, aud Inay assume tie 7ole of unpro-
tected females also wlren it suits you—there will be no
danger. You ought to make a perfect horsewoman, hay-
ing dash, spirit, reselution, courage, ready wit, and—
would it be proper for ne to add?—the gorgeous beauty
whiicit ig never so magnificent as iu a habit and beaver.’

While Mr, Jack was taking himself to task for his own
impudeuce, whicha youthtul jollity much cribbed, con-
fincd and kept under in his present life had sent out, and
thinking that he ought to apologize, Miss Honoria showed
lier white teeth in a gay laugh.

“Upon my word, Jack,” said she, ‘‘you couldn’t have
spoken those words witi a sinoother tongue if you had
been a true Irishman from me own county Killarny. Ah,
there! siop now! here comes Lamport. J’ll be going.
Aud remember yer, promise before ye wear out me
patience.”?

Mr. Jack was a close observer, and from his stand-potnt
he was able to discern sigus of character, not vafled from
his notice by Cconveutualities; and with-all her uproarious,
romping spirits, he would have soonest selected Miss Cas-
tello (if he had a right to selec!) ag a true friend for Miss
Wilmerding. Indeed, as she stepped briskly away after
her last speech, he said to himseil;

“These two and the fair Ilsoude will fitly adorn old Aber-
frau, with good dame Dempster to mother the royal trio,
Upon my word L have hard work to possess my soul in
patience, till 1 see the pleasaut sights. But let us be mod-
est. 1 may be reckoning on false premises.”? -

Mr. Jack worked diligently while his thoughts ran busily
in the groove becoming habitual: ‘What said she there?
How looked slie there? Is there streugth to mount above
society prejudice? Las honest, true manhood any value
to her, stripped of all tinsel? IJsn’t it lucky, girls, that you
are not judged by such au ordeal ?

Pendragon was rich, Aunt Mabel meant to have him for
a son-in-law, and Penelope was quite willing to be his
wife. I dou’t suppose motlier or daughter thought muclt
about the mind or neart of the littie millionaire, or looked
ahead to judge what sort of a husbaud or father he was
likely tO make—tiiey were satisfied Lo KuowW that he had
money.

Mc. Petidragon waz about to go down to the village,
wilere he was fond of haunting the steps of the old tavern,
playing billiards with any idler like himself, watching the
factory girlg coming and going from the mills, and some-
tines getting so far as to Invade he Sanctum of the pretty
milliner, Who wore a crop of false curls, @ good many
cheap rings, and plied her trade iu a low, black-beamed
old room, next door, Mr. Pendragon was out of temper;
be was obliged to accept tlie services of old Deacon, and
as he jogged soberly along, he felt hurt by Miss Peuelope’s
reproacnes, wh periled more than she knew her prospect
of couting into the fortume, and vindiclively enraged to-
ward the farm-hand, both for the shaking, aud the tat re-
fusal le had lately endured, He savagely ruminated on
both while kickiug his heels on the tavern porch. While
in full ultof whats he shouid like to du to Mr. Jack, and
gnashing his teeth over his impotence to do anything,
who should come along and drop into the next chair but
Wat Wayland, followed by a couple of dogs, who squatted,
lulling and panting, beside him.

“Any Sport, sir??? inquired the bland landlord, who al-
Ways s:uiled on possibie customers,

“Nut muci,’? auswered Wat, opening his game-bag,
and pulliug out a brace of hares and a handsome pickerel,
whose shining throat was dabbled with blood. «I shot
that fellow on a log in Woodclinck Pond, about half an
inch under the water. “I just popped him, aud Brano
brought him up before he flupped.”?

“Look a here, Stranger,’ said Pendragon in his high-
Keyed voice, ‘that story will do for the marines, but it is
a litle out of market in this latitude,”

Wat laughed good-lumoredly. He knew instantly the
little mite, and tad no objection to a talk which might be
profitable, if in uo farther than a game of billlards aud its
uccompauying tipple, aud he struck off into his amusing
tales, Which were broad enough to keep his auditoriu a«
fer;nent of shrill laughter and eujoyiug Kicks of his shiny
boots upon the old floor, witch tad been trodden in the
better days, by judges in big wigs, ministers in gowus aud
high-toned gentry.

Much mirth naturally made them thirsty, and they with
one Consent adjourued to the back of the tavern, behind
the hall, in which stood the- gong wliose unearthly clang
called “the folks’? Lo the tweive o’clock dinner; where
Was the bar, iu a lean-to, which was evidently an after
thought, not revealed to the first builder, and which
slirank into a corner, like a disgrace to the establishment,
which it certainly was. Reeling wretches got pushed out
of it often of a Saturday night, watched aud dreaded by
ragged cliildren and sad-faced women, and nobody was
ever the better for ever inakiog its acquaintance. The vld
counter was smeared with all sorts of stains, and sent
out a puff of divers stale liquors to greet their approach.
While they were taking (heir drink a charcoal burner
came hurrying in, swiuging liis arms, throwing his legs,
and otherwise workiig iis passage info the place,
wriggling as if he had been reared ona diet of angle-
worms, and leaned his grimy hund onthe stitky deal,
and called for beer, which he drank, holding his ox-whip
in one fist and wiping his dauby face with his sieeve. He
stood waiting with perfectly lack-luster eyes Lill Lhe others
went out, when lie followed aud sat down in the piazza,
and pulling forth a short black pipe he filled it frou luose
tobacco in his vest pocket, and began to smoke.

The whisky soon mounted into Pendragou’s. weak little
head, which couldn’t stand much, and he began to prate
about himself very fast, and also about the Esperanza peo-
ple, to which he was egged on by Wat, who was extreme-
ly curious concerning his friend’s doings and status in
that household, aud he laughed heartily as the Marrative
progressed. 3

“Firsirate farmer, isn’t he? asked he, grinning.
“Steps out lively when you order him?”

Weil enough, but clumsy, entirely too clumsy.
Heaven bless you! such airs! You’d take him for the
great Whang-doodle, at least. I believe he is a scoun-
drel. He sails uuder a false name; that I know.”

“False name? How so???

“Why, didn’t I get him aletter out of the post-office,
directed to Dempster ?”?

‘“Tdon't see as that proves anything.
Dempster ?””

“But there was no Jack at all about it; there were three
letters—W. D. C.—[ noted them down in my memoran-
dum-bouk. And the dog took itas quiet asa King, though
I looked him over with a stern glance that ought to have
cowered him.’?

“Hal hal? laughed Wat. ‘‘Yes, siree; that’s so.’?

“He's got a watch as good or better than mine; and,
by George! as ifthat wasn’t enough, he’s cume cut witha
couple of horses!’

The charcoal man dropped his hat, and asit rolled away
from him he got up and camein frout of the talkers to
regain his property, and. he grinned and scanned them
both with fishy eyes as hedidso. Pendragon interrupied
himself to watch the race for the old straw, which rolled
viciously tilting sometimes on one side and sometimes on
on the other, and whenit was captured and squeezed
down on the owner’s head, he resumed:

“Yes, by George! two horses! Itaxed him with the
theft of the wajch, and I believe lie got the horses the same
Way.’?

“Whatl stole them?’ asked Wat, intensely tickled.
“What did he say when you taxed him ?!?

“Not mucli—he hadn’t much tosay. I believe those
blacks (hat make such a fuss among the wouleu up tiiere
are stolen—that’s the plain word.”

“T shouldn’t be a jot surprised,’ answered Wat, with a
queer twinkle in his eyes; ‘not a jot!

“Id! give fifty dollars to anybody that would prove il!’
squealed Pendragon, slapping his knees; ‘yes, a hun-
dred!’

“What for? What good wouldit do you?
lost any horses, have you?’?

“Thate the fellow!?

Pendragon shut.his teeth as he remembered the shak-
ing; and Wat, who was pretty certain of the theme of his
reflections, laughed silently as he watched him.

“T’ve a great mind to follow Domny’s lead and give him
another dose,’? thought he. ‘Ll would, only it would in-
terfere with a stroke of business I have on hand for his
benefit.’?

“He took cordial leave of the little beau, when he turned
old Deacon’s head, aud chuckled tremendously afier he
was gone,

“You didn’t get fur, seems to me, eaptain,’? remarked
the coa!-burner, knocking the ashes out of his pipe.

“T made a famous beginning; lte’li be down to-morrow
to hear another story. I like to play my fish before land-
ing. Wil sell him a pair before I’m doue,”?

“And how about the fifty dollars?”

“Oh, DiLlet yon earn that. ‘'}’mnotthe fellow tostand
in PhS Way of such a good watchman,” said Wat, signifi-
cantly. oe

“Is my opinion you'll bear watching,” muttered the
coal-man, as Wat sauntered carelessly off ‘I have my
doubts lately.’

And,

Why not Jack

You haven't

[To BE CONTINUED.]j
iat ee

RECENT PUBLICATIONS.

Tur DiscarpED Wirr. By Miss Eliza A. Dupuy. Publishers,
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, This exciting story is
issued in a large duodecimo volume (cloth cover) at the low
price of $1.75. A set of Miss Dupuy’s works (thirteen {n num-
ber) can be had for $22.75, :

 

 

 

 

 

“stow BUT SURE!"

BY MRS. M. A, KIDDER,

 

 

Houses ouilt in a day
Will never endus's;

If you would build wisely,
Build slow, and build sure!

Look well to your workman,
Your granite or clay,

And plant your walls firmly—
Foundations will pay!

Words spoken in haste
Olt prove but a lure;

If you would speak wisely,
Speak slow, and speak sure.

Turn over the semtence
Before ’tis too late,

And banish what savors
Of envy or hatet

For premature age
There is never a cure;

If you would live wisely,
Live slow, and live gure.

—~ ~»>-@<4—____

THE CASH BOY.

“By Horatio Alger, Jr.

{The Cash Boy” was commenced in No. 27. Back numbers
jan be obtained ef any News Agent in the United states.J

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXXVIIL
THE PROGRESS OF THE CAMPAIGN.

The address which the housekeeper had given Frank
Was that of a policeman’s Januly in which she was at. one
time a boarder. Ou giving his reference, he was hospita-
bly received, and succeeded in making arrangements for
leimporary residence.

He did not think it. prudent (o go out into the streets, lest
he might falliuto the Clutcnes of his pursuer, but waited
till the arrival of the housekeeper, Whose testimony, as
corroborating his own, he felt to be of the utmost import-
auce.

About seven o’clock, Mrs. Parker made her appearance.
She was fatigued by her journey, aud glad to rest.

“I was afraid you might be prevented from coming,”
gaid Frank,

“I feared It also. I was about to startat twelve o'clock,
when. to my disinay one of the men Came home. He sail
he had the headache. 1 was obliged to make him some
tea aud toast. He remained about ull four o’clock, when,
to my reilef, he weut up stairs to ligdown. 1 was afraid
some inquiry might be made about you, and your absence
discovered, especially as the rope was still hanging out of
the window, aud 1 was unable to do anything more than
cut off the lower end of it. When the sick man retired to
his bed [instantly left the house, fearing that the retarn
of some Other of Lue band imigut prevent my escaping al-
together.”

‘Suppose you had met one of them, Mrs, Parker?’?

“ITdid. It was about half amile frou the house.”

“Did he recognize you???

“Yes. He asked im some surprise where I was going.
I Wus obliged to make up a story about our beiug out of
sugar. He accepted it without suspicion, and 1 Kept on.
I hope I shall be forgiven for the lie. I was forced to it.”

“You met uo further trouble?’

“No?!

“I must tell you of my adventure, then,’ said Frank.
“T came across Lhe very man whom I most dreaded—the
man who made me a prisouer.”?

“Nathan Graves???

“Yes, if that is his name.”

“How did you escape him ??

‘He did not get hold of ine, though he wanted to. He
was just too late for the ferryboat. I think I see him now
standing on the pier, and shaking his fst at me in rage,’
and Frank laughed at the picture he had conjured up,

Mrs. Parker did not lauga, but looked tuoughtfal.-

“Since lie Knows you have escaped, he is probably on
your track,’ she said. —

“I suppose 80.’"

abe will be uurdly safe for you to go to Mr. Wharten’s.””

“Why? ;

‘He will probably think you likely to go there, and be
lying in wait somewhere about,’

“But Linust go to Mr. Wharton,” said Frank.
tell him this story.’”?

“It will be safer to write.”?

“The housekeeper, Mrs. Bradley, or John Wade will get
hold of the letter, and suppress it. I don’t want to put
them on their guard.*?

“You are rigtt. tis necessary to be cautions.”

“You see I ain obliged lo call on my graudfather, that is,
on Mr. Wharton.”?

“) cam tnink of a better plan."”

“What is i???

“Go to a respectable lawyer... Tet! him your srory, ana
place your Case in his haucts, He wiil write to your grand-
father, luviuiug hint to Gall at his Gffice on business of im-
puriauce, Without letting him Know what is the nature of
it, Youandlcan be there to meet him, and tell onr
story. In this way Jolin Wade will know nothing, aud
learn nothing, of your movements.)

“That is govud advice, Mrs. Parker, but there is one
thing you have not Luought of,’ Sum our hero.

“What is that?”

“Lawyers charge a great deal for their services, and I
have no money.”

“You liave what is as good a recommendation—a good
case. The lawyer will See at ouce that if not at present
rich, you sland a good Chance of obtaining a position,
which will make you sv. Besides your grandfather wail
be willing, if he admits you Ciaim, to recumpense the
lawyer handsomely.”

“1 did not think of that.
morrow.??

“T must

Iwill do as you advise to-
CHAPTER XXXIX,
AT MR. WHARTON'S.

Mr. Wharton sat at dinner with his nephew and the
housekeeper. He had been at home for some tite, and of
course on lus atrival had been greeted with the news of
our hero’s perfidy. But, to the indignation of Mrs, Brad-
ley and Jou, he was obstinately incredulous,

“There is some mistake, 1 am sure,’? he suid.
boy as Frauk is incapable of stealing.”

“How do you know that, sir ??

“His face is sufficient proof,”

“Appearances are deceitful,’? said his nephew, shaking
his head.

“J don’t wonder you were deceived, sir,’’ said the house-
keeper. ‘He is so precious artful.’
‘*} don’t think so, Mrs. Bradley.

gularly frank and open.”

“Seems is Lhe right word, uncle,’ said John Wade, “I
wouldn’t believe it myself if proof were not sv overwhelm-
ing against him,’?

“You may be mistaken, afterall, Jolin. Why did you
not jet him stay til I got back? Ishouid Jike Lo have ex-
amined him myself’?

“T was so angry with him forrepaying your kindness
in sucha Way that Linstautly ordered hia out of tle
house.”?

“Did he admit the theft ??

“Not by no means, sir,”? said Mrs. Bradley.
zened it out jike a young villain that he is.”

“There is no occasion to Call the poor boy names, Mrs.
Bradley,” said Mr. Wharton, gravely. ‘tl dou’t like it.”

“Just ag you please, sir,’? said Mrs. Bradley, with a de-
flaunt suff,

“[ blame you, John, for your haste,” said his unele. ‘lt
was not just to the boy.’?

“Stupid old fool!” thonght John Wade, but luckily for
him his uncie couldn’t read the disrespectful thoughts
that were passing through his mind.

“facted for the best, sir,”? he forged himscif to say in
a subdued tone. :

“Young people are apt to be impetuons, and I excuse
you, but you should have waiied for my return, 1 will
call at Gilbert & Mack’s, and inquire of Frauk himself
what explanation he has to give.”

John Wade and the housekeeper exchanged glances.
They knew that Frank was vo longer a cash-boy in iheir
store, and congratulated themselves upon il, as tending
to prevent an interview whieh might militate with their
plans. Uuder the circumsiauces they could affurd not to
oppose Mr, Wharton’s whim,

“Of course, sir, you willdo what yan think proper,”
said his nephew. ‘Let me remind you, however, that
thieves are not very apt to admit their guilt.”

“[see you are prejudiced against poor Frank,’ said
Mr. Wharton. “Don’t be concerned, lowever, I am uot
liable to be deceived.”

This ended the conversation, and Mr. Wharton, accord-
ing to his declared intention, went to Gilbert & Mack’s.
He returned disappointed with the information that eur
hero was no longer in the store,

“Probably,” suggested Mrs. Bradley, ‘‘he ha’ been de-
tected in theft there, also.”?

“Mrs. Bradley,’’ said her employer sharply, ‘‘I advise
you to be more charitable.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I suppose youn miss the boy's
reading. He really did read very well, My nephew
would be very glad to Come and read to you on the sume
terms.”

“Thank you. If{T need his services I willtell you,’’ said
Mr. Wharton, coldly.

“Lam afraid poor Thomag doesn’t stand any chance,"’
said Mrs, Bradley to herself. ‘How he was took up with
that boy, to be sure.”

This last remark was made Jater to John Wade,

“My uncle is getting old and ehildish,”’ said John. ‘7
think he’s breaking up, don’t you?’

“Very likely, Mr, Jolin’?

“People of his age break up suddenly. They take
Strange and unaccountable whiins, too, as my uncle has
tn the case of that boy, I wonder where he is, by the
Way.’?

“You don’t want to seehim, Mr, John ?"!

‘Sach a

To me he seems sin-

“He bra-

“NotI. ButI should feet relieved to think that he was
out ofthe city. I sliouidn’t Iiketo have iny uucle meet
him.??

‘Most likely he’s gone back to the country where he
came from.’

“I hope so.’?

This conversation took place just previous fo the ar-
rangement with Nuthan Graves by which Frank was con-
signed to captivity.

 

 
 

I now return to Mr. Wharton at dinner.

“Here isa jetier for you, sir,” said’ Ure housekeeper.
“Jt was brouglt by the postiian this afternoon.”

Mr. Wharton adjusted his spectacles aud read as fol-
lows:

“No, —— Wall street,

‘Dear Sir: Will you have the kindness to cail at my
office to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock, if it suits
your convenience? | have an important communication
to make to you, which will, I think, be ofan agreeable
character. Should the time named not sult you, will you
have the kindness to name your own time, Yours, re-
spectfully, Morris HALL”?

“Read that, John,’ said his uncle, passing him the
etter.

“Morris Hatlisa lawyer, I believe, sir,’? said Jolin.
“Have you any idea of tue nature ofthe communication
lie desires to inake ?”?

“No idea at all,”

“Irit would relieve you, sir, I will go in your place,”
said Jolin, whose curtosity was aroused.

“Thank you, Jolin, but tis is evidently a personal mat-
att. j Shall go down then to-morrow at the appointed
time,

“J hope some old friend has left him a legacy,’’ thought
the mercenary nephew, “as long as his fortune will suon
come to me,’”?

He was far from suspecting that the communication re-
lated fo Frank, though he had heard the day previous
from Nathan Graves of the boy’s escape. He liad been
very much anuoyed, apd had given his agent a severe
scolding, with imperative orders to recapture the boy, if
possible. The t(honght that Frauk would cousult a law-
yer was far from entering his mind,

He saw his uncle leave the house the next day with
equauimity, aud soon after set gut on some errand Of his
OW.

CHAPTER XL.
JOHN WADE'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

it was not without a feeling of curiosity that Mr. Whar-
ton eptered the law office of Mr, Uall. He’ aunouuced
himself and was cordially welcumed.

“You have a comuiunication to make to me,’ said Mr.
Wharton,

“T pave; but will you first permit me to ask you one or
tWo questions ?”?

“Certainly, sir.’

“Did you not have a son who died about fourteen years
since ?”?

“Yes, sir—my son George.’

‘He left a son—an infant?”

“He did, but the infant survived him but a short time.”

“Did you see the child die???

“Why do you ask this?” said Mr. Wharton, in surprise.

“Are you sure the child died?’ asked the lawyer, sig-
nificantly.

“How ¢an there be any douft of it? Ican point out his
grave in Greenwood.”

“But you did not see him die?” persisted the lawyer.

“No, sir.??

‘How, then, do you know he is dead ?’?

“My nephew saw him die, and attended to the funeral
while I was out of the country.”

“Your nephew, Juhu Wade.”

“Yes, sir.’? ?

“Another question, if you will permit me. Trough
the oH d’s death was not your nephew left your sole
heir

“What do you mean to suggest?’? asked Mr. Wharton,
in agitation. “You would uot have me think my nephew
capable ol—”

“Of putting your grandson out of the way,’’ said the
lawyer, finishiug the sentence. ‘By death, no. But t
believe he has imposed upon you a false report of the
child's death.”

“ITow Can that be?’ questioned the old man, in bewil-
dermeut, “I have seen the grave with my own eyes.”

“| do not dispute it, Mr. Whartou; but I am prepared
to prove that the boy who ltesin that grave is not your
grandson, but a stranger. Your grandson still lives.”
Mr. Wharton sauk into his cliairin uncontrollable agita-
tion.

“If this be true,” he said, “don’t keep me In suspense.
Tell me atl without delay.”

“T will, sir. This is the communication I desire to
make.’?

The story of Jolin Wade’s treachery was told, and the
means by whicli he had imposed upon-his uncle, but the
lawyer carefully abstained [rom ideutifying the lost graud-
son with Frank Fowler. :

When the story was concluded, Mr. Wharton said:

“Where is ny grandson—my puor George’s boy? Find
him for me, aud uame your own reward.””

*] will show him to you at onee, sit, Frank!"

Atthe word, Frank, who wasinau iuner office, entered.
Mr. Wharton started in amazement.

“Frauk!” he exciaimed. ‘My dear boy, is it you who
are my grandson‘???

“Graudfather!?

Mr. Wharton helt out his arms, and our hero, already
attached to lim: for his kiudness, wag fvuided in a close
embrace.

“Now I know why it was that I became so much at-
tached to you,” said Mr. Wharton, “It was because of
your resemblance to my sou—it was the tie of Kindred,
though f did not know it,”

“Thep you beiieve | am your grandson ?”? said Frank.
“T Delleve it without farther proof.”

“Sull, Mr. Whartou,” said the lawyer, “I want to sub-
mit'my whole proof. Mrs. Parker!’

Mrs. Parker entered, aud detailed her part in the plot,
whica fur fourteen years had separated Frank from his
family. e

“EKuonght!? said Mr. Wharton. “I am convinced—TI did
not believe My nepliew capable of such baseness, Mrs.
Parker you siall uot regret your confession. 1 will give
you a pension which wil relieve you from all fear of want.
Call next week ou Mr. Hall and you shall learn what pro-
vision F have made tur you. You, Frank, will return with
s@s??

“What will Mr. Jolin say?) asked Frank.

*He shall no louger sleep under my roof,’’ said Mr.
Wharton, sternly. ‘Come with me, aud will see you
properly provided With clothes to Suil your new posilion
as ny graudsou and heir.”

Frauk was taken to a tailor and fiited ouf with a hand-
some new sult, ready-uiade for immediate use, while three
more were ordered,

On the way Mr. Wharton stopped at Tiffany’s and
bought him an elegant gold watch aud chain.

“How Kind you are, graudfatler,’? suid Frank, grate-
fully,

of mean fo make up fo you for your fourteen years of
poverty, my deur boy,’ said his graudfather,

When Mr. Wiarton reached home tie eniered by a pass-
key, and his arrival was not knuwu to the household. He
entered Lhe library and rang ile bell.

To the servant who answered, he said:

“Is Mr. Jolin at home???

“Yes, sir; lie came in ten minutes ago.’?

“Tell bint | wish to see him al once in the library. Sum-
mon the housekeeper, also.”?

Surprised at the summons, John Wade answered it di-
recily. He and Mrs. Bradley met at the door, and entered
together. ‘Their surprise and dismay may be conjectured
when they saw our hero seated beside Mr, Wharton,
dressed like a young gentleman,

*Uneile,”? said Johan Waite, “lam sorry to see that the
boy, Who abused your coufidence, aud showed himseli
guilty of a contemptible theft, has had the effroutery to
present himself here. You are tvO sensible, 1 au sure, to
be misled by lis plausible story.”

“Juhu Wade,” said lis uncie, sternly, “the boy whom
you malign, {he boy you have so deeply wronged, has
found a permanens hone in this house’?

“What, sir! you lake him back ??
“[ do. There is uo more filuug place for him than the
house of his grandiather,”

“His grandfather!’ exclaimed his nephew and the
heusekeeper, in chorus, the former pale with Cousterna-
Lion.

“} have abundant proofof the relationship. This morn-
ing I have listened to the story of your treachery. JZ /iave
seen the woinan whose son, represented to me as ay
grandson, lies in Greenimwvod cemetery. 1 have learned
your wicked planus to defraud lim of lis inheritance, and
Ltell you that you lave failed,”

“Sir,”? said Joliu Wade, his features convulsed with pas-
sion. “you are the dupe of an outrageous imposilion.’?

“} have been for fourteen years, Join Wade. Now my
eyes are opened, But your power to injure is gone. |
stall make my will to-morrow, bequceathiug all my prop-
erly to my grandson, excepting only an annual income of
two thousand dollars to yourself, You do not deserve
this, but 1 will not throw you upon the world penniless,
But no more Cousp racies! Should Frank die, te prop-
erty will go toa charity, and your bicoine ceases. Lis
ile is your only protecuion against poverty, Aud now I
ust trouble you to dud a boarding place. After what
has passed | do not desire to have you in my family. I
will make arrangements with my lawyer to pay you your
income quarterly, and there will be uo need of any per-
sonal communication between us.’?

“} did not think, said Join, almost choked with rage
and disappointment—‘l did not think you Would turn
your nephew from the house.’!

“You will fare better than my grandson, who for four-
teen years has lived in peverty.”?

“| du not believe le is your grandson,’ said John
Wade, tuo angry to heed prudential considerations,

“Your opinion is of litle Consequence. My property
will be bequeathed to him absolutely, without respeet to
relationship. Your doubts will bot benefit you, nor would
L advise you to dispute lis claim.’?

“Puen, sir, [have only to wish you good morning. I
will send for my trunks during the day,"

“Goud morning,” said Mr. Wharton, gravely, and John
Wade left the roum, baffled and humiliated. —

‘| hope, sir,’? said the housekeeper, alarmed for her po-
Silion—“l hope you donut tuink f knew Mr. Frank was
your graudsou. 1 never was so astonished aud flustrated
in my life.’

St may not have known it, Mrs, Bradley, but you are
none the less culpabie for eutering into a wicked Cunspir-
acy to alienate my favor from tim,?!

“Mr, Juhu put me up to it; indeed he did.”

“Tuat does not exonerate you.”

“Thape you won't discharge me, slr—me that have
served you so faithfully for many years.”

You shall remain ou probation. But if Frank ever has
any fault to find with you you must go."

“Indeed, sir, he shill not, said the honsekeeper, re-
lieved, “lL hope you will forgive ne, Mr. Frank."

“[ forgive you freely,’ suid our hero, who was of a gen-
erous disposition,

“Tint is well,’ said Mr, Wharton, ‘You may go, Mrs.
Bradley. You lave hud aaarrow escape, Let it serve as

 

 

 

CHAPTER XULI.
CONCLUSION.

Meanwhile poor Grace fared badly at the poor-house in
Crawford. Mrs. Chase, the matron in charge, was a
coarse, ill-tempered woman, with tyrannical instincts,
and made her itfe very uncomfortable. 1t was a sad con-
trast to the geutle and kindiy family circle at Mr. Pome-
roy’s. Whiat made it worse for Grace was, that she could
hear nothing of Frank. She feared he was sick, or had
met with sume great musforlune, which preveuted his
writing.

One day Sam. Pomeroy came to the door of the poor-
house, and inquired for Grace. She heard his voice, and
her heart leaped for joy at the prospect of seeing a Kindly
face. But sire was doomed to be disappointed,

“Grace is busy,’’ suid Mrs. Chase, shortly.

“Oanu't Ll see her? asked Sam,

*) can’t have her taken from her work.’

“Can't I see her five minutes?”

“No you can’t,” said Mrs. Chase.

“Then you’re a mean tyraull!l”? exclaimed Sam, out of
patience.

“Am 1?’ shrieked Mrs. Chasein a rage. ‘Now you
shan’t see her at all. il never let you see her’!

i‘ “Pll gee her in spite of you, youmean old woman!” said
am.

“Clear out, you impudent rascall’’ exclaimed the mild-
mannered Mrs, Chase,

“WH have youiurned out of your place,’ said Sam,
shaking his fist. ‘You'll repent this.”

te I want to kuow. Leave here at once.
out

“Igo, but I return,” said Sam, theatrically.

Mrs. Cliase returned to the kitchen iu no sweet temper.

“O, where is Sum ?’’ asked Grace.

“Gone!”

“O, why didn't you let me see him ??

“You shall never see him, the good for nothing ruffian.
He'll swing ou the gallows yet, the impudent reprobaiel”?

“Sam isa good boy,” said Grace, indignantly.

“Ig he, hey? Dou say that again, or Pil beat you.”

Poor Grace shed unavailing tears, aud her captivity
seemed even wore intolerable,

The next day a handsome Carriage drove up to the door.
From it descended our hero, elegantly attired, and witha
gold watch chain Couspicuously hapgiug from his watcl-
pocket. He knocked at the door.

Mrs. Chase, who was impressed by wealth, came to the
door in w flutter of respect, induced by the huudsenie car-
riage.
if “What do you wish, sir?” she asked, not recoguizing

rank,

“Is Miss Grace Fowler at home?’ asked Frank.

“Miss Grace Fowler!’ repeated Mrs. Chase, almest par-
alyzed at Grace being called for by such stylish acquaiut-
unces.

“Yes, my sister Grace.)

“What! are you Frauk Fowler.”

“Yes. I have come to take Grace away.”

“] don’t Know as Ihave the right to let her go,” said
Mrs. Chase, cautiously, regretting that Grace was likely
to escape from her clutches,

“Here is an order {rom Deacon Pinkerton, Chairman of
the Overseers of the Poor.”

“Thatis sufficient. She can go, You look as if you
had prospered in the cily,’’? she added, with curiosity.

“Yes. Ihave found my graudfuiher, who is very
wealthy.*? ;

“You don’t say!’ ejaculated Mrs. Chase.
Grace at ouce.”?

Grace at work in the kitchen had not heard of the arri-
val. «What was hersurprise when Mrs. Chase, entering
Lhe room, Said, graciously: :

“Go up at ounce, Grace, and ehange your clothes,
brother has come fur you.
away.’?

Grace almost gasped for breath.

‘Ig it true???

“It is iudeed. Your brother looks remarkably well. He
is rich. He has fuund a rich graudfather, aud has come
for you in a carriage.’

In amazed bewilderment Grace went. up stairs and put
on her best dress, poor enough in compurison with her
brother’s Clothes, aud Was suon happy in lis enibrace.
“Tam glad lo see you, my dear Child,” said Mr. Whar-
ton, who had accompanied Frank. ‘Will you come to
the city, and live with me and your brother?”

“O, sir, I shall be glad to be wherever Frank is"?
“Thatis Well suid. . Well, Frank, help Grace inte the
carriuge.’?

“Good-by, my dear child,*’ said Mrs. Ghase, whose feel-
ings were very much Changed, now that Grace was a rich
young lady. ‘Come and see me some time.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chase. Guod-by!?

The carriage rolled on.

“Why, there’s Tom Pinkerton,” said Grace, espyiag
Frank's old euemy Walking up the street.

Tom had heard the news, He was not pleased, but like
Mrs. Ohase he worshiped wealth, and it was reported that
Frank was heir toa million. He heped some time to be
inviled to visit himin the city. So be took off his hat
very deferentially, much to Frank's amusement.

“Is that one of your friends, Frank?’ asked Mr. Whar-
ton. ‘

“tJe seems to be now,’ said Frank, ‘‘bat there was a
time when he thought very little of me. He isa’t ike Sam
Pomeroy, Who was my frend when J needed one.”

Get

“Pl tell

Your
He is going to take you

 

“We must do sumething for Sam. Would you like te
have him pay you a visit in the etty 2?"
“There is nothing I should like better.”
“Then he shail come,”?
% * * * * * *

A few words only remain. Our hero was piaced at a
chussical school, and iu due time entered college, where he
acquilied himself with distinction. He is now making a
tour in Europe. Grace was also placed at an excellent
school, aud has developed into a handsome and accom.
plished young lady. lt is thought she wiil marry Sam
Pomeroy, who oblained a place in a counling-room
through Mr. Wharton’s influence, and is now head ecierk,
with a prospect of a partnership. His father received a
git of five thousand dollars frum Mr. Wharton, as an ac-
knowledgment of his kindness toFrank, Tom Pinkerton
holds a subordinate clerkship in the same house, and 1s ob-
liged to took up toSam as his superior, It chafes his pride,
but his father has become a poor man, aud Tom is tuo pru-
dent torun the risk of losing his situation. Jolin Wade
draws his income, regularly, but he is never seen at his
uncle’s house. Le is billerly jealous and envious of
Frank, but all danger froin him is at at end, owing to his
uncte's shrewd arrangement, by which his income ter-
minates at Frank’s death. Mr. Wharton is very happy in
his grandson, aud made happier by the intelligence just
received from Europe of Frank's engagement to a brilliant
young New York lady whom he met in his travels. He bids
fair, though advanced in age, to iive some years yet, to wit-
ness the happiness of his deur grandson, vuce au huuible
Cash Boy.

[THE END.]

—_——_ >

“THE PEARL OF THE PRAIRIE.”—This is the title of
anexciting story by the famous scout, BUFFALO
Bru. It will soon appear in the NEw York
WEEKLY.

A

>—o<—___—_
Items. of Interest.

sar King Kalakaua, of the Sandwich Islands, will
send his feather cloak to the Centennial Exposition at Philadel-
phia. This article will probably represent more labor than any
other on exhibition. Its manufacture waa commenced over a
hundred years ago, and fiity years have been required for its
completion. Itis mode of the feathers of a peculiar species of
bird—each bird furnishing only two feathers, one from under
each wing. In size the cloak isa little over a square yard, and
its color is a golden yeliow.

xae- The jaws of a monster shark, recently caugh®€,
have been on exhibition in London. They measure in circaum-
ference seven teet. The anterior row of teeth in one jaw is
twenty-one; behind each tooth is a layer of other teeth coming,
or making altogether one hundred and five teeth. The largest
tooth measures Lwo inches long by an inch and a half wide. In
the other jaw the teeth in the anterior row are twenty-five.
There are altogether 125, or a total of 230.

agar In a late trial before the Court of Divorce,
Eng., the judge who presiced said that certainly more than one-
half of the cases he had to deal with arose in some way or other
out of drunkenness. It became, he continued, aimost a stereo-
typed question in a divorce suit, “Were you happy in your mar-
ried liley”’ the answer generally being, ‘‘Yes, till the respondent
took to drinking.” .

ga- There isaman under sentence of death in
Paris, wbo cannot be executed, because théreis a French law
which forbids an execution until the real name of the culprit is
known, and th's man’s naine isa secret Which the authorities
have thus far beew uuable to find out.

g@ Experiments have been made at Woolwich,
Engiand iu batlooning for millitary purposes. Balloons were
guided backward and forward in any desired direction by Mr.
Menier, the inventor, in a still atmospliere. The testef the value
of the invention wil be its success in currents of wiud,

gar A steamtug of Hamburg, while towing a ves-
sel down the Elbe to Cuxhaven, lately, was blown to pieces by
the bursting of her boiler. Of the hull nothing ws seenSave the
fragments floating down the river, and of a crew of five men not
one escaped.

paz Father Henry M. Boehm, the oldest Meth-
odist minister in the American Conference, and who has of late
years spent lus time in preacing in the different churches of
Staten island, was one hundred years old on the 8ch of June

t. ;

_

ga- A man hanged himself last month, in Paris, in
the presence of his paralyzed wife, who was unable to move or
cry for assistance, and who was obliged to witness the horrifying
sight ot his death struggles.

sar No Norwegian girl is allowed to have a beau
until she can bake bread and knit stockings; and, as a conse-
quence, every girl can bake aud knit long before she can read or
write.

ga> There is an orange tree near Waldo, Florida,
which measures at the ground eight feet five inches in circum-
ference. It will probably bear this year five thousand oranges.

na- Afemale slave died in Turkey, recently, at
the age of 110 years. She had served in the harem over ninety
years. Her (uneral was conducted with special honors.

gar Five million eggs from Prince Edward Island,
(British America), formed a part of the cargo of a steamer which
arrived at Boston last month.

aa There will be an abundance of peaches in New
Jersey, Maryland and Delaware, this season, all reports to the
contrary notwithstanding.

ag- For the month of March, 1875, the reported
mavine disasters of the world were: steamers lost, 15; sailing
vessels, 131.

a@~ There has not been a case of embezzlement
or delalcation in Massachusetts State savings bauks ju ten

 

@ lesson.

years,

 

 

 

 

#
: ue

at

.

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‘ Tiere sheap. harsh, @rasti ‘ , ciled with the historical statement. most springs may be removed ‘and thus the article is
. ‘ ANTED.—GOOD LITTLE FARM. Improved. | jhuna dose of ia mae eoek peictie like be Morve Lives | “Say, Deacon Snowball,” asked one geutieman of color | “'555.—We have never seen the couplet, toour recollection, There | made sufilciently short for ail practical purposes,
y Will buy stock, pomtosaer nee etc., ail complete. | Pritts, which penetrates to the seat of disease, is a desideratum | of another, “where did de French suffer de most in de | ts nothing poetical in en anon A late very pleasing fancy iu lingerie has the chemisette
Must be cheap and accessible, Sun 1 4nD, on and lowest all | indeed. Will positively eure all diseases of the liver. Sold every- | Jute war?” As this is 2 poser to Sambo, the deacon an- Langworthy.—The Beecher tria sit be published in book form. } ang sleeves furnished with a collar and cuffs of pink, or
ee ee where. Price 35 cents per box. swers: ‘Dey suffer most in de yeet,’’ (defeat). z S eeasead ie threugn. Person Will ever have the time oF P& | pale blue, checked percale, as fine and soft as silk, with @
vane ; ience to reac gh. ’ ‘ s
5 oe : ‘ ot at ‘ as white }i <tie, the pointed ends of which are
GENTS WANTED EVERYWHERE, Mile| About Bitters—At certain periods of life a tonic Brevity F. Barle.—Rejected MSS. are thrown fn the waste-basket, and | bias white lawn necktie, |
and Females no canvassing; no capital; no interter , uu itters,—+ alu Dp de cannot be hunted up afterward. When it is desired that they | faced with the percale, and knotted in a half bow.
other Gude Maehiamhest pav, ‘Rene 6 ctx, fit darivp le iced ne is a necessity ; but there is danger in using stimulants that injure | An estimable and successful minister in the Western | shonid be returned, stamps should be sent with the MSS. Martha Washington fichus of white Swiss mull, trim.
strucdions to JOHN B, Davis, 133 Union ave., Williamsburgh,L.I, | We organs of digestion while giving temporary relief. To obviate | part of this State, is distinguished among oiler good |’ Constant Reader —Ist. Benjamin Disraeli, prime minister of | med at the bottom with a deep rafle and worn crossed on
this and present to the public a tonic free trom Alcoholic poison, i fer the bfevity of his public services, whether | Great Britain, is descended trom a family of Spanish Jews, who :
) Dk. GREENE Bee the OXYGENATED Brrrers, asure cure for | Wailties for the it so gr ' in the fifteenth century fled from the religious persecutions in | be bosom aud slipped under the belt, or fastened be-
WATERS New S sale PIANOS Dyspepsia and all kindred complaints, Sold everywhere. Price roa er, Sermon, or address, 7 Spain, and settled in Venice. His grandfather went to England hind, willbe the popular finish to the dinner toflet of
J $i per bottle. — “T could hear him ald day,” said one old lady of his | jy the middle of the eighteenth century and made a fortune by | this season, This, in Compliment to the Centennary of
are the Dest made; The touch elastic, and a fine sing- Henry’s- Garbolic Salve.—Tiis article is so well | congregation, ‘he preaches such short sermons!?’ commerce.. His father, Isaac Disraeli, was intended for the | our country.
ing > a en ~ 1, pure und even. known that it is only necessary to caution the public against Very Sad. same rah undiey fas paeedtenc’ Sugensin ametaty tbabote: ft A variation from the fancy for striped hoslery has intro-
. i. ‘ imitations. Remember that it requires a particular proportion , P was per! oa DY veer ae ent luced for the election of our fair sisters, lisiet
WATERS’ Concerto ORGANS and a careful admixture of the earbolig seid with Othier Ingres It is reported that one of the musicians belonging to P. |, which he was very successiul. Benjamin Disraeli early turned ane oa sackinen Denbinsi dada i. eee ie
cannot be excelled in tone or beauty; they defy compe- | dients to prodace a salve that may be relied upon. The genuine |‘, Barnum’s Hippodrome, while lavoring under a fit of his attention to literature, and has pablished a number of works, | gs ee , e Ceucate
tition. 7 Concerto Stop is « fine Imitation of tie | only guaranteed. See that it bears the fuc-simile signature and | feaio sized a French hora and blew his brains out, | His connection with a paper in his early years led him also to | Vines of colored silk, The more expensive qualities are
Human Voice. private proprietary stamp of John F. Heury, Sold everywhere. jealousy, seized a French horn 7 t dana | eiter a political lite. He has several times been elecied to the | in pic-net, or thin lacestitches, in stripes alternating with
PRICES EXTREMEUGY LOW for cash during | Price 2 cents per box og] His remains, consisting of an old hat and & bandant} youse of Commons, where he was always recognized as a pow- } embroidered stripes.
this Month Montnly Installments received. Pi- Townsley’s Toothache Anodyne.—A sure care. handkerchief, have been forwarded 7 his aes ba et erful jdebater, Zn 1868 He was itis prime minister, but re- Boys’ surrs
anos and Organsto Let. and Rent-Mone e ¥ ; Alley. His habits were somewhat questionable, as he | signed before the close of the year, in consequence of the major- r ;
if purchased. Second-han 1 Rat ere! epg sot cr his “horn” a great. many times a day, and was a | ity in Parliament being opposed to the — of the ministry Fancy Check, 14and 15 years, $18 25; Diagonal Cassf-
GREAT BARGAINS, AGENTS WANTED, A invested in Wall street often | regular “blowhard.” on a question in regard to the church of Ireland. In 1874 he was | mere, 9to 11 years, $8.75; Fancy Cassimere, complete
liberal discsunt tw Teachers, Ministers, Churches, Schools, 3 1 ¢> TO 8500 leadsto fortune. A R age {2° : again appointed to the position, which he now holds. 2d. The} suit, 12 and 18 years, $7; All Wool,9 to 11 years, $93
Lodges, tc. Special inducements to the trade. [l= | book, explaining everything, and copy of the WALL § REET Canal Property. act enabling Jews to sitin Parliament was passed in July, 1858, | pj .i4 Gassimere, 9 to 11 years, $10; Worsted Coating, 12
ustra‘ed Catalogues Mailed. HORACE WA‘T-| REVIEW OV) 7 v1 ; and on the 26:h of that month Baron Lionel de Rothschild took Pa ain we af hh apons 4 at 2 bs
SON, No, 481 Brundway, New-Xork, Loz sli NT | HG JOHN HICKLING & CO. Talking about the frauds of the Erie Canal, Farmer | his seat as member trom London, Hehad been elected four | 4ud 13 years, $15; English Check, 9 to 11 years, $12; Ox-
No, 3,567. A 34-4t Bankers und Brokers, 73 BROADWAY, N.Y.’ | Rogers said he didu’t believe in canal property exoept as | times previously, but was not permitted to take his seat, A gen- | ford Mixed Quating, 12 and 13 years, $13.6. £
Phe *
\y ‘ eee Fe a aaa es >
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TO ADVERTISERS.

One Dollar and Twenty-five cts. per line,

CUTS DOUBLE PRICE.
FOR BACH INSERTION CASH IN ADVANCE

wer Se eeeeeaeooeeuw5—yu5—5y5u5—_uVr ree ESE eee

The New York Weekly
Purchasing Agency.

Ali goods bought at the lowest New York prices.
Ladies and gentlemen living at a distance from New York,

 

  

 

| ONLY $10 MONTHLY,

A GRAND OPPORTUNITY FOR

Prudent Persons of Moderate Means,
Profit by the Millions of Capital

Now being Expended at the

Famous Garden City

Mr, A. T, STEWART, the Merchant Millionaire,

 

THE NEW YORK WEEKLY.

 

  
  
 

THE STRANGER'S DEATH.

BY NED BUNTLINE,.

 

 

 

[A man arrested for a trifling debt was carried te die in & pro-
viucial jail in New Brunswick].

 

They hurried him in like a criminal knave,
As a felon would be to a felon’s dark cell;
They buried him therein a chill prison grave,
With the clank of the door for a funeral knell.

The eagle ye check in his towering flight,

With your dart you may break his sky-clearing wings.
But long ere he falls from his cloud-kissing height,

The life will depart which of liberty sings.

 

jto a friend.

ese

 

a “permanent”? investment.
one dividend paid by a canal.
“Where was that?’’ asked his friend.
“The Farmington Canal; that made one dividend.”
*“Did it—how much ?”?
“One summer the directors mowed the tow-path and
divided wie hy!’ replied old Rogers,

Timid.

“] never saw Such a coward as Jo Butt is,’? said Jenks,
“Why, he’s frightened at tle shadow of a
tree in the sunshine.”

“Can you tell when he should be Irightened at a reed ?”?
said his friend to Jeuks,

“Now?

“When he sees 2 duil-r-wsh/? answers the oiher.

Brevities. s

He had never known but

 

 

 

 

See 3 a = mag
tleman named Salomons, elected from Greenwich in 1851, was
aiso prevented from taking his sext.

Lawyer.—ist. We ean turnish back numbers of the NEw York
WEEKLY from the beginning of Vol. XXVII. to date, and occa-
sional numbers previous to Vol. XXVII. 2d. The chromos have
run out. We are not giving premiums for subscribers, 3d. A
man can fill the officeof President of the United States as many
times as the people choose to elect him. 4th. The population of
New York city, in 1870, was 942,292.

Harry Burns.—Never buy real estate without seeing it your-
self, or on the advice ofa persunal triend in whose judgment
you have confidence.

Cc. S. J. Ken.—We know nothing of the publication,

TO PURCHASING AGENCY CORRESPONDENTS.

Tn response to the queries of our correspondents who send no
addresses, we give the prices at which the fullowing articles may
be procured through the New YORK WEEKLY Purelvasipg Agen-
cy: “Book of Croquet,” 10 cents; “How to Paint,” $1; ‘“Oar-
riage Painter’s Manual,” $1; ‘“Munson’s and Graham’s Phunog-
raphy,” $2 each; “Bookkeeping without a Master,” 50 cents;°

: * . “Lovejoy’s Weather-house,” $2; “Co Sens he House-
wishing to make purchases by sending their orders to the NEw Necessity is said to be the Mother of Invention, and the The bird of the air would die in a eage, Aunt Rosy was dividing a mince pie among the boys, hold. $1.75: ‘engin Doll esr Y Clie steer a $1.50;
York WEEKLY PURCHASING «GENCY, can have goodsof any | great and growing necessity that has caused thousands to Tho? life hath its joy on the tempest’s rough breast, aud when Jim, who had wickedly puiled the cat’s tail, | “How to Make Candy,” 50 cents; “Patent Ventilated Armlets,”’

description selected and seut to any address in the United States
dress

New Work Weekly Purchasing Agency,
19-tf. 27, 29 & 31 Rose St., New York.

A d \ENTS wanted for the best selling Maps, Reli-
f gious and Historical Charts. Great Va-

 

seek homes in the suburbs, away from the overcrowded tene-
ments and unhealthy apartments which they occupied in the
city, led us to adopt the plan of monthly payments, as a means to
induce the multitude to seek the pure aud health-given atmos-
phere of the immediate suburbs. We were the first to offer the
facilities, and the thousands wno have patronized us Cau attest
the value of our plan, and its benefit to themselves.

While we are still larzely engagei in the sale of finely-amproved

He joys where the wildest of hurricanes rage
Above and below his mountuin-built nest.

For.a trifle of gold ye have buried alive
Astranger who came to your cold-frozen shere,
But long in your minds the thoughts will survive

asked for his share, the dame replied: *‘No, Jim, you are
a wicked boy, aud the Bible says there is no piece for the
wicked.”?

The son ofa clergyman was delivering a college vale-
dietory, When, tu pulling out his handkerchier, he pulled
outa pack of cards. ‘‘Hulloal’’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve got on

40 cents per pair; ‘“Card-writer’s Pencil,” 25 cents; “Violin
Strings,’”’ per bundle of 30, $1.25 to $10.

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT.
Annie,—There was no impropriety in your wishing the gentle-
man “good morning” 18 he entered the room. However, as the
family were present, and you were a guest as well as the gentle-

Tiety. Cheapest Rates. Large Profits. Address HAASIS & LU- | property, at higher prices, nearer this city, we have decided, af- : : my father’s Cuat.’? man, you could with equal propriety have waited to be intro-
BRECHIT, Ruspive Map & Chart Estab’t, 107 Liberty st., N. Y. ter much consideration, to offer the splendid property at Of the death that Jays charged to eruelty’s door. The greatest feat in eating ever recorded is told of a duced. It would not m either case live been any breach of
33-4t etiquette,

 

A GENTS Send stamp for Iiustrated Catalogue
a Boston Novelty Co., Boston, Mass.
w30-13t

argest Stat onery Package i ithe World mailed for
15 cents. Go. L. FeLtton & Co., L119 Nassau street, N. Y.
w30-13

A ~d.00 GLEE FRG Ganacet one: ever

 

 

 

GARDEN CITY PARK
Those who Desire io Speculate,

AND TO THOSE

WHO DESIRE CHEAP HOMES,

Lay him down, lay him down in the tomb
Of kind mother earth to a stranger’s last rest;
Gast no evergreen sprig in his desolate tons»—
Ue hath gone—he hath gone, where the poor are loved best.

eapieeeenirrenne-Ca 5
Pleasant Paragraphs.

 

mau who commenced by bolting a door, after which he
Lurew up a Window, and swallowed a whole story.

The very last curiosity spoken of in the papers isa
wheel that came Off a dog's tail when it was a waggin’.
The man who discovered it las retired trom public life.

The latest addition to the umbrella is a pane of glass in-

serted in the front breadth, through which the holder can
see his way.

Spartanburg, S. C.—We think you can, as a friend of the young
lady, ask for an exchange of photographs.

Autona E.—The gentleman is undoubtedly in earnest. We see
no cause why you should tell him that you wish him to discon-
tinue his visits.

Don Pétro.—Your friend ought to be able to decide the question
for himself much better than any one can tor him. You say he
Joves the young lady as well as ever, but has lost confidence in
her. Unless that be restored we should recommend him not to

inarry her.
ade. Write Simpso h, G4 Cortlandt st., N. Y. City. ek ia, ; a : 5
ee rar sta minder sd ft Enki? : AT THE VERY An Ingenious Theft. It appears that coining copper is not profitable. The OT es Pvipet ton Oe. wehonwie mitein: Canoend te
Beautiful French Oil Chrumos, size 9xll, mounted ' One day last week a littie boy Who had been standing | government has not made a half-cent since 1857. them. Youhadaright to ask her for them under the circum-
ready for ttaming, seut post-paid tor one pouLar. | QTY) u aY, a on for some me in front of a drug storein Baltimore, en]| A Jew de’spree—An iutoxicated Hebrew. stances,

Grande tchance ever offered to Agents. For par-
hictlars Send stamp. Address F. P. GLUCK, New
Bedierd, Mass. w27-52

¥ A WEEK to canvass for Vickery's Fireside

a Visitor. Costs NOPHING totry it. :

47-52. P. O. VICKERY & CO., Auensta, Maine.
A MONTH SURE TO AGENT

everywhere. 10 best selling articles in the world,

 

 

Address J. BRONSON, Detroit, Mich. 14-26.
I LANTERNS and STEREOPTI-

MAG CONS ®t all sizes and prices. Views il-
lustratiug every subject tor Parlor Entertainment and
Public Exhibitions. Pays weil on « sMusll invesiment, Cata-
logues free. McALLIS?ER, M’i’g Optician, 49 Nassau St, N. Y.

Saipie tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FOR EACH LOT PURCHASED.

 

Having noticed the eagerness with which the thoughtless
and inexperienced buy at random unuer the excitements of
auctions, and the foolish manner in which many are duped by
designing men, who offer lots which are in the wilderness (and
might aswell bein the moon so tar as utility aud value are
coucerned) tor ridiculous prices, which should warn instead of
alluring persons of medium sense. We take pleasure in pre-
senting our new plan, and calling attention to its features,
We do not deem it necessary to enter into a history of Mr.
Stewart's laudable and gigantic enterprise, as the press lias exten-
sively commented upon it. We assume that with his acknowl-
edged business tact, sagacity and capital, he has projected a
feasible, systematic undertaking which cannot tail, Already he

 

viously eyeilig a large reel, weil provided with “simmy
dimmy”? Lwine, a8 the boys call it, which was fastened to
the tup of Lhe counter, suimmoned up Courage enough to
walk In and ask fora few yards with which to fly his
kite. The doctor bears the reputation of being a good-
patured man, full of humor, aud very fond of the little
oues, but the youngster approached himat a time when
he was out of his usual movud, and he consequently gave
“No”? lor au answer. The urchin had made up his mind
to have some of thatcord anyhow, and he gotit. On
Thursday morning the boy entered the store, accom-
panied by another boy andadog. Boy No. 2, having
placed a bottle upon tie counter, demurely asked for five
cents worth of “sirup squills aud poll: gollic,”” and while

The sun says, with a lisp, ‘1 thaw it.”

A natural revolutionist—the earth.

Au affecting sight—barrels in tiers.
———_>-0<+____—

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Ba@~ GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CONTRIBUTORS.—
Laty Godivu.—I\st. The legend of Lady Godiva’s ride through
Coventry is briefly as tollows: Her husband, Leofric, Eari of
Mercia, and lord of this place, had laid heavy tuxes on the citi:
zeus, and would not remit them even at the entreaty of his
wife, who was us beautiful as sue was modest, and was greatly

 

Nannie Northway.—1st. The gentleman should ask tite lady to
eat a philopena with him; it is not Ler place to propose it. 2d.
Itis not improper fora lady to take a gentleman’s arm at any
time if they are engaged, but if they are not she should not ac-
cept his arm except iu the evening or in a crowd, merely as 2@
protection. 3d. There is no need for a gentleman to makea
speech when offering his arm. 4th, A lady certainly has the
right to ask a gentleman his age if he has taken the liberty of
asking hers. However, we think a gentleman that would ask 2
young lady the question decidedly rude, unless they are very in-
timately acquainted.

Constant.—From your description of the young lady’s be-
havior, we should say that she dues not love you, and that she
dves not care to get married at present. Therefore, we advise
you to leave her entirely to herself, and if after atime she should
charge her mind she will undoubtedly let you know her decis-
ion, and if you still remain frec, and wich her for your wife,

 

: , r , beloved by all classes, finally, in answer to her entreaties, her vill be ti eh for both of y A girl of less th:
12-26. has added to his original purchases, at very large advances upon | Lie doctor was filling the order boy No. 1 was tying the , : . yd then will betime enough for both of you. A girl of less than
; fi 5 first prices. Lana ment ita improyements has increased several | end of the cord tu the dog’s tail, Wien the man of medicine husband tola her he would remit the taxes if she would ride | eighteen scarcely knows her own mind; therefore, you ought to
» 50 EERERY.. RINTED BRISTOL VISIT- | hundreds per cent., and as his plans are developed the rise will | rerurmed lo Lue counter, the Wheel was flying like fary seas ag hte Ltgew ie |B salty tarts fede cme tpeand par y4 epi wat patiently, remembering, “The patient waiter,” de.
N , sent lor 25 cents, Send st inue i id contiz j i sed i i > | egy ; : s aL gic s " : x, Rr, 0 80, dwin Forrest.—Your iuvitation may readin this manner:
postal card) tor samples of Glass Cards, Marble, Bhowhakes, net fly. We salenae pie eae ut Pe te uy daaries to The doctor quietly reached for a pallet knife, and, having und making known to the people the conditions upon which the | “Miss Earnest, will you grant me the pinasure of your company,
i Agents wanted. A. FOLLER & CO., Brockton, Mass. 24-13 be benefitted by tint immense outlay, it is the imdustrious aud hung himseifuver ihe counter, made’n desperate Whack | burden was to be removed from them, commanded thaton a| Thursday, July 1éth, to go upon a boat exeursion to Hampton
; F prudent, who manage to save something of their small income. | at the Cranium of the youngster, wo, he supposed, Was | Certain day ant hear pai he a erga totinoes, with windows | Beach. ‘There are to be several of your acquaintances of the
@UNG MEN SUFFERING FROM WEAK | We have placed the prices. of our Gurden City Park upon a basis | sitting on the fioor helping himself. But, lu! the boys and an + AE Vatied ont he hen re aur came forth | party. Very respectfully, Caarles Ausustus.
ML XESS, &c., will learn of a Simple Beans of Cure FREE by | of falr value for to-day, und we propose to receive $10 per Month | and te dog Bouncer were uot there. The ductor having | mounted her horse and rode duroduh the town, Only one. per. | aLeack: weedch euieutet eake ust Recenbatliy: Require a wider
addressing . H. REEVES, roin purchasers, so that they cau buy ove or more lots, accord- tried in vain to stop his reel, was obliged to give it up on t 58 > . er- | ¢ ind, as 1 pi as 1
- y Tas st. Ne ine , i - : ; son, a tailor named Tom, ventured to peep at lier, and he was} ly different epistle, and the judgment and feelings of the party
27-13. No. 78 Nassau st, New York. Mca on gnc, « hie oe Si cocsad olan T under uecount of the heat it communicated to the palm of his | siruck blind. From this comes the term, “Peeping Tom of Coy- editing must be left to Dances both the style and substance of
} iTENGA AGEN’ES for the best sellin AsMr, Stewart's operations progress this property will be large- | hand. When he reached the door he’ belield the boys | entry,” used to indicate a person of ungovernable curiosity. | the letter. 2d. In response to a note irom a geutleman asking
[ Prize Packages in the Farid: ly benefitted by them. Very muauy persons engaged during the | upon the sidewalk about two blocks off, and Bouncer in The procession of Lady Godiva is still kept up occasionally on | permission to accompany you to church, if you wish to accept
‘ I i 2 “| day in New York City, reside at a greater distance ; and to those iddle of the street going atthe rate of forty knors Friday of Trin.ty week, Ludy Godiva usually being represented | the invitation, you can word the acceptance something like this:
£ a 15 sheets paper, 15 en- vid have work at home, this location being very healthful pre- bhe middie of the eee 1 hi y by a female In tights. The story was first recorded by Matthew | “Mr. Wood, thank you sir; Ishall be obliged for your atten-
whit dade “iste! dak us ogee. i ane pencil, sents an opportunity whereby they can hve comfortably in a cozy au hour, the string pointing directly toward his tail. The] of westminster in 1307, some 250 years after its supposed occur- | tion,” or “With pleasure, sir, if my company will be agreeable
Bie ttsharle ‘packase, with clegnat “prize,” post pani 28 cents. | Houeat aaa cox ei crhg cpa aeeha TNT ue nen MUTT ROW oer fos adits whbreshouin. wor ler ooeeetion, a0" Poe | uitia sa mebptinn tas Ghosts geariosc: stem, peat
ae : Dp “y rae s ag ap a Sraninneeiennemon! sto i ° x . . ‘ pation. 3d. 1e itation and accepting it. . The gentleman «
? Caras Pa HERS atin eh ates eave eee SECOND DISTRIBUT ON asus At ial at pot for oe nee aes er Physician.” | the lady. 4th. You could not correspond Sis ogeuaee. with-
. Be ; om’s Answer. e will furnish 15 $6. 4th. We cannot find the addresses in the | out compromising your dignity if you were aware of his having
( X44) | An interesting illustrated wo q or Br i Directory, but will try elsewhere, showed your letters. nee
j sting rkeof Many years ago, Father Brennan, the parish priest of > :
M A I RI AGH 260 pages, contain ing valuable intor- or Rathaugan, County Kildare, Ireiand, was sadly in need of sas lites lattes tl Sn ae rou bo she is pe uenee Aaa CBS tall sae Ran SE
7 ) { mittion for those who are married TEN DWELLINGS ’ 7 ’ ’ yres, in th ) 1e sume name, is 6,120 miles. To reach
j a choir for his chapel, so he summoned a number of the | there from this port you will have togo to Rio Janeiro, and ILL’s first stor
mt Uil ee Waive tt Per een young men and women of his congregation to the vestry | there take the nigiish or French mail steamer, The fare to bee oinee ‘eo en a neon which will dann
Dr. BUTT’S DISPENSARY, AMONG THE one Saturday afternoon, that he mglt choose the requi- | Rio Janeiro is $2256 gold; steerage halt price. What the fare HE 2 ’
w35-4 12 North Kignth street, St. Louis, Mo. as site number of singers, Although a kind-hearted man, oh oe thet cod By Senne at re is *e Onot Know. 2d, The be commenced.
' GENTS WANTED.—Sualary or Commission. Valuable ow 1 Ca Ve. IN BRS his revereuce was rather quick-tempered, aud on this oc- "bod nip. “The homporuitice rahe ak hivh 6 90 ieee 4 3 > om
samples tree, Address. M. REED, 8th street, New York. 2 | cusion he was ‘more so”? of accoutt of most of the can- | gifade, and sinks as low as 36, and is liable to sudden and vio- Th Ladi > Work-Box
w31-62 ON OCTOBER 30th, 1875. didates for musical honors proving utter failures, some of | Jent changes. Nearly the whole of tlhe country 1s one vast level, = PLES AGIS ?
; NO EXTRA CHARGE them being too nervous, while others were too “brazen,” the wien pastures pols adinizally pelted to caitlerarsing, which “Martha.?—Yes, a black silk polonaise would look well
; Ga as he expressed if. Among the many who had been re- | }8 the principat branch of trace, « The province forms a part ‘Martha.’ Yes, ;
W INCHESTER S cides ait jected was ‘Tom Burns, the witof the parish, who had | gi the Argentine Republic, and the language mainly spoken 1s with the bing silk, akiss, Had 00 tite fo Per aay
been greatly discoucerted by his failure, but was deter- ‘A iliz i why not get pearl or gray Cas e rere 97
FREE GIFTS TO OUR PATRONS. mined to have arub at hisreverence, When the choir ehip. it so omatnone aoe pentites ok Gene hig te ee stylish combination suit, Leave your skirt just ag it ig,
? On last Christmas Eve we aistributed among those who pur- | was picked, Tom stepped up and said: about of any of them. and make @ polonalse, and trim it with plaitings of gray,
5 chased Jots last season, ten newly buil: dwellings; (the fortunate | “Father Brennan, this meeting here to-day pnts mein| IW. 8. Crediford.—Ole Bull is the most noted violinistnow | bound Wilh the blue sik cut on the bias, Pattern No,
A prompt, radical and permanent eure for Nervous Deppity, possessors of oe so Penal aes — * whom ht wine ra mind of a text you once preached a sermon from.”? living. 7 3,924, price 80 cents, you can Wear to church, for street
( n Se alae Siecidal Renters Shr'the bom ree to Mi i: Oiry Pani prateyain apaseacniienaele Seoeery eualibacs, “What text was that, Tom ?? replied Father B. New Housekeeper.—ist Ouida is pronounced we-da, 2d. In a| or visiting, or at home; or if you like better, you can

cal Science. For further information, testimonials, &c., 3.

FOR A CIRCULAR. Prices: $1 per box, six boxes $5, b y mail

with full directions for use. Prepared only by
WINCHESTER & CO., Chemists, 36 John st., etre

WEST POINT

AND THE NAWAL ACADEMY.

Do you want an Appointment to either the
Military or the Navai Acudemyt

di you do, sena Ose Dolar to our address, and we willsend you
full iustructions for gainius the Appointment and psssing the en-
tering examination, together with other information valuable
to young gentlemen seeking a Military or Naval career.

S & SMYTHE & CO., 24 D street 8, E., Washington, D. C.

t

 

 

es Yq) ‘ for Catalogue of Foreign Stamps or Coins,
25 Ci NTs illustrated with every style. J. W. SCOTT,
QT Nassau street, New York. Cirenlars, sent tree. 33-13t
UN FOR ALL !-Great profit to agents; the Needle To-
baceo Box; pricks th¢ fingers of bummers who sponge your
tobaccu; samples by mail fer 35 cents. Per dozen. $2.50.
34-60 L. G. ABBOLT, Mir., 108 Beekman St., New York.

 

RINTERS’ Cibinet, Type, Press, and Boxwood Depot;
EaGLe CABINETS: PATTERN LETTERS for Macninists,
VAN ate WELLS & CO., cor. Fulton & Dutch Sts., N. Y.
4.

A GREAT WONDEI

 

The Magic Pocket-

 

each containing five comfortavle rooms, neatly finished inside
and well palnted outside, which, together with the lots they stand
on, designated on the Map as follows: Lots Nos, 96, 195, 226, 306,
358, 398, 597, 642, 712, 884, are to be given as

PRESENTS TO PURCHASERS

who buy between May 10th to October 30th, 1875, and:shall have
paid one quarter of the amount of their purchase money pre-
vious to thatdate. Thus each purchuser will have an equal
chance with the others to receive a warranty deed for a house
and lot, and also will receive a warranty deed for the Jot or lots
he or she may have purchased as expressed in the contract issued
attime of purchasing. By this plan each of our patrons receives
fall value tor their imyestment, and if they areawarded a House
and Lot in addition to What they pay for and receive, so much
the better for themselves. Each person selects one or more
lots as they may desire, and for each lot purchased, a chance will
be had in the distribution. There will be

NO POSTPO

under any circumstances, but the plan will be carried out as stated

 

i
above, To those wre have never dealt with us and are therefore
not tamiiar with our mode of doiug busiuess, we give the follow-
ing report of our

DISTIBUTION OF DECEMBER 24, 1874.
(From N. Y. News of Dec. 29th.)
The Christmas Presents and who Got them.

The great distribution of dwelling-houses took place on Christ-
mas Eve, according to previous announcement, at Real Estate
Hall, 365 Third Avenue, with the following resnits, viz:

EB. YH. Rowland, No 96 Clermont Avenue, Brooklyn, drew house

““Many are cailed, but few are chosen,’?’ answered
Tom, while all the*crowd tittered in spite of the frowns of

Father B. QUOIN.
[Plenty for All.

Jim F—— is a very good fellow, but, like all mankind,
he has his faults. Although fond of intoxicating drinks,
he very seldein loses his senses or equilibrium. On one
occasion, however, he had some fine cherry bounce, and
after drinking aud treating his friends fur some time, the
liquor gave ont. He then eommenced eating the weil-
soaked cherries. Svon afterward he became sick. Think-
ing a little stroll would be beneficial, he started forth,
Arriving at the edge of the porch, he found it necessary
to suddenly part witha portion Of what be had eaten, and
the cherries spouted forth as if the ‘iner man’? had ex-
ploded. A lot offiogs that had been basking in the sun-
shine now came up and began gobbling up the cherries.
After eating for sume time, they commenced to fight, and
Jim calfed out: “You needi’t fight, Warn ye. Just wait
ill I get through [hic] and there wiil be plenty for all.”

JINK JONES, JR.
Hard Spell.

There used to be some good spellers in New Orleans. A
number of years ago, Captain Kimball, having had his
steamboat, the Asia, repainted, sent a sign-painter to
paint her name on the wheel-house. A day or two after,
he returned to find the paluter finishing up the job, and
there, 1n six-foot letlers, stood out ‘Ashu.’ Kimball,

castor with six cruets there are usually two pepper boxes, one
for black and one for red pepper, one cruet for vinegar, one for
oil, one for catsup and one for mustard. e

Muggins.—The National Academy of Design is on the corner of
Fourth avenue and ‘i'wenty-third street. Audress a Jetter to the
secretary. maa

Big Injun.—lst. Subscriptions to the New YorK WEEKLY may
date {rom any number from the commeticement of Vol. XXVII.
2u. French and Latin may be learned without a master, buta
correct pronunciation of the former could not be acquired. 3d.
Au revoir meaus adieu till we meet again. 4th. Not round or
regular enough for a copyist’s hand,

Stranger.—\WWe think not.

Kearney.—On the 11th of July, 1864, gold sold in New York at
285. This was the highest poiut reacted during or since the war.

Bulletin. —We cannot give theaverage circulation of the jour-
nals named, {

Climax.—Communicate with the secretaries of the various
State Historical societies, They would be the most likely parties
to purchase the document. We have no idea of the value of it.
It must be determined by the number of similar copies in exist-

¢

Ce.

Harrington.—To reach Harrington, Del., you will have to take
the cars, by way of Puiladelphia and Wilmington. It cannot be
reached by steamer. —

Papa’s Darling.— Write to the office of the National Temper-
ance Society, 58 Reade street, this city.

Muck.—list. ‘“fwelve Links” was commenced in No. 23 and com-
pleted in No. 30, vol. XXIV. 2u. We know nothing of the firm
turther than their advertisement states,

Carrie P.—ist. The parties ure not related, The similarity of
Christian names and initials is merely a coincidence. 2d. No
sentiment is ee A term of endearment is sufficient from
the parties named, with signatures.

make a basque and overskirt of Lhe gray and trim in the
same manner. Such garments are useful, because they
Gan be worn over almost any dress skirt, if the contrasts
iu colors and fabrics are not too plaring. A white pique
or Marseilles suit, with Hamburg trimming will be pretty
for nelittle girl’s dress suit. No, of cvurse you are not
too old to wear bright colors,

“Mrs. Randall."—*'The Motropolitan ties’? you refer to
in your letter are low-quartered  slioes, something like
the Oxford ties. They come in kid, cloth and serges, aud
rangein price from $225 to $350. The NEW YorE
WEEKLY Purchasing Azeucy can buy anything for you.
Yes, we are constanuly making purchases for our readers
of all such articles as you mention, Just now we can
send youavery pretty bonnet for $7, and a really hand-
some one for $10, such as we would have had to pay
nearly double for the firstof the season. 1n ordering
your silk suit be sure and send correct measures of waist,
bust, sleeve and skirt, and we williusure a good fit. For
the $100 we can get youareally useful and handsome
black siik suit.

“Fiora D. C.,”? Reno, Nevada.—We have never heard of
the journal you mention; still it may be all right. Why
not write directly to the office address given you by the
agent? The iron-frame, or mesh grenadine can be found
in qualities ranging iv price from 75 cents to $3 per yard,
A very pretty and good quality will cost $1.25 per yard.
The grenudines cau be made over the material now made

book, 25cts. Our d lot No. 2,505. , ; A. G.—The individual is American born. He is still in. | fer that purpose, Itis a kind of silk or satin finished cot-
: new Catalogue, 3cts. QUEEN & CU., Stoneham, Mass, 35-3 ayy. F Moskaa, No. 29 Henry Street, N. ¥., drew house and lot red wit Fase, collared, me, iS yp as hauled, Lim ame of the State prison. t f als 7 eke fabric, costing 20, 25, aud 30 cents per yard.
i No. 2,259. along the wharf, and pointed up Co the letters, J. M. B. H.—We cannot obtain a situation for you. “English Woman.’—Yes, your little girl is very large

 

 

CQUAINTANCE CARDS, two stylesina pack, sent
A for only Wcis. F. B. WASHBURN & CO., Middleboro, Mass.
4

BASE-BALL GOODS.

Send 10 cents for our new ontsingae containing 150 colored and
engraved Illu-trations of Guus, Rifles, Pistols, Fishing Tackle,
Gymnasium, Base Ball, and Sportiug Goods, the best and most
complete Catulogue ever published,

36-20 FISH & SIMPSON, 132 Nassau street, N. Y.

SYMPTOMS OF CATARRH.

Obstruetion of nasal passages, discharge falling into throat;
sometimes profuse, watery, acrid, or thick and tenacious, mu-
cous, purulent, bloody, putrid, offensive, etc. In others a dry-
ness, weak or iuflau.ed eyes, ringing in ears, deafness, ulcerations,
Scabs trom ulcers, voice altered, nasal twang, offensive breath,

 

Juihes McAnespie, No. 158 Wes: Fifty-third Surcet, N. Y., drew
house ond lot No. 2,350,
wae No. 8 John Street, N. ¥., drew house and lot
avo. .

Miss M. Sheridan, No. 496 First Avenue, N. Y., drew house and
lot No, 2,238. ,

James M. Putnam, No. 61 Carondelet Street, New Orleans, drew
pret : hs No. mon aS os

iss uloney, No. mson Street, Brooklyn, drew house

and 1 he 2,178... - 7 a

Joseph Lawson, No. 140 West One Hundred and Twenty fourth |
Street, N. Y., drew house and lot No. 2,417.
F. W. Cobb, No. 182 High Street, Brookiyn, drew house and lot

‘| No. 2,066.

R. S. Seabery, No, 48 East Fourteenth Street, N. Y., drew house
and lot No. 2,006.

PRICES OF THE LOTS.

 

 

 
  
 
 
  

“Whatin the devil does that mean?” said Kimball.
“Didu’t 1 tell you to put Asia on there? Do you call that
Asia???

“Yes, Ido, and you needn’t be so d——d rough about
it. I know how to spell as well as you do. and if A-s-l-a
don’t spell Asia, what in the h—ll does it spell?”

Cleansing the Heart,

An Incident happened in one of our Sabbath schools on
Sunday, that will bear printing. The teacher blandly
said to aclass of small girls: ‘‘How many of you have
washed your hands this morning? Those who have,’ he
added, “nay hold up their hands.’* Up went every hand,
“What with??? was the next question. ‘Soap and wa-
ter!) they chorused. ‘Ah, yes,’ he exclaimed; ‘but now
tell me how many of you cleansed your gg tc dh this morn-
“Indeed,’

W. H. Hy.—The gentleman is not related to you in the remot-
est degree. His reasoning is absurd.

men book. f

J. K. L.—ist. The numbers containing “Barnacle Bill’ will be
furnished for 78 cents. 2d, See footef column in present num-
ber and in No, 36.

Alabama.—We think not.

XXX.—We have no means of ascertaining the party’s address,

Walter W.—The American flag is just one half longer than it
is wide—the army standard is six feet six by four feet four inches.
Larger or smaller fags are made of the same relative propor-
tions. The stripes are thirteen in number, seven red and six
white. The blue “field” is an exact square of the depth of the
first seven stripes.

Virginie M.—* Palma non sine pulvere” is translated “The palm
is not gained without the dust of labor,” or ‘‘No excellence with-
out great labor.” :

F. Byrne.—We cannot furnish the addresses of all the manufac-

Juvenile.—You will find the uesigns in any type-founder’s speci-

for her age. Any of the gored or gabrielle dress patterus
will be suitable for her, and if you want an extra finish to
the silken suit, make a sleeveless jacket either of the silk
or of white organdie muslin, trimmed with Valenciennes
lace. No, you are not too old 1o wear your hair curled,
particularly if your husband likes it arranged in that man-
ner. You should please him before endeavoring to suit
the fancies of your friends. Make the skirt of your dress
ofthe brown silk, and your polonaise or overskirt and
jacket of the cashmere, or mohair de bege, now so popu-
jar for the Combination suits. A most fashionable and
pretty pattern, one which will conceal the form, is No.
3,924, price 30 cents. This polonaise is fitted to the form
in the back, and has @ loose front, which can be worn
either with or without a belt, An overskirt and loose
jacket will be equally effective in concealing the form.

: : : 3g ing?” Two girls held up their hands, ** said s of repeating rifles in this country, e : :
ee ae alters ud hie case at eae pul POSER Ar REE: he = es aeons wae serine “Scr st each $10 Monthly. | je, surprisedly; “what with? “Soap and water,” was nae Mist, We do not know of any paper or periodical VME, meee Grace Lach ain. the article can be
Zo cure—take Dr.*Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery earnestly, | Oy, Central Avenue.....ci6. 59 EEE. Se ea py 177 the astounding reply. The smile that went around the } which is im need of essays. The trouble just now with most pub- rocured You can make summer suits for your little
te correct the blood and system, which are always at fault, also | On First Street and First Place........... 0 6 » church was quite audible. Facr. lishers is that they are in receipt of irom ten to twenty times as | P ee) ; 7 ; ‘6 i
to act specifically, as it does, upon the diseased glands and lining | : Suen d are a : 453 gee 2) 1 aie 10° » much matter as they have space to fill. 2d. Canvassing, unless boy of lady’s cloth fi innel, or any light w oolen fabrics, or
membrane of the nose and its communicating chambers, The Mal =) eet ep alan tl a FE aes wv Wo 5 A Witty Indian. a person is naturally adapted to the employment, is not a very | YOU Call use linen or Marseilles. The kili-plaited suits are
I see of tis odious disease, 11 ce, paismiotar belletilcn Chee ee rea BOO ihe remunerative one. ‘ ¥\ very pretty, also the blouse costumes. No. 3.876, price
rent aoe ae canons Mangan. Me tia veer ut a Citing On Fourth S:reet. oc WU: tte by SRL) nse General Putnam used to tell a story of an Indian in old fi liober ‘Shay.—lst. To obtain a copyright of the song, enclose | 20 BE 9 ya No. 3,533, price 25 cents are Buitabte for
we must use constitutional treatment 10 act through the blood, a3 Ga tra at ‘ . = 3 ” times, who called at a tavern iu the fall of the year for @ | two printed copies of it, with fifty ceuts, to the Librarian of Con-| yoygs aged from two to six years No. 3,135 price 25
well as a soothing and healing local application. Dr. Sage’s Ca- | On Seventh Sirect Pee a Bie glass of rum. The landlord charged him two pennies for | gress, Washington, D.C. 2d. Tue composition is very crude, Osa Ee ty Scoteh dress for boys of from two to
tarrh Remedy, when used warm, and applied with Dr. Pierce’s Lia Lt dik Ce Ep cal : it. The next spring happening at the same house he | and there are numerous errors both iu the spelling aud gram- ceuls, 1S & pretty Sco Cre. J ’ i
Nasal Dosicins ateats Saree: pee concn ae rational and ak whe eRe trae EXTRAS ER LOTS | ojijed for avother glass of rum, and was charged three | mar. There isno aoe Sek as Monae oor asanoun. The ave Fae 30° ee te pat-
scientific principles, by its mild, soothing and healing propertie . : rb, synonymous with “detame,”’ is obsolete. er vould bi , Fi L .
to which the teense gradually yields, when the ae ae been On Jericho Boulevard.............-.+000+ $250 each $10 Month! pennies for it, ” “ “ Pa ben berths authorship of “Consistency, thou art a jewel,” “J, M. A.,’? Eureka, 1/l—Your letter inclosing $1.25 and
put in perfect order by the use of the Golden Medical Discovery. | On Broadway f 77300 10 ¥-| “How is this, landlord?” he asked, “Last fall you | i. \yuknown._ It is said to have appeared iu a ballad published in ordering braiding patterns for the letters R. J. A. came
This is the only perfectly safe, scientific and successful mode of | On Dennis Street........... .....escceee, 200 9” charged me only two pennies for a glass,” Murtagh’s “Collection of Ancient Euglish and Scotch Ballads,” | promptiy to uaud, but as you EBB LE ADO IG AEA ALO.
acting upon and healing it. On Railroud Avenue...............s.e%se- 200 ¥ 10 i “Oh, said the landlord, “itcosts me a good deal to | put nosuch workis known to literary men. The statement, there- I Duy : . :

Discovery, Catarrh Remedy and Douche are sold by dealers in

 

 

 

 

medicines the world over,
i CENTS A YEAR, postpaid, Fashion Journal,
jarge quarterly paper. LU. E. WARREN, Westtield, Mass,
w27-Geow
SKIN A Cure Guaranteed.
25 cents to Dr. VA , y
DISE ASES. Green street, Philadelphia.
37
perday, Send jor Chromo Catalogue.
SiO g $25 J. UW, BUFFORD'S SONS, Boston, Mass,
he w31452
W THE PUBLISHERS wiil forward on
ORK receiptol 35 ceuts, two beautiful works of
OF art, “Kiss Me Quick,” and “I Hope T Don't
Tntrude.”’ Size 7x9. Address ART’ UNION
ART. (60.,, box 277, Cincinnati, 0. 87-2vow.
GEN'TS WANT ED.—$40 « week and expenses, or $100
jorteited. Allthe New amd Standard Novelties, Chromos,
&c. Valuable samples free with circulars.
ORIE -TAL NOVELTY CO., 111 Chambers street, N. Y. 37-4t
E + hi F .
THROUGH BY DAYLIGHT.
ROYAL COLLEGE BLOOD & LIVER PILLS.
They have a specific eff-cl upon the Liver, and through that
important organ, ou the Blood They alsu act beneficially on the
spleen, the kidneys, and urivary orguns, p Pig Sent by
mil, post-paid, to any address, on receipt of 25 cents.
S. JUDSON, 320 Fulton st., Brooklyn, N. Y.,
Ageut tur the Royal College Medicines,

 

O Visiting Cards, 92 styles, with name, 2cts., or 20
blank Scroll Cards of Birds, 5 designs, 10 cts. Outfit, 19
styles, 10 cts., by J. B. HUSTED, Nassau, New York. | 87-1

THE OLDEST CARD IILOUSE IN
AME «ICA.

50 Bristol Oards, assorted Tints, with your name neatly printed;
sent for 25 ceuts, 50 Snowfhke or Marble Cards, 50. cents. Agents
er JOHN L, FRENCH, 391 Main street, Brockton, Muss,

-L

 

 

 

 

Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and
Seventh Avenues,
Ten Per Cent. Discount when all is paid at time
of Purchase.
Sénd Stamp for Map and full Particulars.

SPECIAL NOTICE.

Garden City Park Lots are conveyed in every instance by full
covenant warranty deeds (free of all s:ncumbrances) by the under-
signed, who owns the property remaining unsold.

BENJ. W. HITCHCOCK,

MUSIC PUBLISHER,

STORE, 355 THIRD AVENUE, NEW YORK, COR. TWENTY-
w32 9t SIXTH STREET.

. ~
On Denton Avenue, and First, Second,
1604 eh> Wes

 

 

Scovill’s Blood and Liver Syrup.—Scrolula,
Rheumatism, Pimpies, Gout, and Kidney Disorders, and all dis-
tempers which affect the external portions of the body indicate
an unclean condition of the venous fluid. SCOVILL’s BLOOD AND
LIVER SYRUP may be relied upon as a swift and certain remedy.
The conceutrated extracts of Sarsaparilla, Stillingia, and other
invaluable antiseptic and alterative plants and herbs form the
basis of this powerful remedy. Price $1 per bottle.

 

Edey's Carbolic Troches.—Among the various
remedies tor coughs, none enjoy a higher reputation than EDEY’s
CARBOLIC TROCHES, ‘This fact places them above the ordinary
list ot medicinal preparations. For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, and
as a disinfectant and preventive against contagious diseases they
are aspecific, Invaluable to Singers aud public speakers, Sold
everywhere, Price 25 cents per box.

The Great American Consumption Remedy.
Dr. WM. HALL’s BALSAM FOR THE LUNGS cures the worst cases
of Coughs, Colds, and all the diseases ot the Lungs, Throat and
Chest. For Whooping Cough and Croup it is a certain specific.
The most obstinate eases surely yield to Hall’s Baisam, when
uscd perseveringly. Stauds at the head of all cough preparations,
Soldeverywhere. Price $1 per bottle,

Dr. Mott’s Liver Pills,—It is easy enough to
make apill, but to make agood pill, ah! that’s the diffeulty.

 

 

 

keep rum over winter, 1t is as expensive to Keep a hogs-
head of rum over winter as to Keep a horse.”

“An! said the Indian, ‘% can’t see through that; he
won't eatso much hay; 7maybehe drink asmuch water!

A Hard Road to Travel.

There is a railroad leading from Selma, Ala., to Dalton,
Ga., known as the Selma, Rome and Dalton Railroad. The
freight cars are marked S.R.&D.R.R. An old man,
scanning the letters very closely, was asked what he
thought was the meaning of them, He said:

“Boys, 1 can’t make anything Out of this but ‘Slow,
Rough and Dangerous.’ ”’

A Wag standing by enlightened the old man by giving
his version of the letters in this wise: “Sorry Road and
D—— Rough Riding.” LiLLy LURTON, Esq.

Retorts,

It was Sheridan who said to a tailor who had asked
him at least for the inéerest on his bill; ‘It is not my in-
terest. to pay the principal, nor my principle to pay the
juterest.’?

Jt was Sydney Smith who retorted upon some one who
had called him an every-day man. ‘Well, if I am an
every day man, you are a weak one,’

On another occasion Sydney Sinith was told that a cer-
tain confectioner thickened his isinglass with dissolved
parchment. ‘Ihave heard,” hesaid, ‘of people making
one eat his words, but this mau makes us eut our deeds,”

Peculiar Attachment.

‘Madame, has your. piano an eolian attachment?”
asked Sam, the other night, of the wife of &@ man who ap-
peared to live fully up to, if not beyond, his means,

“Not exactly,’’ replied the lady.

“Hushl? said Seth, who sat close by him, ‘it has an
attachment, but not an @olian.”

“What sort is it?’ whispered Sam.

“A sheriff's attachment!’ said Seth.

Sam made haste to change the subject, and became sud-
denly interested in the Philadelphia Centennial,

A Military Conumdrum.

 

fore, can be set down as a hoax.

Turtle River.—Your graudmother’s brother is what is called
your great uncle—the term great in this connection meaning one
degree more remote in relationship. His granddaughter is your
second cousin.

U. P. R. R.—1st. The fare from San Francisco to Portland, Ore-
gon, by steamer, cabin passage, is $36; steerage, $20.50. 2d,
CGahforpia papers stale that the Pacific slope is overrun with me-
chanics in all branches of trade. |

Telegraph Walt.—lst. Chateau is pronounced sha-+to. 21, The
gentleman may be introduced to the parties separately, or both
ladies may be named at the same time without a repetition of
the gentleman’s to each, The ladies should be named first.

Murray St.—We know of bo way to determine the condition of
arazor so Well as trying itonm the face, A barber may be able,
from experience, to tell, but the kuowledge could not be im-

ried.
PY. S. F.—“‘Who was Cain’s wife?” is one of those things which
no fellow can find out, you know. Ail conjectures are of course
purely speculative.

Tnsiress.—lst. We have no recollection of ever having received
the MS., and therefore are unable to answer your questions. We
may say, however, that no matter how good your sketches may
be, the employment is not likely to prove a remunerative one, as
publishers are fairly glutted with MSS. of all kinds. 2d. Brown’s
Grammar is the standard work. 3. Ollendortf’s German, with
Key, will cost $2.25. 4th. We heartily sympathize with you in
your domestic troubles, but we fear the only thing youcan dois
tesubmit patiently, or invoke the Jaw and procure a writ of
separation. : : i

Gim Crank.—lst. Any work on gymnastic exercises will give
you the desired information. | 21. Four-pound dumb bells are
quite heavy enough for a eee to practice with.

A, Z.—The Manhattan Eye and Ear Hospital is at 233 East
Thuirty-fourth street, the Eye and Ear Infirmary at 216 Second
avenue, and the N, Y. Ophthalmic Hospital corner of Third aye-
nue and Seventy-third street. Cases are treated gratuitously at
the two last named.

“ Seekonk.—The eastern boundary of Rhode Island, until some
twelve vears ago, had been a matter of controversy between that
State and Massachusetts, the discussion covering a period of
about two centuries. At the time above stated, as near as we
can ascertain, not having the documents at hand, the question
was settled by mutual agreement, Fall Riyer, which lay partly
in each State, being ceded to Massachusetts, and Pawtucket,
which also lay in both States, being ceded to Rhode Island, to-
gether with a portion of the township of Seekonk. The town
proper of Seekonk is in Massachusetts. By consulting a map
and noting the change in the State line, the facts may be recon-

 

 

loss how tosend the articles to you. Pjease let us hear

from you at once,

letter are now very much worn. They are inexpensive
materials, and make pretty, covl-looking suits. We can
get grenadines to cost from 25 cents per yard to $3.
Wool and silk grenadines range froin 50 cents to $1.50,
while all silk fabrics are more costly. The most elegant
dresses are of silk gauze or grenadine over silk, and there
are lovely new gauze grenadines which look as if narrow
silk ribbons were barred upon gauze grouud, which are
specialiy used for jackets and Costumes, and may be worn
over either black or colors, Grenadines can now be found
in ncombination of checks and stripes of two colors,
écrn and blue, or ivory and brown. The suits are very
pretty when made over silk.

SEASONABLE NOVELTIES.

Among the dainty accessories of the toilet, we find
many inexpensive articles which serve to add much to
the beanty and finish of a handsome costume.

The net neckties come in the guipure patterns, and
cost from 30 to ffity cents each, They can be found in all
colors, and are odd and very dressy. The delicate shades
are very popular. Oiher ties are furmed of a silken band,
cut on the bias and hemned, and surrounded by Vulen-
ciennes edging. Others are all white, with the inserting
and edgings aroundit. Theends are formed of strips of
inserting arranged in fan shapes, They range in price
from 76 cents to $2 each.

To give the proper effect to the sashes, puffed
tournures and other styles of fluishing costumes at the
back, a bustle ig necessary, The latest is a marvel of con-
venience. Itisof while satin, with the springs of steel
so light and flexible that itcan be readily folded up and
put in the pockets and for sending to the laundry and re-
adjusting, the springs are numbered, so that any one can
fit them in after being taken out. The bustle referred to
is so narrow atthe top astocome quile between the
hips, while it islong and flares a little at the bottom, to
ihrow out the train, or demi-train, skirt gracefully;
while for the promenade, in the new pattern, the lower-

 

 

 

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pate cohen

A GALA DAY.

BY apa R. CARNAHAN.

 

 

Tis a gala day,
And the scene is gay;

Down on tue iawn they are playing croquet.
There’s a painted boat
With the swans afloat;

There are two lovers that glide away

In a blissful dream
With the gliding stream,
‘The sunshine lies on the crystal tide,
And the splash and drip
Of the light oar’s dip
. Strew rainbow glows on either side,

They are face to face
In a happy place;
Time flows with the waters that wash the keel.
Gray eyes gazing down
Into eves of brown
‘The depth of the constant heart reveal.

But the light oars lie
For a season by,
And the hand of the lover the malden’s seeks,
Oh, so low and clear,
And so sweet to hear,
Is the tender tone of the word he speaks!

And her voice is low,
With a trueful flow,
In answer sweetest a maid may give.
So they promise there,
In that world so fair,
To love each other while both shall live.

So, bade they float,
In the painted boat,
With music drifting across their way,
To the dance and song
Of the happy throng;
And oh, the world, it is glad and gay!

 

FINDING JACK.

A STORY FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.

 

BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON,
Author of “Bed-Time Stories,’ and ‘*‘More Bed-Time
Stories.”

Conn turned over and rubbed her sleepy blue eyes. It
seemed to her that the world was coming to an end, all
at once there was such a Babel of noise about her. What
wasit? Hadevery body gone mad? Then her wits be-
gan to wake up. She remembered that it was Fourth of
July. That worst noise of all—why, that must be Jack’s
pistol, which he had been saving up money to buy ail win-
ter and all summer. And that other sound—that must be
torpedoes; and there was the old dog, Hero, barking at
them, and no wonder; it was enough to make any respect-
able dog bark. Fire-crackers! ug! Wasn't the> pistol
bad enougl without all these side shows? Just then Jack
called ont from the yard below;

Conn! Coun!’

The girl’s name was Constantia Richmond; but she was
too sligit and bonuy for such along uame, and everybody
called her Conn,

She shook back her fair, soft curls, as golden as a baby’s
now, though Conn was fourteen, and putting a littie
shawl over ler shoulders, peeped out of the open window,
as pretty a little slip of a girl as you would care to see,
and. looked down on the face, half-boyish, half-manly,
which was upturned to her. If Jack had been her broth-
er, perliaps she would have scolded:at him; for Conn
loved her morning nap, and the general din had discom-
posed her, no doubt. But Jack was only her cousin, and
her second cousin, at that; and it’s curious what a differ-
ence that does make. Your brother’s your brother all
the days of his life; but your cousin is another affair, and
far less certain. So Conn said, quite gently:

“Whatisit? CanIdoanything? But Pm sure I don’t
Want to help you make any more noise. This has been—

oh, really dreadful.”

She spoke with a droll, little fine-lady air, and put her
pretty little fingers to her pretty little ears, and Jack
laughed. He had not begun to think of her yet as a
charming girl—she was just Cousin Conn.

“What,’? he cried. ‘Not like noise on Fourth of July?
Why, you don’t deserve to have a country.”

«om sure I wish 1 hadn't,” said Conn, with a little
dash of spirit.

“Are you dressed ?”’ cried the boy sixteen years old, but

all a boy still.
eNOS

‘‘Well, just hurry then, and come down. I’m off in
half-an-hour with the Brighton Blues, and I want you to

See first how this pistol works.”

High honor this, that she, a girl, should be invited to in-
spect the wonderful pistol! 3

Conn began to dress hurriedly. What should she put
on? Her white dress hung in the closet—such a white
dress as girls wore then, forit was almost twenty years
ago—all delicate ruffles, and with a blue ribbon sash, as
dainty-fine as possible. She knew that was meant for
afternoon. when Aunt Sarali would have company. But
might she not putiton now? Perhaps Jack wouldn’t be
here then, and she could be careful. Soshe slipped into
the dainty gown, and fastened liooks and buttons in ner-
vous haste, and then looked in the glass, as every other
girl that ever lived would have done ‘in her place.

It was a bright, fair face that she saw there—all pink
and white and with those violet eyes over which the long
golden lashes drooped, and that soft, bright golden hair
that lay in little rings and ripples round her white fore-
head, and hung a wavy mass down to the slender waist
which the blue ribbon girdled. Conn was pleased, no
doubt, with the sight she saw in the mirror—how could
she help being? She tripped down stairs, and out of the
door. Jack whistled when he saw her.

“What! all-your fineries on at this time of day? What
do you think Mother Sarah will say to that?’

The pretty pink flush deepened in the girl’s cheeks, and
she answered him almost as if she thought she had done
Something wrong:

“Pil be so careful, Jack. I -won’t spoil it. By-and-by
you'll be gone, and | wanted to look nice when [ saw the
new pistol.’

This seemed extremely natural to Jack. The pistol was
to him a matter of such moment that no amount of de-
monstration in its honor would have seemed too great.
Viewed in this light it really appeared quite a meritorious
act that Conn should have put on the white dress, and he
jooked her over with that air of half-patronizing approval
with which boys are apt to regard the good looks of their
sisters and their cousins.

Then he exhibited the pistol. It had—as a boy’s knife,
or gun, or boat always has—distinguishing and individual
merits of itsown. No other pistol, though it were run in
the same mold, could quite compare with it, and it was
Dy some sort of wonderful chance that he had become its
tpossessor. Conn wondered and admired with him to his
‘heart's content. Then came breakfast, and then the
marching of the Brighton Blues. This was a company of
boys in blue uniforms—handsome, healthy, wide-awake
boys, from fourteen to seventeen years old—every one of
them the pride of mothers, and sisters, and cousins. They
were to march into Boston, and parade the streets, and
dine at a restaurant, and see the fire-worksin the eyen-
ing, and I don’t know what other wonderful things.

Jack was in the highest spirits. He was sure he and
his pistol was a necessary part of the day; and he sincere-
jy pitied Conn, because she was a girl, aud must stay at
shome, :

“Bang, whang, whang goes the drum (ootle-te-tootle the fife;

*Olil a day-in the city-square—there is no such pleasure in life!’
he-qioted; and then he called back to her from the gate;

“It's too bad, ‘Conn, that there’s no fun for you, but keep

‘your courage up, and I'll bring you something.”

‘Aria “go they marched away in the gay, glad morning

‘sunshine, following their band of music—a boys’ band

that was, too.

‘Cohn steod and watched them with a wistful, longing
look’ in her great, blue eyes, and the soft, bright color
coming and going on her girlish cheeks. At last she
gathered a bunch of late red roses, and put them in her
bosom, and went into the house. She sewed a little, and
then she tossed her work aside, for who cares to work on
holidays? Then she took up her new book; but the tale
it told seemed dull and cold beside the warm throbbing
dife of which the outside world was full, She wished over
and ‘over that she were a boy—that she might have
marched away with the rest. Then she wondered if she
could not go into town and see them, from somewhere, in
all their glory. Very little idea had she of a Boston crowd
on Fourth of July. She had been into town often enough
With her aant or her uncle, and walked through the quiet
atreets; and she thought she should have little trouble in
doing the same now. She looked in her purse, she had
not much money, but enough so that she could ride if she
got tired, and-she would be sure to save some to come
home. She called her Aunt Sarah’s one servant, and
made her promise to keep the secret as long as she could,
and then tell Aunt Sarah that she had gone to Boston to
find Jack, and see him march with the rest.

The girl was a good-natured creature, not bright enough
to know that it was her duty to interfere, and easily per-
suaded by Conn’s entreaties, and the bit of blue ribbon
with which they were enforced.

And so Conn startedoff, as the boys had done before
her, and went on her way. But she had no gay music to
Which to march, and for company she had only her own
thoughts—her own hopes. Still she marched bravely on.

There were plenty of other people going the same way
—indeed it seemed to Conn as if everybody must be going
into Boston. Excitement upheld her, and she trudged
along, mile after mile, across the pleasant mill-dam, and
at last she reached Beacon street, Her head had begun
to throb horribly by the time she got into town. It seemed
to her that all the world was whirling round and round
and she with it. But she could not turn back then—in-
deed she did not Know how to find any conveyance, and
she knew her feet would not carry her much farther.
Surely she must see-Jack soon. He had said “hey should
march through Beacon street. She would ask some one.
She had an idea that every one must know about any-
thing so important as the Brighton Blues, At last she got
courage to speak to a kind-looking servant-maid, in the

 

 

midst of a group on the steps of one of the Beacon streec
houses. The girl pitied her white face, 30 pale now, with
all the pretty pink roses faded from the tired young cheeks,
aud answered kindly. ;

She did not know about the’ Brighton Blues, but she
guessed all the companies had been by there, or would
come. Wouldn’t the young lady sitdown with them on
the steps, and'rest, and wait a little?

And ‘the young lady’? satdown. What could she do
else, with the whole world whirling, whirling, and her
feet so strangely. determiued to whirl out from under her?
And then it grew dark, and when it came light again

-{ there was a wet cloth on her hair, and she lay on a lounge

in a cool basement, and the kind girl who had cared for
her told her that she had fainted. And then she hadsome
food and grew refreshed a little, but was strangely -con-
fused yet, and with only one thought to which she held
with all the strength of her will—that she had come to
see Juok and must look for him till he came. So on the
steps she stationed herself, and the crowd surged by.
Military companies, grewn-up ones, came and went with

litter of brave uniforms, and joyful clamor of music, and

onn watched with all her soul in her eyes but still no
Jack.

It was mid-afternoon at last when suddenly she saw
the familiar blue, and marching down the street came the
boyish ranks, following their own band—tired enough all
of them, no doubt, but their courage kept up by the music
and the hope of fire-works by-and-by. Conn strained her
eyes. She did not mean to speak, but after a little, when
the face she longed for came in sight, something within
her cried out with a sharp, despairing cry: ‘‘Oh, Jack!
Jack!”

And Jack heard. Those who were watching saw one
boy break from the long blue line, and spring up the steps
where Conn sat, and seize in strong hands the shoulders
of a girl allin white, her face as white as her gown, and
some red roses, withered now, upon her breast.

“Conn—Conn Richmond!’ the boy cried, ‘‘what does
this mean ???

‘Don’t’ scold—oh, don’t scold, Jack!’ said the pitiful,
quivering lips; ‘‘I only came in to see you marching with
the rest, and—I'm tired.”

*Yes,’’ said the girl who had befriended her, ‘‘and she
fainted clean away, and she’s more dead than alive now;
and if you’ve a heart in your bosom, you'll let your play
soldiering go, and take care of her.”!

And just then Jack realized, boy.as he was, that he had
aheartin his bosom, and that his Cousin Conn was the
dearest and nearest thingto that heart in the whole
world. But he did not tell herso till long years after-
ward. Just now his chief interest was to get her home.
No more marching for him; and what were fireworks, or
the supper the boys were to take together, in comparison
with this girl, who had cared so much to see him in his
holiday glory ?

He took her to an omnibus, which ran in those days to
Brighton, and by tea-time he had got her home. He found
his mother frightened and helpless, and too glad to get
Conn back to think of scolding.

* * * * * * *

It was six years after that, that in the battle of Malvern
Hills, July 1, 1862, Jack, a real soldier then, and no longer
a boy playing at the mimicry of war, was wounded; and
next day the news came to the quiet Brighton home.

Conn had grown to be a young lady in the sweet grace
of her twenty summers, and she was her Aunt Sarah’s
help and comfort. ‘To these two Women came the news
of Jack’s peril. The mother cried a little, helplessly; but
there were no tears in Conn’s eyes.

r ‘Aunt Sarah,’ she said, quietly, “I am going to find
aCkit i= +

And that day she was off for the Peninsula. It was the
Fourth of July when she reached the hospital in which
her Cousin Jack.had been placed. She asked about him,
trembling; but the news, which reassured her, was favor-
able. He was wounded, but not dangerously.
girlish instinct,-which every: girl will understand, tliat
made Conn put on a fresh, white gown before she used
the permission she had received to enter the hospital.
She remembered—would Jack remember also?—that other
Fourth of July on which they had found each other, six
years before. As if nothing should be wanting of the old
attire, she met, as she passed along the street, a boy with
flowers to sell—for the flowers bloomed, just as the care-
less birds sang, even amid the horrors of those dreadful
days—and bought of him a, bunch of late red roses, and
fastened them, as she had done that other day, upon her
breast.

The sun was low when she entered the hospital, and its”

last rays kindled the hair, golden still as in the years long
past, till it looked like a saint’s aureole about her fuir and
tender face. She walked on among the suffering, until,
at last, before she knew that she had come near the object
of her search, she heard her name called, just as she liad
called Jack’s name six years before:

“Oh, Conn, Conn!”?

And then she sank upon her knees beside a low bed,
and two feeble arms reached round her neck and drew
her headdown. -

“T was waiting for you, Oonn. I knew you would
come. I lay here waiting till I should see you, as you
were that day long ago—all in white, and with red roses
on your breast—my one love in ali the world!’

And the girl’s white face grew crimson with a swilt,
sweet joy, for never before had such words biessed her.
She did not speak; and Jack, full of a man’s impatience,
now that at last he had uttered the words left unsaid so
long, held her fast, aud whispered:

“Tell me, Conn, tell me that you are mine, come life or
death. Surely you would not have sought me here if you
had not meant it to besol You are my Conn—tell
me so.”’

And I suppose Conn satisfied him, for two years after
that she was his wife, and last night he gave the old pis-
tol of that first Fourthof July toa young ten-year-old
Jack Richmond to practice with for this year’s Fourth;
and pretty Mother Conn, as fair still as in her girlhood,
remonstrated, as gentle mothers will, with: :

“Ol, Jack, surely he is too young for such a dangerous
plaything.”

Father Jack laughed as he lifted little Conn to his knee,
and answered:

“Nonsense, sweetheart; he is a soldier’s boy, and a lit-
tle pistol-shooting won't hurt him.’?

But how noisy it will be round that house on Fourth

of July!
CLOSE RUN.
A YARN OF 1776.

BY CLEW GARNET.

It was the third day of June, 1776, and in the headquar-
ters of Major-General Lee in Charleston, S. C., a very im-
portant consultation was being held. There were present
besides the general and the eldest members of his staff,
Colonels Moultrie and Thompson, one in command in
James’ Island, the other on Sullivan’s Island, both in-
trusted with the defenses of the sea approach to the town.

“Gentlemen,” said the commanding general, ‘‘if the
news I have received from the North be true, though my
official dispatches have all been intercepted, we shall soon
have a busy time. A fleet of ten British ships-of-war,
with a large number of transports loaded with troops, all
under Sir Henry Clinton and Admiral Parker, are on their
way to attack us from seaward.

“To you, Colonel Moultrie, on Sullivan’s Island, and to
Colonel Thompson, on James’ Island, this city will have
to look for its main defense!’

“My fort is but half-finished, general, but my batteries
are mounted and shall be served as long as a man is left
to stand to the guns!’’ said Colonel William Moultrie, as
true a man as ever stood on American soil.

“TI can but echo the words of my brave comrade!’ said
Colonel Thompson.

“If we can only kuow when they are coming it will
give us a great advantage, general. I have furnaces for
heating shot, but I do not want to waste fuel till it is time
to use it,’? said Moultrie,

“T have just sent for a man who will aid us in that mat-
ter,’ said the general. ‘Ah—I think this is he!’

A thick-set man, of middle height, full face, with hair
almost as red as his sunburned cheek, every feature speak-
ing with courage and indomitable resolution, entered,
and taking off his tarpaulin hat saluted the general.

“You sent for me, sir.’?

“Js your name Duff?’ asked the general.

“Yes, sir; Bob Duff, captain of the schooner Lina, and
a prettier, smarter craft don’t sail, if I do say so.”’

“Then, Captain Bob Duff, I have a duty for you which
needs all your skill and Courage, coupled with the speed
of your vessel.’’

“Name it, sir. I am ready, and so is the sloop,” replied
the stout-hearted young seaman.

“An English fleet ison the way from New York to at-
tack this place. Wemust have notice before they get
here, and as far ahead as possible, with the number of
their vessels, weight of armameut, &c., if possible. Col-
onel Moultrie must be the first to know, as his guns will
be first to bear on an enemy.”’

“All right, sir; Dll sailin an hour, and makeall the
northern Offing I can.’

‘Look out they do not capture you and force you to act
aS pilot.”

“Vd pilot them to’—Captain Duff paused, and he
thought of a softer word than that which first came to
his mind—“‘Jericho, but not in here!’ was his» conclu-
sion.

He touched his hat, was gone, and then after giving a
few minor instructions to his subordinates, the general
dismissed them. Tire conference was ended.

* * * * * * *

“Pomp, crawl out of that cuddy-hole and loose the
mainsail and jib.”

This cry from Captain Bob Duff as he stood on Queen
street wharf, brought a little old darkey out of a snooze
under the half-forecastie deck of as pretty a sloop of four
or five tons as ever wooed the breeze.

“Kil Dat you, Massa Bob? I was jess a dreamin’ ob
you. I thought I seen you a ridin’ a goat, yah—yah, and
de goat was a comin’ full butt at me, and——”?

“Hoist that mainsal, or 7 come full butt at youl’? cried
ee Bob, jumping on board, and casting off the bow-
ast.

The little old darkey saw that his master was in earnest,
and loosing the mainsail, he sprang to the throat-hal-
yards and soon had the sail up, throat and peak.

Mg we gwine, Cap’n Bub?—whar we gwine?” he
asked.
hosts seal Run up that jib now, while I cast off the stern

‘But de perwissions, Massa Bob—de perwissions!’’

“Have we no salt pork aboard?”

“Yes, Massa Bob—de pickle-tub more'n half full!’

 

 

lt was a.

‘of Pomp, Captain

 

“And fish lines, too ?’’

‘Yes, Massa Bob!’

“And a bag of bread ?*

“Yes, Massa Bob!’?

‘“‘And the water barrel nearly full?‘

‘Yes, Massa Bob—all dat’s so; but, dere isn’t a drop o’
rum}?

“Get out, you black imp—rum is all you think of.
up the jib!”

Old Pomp sighed, but he obeyed orders, and the next
moment the sloop fairly flew toward the Swash Channel,
going out.

Captain Bob looked up at the sails, saw that they were
drawing well, and then he told Pompey to take the helm.

Then he overhauied a long locker aft, and taking out a
half-dozen muskets, loaded them carefully and primed
them. Then he loaded a pale of heavy pistols and put
them in his belt, and laid a cutlass where it could be
reached, ; ;

“Kil I reckon Massa Bob's gwine arter somethin’ bigger
dan ducks!” muttered Pomp.

Captain Bob heard him, but paid no attention to his
words. He now took a chart out of the after locker, and
examined it. ;

“They'll Keep well inside ghe Gulf, out of the current,’!
he muttered. ‘‘I'll head for Cape Fear as soon as I clear
the bar.”? L

In a couple of hours the sloop stood up the coast, cloge-
hauled, with the wind so fresh from the north-east, that,
close-reefed, she had ali she could carry. Night set in
with Charleston light yet in sight.

Captain-Bob stood on, however, keeping watch him-
self till after midnight; then he gave the helm to Pomp,
telling him to cali him when the morning star rose, with-
out fail, and dropping down on the deck, wrapped in a
sea-cloak, he went to sleep.

When he woke, the sun was shining in his face. But it
was not that which woke him. It was ashout through a
trumpet:

“Boat ahoy!’?

He sprang to his feet, to see that his boat was up in the
wind, the sails flapping furiously in the gale, and Pomp
sound asleep near the helm—to see far more: Allaround
him the sea seemed studded with ships of war and trans-
ports; and one of the former was so close aboard that he
could have been hailed without a trumpet.

“Sloop ahoy! Run alongside here! We want a pilot!’
shouted the officer who had hailed first. :

‘*‘What ship is that?’ asked Captain Bob, springing to
his helm, and giving Pomp a kick in the jaw which would
have woke a dead man.

“His Britannic Majesty’s ship Bristol, Admiral Parker.
Come alongside in a hurry!)’ was the answer.

‘Let ont them reefs, Pomp, or I’ll blow your whole head
off!’ said Captain Bob, to the scared darkey, laying his
hand on the butt of a pistol.

And putting his helm up, he headed his sloop dead
away for the land to leeward, s!acking off the main sheet
as he did so.

“Scoundrel! come alongside, or we'll fire into you!’
shouted the officer.

“Fire and be—bdlessed!"! cried Captain Bob, springing
to the halyards, and, with Pomp helping, running up the
whole mainsail.

The sloop now fairly flew through the water, but she
was completely environed by vessels, several of which, in
goesiene to signals from the admiral, hauled up to cut
1er 0 ‘

There was one thing to Captain Bob's advantage—the.
roe could not use their cannon without injuring each
other. :

The'shore was not over ten miles away, and, if he could
only reach that, he could get horses and reach Charleston
overland before the ships, for the wind had hauled now to
south, .a little westerly.

. But Captain. Bob had enough to do, now luffing, then
keeping away, hailed here and there, and several times
fired at with muskets, which compliment he returned
more than once. Pomp was almost scarced to death,
especially when a spent ball was nearly flattened on his
thick skull; ,.but coolly, magnificently was the little sloop
sailed. . And soon Captain Bob broke through the inside
cordon of .vessels, aud saw acilear line of fast shoaling
water between him and the land.

But now came the hardest ordeal of all. The yessels
opened on him with their heavy guns, and the water was
are white aliead, astern, and all around him with glanc-
ing shot. ‘

But Captain Bob sailed boldly on, trusting to Providence
and his swift little Lina, and the sequel proved his faith.

Without a rope yarn cut, he ran out of cannon-shot in-
to a bayou that ran far up into the plantation of Hugo
Trapier, a patriot planter, and leaving the Lina in charge
Bob mounted a swift horse, and in two
bean carried the news to Charleston that the fleet was
coming. ~ ros

Colonel Moultrie got his furnance ready, and history
tells us how gallantly Charleston was defended—how that
immense fleet was shattered and beaten off, with over.
two hundred men slain, one frigate burned and all the
rest more or less disabled.

‘Captain Bob Duff did many a gallant act afterward, be-
fore he saw his country free, but he was never ‘‘closer
run’ than when he found himself in the middle of the
Buglish fleet.

Run

i $0 @yHe 1 tee Hd
’

ae re

A SroyNneR.—This will be the popula? ‘Verdict in
regard to BUFFALO BILL’s story, ‘‘THE Scour AND
THE RENEGADE,” with will soon be commenced.

—____-0+___

THE TORY'S LEAP.

A SKETCH OF THE REVOLUTION.

BY COL. E. Z. C. JUDSON.

 

 

In those dark days of our great Revolutionary struggle,
in the latter part of 1776, when General Washington was
obliged to fall back from New York city, there was a tory
leader in Westchester who was notorious for his daring
and his cruelty, using every opportunity in his power to
harass the patriots, slirinking from no deed of rapine or
pillage, no act of destruction or injury. ;

His name, or the name he went by, was “Black Alf’'\—
not that he was a negro, but because of his dark visage,
black eyes, hair and beard. He had at his command fif-
teen or twenty wretches who, like himself, felt no fear of
God or man; and these men, well-mounted on stolen
horses, seemed almost ubiquitous in their daring raids.

It became a matter of necessily to exterminate them, so
bold had they become, and such desperate outrages had
they committed.

General Washington detached for this purpose a select
party of his own body-guard—men of distinguished brav-
ery, well armed and mounted, and the orders of the lieu-
tenant commanding the detachment were:

“Not to return until Black Alf and all his party were
either captured or slain; to devote themselves to that
duty, and no other until it was fully accomplished,”

Lieutenant Street was just the man for such an enter-
prize—young, ambitious, fearless, a skillful swordsman,
and unequaled in horsemanship. His picked men, drilled
by himself, were in no way deficient in all these matters,
and thus speedily on the trailof Black Alf and his gang,
they hurried up matters.

They got on the trail at a cottage near the Tappan Zee,
where two weeping girls and a broken-hearted motler
were all that were left of a family of which the husband and
two sons, just merging into manhood, were preparing to
join the army of Washington.

Tuese three last lay dead upon the threshold of the
home they had striven to defend. It would have been
more mercifulin the infamous tories had they also slain
the helpless women whoni they so terribly ill-treated.

The bodies of the murdered men were not yet cold when
young Street reached the scene. The trail of the tories
lay plain upon the ground in the white frost of October.

The iieutenant spared one moment only to say to those
distracted women: b

‘You shall be terribly avenged! Not one wretch shali
live to see the setting sun and boast of this day’s deeds!’’

Then, heading his men, he dashed off upon the trail
which lead down the river. In little more than an hour
of hard riding, he came upon another desolated home,
and the wretches were just leaving it. There was no
pause now tO ask what they had done or to speak words
of comfort.

Every spur went rowel deep into the horses’ flanks, and
the tories, alarmed at the sight of a body of well-mounted
regulars outnumbering their party, at once fled.

But like lions bounding after game the pursuers swept
forward, never for an instant losing sight of the dastardly
enemy, and soon Black Alf saw that he must fight, or his
men would be cut down in flight.

Drawing up on a little level spot not far from the river,
with rocks ou either hand and a high overhanging ciiff in
his rear, he made ready to meet the advancing charge with
a volley which he hoped would so disable his pursuers
that he could safely continue his flight.

Lieutenant Street hac trained his men to every emer-
gency, and as they came on in line, their horses at full
speed, when the tory shouted to his men to fire, every
federal threw his form full length on his horse. The balis
of the tories flew harmlessly over their heads, and then
rising in their saddles, the gallant men, with a terrible
shout, bore down with gleaming swords upon the foiled
tories.

It was like the lightning's vivid bolts of fire darting
through a dry forest that they came, and, shrieking in
vain for mercy, the tories tried to fly.

But.every heart was steeled to.pity then. Down went
wretch after wretch, until Black Alf alone, best mounted
of them all, was left, and he rode madly toward the cliff.

Close after him dashed Lieutenant Street, his keen
blade flashing in the sunlight, while others of his com-
mand spread out to right and left, to cut off all chance of
escape.

Twice Black Alf turned in his saddle, and fired at his
pursuer with his pistols, each time missing his aim.

“Surrender, you wretch!’’ cried the lieutenant. ‘Your
master, the foul fiend of perdition, has forsaken you! Sur-
render—you are not worth the death of a soldier!??

With a yell of baffied hate the tory turned his horse di-
rectly towark the cliff, and while his pursuers urged their
horses all the faster, thinking he might leap to the water
and thus escape, he was seen in a second to vanish from
sight.

Lieutenant Street, close to him at that moment, drew
rein so quick that he threw his noble horse fairly back
upon its hauncies, and his men checked their mad pur-
suit just in time, forall were on the very edge of the
precipice. ;

Below, fuil fifty or sixty feet, mangled and dying, lay
Black Alf, on and partly under his dead horse,

Hetived long enoughfor his pursuersto reach him,

od THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. #3e-

take the halter from his horse, and hang him to an oak
which grew at the foot of the cliff.

It was a fit ending to a.wicked, desperate life. So per-
ish such miscreants through all time!

ear ae

SURROUNDING THE ENEMY.

A STORY OF THE REVOLUTION. j

 

 

BY EDWARD MINTURN.

 

Tommy Dooley was a full-blooded American—at least
he said so, though he was born in County Kildare, in
Erin’s green isle; for Tommy had foresworn all allegiance
to Great Britain, got himself enrolled in the Continen-
a army, and was a corporal in glorious Harry Lee’s Light

orse,

Tommy was a six-footer in height, wore a tremendous
mustache and whiskers, looked through a pair of fiery
gray eyes, and hada voice that could drown a thunder-
clap. He was a dead shot, a good swordsman, and no
better rider could be found in the corps.

Tommy was very fond of foraging. Whenever he got
permission to go out, he was sure to come back loaded
with turkeys, geese, or some other choice edibles. As his
commander was never forgotten, it may be well to state
that Tommy seldom asked to go out in Vain, without there
were pressing duties to perform,

“Be careful of Tartieton’s men—they’re not far from our
neighborhood,’’ said Light Horse Harry to Tommy one
day, down in South Carolina, when the hero of our story
asked for leave till sundown.

“Sure, yer honor, if Tarleton’s men run aginst Tommy
Dooley some of ’em will be apt to ate dirt for supper!’
said Tommy, and away he went.

Light Horse Harry was in camp, waiting orders from
General Greene, and occupied in correspondence, thought
no more of Tommy till just before sundown he presented
himself.

Not alone, either, for he introduced two British captains,
two lieutenants and an ensign, all his prisoners, taken
at the plantation ofa noted Tory who lived a few miles
away.

Colonel Lee was delighted, and after putting his prison-
ers under guard, called Tommy one side and asked him how
on earth he managed to take so many important prison-
ers alone.

‘Be jabers, yer honor, I surrounded em!” said Tommy.

“Surrounded them? Why, man, are you sober?’

“Divil the drop of anything stronger than water have I
had to-day, yer honor! I don’t like the divil’s broth, and
well yer honor knows it.’?

“Then tell me how you made the capture.”

“JT will, colonel, and you must believe me, for it’s the
holy truth I'll spake, and nothing less. You see there’s
a white nagur gal at ould Tovy Hart’s that I’ve taken a bit
of a likin’ to!” :

“A white nagur gal?’

“What yer honor calls an octoroon, and she’s as pretty
as a rose-bud, and well nigh as fair. I rode down that
way to meet her to-day, and she met me in the orchard
near the house, and half scared to death, tould me that
the rapscallions I’ve brought here were dining wid her
master. 1] axed her how many doors: were there to
the dining room, and she said only two, Andshe told me
they had no escort, and their swords were all unbackled
and laid away in a corner of the room. Then I told her
to lock the back door of the dining room when I got to
.the front oné, and to saddle a horse for herself to be ready
to come when I came. Then I went and saw where the
officers had tied their horses, and [ tied mine handy and
went into the dining-room as boldly as a turkey-cock after
Christmas. I had a pistol in each hand, and I stood be-
tween the Britons and their arms, and gaye ’em the word
of command!

* «Surrender, you red-coated thaves 0’ the wurruld!’ I
yelled. ‘I’ve twinty men at the door, and the house is
surrounded. -Surreuder, or I'll give yez @ dose of lead on
top o’ your dinner!’ b pie

“We surrender! Wesurrender!’ they answered; and
ould Hort dropped down in.a fit, where I left hii, for
he’s good bait for more gameof thesamesort. And I
marclied my prisoners to their horses, tied them on,
on wy the assistance of the pretty octoroon, brought

hem in. :

“Sergeant Dooley, you have done a noble deed, and I
will report it to the commanding general, and it shall
not be my fault if you are not further promoted.) ..

“Whoop! hurrah! and it’s Sergeant Dooley lam. The
little octoroon will be as happy asa ciam at high wather;’!
and away flew Tommy to carry the news to his comrades
and friends.

My story is short, but thatis not its only merit. Itis true.

 

 

EI, sk >
Wonders _of Nature.

By Prof. M. Rudolph.

WHAT ARE THE STARS?-—No. 1.

i No human being, probably, ever looked heayenward
without, almost unconsciously, asking himself this ques-

  

passed through one-half of its orbit or path, and has got-
ten around on the east side of the Sun. It is now twice
92 millions of miles {rom its former position where we
first measured the light of the star; that is, it has re-
moved 184 millions of miles farther from that star. Now
let us again apply Our photometer and carefully measure
the same star’s light, aud we find, to our utter amaze-
ment, that it has lost none of its briltiancy; itis as if we
had not receded a hair’s breadth from the noonday Sun—
there igs not the least perceptible loss of light. So, if we

 

| Teverse the process, and while our globe is on the east

side of the Snn, measure the light of another star in the
west, and then, waiting six months again, until we have
passed around to the western side, and are 184 millions of
miles neaver the star, and then again apply the photom-
eter, we sliall again find no change of brightness—the
star will appear no more brilliant than when we were 184
millions of miles farther from it. This also shows that
the body is immensely distant, because the distance of 184
millions of miles is as nothing to the whole—the change
of position effecting not the least change in the appear-
ance of the star. There is still another striking proof of
the great distance of these bodies. While the Earth is on
the west side of the Sun, let us select a star in the south,
instead of the east or west. We wiil then take a telescope,
and will draw two fine spider’s threads across the glass
at right angles to each other. Then adjusting the instru-
ment so thatthe star shall be exactly at the crossing
point of the spider-threads, we will firmly fix the tele-
scope so that it cannot be moved, and wait six months,
until the Earth has passed to the east side of the Sun, 184
millions of miles OUT OF RANGE, and to our astonishment
we find that same star is still un the point of intersection
of those same spider-threads; the removal of the instru-
ment 184 millions of miles OUT OF RANGE has not in the
least affected the apparent position of the star—it is still
iN aS PERFECT RANGE as whien the telescope was first ad-
justed. We shall the better understand and appreciate
this most extraordinary fact when we remember that if a
rifle be aimed at a mark, and then be shifted half an inch
one side, it is thrown out of range; but here a shifting of
184 millions of miles produces not a change of evena
hair’s-breadth.

Now all this proves most conclusively, that the stars are
at immense distances from us. But we have seen that re-
Jlected light cannot be visible at like distances. Now as
the stars are so distinctly seen by us, notwithstanding
the great spaces that separate them from Earth, we are
forced to the conclusion that they all shine by their own
native light; in other words, they are all Suns. This,
then, is a settled point,

THE NEAREST STAR,

The Star nearest to the Earth is the Sun; for the Sun is
nothing but a Star, apparently larger and brighter than
the others, but only so because so much nearer. Were
the Sun as far removed from us as some of the Stars, it
would not only dwindle in size and brilliancy, but would
be entirely lost Lo gsight—not one ray of its light would
ever reach our world. The distance of this body from
our globe is about 92 millions of miles. Light, moving
182,000 miles a second, is eight minutes in reaching us
from the Sun. Hence the Sun has risen eight minutes
before we see him. A cannon-ball would reach this dis-
tant globe only after seven years of undiminished speed.
A railway train, moving constantly, day and night, thirty
miles an hour, would be 350 years in making the journey
to the Sun. i

The next Star in order of distance is Alpha, of Ceutau-
rus, the coustellation represented by the figure of a half-
man anda half-horse. Thisis the one whose distance
has been accurately determiued; aud this is so deeply
buried in the abysses of space that eighteen and a half
trillions of miles must be passed over before it would be
reached. Whata vast voidis there then between the
Outermost world of our family of worlds and this far dis-
tant Star. We can hardly repress a feeling of loneliness
as we think how far removed we are {roi all these glo-
rious worlds above, beneath, and around us,

Not that this vast interval of space is a pefect void—
for there are doubliess many masses of solid aud gaseous
matter dashing through its silent depths—but there are
no bright Suns, no systems of planetous worlds there like
our own to break the profound solitude. . Well for us that
there are not. For we need all this room. And we can-
not but be struck with this important fact, that we ac-
tually have allthis room. Were it otherwise, and we
had nearer neighbors, their attractive power would be a
constant disturbing force which would involye.us in con-
stant difficulty. 7

Is it an accident, a mere freak of blind chance that we
have this vast parade ground, in which our great leader—
the solar orb—may inarshal his armies of comets and
worlds, and their satellites, without damaging collisions
and vexatious complications with other worlds? No.
Here is divine wisdom seen, and here are divine power
and beneficence displayed iu assigning us such large and
generous space in the great universe.

The distance of some other Stars is vastly greater. Let
us tuke one of the sixth magnitude; that is, one just vis-
ible to the unaided eye, Let it be borne in mind that
our globe is dashing Larough space at the mean rate of
66,000 miles an hour—it is sometimes more, sometimes
less, according as we are nearest to, or farthest from the
Sun. Now let.us suppose our globe, instead of continu-
ing to revolve arouud the Sun, to start from its orbit and
rush in a straight line toward this Star of the sixth magni-
tude, and how long would it be in reaching it? 7,200,000
years must pass away before it would be sufficiently near
to receive froin that Star, or Sun, the light and heat we

 

tion ang yet. ange to say, th have gone througtt
a long life without ever earnestly seeking an intelligent
answer.

Itis the more strange, as no scene of Earth is so im-
pressive and so sublime as the heavens on a clear night,
“wher all the glorious constellations are out in their full
splendor, and seem, by their incessant twinkling, to be
ever exchanging signals with their fellow-stars on the
outskirts of the universe. Aud what rational being can
contemplate these mysterious bodies and not be awed by
a senseofa Supreme and Almighty Intelligence? It
would seem as if the midnight assassin, with those my-
riad worlds looking down upon him in all their silent
majesty, must be arrested in the very act of crime.

But, unfortunately, to the masses, the wondrous ciiar-
acter of these worlds is unknown, 80 that a view of the
heavens, in all their ‘glory, excites no higher emotions
than are awakened by a gaudy picture, or by the tinsel of
the play-house. But an intelligent survey of the heavens
excites emotions of a far different character. To distin-
guish system from system, and world from world; to be
ee with their various and wondrous phenomena;
to find ten thousand Suns—each superior to our own—
crowded into a comparative point of space, and yet sepa-
rated by distances beyond human conception; to pene-
trate the unfathomable depths above, beneath and around
us, and everywhere find new worlds bursting upon our
view with each increase of telescopic power—this must
give us higher views of Omnipotence, and overwhelm us
iu unutterable astonishment at the vastness of Jehovah’s
empire. * This view will also help us to'see more clearly
our own personal littieness and comparative nothingness,
and better enable us, too, to understand the exceedingly
great folly of presuming to contend in any way with such
an Almighty Being, who has power to crush us and an
eutire world in a moment of time.

BUT, WHAT ARE THE STARS?

And here Science answers with no faltering voice, and
the answer is, “they are all Suns, many of them thous-
ands of times greater than our Sun, and affording vasily
more light and heat than does our San.’ Were our globe
placed as near to some of these Stars as it is to the Sun,
all animal and vegetable life would not only be instantly
destroyed, but all metals, and even the very rocks would
be melted, and the whole mass reduced to a molten, or
liquid state, as it was thousands of years before it cooled
down and assumed its present form,

Now let us see if there is any satisfactory proof of this
startling assertion, that the Stars are ail Suns, and, in some
instances thousands of times larger than our own Sun.

And first, we have this proof in the fact that they are
visible to us, notwithstanding their immense distance.
Repfected light—i. e. light like that of the Moon—bas, com-
paratively, but little power to penetrate space.

For instance, the planet Neptune—the outermost planet
of our family of Worlds—is about 2,750,000,000 miles dis-
tant; but, aithougl more than a hundred times larger
than our World, and having a diameter of 375,000 miles,
yet not one ray of its light reaches our unaided eye, be-
cause that light is the borrowed, or reflected light of the
Sun, like the Moon’s. Now let it be borne in mind, that
the nearest Star is many millions of times more distant
than the planet Neptune, and yet, while by the naked eye
no trace of Neptune can be seen, the Star is distinctly
visible without a telescope, because it shines, not by re-
flected, but by ils own native light.

HOW DO WE KNOW THAT THE STARS ARE SO DISTANT?

This question is proper; we will endeavor to answer if.
The distance of the Stars is proven by the startling fact,
that we cannot in the least degree magnify them, even
with our largest telescopes. If, for instance, we point a
large instrument to a planet—which appears like a Star
—that planet is maguified to the size of the Moon; but if
we point the same telescope to a Star, we find its br il-
liancy only is increased, while its magnitude remains
precisely the same. This is true, however powerful the glass
used. There willapparently be some increase of diameter;
but itis only an optical illusion, as is proven by the very re-
markable fact thatif we draw a single spider’s thread
across the glass of the telescope, that spider’s thread will
csmpletely cover and entirely shut out from view the Star.
This proves that the Star is not in the slightest degree
magnified, but, when seen, even through Earth’s mighti-
est instrument, is a mere point of light.

Now let us endeavor to understand what the telescope
does for us in an observation like this. We will suppose
the glass has a magnifying power of one thousand. Then,
it, in effect, brings the Star a thousand times nearer to us;
or, what is the same thing, it is as if we were taken up
bodily and transported over the abysses of space to with-
in one thousandth part of the whole distance, and there
set down, and from that comparatively near point, were
allowed to make a new examination of the Star; but such
is the mighty distance of the body that even that small
part of it is too great to permit us to see any change what-
ever in the Star, save that its bDrilliancy is increased.

The fact, then, that the largest telescope cannot magni-
fy a star, while the same instrument will apparently con-
vert a planet into a Moon, is proof of the immense dis-
tance of the star.

But there is other startling evidence of their great dis-
tance. Let us first recall the fact that our globe is revolv-
ing around the Sun from west to east, at a distance from
the Sun of about ninety-two millions of miles. Now,
when the Harth is on the west side of the Sun, let us se-
lect astarin the western sky, and carefully measure its
light with that new and delicate instrument, the photom- |
eter, or light measurer.

 

 

Then we will wait six months until our globe has

 

now enjoy. What a merciful provision of Providence that
our own and other worlds cannot thus fly from their or-
bits and plunge wildly into the freezing depths of space,
depriving us of all the light and heat of our beautiful and
genial Sun!

But there are other Stars even more distant. With our
greatest telescopes, numerous nebule—that is, cloud-
like bodies—have been discovered, and so remote, that
light from them traveling 182,000 miles each second, can
reacli our planet only after tlie lapse of 3,500,000 years,

And yet, these are not even the owtSkiris of creation.
We have every reason to believe that beyond these re-
mote worlds there are hundreds of thousands more, equal-
ly grand, and as far from them as they are from us, and
only waiting for larger telescopes to bring them to our
ae view, and overwhelm us by their amazing
splendor. :

Let us here notice a very interesting fact. We have al-
ready seen that light is not instantaneous in its passage
through space, but requires time, although its velocity is
so startling. Now this being true, ‘it follows that the
light we receive to-day from these heavenly bodies is the
light that left them five, fifty, a hundred, or a hundred
thousand years ago, according to their distance; and so
the light that leaves them to-day willreach our globe only
after the Same number of years liave passed away.

From this it will be seen that itis impossible for us to
know the present condition of these bodies. They may
have been destroyed long since, and the stream of light
be now rushing toward us, but soon to cease in a moment;
just like a long stream of water that will continue to flow
after the fountain nas been exhausted, or the supply in
an instant cut off, but will soon suddenly cease flowing
altogether, as the last water reaches its point of destina-
tion. So should any one of these Suns be stricken out of
existence to-day, we should have no intimation of the fact
until the Zasé departure of light had reached us, and then
the body’s light would instantly be extinguished to us,
though really extinct long before. It will also be seen
that should a pew world, or sun, be created to-day, we
should know nothing of it until its light had reached our
globe, and this might require ten years, or ten hundred
thousand, according as it was near or remote.

From what has thus far been said, the thoughtful reader
will readily see that a very grave and startling conclusion
is forced upon us; it is this:

If some of the stars are so distant that their light re-
quires so many hundred thousand years to reach us, then
as their light HAS already reached us, these same stars
must have been created many hundred thousand vears,
and not six thousand years ago when man was first
placed on the earth. For, had they been brought into ex-
istence at the same time with man, being so distant,
their light would not have had time to traverse the mighty
void between them and our planet. But their light has
reached us; we know the vast abyss over whict it has
passed; and we know the time required for the long jour-
ney; aud therefore we are forced to the conclusion that
these bodies have been in existence at least many hun-
dred thousand years; how much more, mortal man may
never know. Au important caution just here.. Let no
one fora moment suppose that this view conflicts with
the statements of the Sacred Oracles respecting creation.
The Mosaic account of the origin of ali things is undoubt-
edly right; but the popular interpretation of it is wrong.
The declaration of the Divine Word is, ‘In the beginning
God created the heavens and the earth,’? without stating
when that beginning was. There is no conflict between
Science and Revelation. There can be none, for all truth
is one, asit has but one Source—God. Therefore, no one
trath can possibly clash with another truth. Whatever
may now seem to Clash should be attributed to our imper-
fect Knowledge and to our inability to see the true rela-
tions of many things. The man who exalts his puny
reason above God’s Revelation, and presumes to sit in
judgment on Infinite Wisdom, and will believe nothing
which this same puny reason cannot fully comprehend—
this man betrays his gross ignorance of the true philoso-
phy in that He, the finite, should, for a single moment
even, expect to grasp the Infinite; and he, the frail crea-
ture, should assume to be able to measure the Almighty
Creator.

Further facts concerning THE STars will Le given in
our next article.

ONLY A STIMULANT.

Arespectable gentleman at Edinburgh related a few
years ago a most affecting incident. A religious lady at
Edinburgh was sent to visita woman who was dying in
consequence of disease brought on by habits of intemper-
ance. The woman had formerly been in the habit of
washing in this lady’s family, and when she came to the
dying woman she remonstrated with her on the folly aud
wickedness of her conduct, in giving way to so dreadful
asin as intemperance. The dying woman said:

“You have been the author of my intemperance.’

‘What did you say?’ exclaimed the lady, with pious
horror. ‘I the author of your intemperance ?”’

“Yes, ma’am; I never drank whisky until I came to
wash in your family. You gave me some, saying it would
do me good. I felt invigorated, and you gave me some
more. When I was at other houses, not so hospitable as
yours, I purchased a little, and by-and-by I found my way
to the dram-shop, thinking a little stimulant was neces-

 

 

 

sary to carry me through my hard work. And so by de-
grees I became what you now see me,”’

Conceive what this lady felt, A. R. M.

: ~~

 

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